It’s Taken Me 50 Years to Understand
Friday September 22, 2006
I have just found the body of your work by accident, if there is such a thing. The healing process for me will have to be some kind of examination of the past. Through a process of self examination and review of past events I’ve started writing a book about the early trauma that has shaped my life. As the oldest of four brothers I’d taken on an enormous burden as leader of the pack, resulting in quite serious consequences. Now being placed in a most precarious position with life’s challenges.
Just having turned 50 it is imperative that I complete this work prior to my mothers passing. She is afraid to talk with me she cannot stand to hear the truth or acknowledge I’d had no choice in any of her decisions. Recalling the past events I had found myself emotionally drained and went to the Emergency Room just prior to my 50th August 27th 2006.
While recalling some of these traumatic events, I’d made the mistake of telling the young ER physician, I’m compelled to complete my work of writing this book. I had felt kind of like Richard Dryfuss, in the Spielberg movie “Close Encounters Of the Third Kind” Where the main character was building a pile of shit in the kitchen that nobody wants to eat. That pile of crap has some significance to me, I believe Dryfuss was recreating am image of Devils Rock.
I’d gone to the ER stating I’d been unable to sleep very well. The admitting nurse asked how long I said about seven days. She writes on my chart No Sleep 7 Days, I’m taken to the ER treatment room the young Dr. comes in asking what’s going on? I ask him if he’s ever had a dream come true? He say’s never! I ask him if he’s ever had a prompting in a dream state, you know something like what Women often describe as, “Women’s Intuition?” Just prior to discovering that their husband is having an affair! He say’s, No never.
I explained to him, you may not understand what’s going on, further you may not be in a position to help me! I tell him about a beating and robbery I’d experienced a few years back, the perpetrator being my youngest brother. I had been seeing counselor thought the victims of violent crime program, she’d tried to help with Posttraumatic Stress Disorder resulting from that beating and attempted murder. Within minutes Lo and behold the young doctor say’s you sound Bi-Polar. I protest, saying I had six broken rib’s, a Titanium orbital socket replacement, 24 staples to the back of my head from being pistol whipped with my own gun, over $70,000.00 in medical bill’s destroying my credit rating, friends employers who don’t want me near their offices because my brother might show up. Knowing they’d seen what he was capable of I really couldn’t blame them. That doctor had instantly translated dreams and promptings to hallucination and talking to people who weren’t there. I couldn’t believe his audacity.
I’d just heard my brothers been released from prison in our City of Reno, Nevada. That didn’t frighten me as much as it just made me angry. After the trial I’d found my mother had hid him out in Utah where he’d committed a similar crime on someone else? From the Detective in my case against my brother, I’d learned mother disposed of my wife’s Pistol and had and helped my brother to receive a light sentence of only 18 Months. During his incarceration my grandmother on moms side passed. I loved her very much, my second brother wife and I had been excluded from the funeral or, even knowing of her passing. All those details added up, I found myself tearful and crying. What a mistake telling these things to a medical doctor.
He turns to me and Say’s Dude you got Bi-Polar as he walks out of the room. The next thing I know, a guy comes in saying he’s from the Psychiatry department. I tell him the doctor didn’t hear a thing I’d just told him, I felt he was going in the wrong direction, I should have listened to my intuition! I was weak and sleep deprived. The Psychiatry guy proceeded asking questions and filling out paperwork. This following, A CT Scan, Blood Tests, Urine screen, there sitting with my wife, this guy hands me his card saying he’s got good news! He can’t recommend an involuntary hold be placed on me, no judge would uphold it! Thinking to myself, No-shit Sherlock. If I were suicidal I’d not have come there in the first place? On his card he’s only an RN M.S. from the alert team. I’m asking what the hell is going on here, can’t over rule the diagnosis of the young doctor or prescribe anything for me. He’s going to stick with that Bi-Polar bullshit, I’m not going for social security disability or defending myself from some criminal action! Please help me! Oh, don’t worry he say’s.
Lo and behold, the young doctor won’t come back to the room. His nurse hands me a work sheet on Bi-polar disorder and a prescription for Ambien. This medication is unfamiliar to me. My wife had taken the prescription to be filled at the Longs drug. I’d insisted we drive home to get my work sheet on Posttraumatic stress along with a card from the therapist I’d been seeing. I’d then insisted we run back to the hospital and request the doctor change his diagnosis, informing the admissions nurse that one of two things are wrong. I had been in treatment all along for the wrong thing or that the young Dr. has a mysterious talent comparable of that of Sylvia Brown’s, in only three minutes coming up with Bi-polar diagnosis. The admission nurse being indignant say’s, look now! No the Dr. won’t talk with you! You came in saying you couldn’t sleep we gave you something, go away. I asked her to take copies of the card and Posttraumatic work sheet and place it in my permanent record. She made copies however later I’d discover no such entry into that record. I’d tried to explain I had sleep apnea and other factors of reading the cautions on Ambien, I wouldn’t give it to my neighbors barking dog, let alone take it myself. She insisted we go away.
The next day I proceed to contact all the administrator’s and public information officers advising not to allow a Bi-polar diagnosis be placed anywhere in my file or sent to the insurance carrier. The Bi-polar is a lifelong thing that can never be cured requiring medication and treatment. A posttraumatic disorder might carry somewhat less of a stigma and possibly disappear altogether. I’m now in the process of fighting that battle, it’s taken me time away from my writing and diverted my attention temporarily. I certain you can agree that this incorrect diagnosis carries major complications as it’s now in a permanent record. Wish me luck! If you might have any advice or time to talk I’d appreciate any help or direction with a publisher or editor I have some sample writing. People find it easier to blame the victim or tag some label, asking why don’t you just move on and forget about It? I ask, No it’s my life, anything I can do to shine the light on the disgraces of child abuse should be everyone’s business. If you have a moment, my number is 775-354-5817 I’m going to buy you books later today.
Sincerely, R. H.
AM: Thanks for your much-telling examples. I think that my last book “The Boy Never Lies” and the articles should give you the answers you are looking for. If you want to look for a therapist who could accompany you in your search of your childhood, read the FAQ- List on this Website (on the top of the “Articles”).