So my LO underwent an emergency quadruple bypass on Friday… with general anesthesia.
Physically the recovery is going okay, but she has been stricken with severe postoperative delirium and is pretty much only semi-conscious. Her eyes are open and she tracks people, she’ll hold hands, but she isn’t speaking and is not responding to requests.
She’s on IV fluids, but we need to get her moving (to manage swelling) and eating.
Can anyone share their experience ?
So far I am: - regularly telling her had surgery, it was a success and she is recovering - playing her favourite music

my AMAB genetics did my non-binary soul dirty. i want to be pretty in a naturally beautiful kind of way, and look androgynous with slightly more feminine features. what i got was a long and crooked hook nose, small and masculine-shaped lips, stubble that leaves a shadow no matter how close i shave, and a forehead that takes up nearly half my face. that’s not to mention the acne that i haven’t been able to rid myself of for 6 years (although i don’t do much skincare so maybe that can change when i muster up the energy and executive function to start on that). i feel like i’ll never really be non-binary or androgynous just because of the body i got stuck with. and i definitely won’t be considered either of those by society.
i’m considering getting facial surgeries but there are so many things i’m worried about. i want to look pretty, and to do that (in my opinion, i know i know beauty is in the eye of the beholder) i’d have to completely change how i look. but i don’t want to loose myself in the process. i want to look feminine, but i’m scared that my face shape is just too naturally masculine to ever really achieve natural-looking femininity. and even if i do find all the right surgeries to get myself to look how i want to look, i know i’ll feel less worthy because i need drugs and surgery to be beautiful.
how do i deal with this

I watched this show while I was recovering from a MAJOR surgery and intrusive thoughts. I fell in love with the characters, the storylines of love and humanity in a time of hate and hopelessness (something I was struggling with during that time), the one liner laughs, the special bonds, Caryl (or Darol haha), Glenn and Maggie's constant fight for each other and love story, the visceral feelings, and so much more. I made three trips to three different cons in two cities and met so many of the cast members and they were such beautiful people. Not a single one let me down. I told them of my journey and they were all so gracious and thankful for my love of them and finding comfort in their work.
In case anyone is wondering who I chose to meet (and was still available) and took photos with and autographs, here's the list. I'm going to use character names as well in case someone only knows them by that. 😊

• Andrew Lincoln (Rick) (I got the very last group and time slot.. beyond lucky) The smoldering eyes. God that man is handsome. Very gentle and soft spoken. It felt SURREAL. I think I cried after meeting him.
  
• Steven Yeun x 2 (Glenn) There are no words. Truly. Fan since day ONE, watched every single movie and show (including multiple repeats of his Conan O'Brien appearances haha) he's been in since TWD. Watching him grow into the incredible actor that he's always deserved recognition for, it brings me so much joy and I hope one day I have the opportunity to have another conversation with him.
  

Michael Rooker (Merle) I didn't like his TWD character in the least bit haha, but I LOVED me some Yondu. His voice is just as cool in person as it is on TV haha.

• Jeffrey Dean Morgan x2 (Negan) Best hugger ever, smelled really nice, huge, gorgeous dimples, and a genuinely kind man who you could feel loved his fans dearly. He stayed for over two hours after the con ended signing and meeting his fans. And there were still about 100 people in line when I finally left!
  
• Michael Cudlitz (Abraham) So sweet, fun personality, compliments were exchanged, and he was very handsome and smelled great!
  
• Christian Serratos (Rosita) A little reserved, but we still had a fun little conversation. She asked about my name (it's very unique), and my lip color.
  
• Josh McDermott (Eugene) Very goofy and made sure he took multiple, fun selfies.
  
• Seth Gilliam (Gabriel) He was already leaving and packing up, but he stayed for me, talked with me for 10 minutes.. and didn't charge a single penny. I will never forget his kindness. Beautiful, genuine human.
  
• Lennie James (Morgan) He was my unicorn. Took me three shows to finally catch him. I told him, and he was immensely grateful.
  
• Khary Payne (Ezekiel) He had the most beautiful smile and a voice that really could command a small army.
  
• Austin Amelio (Dwight) Kind of a random choice tbh. Shy, but still cool.
  

There were a few others I wanted to meet, but there just wasn't enough time. If you read all the way through, I appreciate you and thank you for your time and interest in a show that genuinely brought me pure joy in one of the most difficult journeys in my life.

Has anyone had lasik eye surgery and struggled with lasting side effect like nausea, light-headedness, dizziness and numbness in your hands? Lasik doc says they’ve never heard of anyone having these symptoms after the procedure (as someone with ME I’m of course used to that response & figuring it out on my own) but its been 2 weeks & it’s really kicking my butt. I’m trying to determine if it’s ME stuff from the physical trauma of the procedure or high eye pressure side effects or something else entirely?

I went abroad to have my hysterectomy done. Now I’m on day 4 post op and I’m really struggling here alone. I had some numbness on my arms, now one is tight life if it was rapped with a rubber band around it.
But this is not why I can’t have any sleep whatsoever , last night I had food then woke up to horrible nausea. I kept on walking around the hotel room with both my eyes barely opened. I feel the urge to go to empty my stomach, but little only comes out and I’ve been doing this all night now. I am so tired my eyes are barely opening and I’ve been doing this all night now I am so tired my eyes are barely opening when I try to sleep, when I try to sleep I get nightmares or basically what happens is my head gets really heavy and my ears as well. I feel like there is a pressure in there.
I would close my eyes for two minutes only and back to walking into the toilet, then back to trying to sleep in any other position I’ve been doing this all night. I’m very tired and my surgery agency wants me to walk outside by myself which I wish I could but I am really exhausted, plan now is to go hospital in two days to do Final checks and off to fligh back home which I feel I’m not ready to do in anyway.
Any advice?
And sorry for any spelling mistakes

It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Taishen… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.
“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.
“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.
I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.
A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.
I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.
I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.
I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.
The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist. The vulnerability equation is imprinted on my brain.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.
Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.
From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.
Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin, it tells worth—the reason for troubles—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
In a pit. I get to burn as paper amongst another’s paper. Eternally. With a life that will keep reoccurring.
Part 3 Liu
A woman like Chang’e lived on a moon. Far away.
You can refer to me as Liu.
At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with a severe nerve pain condition. It is called trigeminal neuralgia but you can call it TN for ease.
I was frustrated. I had completed a degree in international finances from Chongqing University of Business and Technology. The boom of the economy was not the same. There was an urge to “lay flat”—to not try as a form of opposition to everything going on in a waning economy in China.
All are elephants chained for an audience. People love to peek and stare as though they are glass doors without hinges—to be made feel useless.
I developed TN at the age of 19, and was now 22. It came as an arrow, and quite literally to the face. It’s a rare nerve pain disorder often considered one of the most painful conditions known.
The illness involves intense nerve pain throughout the left side of my face. It felt like someone was trying to pull all of the teeth on the left side of my face without anesthesia. The pain can leave me falling to the floor unable to speak or move while screaming profanities while choked by pain. A feeling of a knife to my face over and over again. It leaves me in absolute shock. Like Roman candles to the face. An absolute hindrance. The anticipation of not knowing when it will happen again is a nightmare at times.
The disease is often called the suicide disease, apparently up to 26% try to take their lives. In a state of panic during one of the nerve attacks I began swallowing any pill near to me. I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped when I was found comatose by my mother.
I want to be Chang’e and on the moon and away from a world I have had enough of.
Gossip spread around the workplace that I attempted suicide over an affair with a married man. There was too much guilt to return to the workplace. COVID did have an impact to the economy. I still remember my hometown having dirt and trees piled onto the exits and entrances to the city keep people in their places.
The work I did find felt beneath me. China has what is called the great firewall that keeps something in and out of the country’s networks. A VPN was necessary to access American TikTok as it was used as opposed to the Chinese version.
Feels humiliating the nature of the outcome for me—I gave up in many ways like so many Chinese youth. For work I would go to a local office building. Amongst a long hall would be a room for live stream performers. I would entertain with watchers while trying to obtain virtual gifts for actual money. I despised it—sometimes the conversation could be funny or interesting but it felt hollow.
I would paint flowers on my face and wear hanfu clothing while doing ASMR.
I had a mind of sparklers burning until it burnt and stung like wax—like I had the option to stop and cry and those tears stuck as wax and burnt or I soldiered on and grew accustomed to the pain. I was an elephant chained. The audience watched and interacted with me on the live. I was a chained elephant when it was found out about my previous attempt and when the rumors spread.
Too many thorns in life. Nails hitting at the wrong points like an equation for something terrible to eventually happen.
My favorite dish was Henan noodles. I often cooked it with my mom. It provides great memories of childhood. I hadn’t talked to my mother as much as before. She moved to a job in Taiyuan.
Sometimes I would go up to visit her. But it was harder as she worked more and more hours. Sometimes voids build even when going through extreme nerve pain. And with trigeminal neuralgia, the pain was so intense that I would freeze and scream in pain. It cannot always be hid. It made me an elephant tethered.
Life can be like a pressure like no other. Too much stress. Makes one feel irritable with a mouth like a sprinkler of napalm when someone is too close. Life feels like a lit fire cracker held—in the end it would tear my hand up. Things kept building while the other side of my face began to hurt too recently. This was rare and not so common. My eyesight was becoming blurry too and it seemed I might have multiple sclerosis as the pain was on both side, it was not common for my age, and the blurry eyesight. An appointment was scheduled and I felt terrified to know what was going on and wondered if it was best to not even know my health.
I walked out of the studio and had a cigarette. My boss came out and joined to talk. He was concerned about view count and wanted me to do things to increase it that made me feel uncomfortable. He made a few comments I found incentive.
The boss sure liked to criticize and apply pressure. He was not impressed with my work and thought I could do something different. In China an application is used called WeChat. This application has many uses. People can display and share moments like a Facebook wall, message each other, send money, video chat, and even has a feature to find people near to you who are also looking for people near to them. I was to attract people onto dates. The idea was they would be lured in and the men would go to a set destination to a planned tea house that served snacks. When the men arrived (they had no knowledge of the setup) the bill would be at an absurd rate and if the men refused to pay larger men would use their size to force them to pay up.
I was not sure at the time yet if I wanted the job. Being worried about ethics and safety. It was something I would have to think about.
My medical expenses were growing and I knew the nerve disease could be expensive to treat with surgery. All I had was thoughts while looking at the moon.
Part 4 Taishen
My former roommate in the ward I shared a room with had paranoid schizophrenia. I was stuck in the same place due to mania, and just had gotten my diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I was so pissed being stuck there and felt I had no business being there. I found my diagnosis to be an insult to me. I was only 18 at the time—taken in on a stretcher. Made me feel very vulnerable and irritated.
My roommate was having delusions related to Christianity and could not stop waking me up in the middle of the night to ask and talk about Jesus. Left me beyond frustrated.
He was drifting from his wife and would go on and on about intending to leave her. Felt he was spied and plotted against by her. So we were both frustrated with being there.
The toilets were special. They would flush what needed to be flushed but not certain things like pills—it helped to keep people from hiding they were not taking their medications.
He had tried to flush his wedding ring down the toilet but he did not realized it didn’t flush. I went to use the restroom later and saw the ring. I told him. He took it out. He found it to be a sign form God that he is to stay with his wife, and there was immense happiness in his eyes.

It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Taishen… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.
“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.
“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.
I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.
A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.
I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.
I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.
I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.
The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist. The vulnerability equation is imprinted on my brain.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.
Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.
From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.
Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin, it tells worth—the reason for troubles—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
In a pit. I get to burn as paper amongst another’s paper. Eternally. With a life that will keep reoccurring.
Part 3 Liu
A woman like Chang’e lived on a moon. Far away.
You can refer to me as Liu.
At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with a severe nerve pain condition. It is called trigeminal neuralgia but you can call it TN for ease.
I was frustrated. I had completed a degree in international finances from Chongqing University of Business and Technology. The boom of the economy was not the same. There was an urge to “lay flat”—to not try as a form of opposition to everything going on in a waning economy in China.
All are elephants chained for an audience. People love to peek and stare as though they are glass doors without hinges—to be made feel useless.
I developed TN at the age of 19, and was now 22. It came as an arrow, and quite literally to the face. It’s a rare nerve pain disorder often considered one of the most painful conditions known.
The illness involves intense nerve pain throughout the left side of my face. It felt like someone was trying to pull all of the teeth on the left side of my face without anesthesia. The pain can leave me falling to the floor unable to speak or move while screaming profanities while choked by pain. A feeling of a knife to my face over and over again. It leaves me in absolute shock. Like Roman candles to the face. An absolute hindrance. The anticipation of not knowing when it will happen again is a nightmare at times.
The disease is often called the suicide disease, apparently up to 26% try to take their lives. In a state of panic during one of the nerve attacks I began swallowing any pill near to me. I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped when I was found comatose by my mother.
I want to be Chang’e and on the moon and away from a world I have had enough of.
Gossip spread around the workplace that I attempted suicide over an affair with a married man. There was too much guilt to return to the workplace. COVID did have an impact to the economy. I still remember my hometown having dirt and trees piled onto the exits and entrances to the city keep people in their places.
The work I did find felt beneath me. China has what is called the great firewall that keeps something in and out of the country’s networks. A VPN was necessary to access American TikTok as it was used as opposed to the Chinese version.
Feels humiliating the nature of the outcome for me—I gave up in many ways like so many Chinese youth. For work I would go to a local office building. Amongst a long hall would be a room for live stream performers. I would entertain with watchers while trying to obtain virtual gifts for actual money. I despised it—sometimes the conversation could be funny or interesting but it felt hollow.
I would paint flowers on my face and wear hanfu clothing while doing ASMR.
I had a mind of sparklers burning until it burnt and stung like wax—like I had the option to stop and cry and those tears stuck as wax and burnt or I soldiered on and grew accustomed to the pain. I was an elephant chained. The audience watched and interacted with me on the live. I was a chained elephant when it was found out about my previous attempt and when the rumors spread.
Too many thorns in life. Nails hitting at the wrong points like an equation for something terrible to eventually happen.
My favorite dish was Henan noodles. I often cooked it with my mom. It provides great memories of childhood. I hadn’t talked to my mother as much as before. She moved to a job in Taiyuan.
Sometimes I would go up to visit her. But it was harder as she worked more and more hours. Sometimes voids build even when going through extreme nerve pain. And with trigeminal neuralgia, the pain was so intense that I would freeze and scream in pain. It cannot always be hid. It made me an elephant tethered.
Life can be like a pressure like no other. Too much stress. Makes one feel irritable with a mouth like a sprinkler of napalm when someone is too close. Life feels like a lit fire cracker held—in the end it would tear my hand up. Things kept building while the other side of my face began to hurt too recently. This was rare and not so common. My eyesight was becoming blurry too and it seemed I might have multiple sclerosis as the pain was on both side, it was not common for my age, and the blurry eyesight. An appointment was scheduled and I felt terrified to know what was going on and wondered if it was best to not even know my health.
I walked out of the studio and had a cigarette. My boss came out and joined to talk. He was concerned about view count and wanted me to do things to increase it that made me feel uncomfortable. He made a few comments I found incentive.
The boss sure liked to criticize and apply pressure. He was not impressed with my work and thought I could do something different. In China an application is used called WeChat. This application has many uses. People can display and share moments like a Facebook wall, message each other, send money, video chat, and even has a feature to find people near to you who are also looking for people near to them. I was to attract people onto dates. The idea was they would be lured in and the men would go to a set destination to a planned tea house that served snacks. When the men arrived (they had no knowledge of the setup) the bill would be at an absurd rate and if the men refused to pay larger men would use their size to force them to pay up.
I was not sure at the time yet if I wanted the job. Being worried about ethics and safety. It was something I would have to think about.
My medical expenses were growing and I knew the nerve disease could be expensive to treat with surgery. All I had was thoughts while looking at the moon.
Part 4 Taishen
My former roommate in the ward I shared a room with had paranoid schizophrenia. I was stuck in the same place due to mania, and just had gotten my diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I was so pissed being stuck there and felt I had no business being there. I found my diagnosis to be an insult to me. I was only 18 at the time—taken in on a stretcher. Made me feel very vulnerable and irritated.
My roommate was having delusions related to Christianity and could not stop waking me up in the middle of the night to ask and talk about Jesus. Left me beyond frustrated.
He was drifting from his wife and would go on and on about intending to leave her. Felt he was spied and plotted against by her. So we were both frustrated with being there.
The toilets were special. They would flush what needed to be flushed but not certain things like pills—it helped to keep people from hiding they were not taking their medications.
He had tried to flush his wedding ring down the toilet but he did not realized it didn’t flush. I went to use the restroom later and saw the ring. I told him. He took it out. He found it to be a sign form God that he is to stay with his wife, and there was immense happiness in his eyes.

I was just wondering if anyone on here was born with congenital glaucoma? I've nevermet another person who was born with it and thought it would be interesting to compare stories. I was diagnosed at 10 months old, I'm 37 now. 23 surgeries in both eyes between 1988-2010. Became certified V.I.P. in 2018 and still adjusting.

Darkness.
Well, not exactly darkness. It was really nothing, an instant of nothing. But how can nothing be described? As far as he could remember, it was half a second of darkness and then he was coming to. From inhaling the gasses out of the mask, to hearing voices and shoes skittering across the sterile tile floor, it had only felt like a second. Maybe less. Regardless, his first thought was of her. Nothing else, just her.
“Lizzy.” He mumbled to the figures he could feel by his bed.
“What did he say?” One of them asked another in confusion. Did they not understand? He wanted her. Everything hurt and he wanted her.
“Lizzy.” He mumbled again, this time trying to make his voice clearer. Less garbled by the anesthesia and newly cleared throat. This time it seems they understood. Though, unaware of who he was talking about, they didn’t ask what he was saying this time. Only went about their business, checking his incision and his vitals before leaving for other patients. Satisfied with his exhibition of consciousness.
That’s when the tears came. Whether it be from the drug-induced exhaustion or the emotional weight of remembering why she wasn’t there. Why she’d never be there again. These weren’t soft, quiet tears either. These were full body sobs. His prone being wracked with tears and emotional pain. As he crescendoed in volume, he could hear the hurried footsteps of another nurse returning to his bedside.
“What’s wrong, honey? Does something hurt, are you okay?” She asked, worry in her voice. It’s not everyday you see a large, hairy man break down in a bed like a newborn. He couldn’t say anything in response, the simple pain of first heartbreak the first cognizant thing returning to him after the first peaceful hours he’s gotten in months. No thoughts and memories of her haunting him. The pain and torment of his mistakes alleviated for the first time since late July of that year.
“She’s gone and it hurts.” He sobbed to her. Understanding he had to explain to make sure they knew nothing was physically wrong. He could tell it worked, she exhaled slightly. Knowing it wasn’t anything too serious, just a sad boy processing his emotions.
“Do you want some tissues, honey?” She asked him, still worried over his clearly broken state. That’s when he opened his eyes, the world still blurry and distorted. He nodded, looking into her eyes the best he could through tears and leftover drugs. She turned around and handed him several tissues, which he used to wipe his nose and face. Still breathing heavy with tears streaming down his face.
“Have you ever gotten your heart broken before? Does the pain ever stop?” He asked desperately. This was some of the most intense emotional pains he’d felt since his dad left and what remained of his family had to leave his childhood home. That sense of abandonment was as severe as it was back then. The ache in his chest felt like several semi truck’s had been using his rib cage as a parking lot.
“No, dear. It was always me doing the heart breaking.” She responded, not looking into his eyes, busying herself with his machines and IV. That response shocked him into silence a little. Surely everyone had felt this before. That had been his last hope, that these things had been felt before by others and that they had survived. They hadn’t been left in this deeply upsetting and unlivable state for the rest of their lives. Just when the tears were starting up again, she looked at him, hesitating a little.
“Actually, that was a lie. I have, honey.” She admitted, looking a little morse in her remembering of the experience. “It gets better, sweety, don’t worry. You’ll move on.” Though she looked away again when she said the last part, her words were enough to stem the tide of his sobs. And when the surgeon came around to check up on his work, the only remnants of his pain were tear streaks and sniffles.
That’s how he carried on for the next 10 months, through 2 more surgeries and much more pain, both physical and emotional. Clinging to the hope this stranger had given him that one day the pain would dull and he’d be able to drag himself from the stagnation his first broken heart had left him in.

Glaucoma is a chronic eye condition characterized by increased pressure within the eye, which can lead to vision loss if left untreated. Clear Sight Eyecare & Laser Centre, offers comprehensive glaucoma treatment in Ghatkopar, Mumbai, to help patients regain their vision and maintain eye health. In this article, we will explore the importance of glaucoma treatment, its symptoms, diagnosis, and available treatment options.
Understanding Glaucoma

What is Glaucoma?

Definition and Causes

Glaucoma is a group of eye conditions that damage the optic nerve, leading to vision loss and potentially blindness. The increased pressure within the eye, known as intraocular pressure (IOP), is the primary cause of glaucoma. This pressure can be due to various factors such as age, family history, and certain medical conditions.

Types of Glaucoma

Glaucoma can be classified into three main types based on the angle of the drainage of the eye fluid and the underlying causes:

• Primary Open-Angle Glaucoma: This is the most common type, characterized by an open angle between the iris and the cornea. It is often asymptomatic and can progress slowly over time.
• Primary Closed-Angle Glaucoma: This type is characterized by a narrow angle between the iris and the cornea, which can lead to sudden and severe vision loss if left untreated.
• Secondary Glaucoma: This type is caused by other eye conditions or injuries, such as cataracts, uveitis, or trauma.

Symptoms of Glaucoma

The symptoms of glaucoma can vary depending on the type and severity of the condition. Common symptoms include:

• Blurred Vision: Difficulty seeing objects clearly due to the damage to the optic nerve.
• Eye Pain: Discomfort or pain in the eye, which can be severe in closed-angle glaucoma.
• Redness: The eye may appear red or inflamed due to increased pressure.
• Sensitivity to Light: Sensitivity to light, which can be a sign of optic nerve damage.

Diagnosis of Glaucoma

Diagnostic Tests

To diagnose glaucoma, eye care professionals use a combination of the following tests:

• Visual Acuity Test: Measures the sharpness of vision.
• Tonometry: Measures the intraocular pressure.
• Ophthalmoscopy: Examines the inside of the eye.
• Optical Coherence Tomography (OCT): Creates detailed images of the optic nerve and retina.

Glaucoma Treatment In Ghatkopar, Mumbai

Medical treatment for glaucoma involves the use of medications and laser therapy to reduce intraocular pressure:

• Medications: Eye drops or oral medications can help reduce pressure by increasing the drainage of eye fluid or reducing the production of fluid.
• Laser Therapy: Laser treatment can help improve drainage by creating a small opening in the iris to allow fluid to escape.

Glaucoma Surgery in Ghatkopar

Surgical treatment for glaucoma involves various procedures to improve drainage and reduce pressure:

• Trabeculectomy: Creates a small opening in the iris to allow fluid to escape.
• Drainage Implant: Implants a device to help drain excess fluid.
• Minimally Invasive Glaucoma Surgery (MIGS): Uses advanced techniques to improve drainage without significant tissue disruption.

Importance of Early Detection and Treatment

Why Early Detection Matters?

Early detection and treatment of glaucoma are crucial to prevent vision loss and maintain eye health:

• Preventing Vision Loss: Timely treatment can help prevent further damage to the optic nerve and preserve vision.
• Maintaining Eye Health: Regular check-ups and treatment can help manage glaucoma and prevent complications.

Glaucoma is a serious eye condition that requires prompt attention and treatment. Clear Sight Eyecare & Laser Centre offers comprehensive Glaucoma Treatment in Ghatkopar, Mumbai and surgery to help patients regain their vision and maintain eye health. If you are experiencing symptoms or have concerns about glaucoma, visit our centre or contact us at 80978 09788 for a consultation.

I’ve had strabismus my entire life. The usual story. Glasses when I was like 6 months old (I’m 33 now), eye patch as kid. Offered surgery as a child but parents declined. As an adult now (and this is in no way saying I feel some type of way if you do get surgery, by all means go for it) I’m just not interested? I’ll never have perfect vision, I accepted that decades ago. Other than cosmetically I don’t see a point. Does anyone else feel this way?
And to those who have had surgery—I hope for success and comfortable recovery.

I (19F) had surgery on 5/30 and the last few days have been so emotionally draining but so fulfilling. I had a tonsillectomy and they shrunk something inside my nose (i don’t remember what it was but i just remember having gause under my nose) Since day of surgery I haven’t been able to take antidepressants, but I am surprisingly better mentally than I thought i’d be. Although im not completely through I thought i’d throw a little bit of my experience to others who are about to have their surgery.
This surgery was my first time going under anesthesia. For pain tolerance, I have quite a bit of tattoos which didn’t really hurt, but I know i’m a little baby when it comes to pain. and let me tell you, oh my god.
However, reading a lot of the stories on here I psyched myself up pretty bad.
Day 0 (surgery)- all i remember is getting there, doing pre op, the usual, then getting wheeled to the car. My mom had said i was fairly quiet and just kinda sleep walking, but incredibly independent. I don’t remember getting dressed, just the pure drive to stand up and sit in the wheelchair (felt like i was blacked out but was spotting back here and there)
Day 1 - i’m allergic to cats, but being hyped up on pain meds, my rescue cat came and cuddled even though she doesn’t like being touched (your animals know, they love you even if they don’t show it often) I was propped up and was able to get a teaspoon of pudding down and ¿maybe? 5/6 sips of water. no humidifier. But i started ice packs since my jaw and ear was in so much pain. my tongue was incredibly swollen, ear ached, and honestly i cried any time someone talked to me. i woke up countless times throughout the night, (no alarms my body just knew) to take meds and really consider why i even did this in the first place, I did hit my nic (honestly bad decision but hey, i needed something to look forward to) No speaking, at all. learned how to motion and grunt my way through for certain things. Slept so incredibly much during the day, but drooled so so bad.
Day 2 - I woke up feeling even worse than before. However, I was able to eat a little more pudding and shave off the top of a popsicle like a beaver since i couldn’t open my mouth. I have also felt like a baby who can’t control my tongue or jaw and just have food sometimes slip out. Hit nic again, but was careful to not suck and to hit it with my mouth open, so i was getting oxygen and nic at the same time. Pain was 9/10. refused to swallow and sat with saliva in my mouth for long periods of time out of pure spite. Cried a lot which wasn’t good for the amount of mucus that was forming. pain was a consistent 8.5-9/10
Day 3 (june 2nd) - woke up and took tylenol alone which i think has benefitted me more than anything. took one dose of my hydro but decided against using it again since. pain was around 7/10 but became manageable during the day. i started feeling scabs form (which is very early i think) and had issues with choking or having to cough or swallow. continued using ice packs on jaw and under throat area near where an adam’s apple would be. most of my pain is right sided, but there’s an annoying scab on my left side that has not gone away. but god i drank so much water during the night. it was like my body had finally caught up and just begged for water. it was pretty okay to swallow at the time but if i swallow with it on my ride side it shoots up my nose which is very painful.
Day 4 - woke up and could tell my eyes were a bit wider and i felt better. I was able to get down a tiny square of watermelon and three bowls of mashed potatoes today. i also started using ice chips which has really really helped me. i’m writing this sitting around pain level of 5/10 just some pain when swallowing. I had a scab fall off today and there was only blood when it came off, once it was out of my mouth, no bleeding was present. we haven’t been able to find liquid ibuprofen to help with the swelling, so my mom cracked open a liquid motrin pill and put it on a spoon. the pain was unbearable. immediate tears, burning, saliva build up, runny nose. the works and wonders. it felt like a day old carpet burn that i had slid against concrete. that pain was -100/10. i think i had gotten some of it down because i was pretty okay after that for about 2/3 hours. I still can’t open my mouth wide enough to put a teaspoon in, just thankful for the shape of my teeth to eat. However, i feel like ive gotten so much better and like ive turned the corner really early, which is making me nervous for tomorrow, but I will update on pain tomorrow. Hoping that I am one of the lucky ones, but knowing my luck, it’s just a day of hope.

First off, I just wanted to thank you all for being so helpful after my last post. It really helped inform what I was going to discuss with my doctor and figure out the best options for my eyes. I wear glasses for distance and can read up-close unaided now but, unfortunately, the best option for me in terms of the surgery is to do the opposite... clear distance and readers for computer and reading. Since this is totally different from what I've been doing for the past 30 years, I have some more questions! I know there are a bunch so any input is much appreciated. I feel totally lost when it comes to simple day-to-day activities!
-How do I handle needing different glasses to see distance with one eye and close with the other for the weeks between the eye surgeries?
-Do I need different strength readers for seeing a computer and reading a book or are they the same?
-I usually fall asleep reading... do people just sleep in their glasses???
-What do you all do if say you're in the grocery store and need to see the list on your phone and then look up at the shelf? Are there glasses with clear on the top and readers on the bottom or do you just keep taking them on and off? The idea of needing to wear readers to see my phone is so foreign and upsetting to me!
-How do I do eye makeup if I need readers to see up-close?
-How do I wash my face after surgery?
I know there are a ton of questions so any input is much appreciated. I feel totally lost when it comes to simple day-to-day activities!
Thanks again!

Looks like I am getting bypass in a few months. The more I research and read, the more it freaks me out. I think what makes me the most afraid is being nauseous and vomiting. It looks like everyone is different and to follow the plan, don't eat too fast, etc.
How does vomiting change after getting surgery? Since your stomach does most of the work and it's not connected anymore, how does it happen?
My biggest question I guess beyond this is how does it feel post surgery? I'm that girl that bursts blood vessels in my eyes and cheeks when I vomit and prey for a quick demise with extreme nausea and vomiting.
thanks

Im scared, that sums up my feelings right now.
Ive posted here before about my Mom having stage 4 breast cancer and that it has spread to her lymph nodes and her bones.
Recently, she was hospitalized for almost 2 weeks due to her kidneys failing.
They found out that the diuretic she was taking every day was damaging her kidneys.
The got her off that and on a new one she takes as needed if there is a weight gain of 3 pounds or more in a 24 hour period.
Her kidneys have improved.
Back in 2015 my Mom had open heart surgery to replace her aortic valve, have 2 bypasses done, and several stints put in.
The valve is failing and needs to be replaced.
This issue with the kidney delayed her replacement surgery for a bit but this wensday June 5th mom is going in for the new valve replacement.
They will be doing a procedure called transcatheter aortic valve replacement (TAVR) or transcatheter aortic valve implantation (TAVI) - easier just to say valve in valve replacement.
I had to watch my Dad pass away suddenly. I watched the light in his eyes go away to be replaced with nothing. His heart kept beating but there was no coming back from that. 5 days later in the ICU, Mom finaly pulled life support.
Now, im watching my Mom slowly pass away.
I dont sleep well anymore because im afraid im not going to hear if Mom calls out for help.
I dont have a lot of hours at my job any more because if Mom is sick, i stay home and take care of her.
My job is safe, but not my hours. I used to be full time, now i get leftover hours.
We just lost the house to foreclosure because we didnt have money for insurance. Mom and Dad had a reverse mortgage on the house and that was good until we got hit with hurricane ian.
That hurricane ruined our lives because the insurance company we did have closed down due to all the claims they had to pay out and we didnt have the money to pay the down payment for new insurance, especially after having my hours cut.
If any of you are old enough to remember the TV show Hee Haw, then you will remeber this snippet of a song they did: "if it wernt for bad luck, id have no luck at all..."
Thats how i feel right now. I feel like someone has sucked any chance for any luck we have and stole it for themselves. We haven't had anything positive happen for a very long time.

Me and my family were driving yesterday and my sister joked about how she wants to be excommunicated just to see what its even like, and wondered what it actually took to be excommunicated. She texted our stepdad (wasn’t with us, also is a seminary teacher), and his response was, in essence, “Do something egregious and be flagrantly unrepentant about it.” I didn’t say anything because I don’t like to argue with family, but the whole time I was just thinking…
Something egregious like what? It seems to me like what works as justification for removing somebody from the church of God really runs the gamut. Being in a consensual homosexual relationship, getting a transgender surgery as a consenting adult, and sex before marriage are just as solid grounds, apparently, in the eyes of the church, as rape, murder, and child abuse. And, even though Mormons like to pretend this isn’t the case, publicly disagreeing with the current Church doctrine espoused by Church leaders that is constantly subject to change even as they pretend it doesn’t. John Dehlin exists, much as you’re not supposed to recognize that. He committed the awful sin of disagreeing with the church on gay Mormons, AKA espousing what will in all likelihood be the policy of the church 20 years from now as they desperately cling to their power.
He argued that it wasn’t apostasy. And it’s not. He was excommunicated for the crime of disagreeing. He was not repentant because he didn’t do anything wrong. Being in a totally consensual homosexual relationship is also not something to repent of, all you’re doing is making yourself and, I assume, somebody else happy. You’re not doing anything demonstrably wrong the same way that murder and rape are demonstrably wrong. Same goes with being trans.
Why should anybody need to repent about doing things that aren’t demonstrably bad and are only thought to be so if you take it on faith that God said it was a few thousand years ago? And what is not cult-like about banning a guy from the church for a relatively inconsequential disagreement on a church policy that will likely change in the future anyways?

I've never read a book in my life to some people. I've read scientific papers and articles on high contrast PDF screens for work. But never, a book book.
I've listened to many books, and this year has been very good. Rediscovering audiobooks over youtube content, as the recommendations get worse. I've read--- no--- listened to "The Power Broker" and its phenomenal.
I remember when I first discovered audiobooks in my public library (ironically, used to be a train station, is now a library with a parking lot where the trains used to be). I was a kid, and I was so excited. I was told that, they sold and lent cassette tapes, or you can use them here. And I did. And a whole new world was open to me.
You see, as a kid. It wasn't immediately known I was blind, and if I was, to what degree. As a newborn, several months old, eye surgery was preformed due to defects. But, these surgeries are really a shot in the dark and don't work consistently, for me, perhaps it helped a tad.
I struggled to become literate. It took until 3rd grade. In kindergarten, my handwriting was very bad, and the teachers insisted I be taken to the doctor. By the time I was 6 or so, getting my first pair of glasses, the damage was done, and reading became very hard, even with glasses. I just showed no interest, and it was difficult to make out the letters, so I just didn't care.
But when I was in that library, with the cassette tape, and a book I barely cared about, and the shitty library earbuds. I felt so free.
It was later on, talking about how I was reading George Orwell's 1984 in 8th grade to my classmates. They asked me where I got the book and I said "Oh, I listened to it on youtube". I was informed, that, "thats not reading"
And thats how its been ever since. Every sighted person will tell me, I that I don't actually "read" books. Its quite upsetting because... just because I experience the information with via a different mechanism doesn't mean its not "reading". Does reading need to LITERALLY be the process of gathering information with your eyes. Why cant reading be an abstract method of linguistic transmission of information, from a prefabricated script.
When you read out loud, its different, even on a neurological level brain, to speaking. When you listen to someone reading something out loud, its different from hearing them speaking off the top of their head. I am reading, just through a different mechanism.
Nowadays. I can read pretty well using my computer monitors only. I need extremely high contrast to read for long periods of time. Backlit news papers would be very pleasant reading material for me, haha. Otherwise, my eyes get tired and I loose interest quickly.

This all started when I, 31f, was 17. My dad was married to his 2nd wife who sucked. Because she could not come between me and my mom, she decided it was her personal mission to try to break me. While I would say that she failed at this, she was the one to initiate this "complex." I had just come out of oral surgery and woken up to a text from her claiming that me and my father had an incestuous relationship. This was in no way true, but the whole situation just made me cry. I was devastated.
That was the first of many accusations that I was trying to steal a taken man, including the wife of a 1st cousin. I was always friends with the guy and I didn't know the girl well, but we seemed to get along when we did hang out. Then it would seem out of nowhere the accusations would come. Even though it was never true, it always made me feel shitty and hurt me to my core. I would even ask friends if I had done something wrong or if they felt threatened. They insisted the idea never crossed their minds.
My aunt told me that I, a single woman, couldn't have friends that were couples. Especially because of the way I looked. I think I'm middle of the lane, but my family says I'm above average. I never considered myself intimidating. It's not like guys have ever tripped over themselves to get at me.
This year, I was invited to go on a birthday trip out of the country with one of my mom friends, Grace. This trip would include five couples and a few singles: Mary, Joe, and me. Mary was a longtime friend of Grace. Joe is Grace's VERY close brother who also knew her friends. I was friends with one couple, Brandon and Laurel. So basically I would be the odd man out and the youngest female present by at least 5 years. Everyone going would be from one of three places around the county.
Day 1. I traveled with Brandon and Laurel. On our way to the AirBnb, we met another couple: Kate and Kevin. I ADORED Kate. She was gorgeous, Australian - I'm obsessed with Australia, and she had a great personality. I could not get enough of her the rest of the 1st night and most of day 2. We even had a girls’ heart-to-heart in the bathroom.
Night 2. Everyone had been drinking in the sun all day. A bunch of us decide to go skinny dipping in the pool. It was fun until someone decided that they wanted to go down to the ocean. I thought that was insane, put on a shirt long enough to cover all my naughty bits, and followed to yell at everyone to get out of the ocean before they died. When everyone returned to the house, I saw Kevin walk towards the ocean. Are you kidding me?? He was not part of the skinny dipping but in my drunk-ish state I wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything crazy. I went after him and found him sitting on a rock. Great! I made sure he had no plans to go into the ocean at night - he didn't. We ended up talking. About everything. It was a nice conversation. Until Joe came running out to tell us Kate was upset. I instantly knew. I ran to her in the house and tried to explain nothing was going on. She was bawling in bed with Mary. She called me some names and I was horrified to think this was happening again. I really liked her. I asked her to look me in the eyes and tell me she really thought I wanted Kevin. She wouldn't. I ran out and ugly cried outside. My heart was shattered.
The next day I told a few people what happened. Everyone was shocked and tried to tell me how Kate wasn't usually like this and she's really a great girl. After the news had traveled, I was told the consensus was that "everyone was on my side." I was told that Kate didn't even remember it. She was drunk, don't worry about it. She's going to apologize. We all went to a restaurant for lunch - her at one end, I at the other. Nothing. No looks my way, no mention of anything, no awkward attempts to try to talk. It was never addressed. Everyone just acted like nothing happened.
The rest of the trip was okay. There was definitely weird energy at least from me and I felt uncomfortable. I avoided Kevin and Kate as much as I could; I wouldn't even look at Kevin. When they weren't around it was a lot of fun and I was able to hang out with a few people, but it wasn't 100%. I talked with Grace and Laurel about the situation to make sure they knew that the claims were false and I had no interest in anyone's husband. They put my worries at ease.
We're all still in a group text. Last night I received a number of notifications from the chat. They were pictures and video. Of everyone from the trip in our area. Except me. They were having some sort of party that I wasn't invited to. Even one of the girl's from out of town was there. Really?? There were Grace and Laurel laughing it up with Kate. The worst part? Laurel shared the content.
I get Grace and Mary were friends, but I didn't realize Laurel was so close with them too. I get that maybe they want to spend time with Mary, but did they have to make it so obvious that I was the missing person? That I wouldn't be missed? It felt like they were rubbing my face in it. Couldn't they have just made another group chat and let me have my blissful ignorance?
AITA for getting myself into this situation? AITA for feeling off on the trip? AITA for feeling some type of way about their Not-for-Me Party?
TLDR: Women I don't know like to accuse me of trying to steal their bf's or so's when we are just friends. A friend of a friend claimed this as well and my "friends" want to still hang out with her and post pictures of themselves having a great time without me in a shared chat.

I've been getting the best progressive lenses Sam's Club offered for many years and they have always been fantastic. Can't remember if they were branded Canon or Nikon HD.
10 months ago I had cataract surgery with EDOF IOL's put in. Need to dial eyes in with glasses. Tried best progressive lenses that Sam's offered. Not good, color contrast off. Felt like I was looking the through very thick glasses. Not to mention narrow clear field of view, but that I expected since I am use to progressives from before IOL's. I then went with just single vision best polycarbonate and same issue. Then I went with cheapest single vision lens CR39 plastic and they are fantastic for distance. I mean a HUGE difference. And yes, I know the script on the poly was correct.I honestly believe that polycarbonate lenses may not play nice with my EDOF iols.
Sam's said they changed labs some time ago.
I really want progressives to work and willing to try online as long as I can return if they suck.
Eyebuydirect seems like they have decent return policy, and advertise "new Kokak progressive lenses". I'm sure they are poly, but possibly they are better quality than Sam's?
My guess is there is no such thing as CR39 progressives?
What would be the best quality progressives lenses? from where?
Not opposed to going to local shop, but if I'm that sensitive to polycarbonate lenses, I doubt local shops have a liberal return policy.
What about lenscrafters? Do they use something better?

Title: 2 differing opinions from 2 optometrists, regarding CNV due to CL
Seeking advice
Background: i got diagnosed for (cornea neo vascularization slight amount in left white of my eye, in the corner, 0.5mm) by my loyal eye doc of 10 years who is 49 years old.
I wore monthly contact lenses (CL) for 2 months, never slept with them, wore them for 12 hours, a brand from overseas which are colored contact lenses under the rx of my CL fitting: 14.2 mm dia, -5 power, 8. 6 bc
but learned that even tho they were comfy, with high water content, and pretty good looking, they didn't let enough oxygen in....what's called Oxygen Permeability
Thereafter, Redness happened in the left eye, so did stinging prompting an eye doc app't with my local clinic's optometrist
He suggested OTC drops which after 10 days of not wearing CL in the left eye, such stinging totally went away.
I went to my annual eye exam, and raised a concern about redness in my left eye from the loyal eye doc ive been going to for 10 years. He said "slight neo vascularization" that he's seen before and goes away in 1 month if u dont wear contact lenses.
About 5 days after that above app't, I received a 2nd opinion from another optometrist, who is in his early 70s.
The 2nd opinion doctor gave me a clean bill of health after doing what the 1st eye doc didn't do....put what appeared a 3rd of a toothpick under my bottom eye area lip part of Both Eyes, idk what it's called the toothpick thingy, but am assuming it's to be able to see better with the slit lamp...
2nd doc then told me to put my chin on something (im makin an educated guess, it's a slit lamp)? He said I don't see slight CNV (*with the understanding that I came to his office for a 2nd opinion, so I'd hope he'd be competent enough to check clearly and thoroughly *and because he' older, have more experience?)...
2nd opinion optometrist in his 70's age range went on to say: "I think it's just the after effects of wearing contacts from overseas and for 2 months, instead of 1 month as suggested. As stated, I don't think it's CNV)
I then texted my 1st doc (the loyal 10 year 49 y.o. doc), the good news for me (a misdiagnosis). 1st doc then said.... "it IS a slight CNV of the blood vessel in the left eye corner, in the whites of the eye & he went on to be specific as in it's 0.5mm. i don't know how he arrrived at that diagnosis. If u want to stop by my other office, I can show film it with my expensive camera & u can show him)
So now I made an app't with an Opthamologist, This person has 4.9 out of like 500 yelp reviews and he does cataract and lasik surgery. He doesnt accept my insurance, I have poor qualiity med insurance. So i have to pay $400 for a diagnosis which is modern office has sophisitcated imaging systems to go above and beyond what optometrists do. Is this the right course of action? Am I doing the right thing in seeking a 3rd opinion from an Opthamologist? here on Reddit or anyone else in the know. The optamologist app't is June 28th, 2024, the earliest date....but speaking with 1 of the Optamologist's Technician's and describing my situation. I wasn't told that it needs to be done asap, so the understanding is that it can wait till June 28, 2024 (25 days later).
*So the crux of this is am I do the right thing in getting a 3rd Opinion from an Optamologist? By the way, my medical insurance sucks so bad, that trying to get a REferral from my Primary Care Doctor's staff to get an authorization for an Optamologist that takes my med insurance will take way longer than June 28th....AS IN mid september, 2024. Plus who is to say the optamologist may be so incompetent that he doesn't do the right diagnosis and treatment? Why? again because he doesn't get paid as much with my poor quality insurance and he is so busy because my medical insurance is what the indigent poor people have in CAlifornia. Thanks, in advance . thank u so very much for any useful advice. im still worried.