Monday, June 6, 2016

Another Crow Post



I had to pick up Sophie from school early today to take her to the quarterly appointment with The Neurologist. The appointment is just for drill because we all know that when you're two decades in, there's nothing new under the sun. The crows were strutting around the parking lot of Sophie's high school, spewing their mess at me. Crows do not, they do not, like me. I don't like them. They are too large too black too loud too vulgar. They throw nuts on the ground from the tops of trees to crack them open. I think of brains dashed to pieces, their insides spinning. They hop on their crow legs across the road even as my car inches forward. Get over here, I think, and look me in the eye. For all I know they keep the world spinning. Sophie's pants were wet when I stood her up out of the wheelchair, and her wheelchair cushion was too. I sighed as crows screamed. I learned this morning that the LAUSD has not assigned Sophie to a summer school class. I screamed as crows hopped. While it's an imperative in her IEP, it's even more imperative that I not have her home all day every day for two months. This imperative makes me feel if not guilty than less than, not good enough. And please don't assure me otherwise. Crows are incredibly intelligent yet I wish I had a shotgun to pick them off, one by one, starting with the murder that sits in the pine tree outside my bedroom door. That should give you an idea of my less than not good enough. Sophie moaned in the car all the way to The Neurologist even as Bob Marley shot the sheriff and wailed of dreads and weed. Why are you moaning? I thought. Dreads and weed. I had my I'm never enough it's never enough how can it ever be enough thoughts. Sophie threw her right leg out from the backseat and hit my elbow, zinging the nerve. She's had no seizures. She is well. I pulled right into a handicapped parking space at the hospital. It wasn't raining like the last time so I didn't cry. We sat for only a few minutes under the Conquest sign where all the rich donors have their names enshrined (thank you, rich donors) and were called inside. The nurse asked no dumb questions and used the old-fashioned blood pressure thingy when I told her that it worked best. The Neurologist was pleased. We threw around the possibility of taking another bit off the Vimpat or the Onfi, but I said no. I don't really want to rock the boat or murder a murder. I feel feeble right now. I told The Neurologist about my dizzy spells, how when I lie down the room spins, the inside of my head churns and the world tilts. I didn't tell her that I'd looked up my symptoms on the interwebs, had ruled out stroke and ruled in benign paroxysmal positional vertigo. She suggested that I had benign paroxysmal positional vertigo. There's a crystal that's become unlodged and it's floating around inside my ear and tricking my brain. I'd think it was cool if I wasn't so unmoored. I don't need to rock the boat. The Neurologist confirmed the Epley maneuver treatment for it or just throw yourself on your bed on your side, she said. I love that. I'm thinking of crows, how they dash those nuts to the ground, shatter the shells and pick out the meat.

This is my message to you, oou oou. Don't worry --

about






thing.

16 comments:

  1. Oh no, as if you needed anything else to contend with. BPPV sucks, I've had it for a decade now. It comes and goes and when it's flaring I know not to look down without holding on to someone or something. I had my physical therapist for my neck do the maneuver and it worked for a while. There's no rhyme or reason to what invites it to come or go, just another shitty little gift in our lives. Hope yours is more transient than mine and moves along and never comes back. I'll have to try throwing myself onto the bed next time it flares up.

    I'm not a fan of crows either. They spook me.

    Wishing you some easier, dizzy free days...


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  2. "For all I know, they keep the world spinning."
    Or perhaps it is mosquitoes. Still. That which pesters us pesters us.
    And perhaps- it is YOU who keeps the world spinning, even as the world spins around you.

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  3. I'm sighing and staring and searching for the right words. But there are no right words. There are none. Know I care. Just know that dear Elizabeth.

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  4. Oh, I'm sorry. That dizziness must be the worst. And you surely don't need that. I too hate crows. I'm listening.

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  5. I have to say, when I look back at the years of school and summer school, I truly don't know how I survived. I am sooooo glad it's done. Rushing, seizing, vomiting, bus pulling up, shovel the snow, push the wheelchair, go back in and wait for the school to call and have me come pick Scott up early due to seizing, sneezing, vomiting, or just a really big poo they couldn't handle with all their other students' needs. It was insane. Now my days are easier, almost heavenly. I hope you find some peace when Sophie's school winds down. Maybe your little mommy brain is just darned worned out and spinning spinning!!! On another note, I was doing some nursing CEU studies today and came across one for "titrating AED's". It was sickening, all the side effects and horror stories. Again, looking back, I don't know how I ever got through that. What a blessing cannabis is.

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  6. I love crows, well, I really, really like them. I think they're the outlaws of the bird world, the bad boys. They kind of get to know you and you can have a real relationship with them, if you're tolerant of bad boys.
    I hate ! being dizzy. It always makes me want to throw up.

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  7. Crows often seem to have darker associations. There's a reason they're called a murder, right?

    Sorry about the vertigo! Ugh!

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  8. I feel the same way about crows, and people "assuring me otherwise."

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  9. Well, I do love crows. I have crow knickknacks and several books on them. They used to freak me out but don't anymore.

    My brother gets that vertigo thing. It got so bad that he had to stop working but it got better. I spoke to my dad last week and apparently it's back. I hope yours goes away soon and doesn't come back.

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  10. For those who like crows: https://corvidresearch.wordpress.com/

    I'm sorry that you don't, Elizabeth

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  11. ...cause ev'ry little ting gonna be alright.

    Bob says so. Sorry to hear about the vertigo. I'm intrigued by the cure.

    I hope a summer plan for Sophie materializes. This is not a matter of good enough; this is a matter of sanity. I definitely needed my crew out the house on a regular basis come summer.

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  12. I love crows, although I would not love them living outside my bedroom window. They are a noisy lot. The Epley maneuver works well for me. I get really bad vertigo, bouncing off walls, walking like a drunk.

    I hope you are able to get Sophie into a summer program. Sending hugs.

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  13. Dizziness is horrible - I hope that stops for you soon - I'm feeling queasy just thinking about it

    I've grown to respect crows. I like to see them march around in their black suits cleaning up our trash.

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  14. I'm a crow lady, I love their 'tude! I'm sorry about your vertigo, don't know much about that but it sounds like it sucks. My heart plumped while I read this post, feeling with your feeling and smiling at the crows throughout... warm tears and gratitude for you, friend :o) I hope the summer program happens soon!

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  15. Tibetans think highly of crows. Vertigo is such an incapacitating misery – may yours never come back again. It's good to hear the funky version of the Epley might suffice.

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  16. i don't like what i'm reading here, Elizabeth - are you taking of yourself despite and in spire of everything else?

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