The Fleas made me do it, and other things that don't hold up in court.

I started writing a post a couple of days ago, but I just wasn't really getting into the spirit of the whole thing.  My brain felt dull.  And I now I know why.  There was obviously something else that I wanted to write about more.  Or as it turned out, some experience that would hit closer to home.  Here are some hints:

They're fun and funny.  They're inopportune and hysterical.  You can always put your hand right through them.  That's right everybody!  HALLUCINATIONS!!!

Lyme does funny things inside my brain.  Somedays it seems like I can feel each little lyme bug sitting on some important part of my brain, and when they dance around, crazy sh*t happens.  Sometimes it's losing control of my bladder (I do promise this story is coming), sometimes it's rage that happens like a sneeze, and sometimes it's hallucinations.

There are two different kinds of hallucinations that I get.  The first I like to call "disapparation".  Yes, just like in Harry Potter.  I'll see something, and it will look like something else for a moment, and then I'll see what it originally was, but this is always an object looking like something else.  It is based on something that is there.  So, a trash can on the side of the road could look like an old man, or a shadow could look like a cat, or a pillow could look like a Westie.  It's pretty endless.

And when I start getting the first kind, I know the second isn't far behind.

The second kind is good ol' fashioned crazy a** hallucinations.  Some of my most memorable:

The giant flea.
Spiders, spiders everywhere!
More fleas.
The floor is a maze of mice.
Why are there birds in the living room?
I don't have a black cat, please stop rubbing up against my leg.
Do you see a hair there?
Why is the giant flea back?
Giant blue swallows keep flying at my head every time I walk outside (which did prompt one of my favorite text messages from my then boyfriend: "Do not fear the reaper swallows").

Also, I have audio-hallucinations:

Why does everyone keep saying my name?
Do you hear those church bells too?
Why won't Marge stop whining?

And the best ones....smell-ucinations:

EVERYTHING SMELLS LIKE BACON!!!
Do I smell cookies?
Are those bacon cookies??

I have been graced with the ability to identify hallucinations as hallucinations either as they happen, or shortly after they start, which has been about the only grace with which I've been graced as far as hallucinations go.  That, and that they definitely aren't as scary or macabre as my nightmares (also, for another day).  But hallucinations, for the most part, play into things that I have a visceral reaction to.  For example, I hate fleas.  More than any other bug, I hate fleas with a burning, itching passion.  And so my first hallucination ever was of giant fleas on my legs.  Actually, it was pretty funny.

I was sitting in my living room reading a book.  I looked down at my leg, and there was a flea on it.  It was about half an inch long, which is pretty giant for a flea.  It wasn't moving much.  Just kind of sitting there, so I grabbed it (like you do a flea), and rubbed it between my fingers a little (like you do to kill them), and went to the sink to wash it down the drain.  And as I opened up my fingers under the stream of water, there was nothing there.  I looked everywhere for that flea.  I mean, it was pretty huge for a flea, but it wasn't to be found.  So, I sat back down, started reading my book again, and *pow*, there was another flea.  This time, I watched the flea for a while, and it didn't move.  It just sat there.  So I picked the flea up with my fingers, and then (being brilliant), I got a piece of computer paper out, and opened my fingers over the computer paper.  There was nothing there.  Which lead me to my first, unavoidable conclusion:

I have magic flea killing powers in my fingertips.  Amazing.

Concluding that conclusion one seemed highly unlikely led my to my second, less thrilling conclusion: There are no fleas here, only in my brain.

When you think about the things in your life that turn you into a six year old yelling, "Moooooooommy", you can add hallucinating giant fleas to a place pretty high up on that list.

So, the past few days, things have started to look like things they are not, and it does leave me with the feeling that I am only mostly in reality.  It's a sort of fuzzy, dull feeling in my brain, and my left eye feels funny -- like it's sticking out further than my right eye, and there's a breeze behind it.  And I know what's coming, I just don't know who it will be this time...

Nurses: Healing Angels or Satan's Mistresses?

Dr. R got a new PA a couple of years ago, Carolyn.  Every once in a while, she likes to tell me the story of how we first met.

It was 10pm on a Saturday night, and I called the answering service, because I was vomiting blood.  For the record, it wasn't the first time it had happened, and it is just a symptom of the Bartonella.  Anyway, the answering service connected me to Carolyn, who was on call for the first time of her career with Dr. R.  And I was her first call.

Me: Hello?
Carolyn: Hello, this is Carolyn.  What's going on?
Me: Well, listen, I don't want you to freak out, but I'm vomiting blood.
Carolyn: And you don't want me to freak out?
Me: Right.  I'm just calling to let you know.
Carolyn: Are you going to the hospital?
Me: Absolutely not.
Carolyn: So, you're vomiting blood and you're not going to the hospital?
Me: That's right.  The last time this happened, I went to the hospital, and they pumped my stomach.  They didn't believe that I hadn't swallowed a bottle of pills, so they shoved a tube down my throat and pumped my stomach.  I would rather die in this hotel room, than have my stomach pumped ever again.  So, no.  I'm not going.
Carolyn: I see.  So, I'm not supposed to freak out, and you're definitely not going to the hospital, and you're just calling to let me know.
Me: See?  We're going to get along fine!  Are you freaking out?
Carolyn: A little.
Me: Don't worry.  It'll be fine.

I like to call it "on the job training".  The "on the job training" for me was the notion that I could fire my health care providers.  I had always been under the impression that you did what the Doctors and Nurses told you to do, because they knew what they were doing.  Having had a very close working relationship with nurses for the past 7 years, I have grown into a different understanding.  When I have a PICC line in, I have a nurse come every week to change the dressing, and monitor my state of life (or unlife).

Here are some of the nurses that I've had:

Disney Land nurse - would sit on my couch and jabber on for hours about the wonder of Disney Land until I would fall asleep.  Eventually, I would just pretend to be asleep to get her to leave.
"I've been conned" nurse - could have retired 2 years ago, except a con man made the moves on her, and took her for everything she was worth, so now she still has to work, and is ANGRY about it.
The Nose Picker - she would sit talking to me, and put her hand up over her face, and, with the other hand would pick her nose and then eat it...like a 6 year old.
The Bare Hander - I had to tell her EVERY TIME to put on gloves.
The Ripper - the insertion site on my arm is covered with a giant tegaderm.  Picture a very large, very sticky piece of tape firmly stuck to my arm.  She would walk in, and just rip off the tegaderm.  And when I complained, she told me I was being a baby, until my arm was a raw, weepy mess.
The PICC puller - tried to change my dressing, and just kept pulling more and more of my PICC line out, until I finally yelled at her and got her to just stop.  At which point she started crying.
The Converter - wouldn't change my dressing until she had tried for 5 minutes to convert me to Mormonism.
The Chicken - would say "oh god, oh my lord, oh dear", every time she tried to change my dressing.  A clear way to instill confidence.

I now have a fabulous nurse (Terri) who knows that there are only 2 other nurses (Katie and Jolene) that I will allow to change my dressing.  I have a firm rule against strangers touching me, because I'm tired of the shenanigans.  And I'm tired of having to train nurses who come to change my dressing, because I can do it better myself with one hand, than they can with two.  I mean seriously people, you can probably learn how to do this from youtube.

Admittedly, I have become difficult with my nurses, but really, it's out of necessity.  It was the nose picker that made me draw the line.  There's only so much a girl can take.  Terri would tell you that there's only so much a nurse can take.  She trains nurses at the hospital in PICC care, and her favorite story is about some girl who forgot she had a PICC line in, and went swimming in Quaddick lake.  I have no idea to whom she is referring...