This House No Longer Feels Like Home.

Right now I’d give just about anything to be Dorothy. To have a pair of my very own ruby red slippers in which I could just click the heels of three times and I’d be where I want to be. Home.

I want to go home. Back to Nashville. I literally feel like I’m losing my mind up here and I hate it. Every day that I’m here, it just makes it that much worse. I’m tired of seeing doctors and specialists and dealing with lawyers and lawsuits and insurance companies. I just want all of it to go away. All of it. This damn accident already ruined my summer. Now it’s ruined the premiere next month in Atlanta because of this damn nerve block procedure the neurologist scheduled me for. And I’m pissed. It’s not fair. I mean, sure, there will be plenty more festivals…but I really wanted to go to this one–it being the film’s World Premiere and all. It’s kind of a big deal, you know? And now I can’t because of this. And it’s just so damn frustrating.

After this nerve block procedure though, I’m done. Whether it works or not–I’m done. I’ve already decided. I’ve had enough being poked and prodded and trying this cocktail and that cocktail of meds and CT scans and X-rays and the never-ending wringer that is the healthcare system in this country. It’s exhausting–both physically and mentally. People don’t have a clue, the doctors especially. I hate having to even go to the ER anymore because the doctors and nurses there just make me so damn angry that if I didn’t already have a splitting headache, I could just scream. It’s always the same thing. They ask me why I’m there…I explain about the accident, the PCS, the pretty much daily headaches…and so on. Then starts our little routine of my having to explain why I’m up here in NY being treated for injuries sustained in an accident that occurred in Tennessee and then onto my listing off the dozen or so different drugs I’ve been prescribed that haven’t worked. From there its blood-work and to Radiology for a CT. Then it’s back to the room and an IV. First they try Toradol. It’s always Toradol. I don’t know why they think that’s going to work–but it never does. Then the doctor comes back and writes up an order for the first cocktail of meds. You don’t know what’s in the “cocktail”, and you don’t really care. You just want the headache and the pain to go away. Sometimes it burns going in, sometimes it tingles and makes you feel weird. Sometimes it makes you sleepy. Best case scenario–it dulls the pain just enough for you to function a bit for a few hours. But a few hours is all it lasts. Then it comes back. Sometimes it doesn’t do anything. That’s when that doctor comes back in, gives you that sympathetic look, sighs, and goes, “Well, we can try a different combination of meds this time…” But at that point, you’ve had enough. You’ve already been there for 7 hours. You’re exhausted, your head is pounding because you’ve been crying because you’re desperate for the pain to stop and no one seems to have any answers, and you just want to go home. I’m sick of it. You’d think I was the only person in the history of mankind to ever get a concussion and have concussion headaches with the way these doctors are acting. I mean, come on! There has to be some tried and true remedy/cocktail of meds that has proven successful in treating concussion headaches specifically. There has to be.

Either way, I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I want to go home.



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