Managing the Depression: "Cope, Don't Hope. And Expect the Unexpected."

I don't know why I don't write more.  Plenty of people have said that I should write or think I have "writer" written all over me.  Maybe I do, maybe I don't.

Last night, I finished watching the documentary flick "Far Out Isn't Far Enough: The Tomi Ungerer Story."  If you have Netflix, I highly recommend it.

Ungerer had quite a traumatic childhood in Alsace, between France and Germany, in the early 40s, in the middle of Nazi influence and propaganda.  I'm not going to go into to much detail about his life because it's well covered by the film and don't want to spoil it.

Basically, Ungerer learned to survive and make his way through life by drawing, but making a place where he could lose himself in the trance of creativity, to "get it out," expurgate.  He didn't just survive. He became one of the best children's book illustrators ever known.

This is what I'd like writing to be for me.  Why I don't write more, I don't know.  I really don't know.  Yes, I have a wife and two kids now, a home to take care of, odd jobs to do to pay bills and so on.  Those aren't the reasons why I don't write more.  Maybe I need to do less Facebook posting and Twittering and more blogging.  Probably.

But I think the real reason is fairly simple: depression.  Those familiar with bipolar or severe depression know what I'm talking about.  Depression stifles activity, creativity, and deadens response to the world outside us.  It causes long, blank stares into space at the dinner table.  It despairs.  It sucks.

So when Ungerer said "Cope, don't hope. And expect the unexpected," it gave me a little spark, a boost, another way of looking at depression.

Being raised a Baptist, it felt like I wasn't allowed to merely cope, but instead had to go through life as if in a parade akin to the last scene of "The Music Man."  That everything works out in the end, God takes care of us so DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT!!!!, bang your drum, SMILE!!!, and so on.

There are plenty of folks who cherish this outlook on life.  I see and meet them all the time: in person, on Facebook and Twitter, in the newspaper, and on TV.  Now don't get me wrong, if this helps them with their life, work, and relations, I'm all for it. If it ain't broke...

But me?  I'm FUBAR.  Don't be misled by what you see on the surface.  Bipolar is a monster, a menace, and downright horrible.  I wish it on no one.  Last summer I (unexpectedly) had to go into a psych hospital for a couple nights, chill out, make sure my meds were straightened out, and that I didn't pose a threat to myself or others.  I'm very grateful for my understanding and loving family and friends for helping me through another crisis.

I wish I could be more predictable and consistent in my moods.  I wish I could control them more. But I can't.  I can only "cope."

And "expect the unexpected."

And that's okay.

Thank, Tomi.

It's the write time again.

Yep. Still here.

Memoir (part 3)

It's just too painful.  Still.

(Sigh)

I need more sleep.

More time.

More rest.

I'll be back.

Memoir, part 2

It took about two weeks for me to start "coming down" from the mania.  Lithium was given to me first, but not effective.  Depakote was next and eventually it worked.  How did my family know I was returning from the madness?  Easy.  There was a basketball court outside.  I was given a ball and instantly went for the hoop, making a layup.  My cognition was obviously returning because of this recognition.  Even though I was a little off-balance because of the meds, I knew what was going on.  It makes a lot of sense to have the basketball court be where we find out if I'm okay or not.  Ever since I was 7, I lived and breathed basketball.  My friends and I did slam dunk contests at our birthday parties, trying to do Dominique Wilkins and Michael Jordan-style dunks on the adjustable hoops.  Sure, I was good at schoolwork, but my passion was basketball. Basketball, basketball, basketball, basketball, and basketball.  And then some more basketball.  What I loved about the game was how non-verbal it was, how body language spoke volumes about passion, desire and love of the game, in all its aspects: shooting, rebounding, stealing, defensive positions, passing, and dribbling.

I'm pleased to report that the learning curve associated with a cochlear implant is pretty much complete and that I have adjusted wonderfully!

Memoir

Call me P.J.

I sing of mania and madness.

To tell the tale is hard.

(But it is funny. Much of humor has the seed of trauma.)

______________________________________________

I had my own special cell. I didn’t know that my door could be opened to go to the bathroom in the adjoining room. I assumed it was locked. So I just pooped in the corner.

Doc: “Don’t poop in the corner.”

I wanted out. I thought there might be a secret code inherent in the building infrastructure. If I could figure it out, I’d be free. The only thing in my room was a metal bed bolted to the floor. I pushed all the bolts, hoping one of them would be a button and Presto! the walls would fall down and I could run free.

I took off the mattress cover and noticed that it was half pink and half blue. Weird, I thought. I saw the mattress was pink side up. “Maybe if I put it blue side up (since I’m a boy and boys like blue) and then laid down on it, the ceiling would open and I would float up, up and away, like in James and the Giant Peach.”

No luck.

Next, I took the mattress off the bed and saw it kind of looked like a giant keyboard: metals slats fused to the frame. Maybe I need to play a melody that would open a secret door in the room and I could jump into the door down a slide that led outside. Oh, how I wanted to be outside in the fresh, clean Northwest air!

I decided to see if I could lift one of the metal slats. I could! And as it dropped back to its original position, it made a huge gong-ing sound, one I could hear even without my hearing aids. It was beautiful and loud and felt so good vibrating on my feet. I felt absolutely certain this must be the way out.

I proceeded to play a scale, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and was about to try Heart and Soul when a doctor and nurse came in and said:

“Do you understand people are trying to sleep around here?”

I just gave him a blank look. I was devastated. I thought for sure I had found an escape. Why would there be a bed with such musical capability in a psych ward?

I was born in Eureka, California on January 30, 1978. In Humboldt County: home of very tall trees and some stinky small ones.

My dad came into my cell.

Dad: “P.J., do you know why you’re in here?” His face looked as one in sheer terror and bewilderment. Obviously, he didn’t know how or why the hell I was in there either.

Me: “No.”

Dad: “Do you know how much your mother loves you?” I sensed my mom was in incredible pain and confusion, as we all were. I just gave him a blank look. A lot of my responses to questions were like that at the time. The questions didn’t really register at the time. My mind too busy trying to figure things out, like how to get the fuck outta there! I’ve got to show the world my secret! I’m on a mission from God! (Just needed a tux ala Blues Brothers). “P.J., the doctor told me you pooped in the corner over there. Don’t do that.” He proceeded to give me a list of things to do (absolutely the last thing on earth to tell someone in the clutches of extreme mania): “Number One! Don’t poop in the corner! Number Two! Cooperate with the doctors and nurses! Number Three! Take all your medicine! Number Four! Eat! Number Five! Communicate! Number Six! Be a nice guy!”

Um, okay, Dad.

Later, my dad told me of this dream he had while I was in the ward. He had rounded up all the badass Ramey cousin boys -- John, Scott, Paul, Brian, Wade, Willie and my older brother Josh. Loaded them up with Rambo-style gear and they went blitzkrieg on my psych ward: they were going to get me out, come hell or highwater. The SEALS operation that got Osama had nothing on what these guys accomplished!

I smiled.

I could totally see that. My cousins and I used to play KUSA together when we were little: Kids United States Army. We made index cards with our rank and name on it. You were either the commander-in-chief or a private. We took turns being Top Dog and Bottom Dog. We made obstacle courses in the backyard and used Lazer Tag guns. Later, when I was older and Josh moved on to other things like playing drums and studying books, I recruited our neighbor Aaron into KUSA. Later, Aaron went on to fight as a US soldier in the Middle East. He was part of a group that operated spy drones. I like to think it’s all my fault. He came back from that and wondered WTF we were doing over there.

More soon...

I can hear better but...

...90% of communication is nonverbal.

I can hear better but...

listening is not the same as hearing.

I can hear better but...

I still adore quiet.

I can hear better but...

I love to talk, too.

I can hear better but...

I still hate talking on the phone.

I can hear better but...

I'm still me.

Today I started wearing both hearing aid and coclear implant.

I am on the brink of tears.

I am so happy.

It's like seeing a lost sibling you haven't seen in a long while.

When I put my hearing aid on in my left air this morning and heard my kids voices and then Ivy singing, it pierced me. Waves of remembrance went through me as my body seemed to say... oh yes, this is how we used to hear for 30 years.

But now it is even better WITH the implant.

I am kind of at a loss for words right now as I just want to go experience this but thought I'd get rejoice by getting the word out.

Besides, I got to take Ivy to school!

More later on this next chapter in my journey.

Love,

P.J.

I know, I know. It's been a while...

...but hey, guess what?

It's a new post about my cochlear implant journey!

Recently I tried using the "regular" batteries (they are these German-made high-powered batteries... doesn't it seem like the best industrial stuff tend to be German? anyways...) instead of the lithium rechargeable ones I'd been using from the beginning, and I noticed a huge difference in the quality of sound. It had some kind of fuller sound (kind of like the ol' hearing aids I had) but with the clarity and precision that comes with the implant processing technology.

The point is: I like these batteries much better. Granted, they cost money as opposed to the rechargeables, but they are worth the difference any day.

So I really love my implant and the new world it has opened up to me. It's gotten to where I'm at the lowest sensitivity and volume settings because my brain is picking up speed and things are looking up.

I'm back in school, training to be a Pharmacy Technician, and the classroom has been a great arena to test out the new implant. I especially love my computer literacy class, where you have to listen to instructions while looking at your computer screen. It's a great test of the implant, and (for the most part), I don't have to look at Ms. Foenele's lips to find what she was or is saying.

So, for all of you who helped me get the implant, whether through donations or prayers, thanks again, and look for another post in the near future.

Happy Fall,

P.J.

Vive le technology!

My friend and priest, Liz Armstrong, was right: the "mapping" or programming of the cochlear implant processor is what makes the magic happen!

I didn't realize how significant this programming was until yesterday's re-mapping session in Oklahoma. Now that I can compare this new mapping with the older, primary one, I can truly say that progress has been made and boy, oh boy, what a leap!

I can only imagine what it will be like after a year of mapping! My next mapping will be in three months.

This is scary cool. Now I know why everybody kept saying, "just wait, peej, just wait!"

Love from Sacramento,

P.J.

p.s. during the audiology testing yesterday, my sentence recognition (with cues) was 82%!

Out of curiosity...

I put my left hearing aid tonight on just to see how it sounded (for those who don't know, I will eventually wear both my left H.A. and cochlear implant device on right; for now, i only wear the new device).

It was really weird.

When I walked into the kitchen, I bumped into the stove because I felt pulled left. My balance as being thrown a bit!

From the hearing aid ear I instantly remembered what hearing was like with them: the lower pitches sounding louder, creating a "fuller" sound but significantly less sound discrimination than with my implant.

I definitely prefer the newer sound via the cochlear implant. Lots of details, intricate and complex sounds, a more dynamic range of pitch (all being equal and "in play"), and it's only getting better as my brain gets more comfortable.

My kids, Ivy and Jonathan, have unique and wonderful voices and laughs, and I absolutely love listening to them!

So it will be interesting to wear the implant device and the hearing aid together. That won't happen for at least another couple months, though. This is to give the brain a chance to adjust to life with the implant.

Hope you're all having a good summer.

-pj

Before and After: Audiology exam

The first test shows my hearing "au naturale." I only start to hear sounds around 70 decibels and need up t0 115 dbs for the higher pitch sounds. This is considered severe-to-profound deafness.

Now, the second test, done with my new thing-a-ma-jig, I am hearing sounds at whatever pitch at around 20 dbs. This is what is considered "normal" hearing range.

I know! Pretty awesome.

Now my brain is processing all the new sounds and taking an inventory. As the brain gets used to the new world, it will set up neurotransmitter highways for these sounds that will make it easier, over time, to recognize them. This is why right now it's not exactly hearing heaven yet.

Speech discrimination will slowly but surely get better and better.

Since I'm in Oklahoma: "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

WOAH. WOAH. WOAH.

Did someone put the Chipmunks on?

Man, plastic stuff is LOUD. Gross.

Ok, y'all, get ready for some daily postings now that I am officially hooked up!

And wait until you see my audiology test from today... did i really do dat?

It's all kind of overwhelming... in a really good way.

This is my kind of Independence Day Weekend.

Thanks from the bottom of my heart to everybody for the support!

First follow-up appointment: looking good.

I went to see Dr. Kopke this morning and he was pleased with the state of the wound/stitches.  20 stitches, by the way, in case you're counting.  It felt so good to scratch my head and hair for a little bit until he put the new dressing on.  

Been feeling a little on the weak side today; not quite able to eat as much as I usually do.  Food stays down no problem, just can't handle more than half a plate of food every 4-6 hours or so. Dad and I found a smoothie shop this morning and that hit the spot.

Glad to have the NBA Finals on tonight as a distraction.  Go Magic!  I'm from Sacramento so I can't root for LA.  Besides, LA has won enough championships.

My right ear: so THIS is total deafness.

Right now I'm getting used to zero hearing in my right ear, the ear with the implant.  It's kind of a shock, because I can't hear anything out of my right ear, absolutely nothing.  

Surgery successful!

Thanks for all the prayers and support!  Went into surgery at 7:30 this morning in Oklahoma City... four hours later, I'm well on my way to Bionic Man-hood.  Doesn't feel too bad, but not going to go play basketball today, I don't think.  :)  

Things that don't require hearing.

1. Hugs (especially from Ivy - good hugger!)

2. My wife's smile.

3. Watching my nine-month old son, Jonathan, sleep.

4. Babette the beagle jumping on me as if I'm the prodigal son.

5. Candles.

6. Riding my bicycle (although I should hear what I can, for safety's sake).

7. Trees growing.

8. Mom and Dad's loving smile... and smiles at the grandkids!

9. Eating delicious food.

10. Reading.

What is exactly involved in the surgery?

Here is a good link with a brief sketch of the cochlear implant surgery (you'll have to cut and paste the links into your URL, sorry):

http://deafness.about.com/od/basicsofcochlearimplants/a/cisurgery.htm

Also a video:

http://video.about.com/deafness/Cochlear-Implants.htm

I am getting excited about this...

Over half of surgery costs already raised!

We have already received more than half of the $31,000 needed for the cochlear implant surgery! As of today, we've collected $17,075 from people from as far away as Florida and Eastern Oregon. It's amazing, even in this uncertain financial climate, how people seem to find a way to keep on giving: with their time at a shelter, or money for a cause, or even something as simple as deciding to say "hi"to a stranger on the street. Maybe there is good news out there, if we choose to look for it.

Thank you for your support!

Love,

P.J.

Some things don't need to be heard to be enjoyed...

I was having Mexican food at Sal's in West Sacramento with my family on Tuesday evening when this amazing rainbow appeared. We all rushed outside and enjoyed its beauty... with a few moments of admiring silence. In this cacophonous world we live in, its nice to know we can still be interrupted by things like rainbows into a kind a stupefied "Wow."