"She said Americans were too PC to search a man in a wheelchair."-- Stephen Schnetzer
Carrie Fisher's timely medical crisis not only points to a certain coldness in your narrator. It has an interesting parallel to her own mother's death, which may have involved psycho-tropic interaction. The same sort of fatal interaction killed a woman of similar condition who used to live here, briefly my client. She also had cerebral palsy, was 24, and made my problems with anxiety seem pedestrian by contrast. If the door rattled, she was frightened, Cheryl Ward, and she died, probably much like my mother, because practitioners don't know what they are doing. The fabled ambulatory practice at Jefferson,which spastic regrets, equally admitted as much, hence my relative impatience with arrogant asses like Krugman when they pontificate on the percentile at which the US is already in the stranglehold of socialized medicine. The last time spastic listened to anything Paul had to say, the figure he used, lumping the VA and Medicare together, was 60%. I cannot argue with economists on their damn metrics; if we threw them in a jar and let them kill each other, much as has been suggested of poets, we'd all be better off. Ryan has to speak this way, of course, as one day he may become emperor of the last empire, smoldering like a charred forest fire, because policy sometimes runs afoul of individual variance. Joanne Cristinizani was neither as compliant nor as healthy, though less mentally ill, less affluent, than the actress--but the parallel between their cases illustrates physicians over reliance on medication, as opposed to behavior modification. Fisher had a rather optimistic fealty to medical model mitigation of her delusions; the problem with that is cocktails build up tolerance, the body changes, the script ceases to have the same potent effect. She also liked ECT. but might not electroconvulsive therapy, however tame it is, contemporaneously, in comparison to what we saw Nicholson act out in his Cuckoo cult classic, make the aging body more vulnerable?
I am a skeptic of western medical models, as they never did me any favors, but I do not want this skepticism to be misleading. I have seen some really tragically fucked up mental health clients in my day, and they would be eating feces without anti-psychotics, much like drug addicts in Portland Oregon correctional detention centers, but I am poking holes in our complacency towards pharmaceutical miracles, especially when physicians are tone deaf to succinct individual circumstance. The cookie cutter syndrome. I am not the first journalist to highlight it.
Addiction is a predisposition of our complex mammalian biology, but under this large umbrella, the cookie cutter syndrome leaves a certain minority of patients with addictive propensities swinging in the wind; if we stopped putting labels on it (no, it is not a disease, but can destroy brain activity that presupposes empathy and the like) and decriminalized narcotics, we'd solve a lot of problems, shrink incorporating prisons, which would be a good thing.
Note to twitter: I am going to cease following accounts that block me due to this blog, especially when I've done naught to proud union plumbers to deserve it. I push lines. I admit that, and I cannot forgive the disabled community of my generation for hanging me out to dry, and I hate Riverside, hate it, so a Democrat who believes in unions, leaping first, asking questions later, blocks me because of what? Intensity? Blocking is a forming of scolding. I don't do it often. All he and others ha to do was unfollow. I feel like I'm being punished for being inclusive, when I normally wouldn't, and this will remain an issue, although I just gave "in" to the latest six accounts.
I hate what Riverside has done to me despite the episodic violence of my other building. In 94, when my father dumped me here, cursing, I was 31 years old, I think. That is a long time to be ostracized and afraid of vicious seniors. My career was destroyed, and the shit I've gone through would make Hustler rich if they had the nerve for a graphic memoir. I'm trapped, and I'm rolling out of here in a battered power chair this summer come hell or high water, and if Google wants to suspend me, fine, but I'm hanging by a thread, and so intend to push. My entire damn life in this city has been a frayed twine since I got here. It is the holiday, and I haven't seen most of my family sine 05. Poppa stopped by with his ineffectual dismay in 07. All I have to show for everything is eleven dollars in the bank. Blocking me for bad tude when I'm not trolling users is disingenuous, and it irritates me especially when I hold abandonment by newcomers in abeyance.
Don't read me. You don't have to, but I refuse to be a pariah of leftist do gooders, capiscimi? My candle burns lower, but fiercer for it.
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