Communicating Through Mud: it's not just for kids anymore!

I haven't shared a funny (ish) blog post in a while and since schizophrenia tries it's hardest to take the joy out of most things in life I feel it's long overdue.  So I will share with you what it feels like to be me these days.

Now I have a BA in Communication.  I feel like I'm a pretty good communicator.  I spend a great deal of time choosing my words carefully so that the impact I want conveys to the other party.  I help run support group meetings for breastfeeding moms, a delicate job in itself and I feel like I do a pretty good job.  What usually gets me in trouble is over analyzing what people say.  I remember the first meeting I led.  The wonderful person who trained me said "you did a great job! Gave lots of information!"  Now at first I felt proud that I had done a good job.  But then I analyzed...

and analyzed...

and analyzed...

and somehow I started to wonder if she really meant I did do a good job.  Did I talk to much?  Sounded too expertish? Oh My God I'm a FREAKING FAILURE!  THEY'RE GOING TO NEVER LET ME BACK IN THAT ROOM AGAIN!!!

Part of me thinks it's an asset to analyze so much.  But then I realize how much I'm reading into people's words or body language.  So people become big puzzles I have to put together in my head.  I have to hide when people discover I'm staring.  And since I can't open up anyone's brain and read her thoughts I never know for sure if I'm reading someone the right way.  Then I want to just avoid people because cats are just easier to read.  Yes I want to be THAT cat lady.  Life would be simple, yet full of fleas.

I manage okay.  I get through life being able to at least communicate a little.  I think at least half of what I say makes sense to at least half of people.  But I'm having my doubts on my abilities to even handle basic communication.  Recently I had a conversation with my daughter's teacher which started with me trying to find out why she was struggling in school and ended with me sounding like a horrible bigot in the teacher's eyes.  Is my brain going?  Did my unclipped tongue tie decide that now it was going to exact revenge on my speaking abilities?  Am I saying something different than what my brain thinks it's saying?  Did someone install a speech changer?  Am I getting dementia in my 30's?  Am I paranoid?  Why do I hear laughing?   Ahhhhhhhh!

But I calm down, drink some wine and I feel like I just overreacted.  Obviously I can speak and dementia in your 30's is unheard of, right?

Then cue the communication with my mother's assisted living facility and the doctors. I'm starting to feel like I'm talking through a thick wall of mud.  This was a conversation a few months ago I had with the director of nursing.

Me: "since we're having such a problem with the doctors signing orders is there something I can bring like a med sheet they can sign."

Her: "no, there's no such thing."

Me: "can you give me anything to make this easier?  I feel like I can't explain to them what you want."

Her: "no, there's nothing.  I'm just going to have to treat these doctors like children because they won't do their jobs."

So fast forward to today with the doctor.

me: "I know it's an electronic prescription, but I need something for the assisted living facility to honor the change in dosage.  Can you write something?"

Dr: "all right, I'll do it this time but next time they need to send you with a copy of the physician order sheets so I can just make the change and sign it.  Ask for it a day or two in advance so they can get it together and bring it when you come next time."

Me: "okay, I'll get them to do that, thank you.  Oh you didn't write the diagnosis on the prescription..." Dr walking into another patient's room

Me (to the nurse) "can you write the diagnosis on here.  They are going to hassle me when I get back."

Nurse: "no, they already know what it's for."

Me: (back at the facility) " here's the med change."

Her: "geez okay he needed to put the diagnosis on here."

Me: "I know. I asked and they said you had it.  He also said he needs me to bring the med orders or something with me next time."

Her: "med orders?  There's no such thing."

Me: "well, isn't it one of those sheets on your desk."

Her: "no, this is something else.  Did you get the physician order sheets before you left.(shows me what looks like the identical sheets I pointed to on her desk)."

Me: "uh no, I think that's what he wants.  You've never given me any."

her: "I've given them to you every time."

Me: "no, I think I would remember that.  I didn't know I should ask for it."

Her: "yes you should get a copy of the physician order sheet every time you take your mom to the doctor.  But I know I've done that for you before."

Me: "I can assure you I've never gotten one.  Maybe my sister has gotten one when she's taken our mom to the doctor, but I didn't know I was supposed to get it (didn't mention I felt like I had asked for the sheet before and was turned down)"

So I feel like there is some special language these people are speaking and I feel like I understand what they are saying, but when I ask for things not using their special language they seem to have no idea what I'm talking about.  When I say "med orders" it doesn't mean "physician orders" to them and I'm left not understanding why that isn't close enough.  Why do I feel like I'm in Spain again after 4 years of spanish classes trying to order ice cream in spanish and being looked at like I'm speaking feline?

Does anyone know if Rosetta Stone has a course in speaking "assisted livingese?"  I clearly need an interpreter or a basic course in "Annoying terms in the medical field you must get right or they will think you are a moron."  Maybe I can start writing on my arm when they talk so I can keep careful notes with exact terms.  Or bring in a stenographer.  Or maybe go to medical school so I understand it all.  Or maybe......

Does anyone have a spare straight jacket I could borrow?