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Random Brain Droppings: Naegleria Fowleri

Random Brain Droppings promises to be a semi irregular series here on the blog. Mostly when my mind gets all discombobulated with disparate thoughts.

For instance, have you ever spent time doing research on WebMD? I know I have (and really I know you have, too. It’s okay, fess up–this is a safe place).

Have you heard of Naegleria Fowleri? I hadn’t until several years ago when I watched an episode of the X-Files. Which featured a “brain eating amoeba” as the creature of the week.

Which I know, thanks to WebMD, is N.fowleri. It’s an amoeba that lives in the silt found in warm water–whether lakes, rivers, or pools. If the water is dirty enough, or not properly treated, N.fowleri can be present.

Here’s the thing: I’m a sleep apnea sufferer. As such, I use a C-PAP device. It keeps my airway open while I sleep. It also causes, due to the nightly blowing of air, a recurrent sore in my left nostril.

Which on occasion almost daily bleeds. If it’s a choice between dying young of one of a host of complications caused by apnea, I’ll take “Bloody nose” for $100, Alex. It’s a small price to pay for continued life.

Because of this sore, and because I live on the Internet, I’m careful when I swim now. I plug my nose when I do cannon balls, y’all!

But not when I dive. Because I figure I’m swooshing into the water, and there’s less chance of it being forced up my nose.

What did I do on Memorial Day? I did cannon balls, I dove, I had fun with my kids.

What did I do on my last dive? I closed my eyes underwater as I serenely glided towards the shallow end.

You know where this is going.

I made full facial contact with the upward slope separating the deep from the shallow end. Blood streamed from both nostrils. And other than being, I don’t know, happy to be alive, happy to not have a broken neck. Happy to only have pool rash on my nose, what did I think about?

What thought consumed me?

Naeglaleria fowleri.

I was sure, due to the fact that it’s suitably warm here in Arizona, that mom’s pool wasn’t the cleanest is ever been, the ratio of blood to water contact, that I was going to contract N.fowleri, and those nasty little vermin were going to start munching on my grey matter.

Not withstanding that I, you know, hit my face, the fact that I had a headache afterwards only served as confirmation: I was going to die.

It was just a matter of a little time. My wife and kids were going to witness my rapid decline into coma and death.

And there was nothing anyone could do

Truth be told, my pool accident, coupled with Internet over research, fed into one of my greatest fears:

Losing my mind.

Because, you see, it may not be a great one, but it is amongst one of the few things I’ve got. I’m not musically inclined, not exceptionally coordinated.. . But I can string a sentence, or two, together from time to time.

And the thought of losing my mind freaks me right the heck out. I imagine it would you, too.

What’s something you’re afraid of? Go ahead and share. This is a safe place.

Depression: Why I Think I Might Be Depressed

'Depression' photo (c) 2008, Eddi van W. - license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/

I’m going to be honest: I don’t know how to thrive. From the outside, my upbringing was white, middle-class suburbia. From the outside, my current life is the same: white, middle-class suburbia. But on the inside, it was chaos.

It still is.

I have been in survival mode all of my life. The chaos around me–messy house, messy car–feels normal. It’s what I know.

Either that, or I don’t care. Life has been about finding that one bright, shining place. A quantum of solace, if you will. This will make me feel good. That will make me feel normal. It never works.

My sleep is worse than ever, but I still get up, go to work, do what I have to.

Continue Reading…

She Was Always There

'girl with braids' photo (c) 2008, dmarklaing - license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

She was always there. When life got hard, she was there with open arms, and a warm smile. She understood me, knew everything about me, and never turned me away.

She was always there. Down through the years, over the highways and byways, she never let me down. There was solace at her bosom, and a great warmth in her heart. To be near her was to know life.

She was always there. Oh, her visage changed over the course of years, but that was to be expected, right? No one stands immune to ravages of time… Except her. She was somehow perpetually youthful.

She was always there for me. Until it was time to be free.

Her name was not “grandma,” or “mom, ” or even “wife.”

No, her name was pornography, and she lied to me.

Even so: she never made me look. I was the mook who let himself be carried away by her Siren song.

She was always there, until I understood that she was never there at all.

Who, or what, has always been there for you? Have you sought solace in places, or things, you shouldn’t have?

An Angry Prison

Anger

Today’s post is another in our ongoing series about anger. I’m thrilled to be hosting Chris Morris (see his bio at the end of the post).

An Angry Prison

I called my pastor for the same reason most people call their pastor—my life was falling apart, and I didn’t know what to do. My daughter’s health had taken a definite turn for the worse. She has always had seizures, but they were increasing at a staggering rate, so that she’d had more in the previous week than her entire young life. Add to this, her neurologist didn’t believe I was telling the truth.

So I scheduled a sit-down with my pastor, to get some practical guidance…since I am a hothead and don’t always handle tense situations the best. I am not sure exactly what I expected, but nothing prepared me for what he said. He essentially told me my own sin was opening the door for the Devil to give my daughter seizures. I needed to repent if I hoped to see my daughter healed.

I did not repent of anything that day, though in retrospect I should have, because I was angry. My daughter’s seizures were not then and are not now my fault. I don’t have a secret sin that opens a mystical pathway for terror to enter my family’s life.

Continue Reading…

The Day I Was Fired

Today’s post is another in the ongoing series on anger, and comes to us from Larry Carter. Larry is a husband, dad, Christ follower from Tennessee. Larry’s blog is Deuceology–Deuce being his nickname (his dad, Larry is “Ace”), and “ology” representing “theology.” Thus over there you can read Larry’s take on life, faith, and a few other things. You can also follow him on Twitter @LarrytheDeuce.

—————–

'anger' photo (c) 2009, anyone123 - license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

He shook my hand, asking if I would still come to the meeting the next night? I watched him walk off my deck to his truck in stunned silence. I was slackjawed, and in a state of shock rarely experienced in my life.

I walked into the house. Jan asked me what was wrong. I think she could tell from the look on my face that something happened, something which had not had a positive effect on me. I looked at her and kind of laughed. Then I told her what happened.

I had been fired.

No, not from my job. Nothing like that. No, I had been fired from teaching Sunday School. Suddenly the weight of poor decisions and casual conversations came home to roost.

I was angry. Angrier, perhaps, than I had ever been in my life. Not the kind of anger that exploded and then subsides as quickly as it erupted. This anger was trickier than that. This one started out the size of a kernel and grew into a monstrous thing that would engulf me for months to come.

Why?

Why was I angry?

I had done it, in part, to myself.

Everyone had pretended there was no problem until it came time to kick me to the curb.

No one sat down to talk to me about it.

No attempt at anything approaching Biblical discipline was even made.

Nada. Nothing. I was just fired without any warning.
Continue Reading…

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