Mocked, Berated, and Fired - all while hospitalized for a spinal fluid leak.

I have gone back and forth about sharing everything, but at this point, I have no choice. My situation is dire, and I need help. I know everyone has struggles, and I know there are people out there with bigger problems—but this is the option I have access to, and I have to take it.

If you’ve been following along, you know I recently spent days in the hospital due to complications from a spinal tap—a procedure meant to help diagnose the neurological disability I have called Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension (IIH).

What is IIH?

IIH mimics all the symptoms of a brain tumor—severe migraines, vision loss, dizziness, nerve pain—except there is no tumor. The problem is that the pressure in my skull is too high, putting pressure on my brain and optic nerves. The first “I” in IIH stands for Idiopathic, meaning they don’t know what causes it.

In my case, my doctors suspect it’s a side effect of a damaged pituitary gland in my brain. But the truth is, there’s no way to know for sure—only that it is progressively getting worse.

What Happens When Your Brain is Leaking Fluid

• Spinal fluid leaks cause severe neurological symptoms—pain so unbearable it makes you vomit, tremors that make it impossible to hold yourself up, vision problems, dizziness, and even cognitive impairment. The only way to treat it is with a blood patch, where they draw blood from your arm and inject it into your spine to try and seal the leak.

• The first blood patch failed.

• The second blood patch was an absolute nightmare.

The 2nd blood patch, an epidural blood patch, was supposed to be my relief. But the process was so painful and traumatic that I was crying and hyperventilating, causing the doctor to have to redo the massive needle insertion into my spine.

If you’re keeping count, that’s FOUR times I had to have a giant needle in my back.

I was screaming and sobbing in pain, so much so that they had to close my door and assure the rooms around me that I was okay.

I wasn’t.

I begged to be put under at this point, and they refused. The jolt I made while reacting to the pain could have caused the needle to move and paralyze me.

When it was finally over, from what I remember, the anesthesiologist told me I needed to be taking in a lot of fluids to help the effects work faster. I mentioned this to my night nurse. It was bizarre to me that I was not hooked up to fluids that evening. She informed me there was no order for fluids.

So I went to sleep.

The next morning, a different nurse told me that there actually was an order—but that I had supposedly denied it.

That never happened.

I would never deny something that I needed to recover correctly. That failure is why I woke up still in excruciating pain instead of being on the road to recovery.

You are supposed to feel almost immediate relief after a blood patch. And if not immediate, within 24 hours. Once again, that was not my case.

The IV Incident: A Series of Failures

(This incident occurred the evening after my first blood patch.)

As if everything else wasn’t already enough, my IVs were infiltrated—meaning the medication meant to go into my veins was instead leaking into my surrounding tissue. This not only caused intense pain and swelling but made receiving proper treatment even harder.

• I asked my night nurse to move my IV because it was placed in the crease of my elbow in the ER before I was admitted, making it excruciatingly painful and nearly impossible to move my arm by my third day there.

• She attempted to insert a new IV without an ultrasound, and the pain was so unbearable that I cried out and begged her to stop.

• Instead of stopping, she insisted it was fine. She said it flushed correctly and was done.

• Then, without a second thought, she pushed Toradol through that IV—a strong pain reliever meant to help me.

Instead, it felt like fire was being injected into my veins.

I told her it was burning, that something was wrong. But once again, I was brushed off.

Ten minutes later, tremors and strange muscle movements started.

I realized at that point she had hit a nerve. I couldn’t control the strange twitching. I had to call the nurses back in.

At this point, she finally brought in an ultrasound machine and tried again. This time, it still hurt horribly, but at least less than the first attempt. I was so exhausted and in so much pain that I just accepted it and tried to sleep through it.

The next morning, my day nurse took one look at my arm and immediately knew something was wrong.

• My arm was swollen and filled with fluid.

• The spot where the first IV attempt had been was so painful that it couldn’t even be touched.

• Every movement sent a fresh wave of pain up my arm.

At this point, I was beyond exhausted. I had no more energy to fight, no more strength to advocate for myself.

I had already spent days in pain, had been screamed at and fired in the middle of my trauma, and now my body was so battered from failed medical care that I didn’t even know what was normal anymore.

My day nurses were great.

My night nurses made me scared for my life

Fired While in the Hospital

While I was lying in a hospital bed, barely able to function, the owner of the salon I worked at fired me. And not just that—she berated me, mocked me, and harassed me while I was in the middle of one of the scariest health crises of my life.

I begged for compassion and understanding, begging her to not take my job away when no clients were upset or complaining. Her response?

“That’s your own problem/fault, Dee. You don’t have time or money to be off for procedures right now. You are laser-focused on having this disability when you need to be laser-focused on your work ethic and getting your money right. You shouldn’t even have time to make a doctor’s appointment. You have once again ruined my morning, and I’m over it, dude.”

It wasn’t enough for her to fire me while I was hospitalized—she then began texting my mother, telling her she had been “wasting her time” and insulting her for being a “bad, enabling mother.”

The only reason my mom reached out to our manager in the first place is because I was not in a position where I was able to continue begging for answers and compassion. My mom simply wanted to know if I had a job or not and if I was allowed to return to work when better.

The responses being sent to my mom were so upsetting that my mother ended up having to block her number, but not till after informing her that she was literally sitting in the hospital room with me at that very moment, and told her to stop referring to my medical conditions as a “shit show.”

But it got worse.

She then threatened me in the work group chat with all of my former coworkers, saying:

“I’m giving you until 5 PM to take down all posts that say you were unfairly fired…. You are sick in the head.”

And then—she threatened to send her mother, who works at the hospital, to my room.

We were not sure if this was meant in a threatening way as if she was going to cause me some sort of harm or taunt me, or if she was insinuating that she still in fact did not believe what was happening to me and that her mother visiting me would prove that? Regardless, it is the audacity of making such a statement, while I am still stuck in my hospital bed in pain and unable to even stand correctly yet. In other words, defenseless.

This resulted in hospital security being sent not only to my room but to her mother’s office as well. Every single guard was given their names, and informed of the harassment and threats being made. The guard in my room assured me, they were not allowed to access the building I was in at all.

At this point, I was shaking, crying, and terrified. I was supposed to have woken up and been able to function again. But I still was experiencing pain and was terrified once again that the procedure did not work. The anxiety she had caused me was making my treatment even harder to manage because I could not control my panic and anxiety. I couldn’t believe that this was happening while I was lying in a hospital bed.

I realized I had to block everyone on everything. But I would not do so before saying my finals thoughts which went as followed:

"I’d appreciate greatly if you’d stop harassing me and threatening me while I am still in the hospital. You fired me for calling off for medical reasons. Not because clients were upset. Then you called me names. You insulted me and my mother. All because I had something go wrong with a procedure that put me in the hospital for days. Now security has been called and so has your moms office. This is harassment while I’m in a freaking hospital bed. Your texts have already been shown to security and authorities.

Oh. Btw. It’s illegal to drink and serve booze at the salon without a liquor license and thankfully you offered to multiple of my clients who have now seen the way you’ve been treating me for months. “Pretty good work for someone with a brain injury”

I never did anything to you to deserve any of what you have done or said to me. Do not text me again or I will file an official harassment report with authorities. How dare you threaten to send your mom to my room like she is going to do something to harm me. You may have just cost her, her job. Security has been called on her now. The anxiety you’ve caused me made getting treated even harder.

I came to work when I could. I took care of my clients I paid your rent and even helped around the salon with cleaning. If you didn’t want people to know you were treating me badly then you shouldn’t have treated me badly.

Do not text me or my mother again. I never did anything to deserve any of this. I was kind and good to you no matter what nasty things you said to me. At least if I couldn’t make it to work, I let my clients know unlike you who doesn’t even show up. Also, stop using a conversation I had with [redacted] as fuel because her and her mother are not okay with what you have done or how you’re treating me and are also ready to defend me on the things you are saying.

My go fund me isn’t a fraud. You fired me for calls offs. Call offs that happened for a medical condition. End of story. I really don’t want your mom to get in trouble because you made a threat about her coming to my room but it seems too late for that.

I was your friend. I was all of your friends. Leave me alone. You’ve done enough as is."

I have every message, time-stamped, proving that I was fired while in the hospital and showing exactly how I was spoken to. Yet, now, I am being lied about. She is telling people she fired me before I went to the hospital and that I was “so loved” but just “wasn’t a good fit.”

When I was texting her begging for an answer if I had a job or not, the response I was given was

“LMFAO BYE”

“Stop texting me or I’ll pack your shit for you”

“I thought you lost your eye sight?”

“Weiiiiiiiiird”

To which I responded:

“Im not sure why you think I am lying. Last night when I tried to sit up, I lost my eyesight and got dizzy. [redacted] had to catch me from falling. I never said I permanently lost it. Its a side effect from them taking three vials of my spinal fluid.”

Her response:

“Honestly Dee I don’t give a shit about any of the bullshit.”

“Stop texting me”

I will not let myself be lied about, bullied, or silenced any longer. I will not stand for the people saying to me “I’m sorry this happened but it’s a shame her business is getting bashed over it”. You’re correct. It is. It is a shame that she believed the way she treated me was okay and that she MADE THE CHOICES she made that pushed me to inform others of said treatment. And if her business and reputation suffer because I spoke up, then like she said to me in one of the text messages, “there are consequences for your actions.”

This wasn’t the first time she had mocked me. When I was first diagnosed with IIH, I had discovered a serious issue on the booking site and messaged her and a coworker about it. Instead of acknowledging the issue, she responded:

“Pretty good work for someone with a serious brain injury.”

The next morning, she sat me in her car to “apologize,” but then walked into the salon and loudly announced, “Yeah, you know, I just needed to apologize to our Dee Dee.”

I thought I had found my home there… truly.

What Happened After I Got Home

I thought things would finally start to get better when I was discharged.

I was wrong.

I was still in horrific pain, still weak, and still unable to fully function. But within days of getting home, everything fell apart even further.

I temporarily lost access to my adhd medication, leading to withdrawal symptoms. I couldn’t even process it—

For those who don’t know, ADHD medication withdrawal isn’t the same as withdrawal from addictive substances. Stimulants like Vyvanse aren’t chemically addictive, but that doesn’t mean your body doesn’t react when you suddenly stop taking them.

ADHD medication works by helping regulate dopamine levels in the brain. When you stop taking it, your body suddenly has to adjust to a major drop in dopamine—a neurotransmitter responsible for motivation, focus, and even emotional regulation.

What does this feel like?

• Extreme fatigue – My body felt heavy, sluggish, and impossible to move. I was already physically weak from my medical ordeal, and now I could barely get out of bed.

• Severe brain fog – I struggled to process simple thoughts, make decisions, or even hold a conversation.

• Intense emotional distress – The anxiety and depression that already had a grip on me became overwhelming. Everything felt impossible, hopeless, and suffocating.

• Headaches and body aches – I was already dealing with pain from my spinal leak and procedures, but withdrawal made it ten times worse.

• Increased appetite and cravings – My body was craving dopamine, which made me feel like I needed sugar and carbs constantly—while also being too sick with stress and pain to even eat properly.

• A complete loss of motivation and focus – I was trying to rebuild my life, but my brain wouldn’t let me. It felt like I was trapped in quicksand, watching time slip away while my body refused to move.

ADHD itself already makes it hard for me to function normally. Taking away the only thing that helps regulate my brain while I was in the middle of a crisis was devastating.

And it only made everything that much harder to push through.

March 1: Woke up at 7:30 AM, ran to the bathroom feeling sick, and passed out. When I woke up, I was on the ground, blood everywhere and just draining out of my nose, shaking uncontrollably. I called my sister. I barely remember talking to her. She had me call paramedics. And then my mom called. I was sobbing. She kept asking what happened and I just kept saying I don't know. Then I said “Mom, what is happening to me? I don’t understand.” Her voice cracked: “I don’t know, sweetie. I love you. I’m on my way.” Paramedics came. One of them picked me up off the ground while the other threw a white towel over my blood on the bathroom floor. My vitals were normalizing. Blood pressure was slightly elevated. They helped clean my face up some and then left when I assured them my mom would take me to be seen.. As I tried to process what had just happened, I sat down on the floor in front of my blood puddle in the bathroom ready to clean it and all the sudden.. my cat threw up right next to me.... This was the lowest I had ever felt. While my nose isn't broken, I am still having pain and trouble breathing now so I hope to see and ENT soon. As for all the other stuff, I will be meeting with a new neurologist April 10th in regards to treating the IIH.

• March 2: My grandma started chemo the very day I was released from the hospital on the 26th, then had to be taken to the ER on the 28th due to complications but was sent home. On the 2nd my mother had to take her back to the ER where she was then admitted. She is now home, but her hair has begun falling out, and last evening she bravely had the rest shaved off. Something no one should ever have to experience and even more trauma to endure.

• My mom is also battling cancer. She has follicular lymphoma, and while she doesn’t need treatment yet, the stress of all of this is wearing her down. She is exhausted. She was in and out of hospitals for days between my grandma and I. She sat on that bed with me holding my hand while I hyperventilated and disassociated after the last blood patch just listening to me cry and sob and she just held my hand and told me she loved me.

Through everything that has happened—the pain, the fear, the loss, and the sheer exhaustion—there is one thing I know for certain:

I could not have survived this without my mother.

She has been my rock. My safe place. My best friend.

At a time when she should have been able to focus on caring for my grandmother, she was also taking care of me. Rushing to my side when I passed out in my own blood. Answering every panicked phone call. Fighting to make sure I was okay, even when she was barely holding herself together.

She has endured so much loss, so much stress, and so much heartbreak—and yet, she still keeps going.

So does my grandma.

These two women are the most resilient people I know. And it is because of them that I keep going.

And that is why I was infuriated and heartbroken when, on top of everything, Kendra began sending my mother harassing and cruel messages.

She insulted the very person who has done nothing but give everything she has to keep our family together.

My mother did not deserve that.

And it breaks me to even imagine how heavy this has all been on her and my grandmother.

They have given everything to take care of me, and I want to be able to take care of them.

I just need a little more time to get back on my feet.

The Mental Toll: The Trauma That Doesn’t Just Go Away

When people think of trauma, they often associate it with physical injuries, a singular catastrophic event, or something that leaves visible scars. But what I have gone through—and continue to go through—is a different kind of trauma. One that doesn’t just end the moment I was discharged from the hospital. One that lingers, rewires your brain, and turns even the simplest tasks into an uphill battle.

This isn’t just stress. This is trauma.

Experiencing severe medical distress is traumatic.

• Losing control of your own body—being unable to hold your head up, to walk, to function—does something to your mind. It makes you feel powerless, like a prisoner inside yourself.

• Being in excruciating pain for days, unable to escape it, changes your perception of safety. It makes you fearful that the pain will never end.

• When the people who are supposed to help you—doctors, nurses, and caregivers—fail you, dismiss you, or even harm you—it creates a deep distrust in the very systems meant to keep you alive.

Being publicly humiliated and emotionally abused while going through a life-threatening medical crisis is traumatic.

• Begging for compassion and instead being mocked, belittled, and fired teaches your brain that your pain is a burden. That your suffering doesn’t matter.

• Being threatened while you are physically defenseless creates lasting fear and paranoia, making you question if you are safe even long after the immediate threat is gone.

• Watching your mother be dragged into the abuse—having the one person holding you together be attacked and insulted—makes you feel completely unprotected.

Returning home, trying to put the pieces of your life back together, and still being met with loss, struggle, and fear is traumatic.

• Losing access to necessary medication, going through withdrawal while still recovering, made my mental state plummet even further.

• Passing out and waking up in my own blood, shaking uncontrollably, made me feel like my body had completely betrayed me.

• Watching my grandmother suffer from chemo, watching my mother exhaust herself beyond her limits to take care of us both, makes me feel helpless—like I am a weight dragging everyone down.

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What Trauma Does to the Mind

When you go through severe trauma, your brain doesn’t just “move on.” It rewires itself to try and protect you from experiencing that same pain again.

• Hypervigilance & Paranoia – I constantly feel on edge, as if something else is about to go wrong. Every notification on my phone makes my stomach drop. Every silence makes me question what’s being said behind my back.

• Emotional Numbness & Overwhelm – Some days, I feel everything at once. Other days, I feel nothing at all. I can’t regulate my emotions properly, and the smallest thing can send me into a spiral.

• Avoidance & Shut Down – I avoid messages, avoid tasks, avoid conversations—because my brain can’t process one more thing. Even things that should be simple—eating, showering, responding to texts—feel impossible.

• Flashbacks & Panic Attacks – Certain phrases, smells, even the thought of that hospital room can send me straight back into that moment. My body tenses, my heart races, and for a few moments, I am back in that hospital bed, begging for it all to stop.

• Self-Doubt & Shame – I know this isn’t my fault, but the trauma has made me feel like I am broken. Like I should have been able to handle it all better. Like I should already be over it.

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Recovery Takes Time

Trauma recovery is not a linear process. Some days, I feel like I am moving forward. Other days, I can barely get out of bed. And that is normal.

Healing from this isn’t just about physical recovery—it’s about rebuilding my sense of safety, trust, and self-worth.

• It’s about relearning that my pain matters—that I deserved better care, better treatment, better support.

• It’s about letting go of the guilt that this happened at all.

• It’s about retraining my nervous system to not constantly expect the next attack, the next loss, the next betrayal.

• It’s about giving myself grace when I have days where I just can’t function.

• And it’s about learning how to feel joy again—without my brain pulling me back into survival mode.

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The Joy I Can’t Fully Feel

Through all of this, I have been trying to turn my pain into something meaningful.

Rebranding as Rocky’s Nail Shop is something that should bring me immense happiness. Seeing my father’s name, knowing I am carrying on his legacy, should fill me with pride. And it does. For a few minutes at a time.

But then, the trauma pulls me back.

Instead of feeling the excitement I should be feeling about this new chapter, my brain goes right back into panic mode. It’s like my body is still stuck in that hospital bed, still expecting the next hit, the next text, still bracing for impact.

I want to be able to enjoy this. I want to be able to breathe in the happiness, the excitement, the pride. But my nervous system hasn’t caught up yet. I can’t turn off the constant feeling of danger, no matter how much I try.

I know I will get there. But I’m not there yet.

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I know there are people who think, “It’s been a few weeks, why isn’t she back to normal?” Because this isn’t something you just get over. It’s something you learn to live with, work through, and heal from—on your own timeline, not anyone else’s.

I am trying. Every day, I am trying. But this takes time. And right now, I just need support.

How You Can Help

I hate that I am still having to ask for help, I truly thought and was hopeful to have gotten things back in place by now, that hasn't turned out to be the case.

If interested in an appointment this month, please contact me for more information while things for the rebrand are still being put in place. You can find my booking page at

Rockysnailshop.square.site

If you can’t donate, I understand. But please share this. I also will attach a link to an amazon list that has the things I need to continue doing my job, if you’d like to donate that way.

https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/Q7FCBR7T93W0?ref_=wl_share

I know I have been trying to post like I’m okay. Just because I have my makeup back on in photos doesn’t mean I didn’t cry through the entire process... it just means I'm trying to help myself feel better about something.

This has been one of the hardest things I have ever gone through since I lost my father. And now is a time I need him more than ever.

Thank you to everyone who has shown me love and support. I truly would not have survived this without you and I appreciate you for taking the time to at least read my story despite the length.

With Love,

Dee