Hello there, I'm Johnny. I'm a stroke survivor. I'm an Army veteran. I've been part of the Northeast Ohio roleplaying games community for decades.

[I'm going to stick to the script so I don't miss anything, and so I don't go off on too many tangents, like this one.]

Yesterday, I was issued a 3-day eviction notice from my landlord for unpaid rent. I have exhausted every legal and familial avenue for help and am in danger of losing my home, my car and the ability to exist safely.

In 2017, I had a hemorrhagic stroke near my right basal ganglion, which, while seeming relatively minor compared to what it could have been, has exacerbated my other mental health issues.

As they say, I'm neuro spicy. I grew up with and have lived with, (until recently) undiagnosed and untreated combination Autism and ADHD. Sometimes they cancel each other out, but most of the time they compound the difficulties of each other, especially post stroke.

[Most relevant to the our journey was when I was taken to a child psychologist during the late 1980s or early 1990s (I'm drawing a blank on what age I was at the time) for an evaluation.

My autistic shyness (yeah, that's what my family called it, just shyness) around new adults, or even family members I hadn't seen in awhile, kept my ADHD reined in, and the getting-to-know-you exercise of playing Trouble, the pop-o-matic bubble, with the counselor counteracted some of my shyness enough to avoid being diagnosed with anything...Somehow, even during the crest of the Vitamin R phase where Ritalin was being given out by doctors like candy.

Compounding all of that, I was a gifted child, which Jessica, of the How to ADHD Youtube channel, refers to as twice exceptional. Hello Brains!

If you're neuro spicy and not already subscribed to her channel, you're missing out.

Twice exceptional: Someone who is outside the norm in two ways – They are gifted and they have a disability. Sometimes people think if you're smart, you can't have ADHD. The giftedness can mask the disability and vice versa. Sometimes we can look like a normal student because sometimes we're really great and sometimes we struggle. They can seem to cancel each other out, but really, we need support for both. Material that's challenging enough for our brains and support for the impairments that we have.] Goodbye Brains!

I don't know if there's a technical term for it, but the stroke seems to have broken my sensory filter to a large degree, especially when it comes to audio stimuli. At first I thought it was a hearing issue because if there's any background noise or too many conversations going on, I just can't hear people that I'm talking with. It's soooooo frustrating.

It's gotten so bad that I received hearing aids through the Veterans Administration (VA). However, I can't freaking wear them often because my friend group is as loudly and boisterously autistic and hyperactive as I am, and voices get raised in excitement or just from our usual volume modulation issues.

So instead of the hearing aids, I've been using ear plugs, which help some, but they're definitely not a great solution.

There's no such thing as an inside voice in our group. Even worse is when someone shouts for a kid that's upstairs...to come down for dinner or something. Which not only does it mess with my hearing/filtering, it strongly reminds me of growing up with my mom and grandma yelling up the stairs at me. [Yeah, I'm jotting that down to talk with my therapist about next week.]

Speaking of which, while I have been going through therapy via the VA since the beginning of Covid or before, they've only been able to address the anxiety and/or depression symptoms because the VA doesn't touch Autism or ADHD with a 39 and a half foot pole. So this year, in the middle of my non-employment that started at the end of October (more on that in a bit),* I started going through a civilian psych center to address my underlying problems.

For ADHD, we've started me out on Strattera...I DO NOT RECOMMEND IT. It hasn't helped with focus, it hasn't stabilized my sleep schedule, it hasn't increased my motivation, and, in fact, it's made me much more sleepy and unmotivated than ever before. It's been nothing but side effects. TMI time:

There's bladder retention, which doesn't go well with the diuretics I'm on for my blood pressure.

Then there's the constipation, which does slow down my IBS symptoms a bit, butt it isn't pleasant or preferable, either.

And, worst of all, there's the persistent cottonmouth that nothing seems to get rid of, not brushing and flossing my teeth and scraping my tongue, not using mouthwash or using peroxide debriding rinse, and nothing I eat or drink seems to cover it or cut through it so that I can actually taste anything.

I have sought and have been gainfully employed through these past seven years since my stroke. I was working as a Quizmaster (QMMF) for Geeks Who Drink, as a delivery driver for Pizza Hut, and driving Uber and/or Lyft whenever I had the chance, which was usually right after closing Pizza Hut for the night, so I'd get a lot of bar-thirty customers.

I'd actively go out to the Kent State University area a lot of the times. If it was early enough, I'd be shuttling students from the dormitories, fraternities, and sororities to the bars downtown. Later on in the night I'd be shuttling them from the bars back to the dormitories, fraternities, and sororities. Short and sweet, trips, at about $3 a pop, unless surge pricing kicked in because of a special event or holiday. Maybe a few longer trips if they were heading out to the apartments across from the Ravenna Walmart, the dorms at NeoMed, or the opposite direction, living in Stow.

But fairly often, especially around the beginning of Spring Break, Winter Break, or Summer Vacation, I'd get a trip from the dormitories, fraternities, and sororities to the Amtrak or Greyhound stations or the airport (Cleveland Hopkins or Akron Canton)

And then, depending on where I was, I would stay on all night to get the customers heading to the airport or work in the morning.

[One memorable trip were some semi regulars who just needed a ride home from the bar, in Portage Lakes, a few miles down the same road, past the intersection and its 24 hour gas station. They got in, we left the parking lot, and immediately Pearl Jam's, Evenflow came on the radio. The five of us carpool karaoked it. And then at some point Dan (if I remember his name correctly) whips out a harmonica solo. Oh, that's Dan; he always carries a harmonica, just in case.

[I'm definitely remorseful that I didn't have an inward facing dash cam to capture that moment.]

Focus...

I was running myself ragged.

After working all day Sunday at Pizza Hut, I went out ubering. Some time during the night I bought a new 6 foot charging cord for my phone because my other cord was too broken to even charge my phone. I pulled an all-nighter, got home and crawled into bed around 10am, Monday morning, butt ass nekkid.

My bladder, as usual, immediately said, Not so fast! I went to get up to head to the bathroom and fell. I thought I just had tripped on some dirty laundry on the floor. C'est la vie.

I got up, and went to the bathroom realizing something was wrong, but not quite what. After the bathroom, I wandered to the living room, sat on my recliner and put my feet up.

Eventually I got hungry, so I went to the kitchen and grabbed the sandwich bag of the chocolate and vanilla sandwich cookies that I had taken with me as a snack while driving. I went back to the living room, ate a few cookies, leaned all the way back in the recliner, and fell asleep for a bit.

I woke up, went to the bathroom, headed back to the bedroom and slept some more, still thinking whatever was wrong would just clear up with enough sleep.

This cycle of bathroom, living room, cookies, bathroom, stop at the fridge for a sip of a drink, bed, repeated countless times throughout the rest of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Somewhere during this time frame my phone died, and, in my condition, I couldn't figure out why the brand new cord wasn't working. That is, when I even managed to plug it in.

So at some point I had stopped being able to post on Facebook, since my phone was my only source of internet.

[In retrospect, as I was ambulatory, I should have just walked the (almost exactly) 2 miles from my West Hill apartment to Akron General Hospital's Emergency Room. I'd have probably looked like the walking dead, shambling the whole way. But I wasn't thinking the most clearly, what with bleeding on my brain and all.

I knew I didn't want to risk driving because my peripheral vision was shot; I may even have been functionally blind in my left eye. It's as hazy and difficult to remember most of that time as it seemed to be to even function then. I also didn't want to have to deal with the issue of parking. Hospital parking can be a hassle on a good day. Trying to do so at <50% physical and mental capacity (because the left side of my brain was having to compensate for the right side taking a few well-deserved sick days) would have been disastrous.

I would not recommend having a stroke.

Also, at some point, I realized, or at least stopped being in denial about it being a stroke. I became resigned to the fact that it might kill me.

I was (am) still having survivor's guilt over my long time best friend, from all the way back in first grade, Danny Legg, jr., having passed away. I'd have gladly traded my life for his. He has so many friends and family members that love him and care about him. At the time, I felt I had none of that.

I had nothing to live for except my two wonderful cats, Arthur and Merlin. [Unfortunately, Merlin passed away a couple of years ago from a urinary blockage. I thought he just had an upset tummy. I should have gotten him to the vet so much sooner. He was ten years old. I miss my Merlin every day.]

[So, yes, somewhere during this cycle, it did go from just a stroke to a passive suicide attempt. That's why one of my tattoos is the panel from Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (JTHM) comic, where he's accidentally managed to get shot in the head on purpose, and his body is lying there in a puddle of his blood spilling out of his brain. It's doubly symbolic.]

I was supposed to have worked Monday and Tuesday night at Pizza Hut, and Wednesday night I was scheduled to host my regular Pub Quiz at Jilly's Music Room, next to Luigi's, in the Northside District.

Some time on Wednesday night, my coworkers at Pizza Hut became concerned enough that I had missed work on Monday and Tuesday, as a no call, no show, which was entirely uncharacteristic of me, and that I hadn't posted anything to Facebook in days, which was also entirely uncharacteristic of me.

So they contacted our former store manager, who'd hired me, and who has been my friend since high school. They gave her my address and phone number and asked her to go check on me. I'm thankful that they did.

When she arrived, I was at a sleeping in the bed stage of the cycle. She was banging on the security screen door, which makes that weird, diffused metal sound. It bled into my dreams for a bit, and when it finally woke me up enough, I still couldn't figure out what the heck it even was. I don't know if she tried the front doorbell, but I might have responded to that, maybe.

At this point she's concerned enough to downright worried and calls 9-1-1.

The police and an ambulance arrived. The police rapped on my bedroom window, while shining their flashlights in through the frosted glass, and giving clear, loud commands.

COME UNLOCK THE BACK DOOR. JOHN! GET UP AND OPEN THE BACK DOOR.

At which point I did manage to stand up.

PUT SOME PANTS ON AND OPEN THE BACK DOOR.

Very well then.

I grabbed my grey shorts that were hanging on my bedroom doorknob, somehow managed to put them on, and opened the back door. I say somehow managed because I tried to put them on while still upright, but that was a NO GO at this station. So I sat on the bed and accomplished the mission.

[Pro tip: Wear loose shorts to the ER. At some point they'd administered a catheter. I certainly don't remember the process. I didn't even realize I had one until Nature called for a Number 2. I had to page the nurse, doctors had to be consulted, the catheter had to be removed, and then they had to help me to the commode that swung out on one of the under the sink cabinet doors. Only the best accommodations in my luxurious 5 star room.

I say that because it was $1,000 per night. Thankfully it was covered, but I did receive the itemized bill and had to have a meeting on my front porch with someone from some official office about the coverage. So, a la carte, just existing in the room was already expensive. If you would like us to do the medicine stuff to you, that costs extra.

That's not a dig at the staff. All of my doctors and nurses and assorted technicians, were wonderful. I am so grateful for the care I received...

However, with that being said, I still essentially was sleeping off my stroke, just under supervision, with medication and the occasional brain scan thrown in. But I digress.

Wear loose shorts to the ER because they'll just reach into a leg of them, and administer the catheter, without you having to have your ass hang out of the back of the hospital gown. Especially wonderful if you attempt to sleep on your side in those hospital beds.

Another tangent, within this tangent within a tangent within a tangent:

Because of the stroke they kept the head of my bed elevated to at least 30 degrees at all times, more if I was sitting up for eating or something.

Attempting to sleep on one's side, in a rubber hospital bed, at a 30+ degree angle, with sheets that like to slide down, after a stroke, with the left half of my body unable to support itself, like it was made of Jello or cooked pasta, meant that I was constantly sliding down.

My ex had heard I was there, came down from a few floors above me to visit at least once or twice, that I was cognizantly aware of at the time and still remember now.

I'd had a whiplash injury on active duty Army, while stationed at (career dead end, for me, anyways) Fort Irwin, Barstow, Mojave Desert, California from when a drunk driver slammed into the back of us, in my first car, a Dodge Stratus (which is funny because we didn't dodge) at bar-thirty at night while we were completely stationary at a light that was taking way too long in general, and definitely much too long for that time of night, in the city of Hesperia, after having just dropped off Jason F's girlfriend.

Jason F. was lying down in the back seat, buckled in, but fully horizontal. Other Jason was in the passenger seat. I had just looked up in the rear-view mirror and began to say, Damn, he's pretty... SLAM, shoving us forward about 10 feet ...close. SLAM, shoving us forward another 10 feet or so, folding my trunk lid into my back window, shattering it, and raining pebbled glass all over Jason F., SLAM, shoving us forward another 10 feet or so, burying the bumper of his Toyota Tundra into the rubber of our back tires.

[By the way, I still have his California license plate (and maybe the Toyota emblem) as a horrible souvenir of the incident, in addition to the whiplash, that is.]

Since I was looking up into the rear view mirror at the time, it affected Cervical vertebrae 2 and 3 (C2 & C3). Prior to the crash, I'd never really had a headache. My neck seemed fine for my last few months of active duty before I ETS'ed (End Time in Service) back to civilian life, but I also didn't have to wear a kevlar helmet during that time. I had a couple of months of leave (vacation days) between active duty Army and having to report to my Reserve unit. I, also, didn't have to wear one for the first few months there.

But the first time I had to wear one at all, was for travel from our unit to a training site, for the rest of the day at the site, and for the travel back to the unit. Afterwards, I had one of the, if not the worst headaches I've ever had. The pain started at the affected vertebrae and then it followed a diagonal path from there up through to my forehead.

On and off for years (mostly on) it has persisted. When it happens, like with migraine sufferers, it's utterly debilitating for a day of two. No amount of heat, cold, or over the counter pain relief ointment would even take the edge off... It wasn't until outpatient physical therapy a couple of months later that they gave me some exercises that have largely fixed it, when my neck isn't trying to compensate for my shoulder.

But the point was...She came by with a neck pillow for me. It was one of the nicest things anyone had done for me up until then.

After some logistics like grabbing my phone, the (useless) cord, and my wallet (I can't remember if I grabbed them or my friend did), I walked out the back door, where I walked past the gurney, and started to head down the driveway to the ambulance. In my hazy state, I'd confused the stretcher with my landlord's wheel barrow that had previously been in the same spot, behind my car, while he did some lawn work.

I spent a week in the hospital after my hemorrhagic stroke. I was moved around a few times, from the ER to intensive care to neuro. The paramedics had immediately administered intravenous medications to drastically drop my blood pressure from the ridiculously high levels it was at, and the ER administered blood thinners to prevent the blood that was leaking onto my brain from clotting.

[When the paramedic was wheeling me into the ER, I heard him say, That was badass. I wasn't sure what he meant, so I asked him. You tried to sleep off a stroke! That's pretty badass.]

DO NOT TRY TO SLEEP OFF A STROKE!!! Time lost is brain lost.

My friend had arrived. (This might be when she brought my phone, cord, wallet, keys, etc.) I had a terrible, persistent case of the hiccups (because the left half of my diaphragm was affected by the stroke), and they couldn't take me for an MRI and/or CAT scan until they stopped.

After a week of daily (or every other day?) scans first thing in the morning (I became convinced that the MRI machine only worked from 4 to 6 AM), I was transferred to the (then Cuyahoga Falls location) Edwin Shaw physical therapy center, for three taxing weeks of alternating physical therapy and occupational therapy seemingly any time I wasn't sleeping or eating.

One of the occupational therapy tasks was essentially the same as putting pepperonis on a pizza, except with red wooden discs, so after that first time, I said that I'll get enough practice with that when I get back to work. But I did get permission to borrow Connect 4 from the games closet so that I could get some manually dexterity practice in my room. My left hand was doing alright; however, my right hand kept knocking over the whole contraption... You're not the stroke side, dammit. [Are you faking it because you're jealous?]

So, eventually, what's left of me gets to go home and finally cuddle with my kitties.

[I'd never been away from them for more than a few weeks for Army Reserves annual training (AT) at Fort Knox, Kentucky. I'm sure it was still just as miserable for them, but at least my time was occupied with playing GI Joe. About halfway through the second week, I felt like I was back in the sweet predictability of Active Duty again.]

For a week or so I had a bunch of appointments, wasn't cleared to drive, not that I wanted to at that point (except one day when I was left unsupervised and my car was right there), and hadn't returned to work yet.

We were still trying to dial in my blood pressure medications. It still wanted to get to dangerous levels, so the doctors adjusted them to lower it, which then had me at a 90/60 and orthostatic blood pressure issues from sitting up too quickly, standing too quickly from sitting, or attempting to go directly from horizontal to vertical, in cases like heading to the bathroom, would, at a minimum, make me extremely woozy in the sit down before I fall down way, and sometimes actually resulted in passing out and falling down.

I soft returned to work by hosting my Wednesday Geeks Who Drink Quiz, only a couple of miles from my apartment. Jilly and her staff and my quizzers enthusiastically welcomed me back. I made it through the two hours of quiz, but my RAM in my brain was utterly shot. I don't know how I managed to set up the audio equipment and multitask in reading the questions, grading the previous round, playing the audio rounds, tallying scores, reading the answers, and announcing the standings...I'm tired just thinking about it now.

I returned to work at Pizza Hut the next week, in the kitchen, on reduced hours, but that first day back, within the first half hour, the 400+ degrees Fahrenheit of the pizza ovens (top, middle, and sometimes also the bottom conveyors) also triggered the orthostatic hypotension (avoid hot bathes or showers because they can exacerbate symptoms).

I had to sit in the office sipping on ice water until I was shivering, while waiting for my ride to pick me up.

[Speaking of shivering: Since the stroke, the left half of my body seems to be ectothermic (cold-blooded), while my right side is cranking out a little extra heat to compensate. I didn't used to be able to sleep with socks on, except in the Arctic while bivouacked (camping). Since then, though, I have to sleep with both socks on. If I wear just the left one because it's cold, the right foot will remove it in my sleep because of the discrepancy.]

The managers told me to take all the time I needed, and they were just going to take me off the schedule until I was good. That took another week or so of adjusting medications...

…eventually I returned to work and was mostly able to function, as long as I stayed away from the oven and didn't stand too close to the Wing Street fryers. I was able to function mostly through muscle memory, routine, and the camaraderie with my fellow production people.

At some point after that, I was cleared to drive again, and I started picking up a few driving shifts (if I remember correctly, Sundays when it's both slower, unless there's a football game on, and mostly the same regular customers so that I didn't even need to use my GPS for them.

In 2020, I was working Pizza Hut, Geeks Who Drink, and the Decennial Census in the IT department.

I had picked up a substitute hosting night in Cleveland Heights, at New Heights Grill on a Thursday. The next day, Ohio Covid protocols kicked in and there went GWD. (Perfect timing, I guess.) The Census was put on a pause until they could figure out how to properly protect everyone from everyone in the offices. And Pizza Hut merely had to close the dining room. Carryout and delivery were busier than ever, and, at least at first, people were tipping us generously for being one of the few options in the area.

Thanks to being a doubly essential worker, two letters of marque to travel the King's road, or whatnot, in an official capacity, I was able to pay my car off a year early. This factored heavily into my decision to go with this apartment. If I'm not paying for a car, I'll put the money towards my dwelling.

I'm a pack rat, due in large part to the Autism & ADHD. Start a hobby, get the requisite supplies for it. Get distracted by a new one, etc. I'm fairly stockpiled with crafting supplies and role-playing games. Also factoring into it is my time in the military.

When I went to basic training, I only had a suitcase with some civilian clothes.

When I went to AIT, I still didn't have much more than that.

But at AIT we started getting some latitude, access to the PX (military Walmart, basically) and weekend off post passes. I was starving for input of music other than marching and running cadences, so I bought a bunch of CDs. I didn't rebuy ones that were still here in Ohio in my old room. I later consolidated all of them into two binders.

Then in Alaska, I made the mistake of having my stuff shipped to me. Little did I know that at the time, though.

However, leaving Alaska for California, I shipped nearly everything home again.

I got to Fort Irwin with just (in addition to any military gear I'm glossing over) a (newer) suitcase of civilian clothes, my complete collection of Hunter the Reckoning role-playing game books, my computer, its monitor, speakers, battery backup, joystick, etc. Very minimalist, for me.

When I left California, however, I had a 17ft Uhaul, stuffed, with my car, also stuffed, on a trailer behind it...

Basically I have several lifetimes worth of stuff, and I almost, finally have it sorted out and organized.

The friends that helped me move in here on Labor Day weekend of 2020 all unanimously agreed that, *_You're dying in this place. You're never moving again._*

Fast forward to April of 2022 and I started working at the Amazon fulfillment center built on the grave of Rolling Acres Mall. I was part of dayshift, inbound department, taking totes off of pallets, loading them into the sled (station) for easy reach and to have it scan in each tote so the computer knows what items should be in it. From there we scan individual items and put them in the pockets of the canvas libraries, according to size, weight, and other parameters.

I was working four 10 hour days (or five 11's if it's close to a Prime Day or the Holidays). It's a nearly nonstop 10 hours of the stair climber, the sliding metal steps to reach higher pockets. It wasn't ideal for my already decrepit knees and ankles, but I was dealing with it as best as I could, even though I'd have to walk up to the second, third or fourth floors (which are really the third, fourth, and fifth because the first floor is the height of a two story warehouse. One can only use the elevators if they have an elevator pass, which requires a medical accommodations request.

Okay, fine, no big deal, even though I've already taken all of my steps for the day by the time I get to the floor it says I'm supposed to be on, and then, depending on the needs of the various teams on the various floors and how full the stations are, I might have to go to an entirely different side of the long rectangular race track that are the upper floors, because the oversized roombas are in the middle of the room.

The larger restrooms are located at the mid point of the long sides of the rectangle, while the smaller ones are at the shorter ends of the rectangle.

[Dammit Peggy, you know I can't get comfortable until I know where the bathrooms are.]

The smaller men's rooms have ONLY ONE urinal and ONE stall.

The larger ones have three urinals and two stalls.

[The first floor restrooms near the cafeteria sized break room have more, but there's no time to get all the way down there and back to my station.]

Remember when I mentioned frequent urination thanks to diuretics and somewhat frequent, urgent, matters when it comes to Number 2?

So for a year and a half or so on Inbound, at the area manager level, we had it handled that I would just get a station closer to a restroom, and they were understanding about any time off station issues for using the restroom...

And then Amazon made me an offer I couldn't refuse. They offered a bonus to switch to overnights in the Outbound department, with an overnight pay differential, only three, 12 hour shifts (except Prime and Holidays), I'm more of a night owl, and it was an overall easier position, playing iSpy with the computer, grabbing the right item(s) from the right pocket(s), placing them in totes, filling said totes to the cutoff line, and sending them on their merry way around the miles and miles of conveyor belts to where they needed to go.

[The system is like a Rube Goldberg Device, but each key point is operated by a human, and even so is some of the in between stuff.]

At first my new area manager was understanding about the bathroom issue, until she wasn't.

But I was making my metrics. Heck, according the performance video games on our second monitor at our work stations (like the Black Mirror episode 15 Million Merits, but with 16 bit, Super Nintendo graphics), I was in at least the top 25% of the floor, the building, and usually the entire country.

She instructed me to file a formal medical accommodations request.

So I went through the VA to get the requisite physical exam and necessary paperwork to file my accommodations request, which I submitted around the 20th of October of last year.

Amazon scheduling is done through an app. I wasn't on the upcoming schedule. And I received emails from the Amazon Accommodations Department. They had put me on an indefinite Leave of Absence until they could find a position in the facility to meet my accommodations...Then when they exhausted that possibility, they checked with the Cleveland facility, and then the Canton one. Unfortunately, we cannot accommodate you at this time.

During this time they gave me sporadic supplemental medical leave pay, but nowhere near what I had been making, and, even with cutting my spending down to just the bills (rent, electric, bundled renters insurance/auto insurance and $25 for cellphone), and necessities like cat food, it wasn't enough to get through more than a couple of months when combined with my VA Disability.

I sought aid through the Summit County Veterans Service commission, and they were able to help me with rent and groceries twice. But I'm not eligible for additional help until the next fiscal year, in October.

I am still currently unemployed and trying to get back on my feet, but I am now facing devastation.

There's only one employee for the entirety of Summit County for the Unemployment office, they're only there, at the Jobs and Family Services building, one day per week, and good luck trying to talk to anyone on the phone.

Despite all of that, my unemployment is finally copacetic; however, I still haven't received any pay from it.

In better news, it was slightly easier to get SNAP (food stamps), Medicaid, and to get on the AMHA housing & vouchers lists. I'm still playing the waiting game to hear back from them with some good news, but it can take up to 24 months, even with the Veterans Preference points.

I would certainly prefer to receive a voucher and stay in my current apartment, that I will have been in for 4 years on Labor Day weekend. However, even without a voucher, once my disability goes through (if it goes through), and if my disability percentage appeal through the VA increases that rate, I'll be able to afford it.

I am currently going through a law firm to get on disability. I just submitted the next round of paperwork to them, where it'll get sent to the Columbus disability office, and then they make their decision.

It may sound dismissive or disingenuous, but the phrase, I can't even, sums up where I'm at physically and mentally when it comes to working. I am falling apart.

This week I have stubbed my left pinkie toe and the one next to it a couple of dozens of times just here in my apartment. After the first dozen times I finally taped my toes closer together to protect them, and then I've still been hitting them on everything. It may seem relatively minor, but it's just the injury to insult / insult to injury on top of everything else that's going wrong.

Around 2019 I started having issues with my right shoulder, limited range of movement, pain in certain unavoidable positions, and just using that arm to push myself up off of bed hurts...A couple of months ago my left shoulder began doing the same.

During all of the blood work and testing and such during my stroke, it revealed Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD). My civilian nephrologist said, I have never seen renin and creatinine levels this high. There's nothing to worry about.

Doc, those two statements don't sound like they go together.

Turns out that renin and creatinine increase blood pressure, so since we're treating the blood pressure, It's fine.

They don't know why my kidneys are pumping out such high levels of renin and creatinine. The most likely causes, a mass on the adrenal gland or a blocked renal artery, have been ruled out. And, while either possibility would require surgery, at least that should fix the problem. But it's not, so it can't.

Meanwhile, I have an extra right renal artery, which is fairly common for people to have an extra renal artery, usually on the right side. I got ripped off in the mutant powers department.

I appreciate any consideration during this difficult time. Every bit helps. This has been created with the utmost humility and introspection.

Thank you,

---Johnny

Goodbye Brains!

Please Help Me and my Arthur Kitty so We Don't Get Evicted

Still $3,069 to go. Help us build momentum.