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feeling low because my BP is so high

November 18, 2011

229/123, to be exact. It’s been that elevated all day. It causes me to feel like shit – my CPS flares up, I get a headache, my left eye gets blurry, and the left side of my lip – where I first felt the tingle of my stroke – returns with a vengeance. It’s as if an old wound is being ripped open.The pressure inside my left ear

The worst part, though, is the morbid despair that comes over me, a sense of fatalism and doom. It’s at times like this that I get so, so scared. I’m scared all the time, especially about our finances.But it’s when I physically feel this way that I realize how fragile my life truly is.

That morbid sense makes me believe that I probably should die. I can’t support myself. Jack can’t support me. I am no help to him, to Jake, to any of them. Jan says I should stay alive: “Who will I talk to when I have my next cancer scare?” But she has plenty of people that she’s close to. I am a failure at everything I’ve done. I’ve made big plans but have never followed through on them. My writing empties out into a void; no one reads it. The thing I loved to do most in the world – public speaking – is the very last thing I do. I sit alone in a cluttered house in front of my computer all day, making plans for activities I never complete. Now my health precludes me from even doing the few things that might still be of use to myself and to others. I see so clearly the work that needs to be done to make CPS a generally recognized and researched disease, but my own CPS stops me from following through on the tasks that need to be done.

My blood pressure is so high that I might simply pop another stroke and sign off at any moment. I can’t go back to the hospital; they can do nothing to find out what is really wrong with me. They can only get me through an  immediate crisis and send me home, all at the cost of tens of thousands of dollars we cannot afford. I will not do it yet again.

If I die, chalk me up as yet one more of the thousands who do so every year because of our for-profit health care system. Whatever is wrong with me could be treated, quite possibly, if I had the money. My friend Meg died of breast cancer only two months ago at age 56, died because she had no insurance and hadn’t been able to afford the mammograms. She went without them for ten years; by the time she could feel the tumor, it had metastasized to her liver. I haven’t had a mammogram for six years, at least. But even if I did have one, what could be done if a tumor was found? Without insurance, there would be no treatment.

221/175 when Jack came home; now 203/128 after lying down for 30 minutes. It still feels like shit – but at least it’s heading down. But should it? If I cannot do anything of importance, just take loads of prescriptions and read while all around me disintegrates, then what is the point of my life?

Yes, the high blood pressure gives me morbid heebie-jeebies.

What does my life really matter, after all? There will be so many Americans suffering and dying in this new world that the rise of the Plutocracy is creating.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Jill permalink
    November 18, 2011 10:42 PM

    YOU ARE IMPORTANT and I am reading and learning from YOU!!! You may not think that what you are feeling and suffering through is worth it, BUT what you are saying and describing so eloquently, is incredibly relevant and filled with truth. Others are out there fighting for you and the tens of thousands without insurance who suffer as well. You don’t need to walk among OWS because your words soar above their mission. Keep writing and know that the collection of essays you generate speak for all the suffering the world endures. Allow yourself the tears because you have earned them. Don’t give up because so many need to hear what you have to say. I love you and I love your brain even more!

    Your friend,

    • November 19, 2011 12:19 PM

      Jill, you have no idea how much this comment means to me. When I write on blogs, either my own or someone else’s, or even comments ofn news article, the responses are what keep me going – literally (in both senses of the word.) CPS makes even the most gregarious and garruous of us into housebound soloists. I miss the daily interaction with other people so much!

      I guess this would be a good topic for a blog entry – the isolation that all of us CPSers endure, and usually very unwillingly.

      But you have made a *huge* difference in my outlook and resolve by saying this to me. THANK YOU!

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