I feel like I kind of have to make things right after my last post.  You know, the butchering turkeys and my little, oh shall we say, Guydog confession?  I like turkeys.  They were a lot of fun.  The butchering part was maybe part of my not-so-far past ancestral DNA and part of my like of "Annie Get Your Gun" theater.  But it is all well and good if you need to do it to eat, or if it is all theatrical, but not so much back yard material. 

I do like dogs.  I even liked Guydog at times.  But there were times you could look in his eyes and catch him in bad behaviors and you just knew he was smarter than you and was kind of - especially enjoying - yanking your chain because he realized some power in our household - he was dearly loved by the son.

Our son was extra good at hurdles in track a couple of years and we thought he owed that all to chasing down Guydog every time the door was opened more than an inch.  He had the best of lives in our home, sleeping on a pillow in a bed every night, and yet he could never get that "hunt-fever" out of his blood, and any time the door opened a splinter, he would slide through, and before you knew it he was almost to the road looking back at you with his tongue out laughing.  He only had three good legs, but he could run. 

He was also sweet at times, and dear to my son, so for that he holds a warm place in my heart. 

I wrote that all at 3am this morning.  I was a bit grumpy, and still am, and yesterday was like Hiroshima exploded in my head and in my mind, and I just spent the day trying to keep it mostly inside.  I was trying hard not to go all nuclear on someone else, but it was difficult.  

I didn't have a good nurse experience yesterday.  She was a "floater".  Sometimes floaters are the best nurses in the house and because of that they can choose a schedule and float where needed.  Sometimes, I suspect, floaters are 'floating' because no one really knows where to place them and keep them moving.

I got the latter. 

I think in at least 86 places in my chart it is noted I do not do well with steroids.  It is noted to give my whole measly little 6mg of steroid over a 10 - 12 minute time frame to allow my body to accept it better, deal with it better.  And, let's be honest, also to make me not want to stealthily plan ways to kill the person who cannot do that.

Steroids do that to me.  

The nurses I have had there have all understood that.  They do it every day and realize that some react in that manner and the best way to help is to deliver it slowly.  It does help tremendously.  It makes the difference between me leaving able to smile, or like yesterday, me just clamping my mouth shut tight so I do not say anything that I will have to apologize for later.

I felt meaner than sin.  My head felt worse.

I told her that it helps when it is given slowly.  I time them all - because I have learned that helps me to gauge my reaction later.  She gave it to me in less than 3 minutes.  I kind of thought then it was not going to go well, and it was even worse.  I finally fell asleep this morning at 5am, and only slept for over an hour.  That, with a couple of doses of sleep meds.

When this all happens, it also usually means I am going to have a hard withdrawal, and I think I will have to call on all the forces in heaven to forgive her sometime within the next 12 hours.

Realizing the effect that steroids has over me, has given me a lot of time to think on those that have little or no control over their thinking abilities.  Those that are schizophrenic, those that are bi-polar; those that have ADHD or autism; those with turrets syndrome.  Those with depression, anxiety, phobias.

I have always sympathized.  But now I emphasize.  I cannot deal with it when "something" controls me for a few days - how painful and hurtful and demoralizing it must be to deal with that for - life? 

So as I am laying awake last night, I am praying for those that hurt in their heads and in their minds for long, long times.   At least as long as my mind is thinking.  Mostly it is just dark and lurky and muddy and mean.  

Is this what criminals feel like?  Has something turned in their brain to make them meaner than sin on steroids?  Do years of hurt and regrets and pain make one shrink their soul and not be able to feel God's smile on them?

I don't know.  I do know the little computer beside me went clear through the book of Mark a couple of times last night and I heard Jesus delivering souls from demons, and I wonder if demons especially lurk about those that lose parts of their minds to whatever it is that takes it. 

So, maybe I am learning a lot of life lessons that I kind of knew and sympathized with, but now I know on a deeper level.  And I think they need prayer more than I ever did before.

And I probably really should not come downstairs and type while on steroids.  The stories can be grisly....