What’s In a Name?

I’ve always been fascinated with names.

When I was a little girl, I went through a period of time when I asked my mom to call me by a different name each week. I love my name. It’s been a bit awkward through the years as people assume I’m Latina and a fluent Spanish speaker. This often occurs in telephone conversations. It happens less frequently in person as I’m not Latina and don’t look Latina.

I remember when my brother decided he needed to be called Doug instead of Dougie (his name is Douglas). It was a matter of him needing his name to match his level of maturity. It was hard to switch, but I worked at it diligently as I wanted to show him respect.

I remember another time teasing my little sister Rhonda about her middle name. She was named after our Aunt Ellen and at the moment we thought Aunt Ellen was mean for disciplining us. “Rhonda Ellen Jones, Rhonda Ellen Jones” we chanted again and again, while she pleaded for us to stop.

My mother and I share the same middle name, Sue. I love that I’m named after her. Today, I have a niece and a granddaughter who are also named after myself and my mom.

I’ve heard surnames I would change if they were mine: Roach, Hiscock (or any variation with cock in it), Peanisbreath, Butt, Goodenough, etcetera. I’ve also heard first names which made me think the person’s mother didn’t love them: at the top of that list is Vagina (pronounced Va.jean.uh…right).

Parents, be good to your kids before they even arrive, think through what you name them.  Think about the acronym the first letters of your child’s name will spell. If your last name is Smith, don’t name your baby girl Amanda Sue! Be careful, even a presidential name like Bush can become problematic when combined with the wrong first name, like Vagina!

When I was naming my sons, I wanted them to have choices. I chose unusual first names and common middle names, so they could decide what they preferred. My oldest went by Fergus until the first grade, then switched to Anthony, then back to Fergus when he enrolled in college, his Aunt Tammi still calls him Anthony.

Fergus helped me choose Samson’s middle name.  He was a Ninja Turtle fan, so he wanted Donatello.  We compromised with Donald.  Samson decided he wanted a completely different name altogether and began using a nickname his friends chose for him.

Names mean something.  Throughout the Bible the meanings of names are given and there are many times when a person’s name is changed after they make a fundamental change.  The bible says Christians will be given a white stone with a new name on it. I’m looking forward to it, as I believe it will mark a fundamental change in who I’m going to be for the rest of eternity.

“Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it.”               Revelation 2:17

Sold to the Highest Bidder

We met at the Enlisted Member’s Club in Georgia.  I was in the Army National Guard. He was active duty Air Force. I was upstairs where the Top 40 was playing. He was downstairs where the rock was blasting. The upstairs bar had a line around the building! I went downstairs where the line wasn’t as long. Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” came on and the next thing I knew we were dancing and talking while we waited in line.

His name was John O’Rourke but everyone called him “The Rock”. He was a fine-looking man with a gorgeous smile. His eyes were the color of Hershey’s kisses. We talked and danced and laughed. He walked me home.  He wanted to get intimate that first night, I declined.  We dated.

We married a few months later.  That afternoon, he sucked on my lip so hard it swelled and bruised. He got drunk in the living room with his friends while I cried myself to sleep in the bedroom on our wedding night.

We lived in a single wide in the sweltering heat of Georgia. We had one vehicle and no phone. I had no idea how to cook; so we ate macaroni and cheese with every possible addition: peas, hot dogs, carrots, hamburger, you name it. We read together. He went to work every day, leaving me in the trailer alone. When he was mad at me, he’d walk me over to a pay phone and call my mom to tell on me. Then he’d stand next to me while I talked to her, not able to tell the truth.

We spent an afternoon movie hopping, then roller skating with his friends. I fell and broke my wrist in two places, the hospital wasn’t able to give me anything for the pain because I was pregnant. I began to spot, the doctor told me they wouldn’t give me anything to prevent the miscarriage because this was a natural way for my body to get rid of a baby that was unwell. We were out to dinner at a steakhouse with friends. I went into the bathroom and miscarried in the toilet. I waited quite a while, but the bleeding didn’t stop. I went back to the table and told my husband what happened. I asked him to take me to the hospital, he said they’d just ordered. I explained, without treatment, I’d die. He took me, but you could tell he was angry about it.

We went to visit his family in Chicago. His father lived on the first floor and his mother lived on the second of the same tenement. I don’t remember his father. We stayed with his mother. His brother came to visit at the same time. He had a sister and her kids who either came to visit Mama while we were there or lived with her; I don’t remember which. His mother hated me because I was Caucasian and she didn’t want her African-American son to marry a Caucasian. There was nothing I could have done to change her mind.

We went out with his best friend from high school. We went dancing at a reggae club. It was nice. The music was good, the drinks were tasty, club was packed. Nice ambiance. We’re out on the floor, moving our stuff when the man dancing next to us steps on my foot. He apologizes. I accept. My husband doesn’t accept and gets into a physical altercation with this stranger in a reggae club. Hello!

We were at a house party. I was drunk. I was flirting with his friend, when his friend hit on me. I agreed to meet him. To this day, I don’t know why! Stupid. Young. Depressed. Abandoned. Controlled. Ugh! I’m thinking, well he won’t show up. He was drunk and won’t remember. He showed up. He wanted sex. I had sex with him even though I didn’t want to. Why? I felt so guilty. I thought about it constantly. Everything my husband and I did together felt tainted. I finally told him. I truly believed it was more honorable to tell him.

I told The Rock because I thought it was the right thing to do.  In hindsight, I told him to lighten my guilt. I hoped he would tell me he loved me anyway and he was sorry for not being emotionally supportive and we’d work it out.

NOT what happened. He took off to go talk to his best friend. I was terrified he was going to beat him up. It was worse. He brought him back to our trailer and offered to sell me to him. He tormented us for weeks.

He got orders to Florida. We packed up and moved and left his “best” friend behind.

Disability Exam

Last Friday, my husband drove me an hour away to have a disability exam by a mental health professional.

I applied for disability when months had passed since the onset of vertigo without a diagnosis or treatment which will allow me to return to work.  One of the questions asks you to list all conditions which might interfere with your ability to work (or something along those lines).  I don’t want to get in trouble for lying, misrepresenting, or not providing full information, so although the big reason is vertigo, I included nausea (caused by the vertigo), migraines (because I’m having headaches virtually every day and migraines a couple times a month and one of the specialists said the vertigo may be caused by vestibular migraines), and anxiety (because I was under a great deal of stress when the vertigo came on and I believe the mind and body are inextricably linked; I’ve also experienced some pretty strong negative emotions since the vertigo began).  I was being seen by a mental health professional to address the stress prior to the vertigo.   

I’d had a rough week, with lots of vertigo attacks and I was feeling worn down. 

We stopped at McDonald’s on the way out of town and I ate a full meal.  This is the second time I left my town on a full stomach, with the same result.  I have nausea due to the vertigo and the effect is even worse when my stomach is full. 

On the way to my appointment, there is a significant change in altitude and sometimes it plays havoc with my ears.  I had an absurd amount of pressure in my ears and I couldn’t relieve it.  I tried holding my nose and blowing air with my mouth closed.  It didn’t work. 

I was overcome with nausea and discomfort and began to weep.  I desperately wanted to ask my husband to pull over, but how would that help?  We still needed to get to my appointment and it would only make matters worse to be late. 

We got to town and followed the doctor’s directions (down an alley) and arrived at my appointment. 

She asked me a lot of questions and I can’t remember them all but she did ask me the basics.  Name, date of birth, place of birth, state we were in, city we were in, current president and last.  She asked me to repeat three words and to remember them to tell them to her again later.  The words were house, boat and shoe.  We were in a town near water, so houseboat, and shoe.  I tapped my shoe through the rest of the interview.

She asked about my childhood, which was the first crying jag as I told her my step-father Dick was abusive physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually. 

She asked about my education:  three associate degrees and a bachelor’s degree. 

She asked me to explain what the idiom “strike while the iron’s hot” means.  For the life of me, I had no idea and I knew I should know and I was beyond frustrated.  It was one of the three times I started crying and couldn’t stop. 

She asked me if I’m worried about having vertigo.  No, worrying about it isn’t going to change a thing.  I want my old life back.  I want to drive and work and do normal things.  There was a brief period of time when I was really freaked out about not having any income, but we prayed about it, sold some things and covered our debts.  God has met all our needs. 

She asked about my military service and my work history.  The last place I worked was in child safety and it has left me traumatized.  I can’t talk about it without crying.  I cried when I told her I’d worked there a year and a half.  She didn’t ask any follow up questions. 

She asked about the feelings I’ve experienced since the onset of the vertigo.  I named a bunch:  confusion, frustration, worry, fear, dread, anger, embarrassment, depression, sorrow, hope, grief.  I could have gone on.   

At the end of the interview, she told me her husband had a three month bout of vertigo and it was definitely scary but he has since recovered. 

My husband and I got in our car and I started crying again.  He asked what was wrong.  I covered my face with my hands and tried to tell him through my tears.  I leaned over on his shoulder and just let it out.  He was just there.  Loving me.  Supporting me.  Not trying to fix anything, just reassuring me. 

A Summer in Georgia

After the break up with Willie, I was out of control.  My mom didn’t know what to do.  I felt worthless, unlovable, used up.  I began sleeping around and drinking to numb the pain.  My mom called my biodad and arranged for my sister Tammi and I to go visit him for the summer.   

My biodad lived in Georgia with his new wife Mini and their four children: Earl, Lizzie, Susan and Tommy.  They lived in governmental subsidized housing.  Beautiful brick homes in a lush, green setting with a wooded area where the neighborhood children played. 

Biodad left the house most days and I assume he went to work.  His wife stayed home with the children.  There wasn’t a lot of adult supervision. 

My sister Tammi and I stayed in the same room.  One morning Mini came into the room and breathlessly asked if we wanted to smoke a Thai stick.  I said sure.  She told me to go ask the garbageman for a lighter.  I ran off to catch the garbage truck before it left the neighborhood. 

I spent a lot of time that summer with siblings, new and old.  We hung out together in the woods.  Other teens were there pressuring Tammi into trying marijuana for the first time.  I took her aside and counseled her.  I told her if she wanted to try it, that’s one thing, go ahead but if she was just doing it because the others were telling her to, she didn’t have to and shouldn’t give in to peer pressure. 

I dated a young man in the neighborhood.  We hung out together and began having sex.  He gave me pills to take and I did, without knowing what they were.  He took me to the next state over to a seedy motel and tried to talk me into marrying him.  Thank God I chickened out. 

I was at my boyfriend’s house when the younger children came running to get me because my biodad was beating his wife Mini up.  I ran back to their house.  My biodad had Mini cornered in the living room and was punching her in the face.  I brought the children back outside and waited for the police to do their thing.  My biodad was arrested.  I’ll never forget Mini asking me, her 16 year old step-daughter what she should do.  I told her I’d never let a man beat me like that.  She replied that she loved him.  He had knocked her two front teeth through the flesh of her chin and she had a ragged, bloody gash from it. 

Grandma Pearl, biodad’s mom, came to get us and take us back to Indiana with her.  She took the girls, myself, Tammi, Lizzie and Susan.  She left the boys.  At some point, Mini spoke with my mother and told her I was out of control and could no longer stay there!  Grandma’s home was completely different, full of love and laughter, well kept, with family photos covering the living room wall. 

The first time Aunt Lizzie came to see us at Grandma’s, I asked her to check Susan’s hair for lice and told her that Susan frequently scratched her head.  Aunt Lizzie was a beautician and one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known.  Aunt Lizzie checked but didn’t see anything.  Later, we were all watching television and Susan fell asleep on the floor in front of us.  She started scratching in her sleep.  I pointed it out to Aunt Lizzie.  When Aunt Lizzie checked again, she found them.  Hordes of them.  Tammi and I had them too. 

Grandma Pearl called Mini and told her about the lice.  Mini told Grandma it was no big deal, the kids get them every year.  Her solution was to shave the boys’ heads and put mayonnaise on the girls.  Lizzie and Susan went back home.  I remember sitting on the floor with newspaper in my lap while I ran the fine-toothed comb that came with the Quell shampoo.  The lice would fall onto the paper unmoving and after a little bit, they’d start to squirm.  Blech!  I cried and cried. 

I didn’t see my biological father again for 10 years. 

Dishing Some Dirt About Myself

I’m a gossip. A tittle-tattler. A meddler.

My definition of gossip is now talking about someone when that person is not present in the conversation. The intent of the person talking has no bearing on whether or not it’s gossip.

Something had to change.

I talked to God about it and confessed it as sin. I asked Him to help me stop since it was a lifetime habit and I didn’t even know how to begin to change. I talked to my sponsor and 12 step friends about it. After decades of gossip, I knew I couldn’t possibly locate and make amends to all the people I’d talked about behind their backs. I decided to focus on the people I was most likely to continue to gossip about or with.

This is how gossip, typically, played out in my life. I have a loving mother and three siblings she gave birth to in my life. My Mom is Peony. My brother is Adam. My sisters are Tammi and Rhonda. I have a plethora of extended family. Tammi and I would be at Peony’s and we would end up talking about problems Adam was facing and how he could resolve them. Adam wasn’t present. Rhonda and I would go out to lunch and end up talking about problems Mom was facing and how she could resolve them. Mom wasn’t present. Rarely did I go to the person for whom we were brainstorming solutions to share our ideas with them.

I spoke with Mom, Adam, Tammi, and Rhonda. I spoke with my sons, Fergus and Samson. I explained to each of them that I had realized I’m a gossip and I was determined to change. I confessed I had gossiped about each of them. I apologized for being disrespectful both in gossiping about them and in thinking I could solve their problems or even needed to solve them. I told them, going forward, I would not be speaking about them unless they’re present.

It was awkward at first. What do you talk about when you’ve always talked about other people you both know when you get together? Well, you eventually start talking about yourselves. You share more deeply than you ever have before if the person you’re talking to is someone you care about and are safe with. Some family members were offended. Some were hurt. Some were glad I’d finally figured this out about myself.

It is something I still struggle with a bit. Sometimes my unwillingness to gossip is viewed as disrespectful to the person who wants me to tell them details about another person’s life. Sometimes it’s viewed as denial or keeping secrets. Relationships are complicated. My interactions with a loved one may affect me so deeply that I need to discuss it with someone else, now I talk to a 12 step friend rather than another loved one. Sometimes it’s unavoidable: a discussion between two family members must be had when a third family member is incapacitated by health.

I try to follow a few guidelines:

1) Don’t talk about the person if they’re not there.

2) Don’t share someone else’s story.

3) Choose a couple of  non-relatives who are safe to run things past. 

4) Ask myself, “What’s Your Motive?”

5) Direct the person asking for detail about someone else to speak to the someone else directly.

My two sons, Fergus and Samson, are examples of the opposite extremes people feel about the details of their lives being shared by others. Perfectly natural to ask a sibling about their children. Right? I have 10 nieces and nephews. It’s much easier to ask 3 siblings for updates on their children, than to contact the 10 nieces and nephews. It also conveys to the sibling that I love them, and I love their children. Right? My son Fergus could care less if you talk about him. If he’s having successes, he wants his family to celebrate with him. If he’s having problems, he wants our prayers. My son Samson is the opposite, he doesn’t want to be talked about whether it’s good or bad. Period. He is highly offended when he discovers someone has talked about him. Neither is right or wrong, it’s just their preference. I do my best to respect their wishes.

Today, my relationships with the people I love are more honest and respectful.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject of gossip!

The Destruction of a Family

Since Ariel’s birth, Fergus and Joanna’s relationship has deteriorated as Joanna realized Fergus is not going to marry her even though they share a child together. She’s always been a brusque woman. She’s emotionally damaged from a bad relationship with her mother. Her mother is very controlling. Joanna ran away from home as a young teen. Although she returned, their relationship is strained.

Joanna became verbally abusive to my son after she realized he was not going to marry her. Thanksgiving 2015, Fergus and Joanna brought the girls to Washington state to celebrate with myself and my other adult son Samson. Samson lived closest to the restaurant Joanna chose for our shared meal, so we all stayed with him. He didn’t have enough bedrooms, so most of us slept in the living room. Joanna was on the couch and I was in a sleeping bag on the floor. In the middle of the night, I was wakened by Joanna yelling at Fergus to come get Ariel to change her diaper and how she had been up all night changing diapers for the girls and taking kids to the bathroom while he did nothing. Fergus responded in a reasonable tone and reported there were no dirty diapers in the trash; so her claim was untrue and he was up and taking care of the dirty diaper. Joanna continued to loudly berate him; despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, the diaper was being changed, and there was a household of sleeping relatives and their four children she was disturbing with her tirade.

Joanna started attempting to control me through phone calls and texts demanding that I assist her in controlling Fergus and making him do what she wanted. I explained to her on many occasions she can only control herself and she needed to identify her part in the problems in their relationship and fix her part, because that’s what she could control. This frustrated her a great deal. At one point, she decided I was a horrible person and would not allow me to even talk to my granddaughters on the phone. She called me a drug pusher for following doctor’s recommendations when Fergus was a child to treat his ADHD, stating that I’d given him meth. She sent me unsolicited private details about their sex life. She sent random texts to Samson’s girlfriend telling her how to raise her child and to stay out of Joanna’s business.

In late 2016, Fergus informed me they were living in a travel trailer and Joanna had decided she wanted to have sex with other men in the trailer while Fergus watched their children. He was not agreeable to that plan. He also indicated she was using illegal drugs intravenously and hiding the needles in the woods around her parents’ home. She was shooting up in her legs and was telling people the bruising she was causing was because he was getting physical with her. Fergus became homeless when she moved the trailer to her parents’ property and kicked him out. He was very concerned about her erratic behaviors and the effects on the girls.

Joanna disappeared in 2017 while on a business trip for her parents in another state. Neither Fergus, nor her parents, nor her daughters knew how to get in touch with her. She was eventually found in a mental health hospital recovering from the effects of illegal drug use. During this time, Fergus went to court to get custody of his daughters back because Joanna’s parents had them and would not return them to Fergus or even allow visitation. Fergus was unable to get custody of Carmen because she is not his biological or legal child, despite parenting and loving her for years. He was awarded full custody of the other three girls: Amiya, Beatrice and Ariel. Fergus has made certain the girls have a relationship with their mother and their maternal grandparents and extended family.

Joanna returned to California but wasn’t mentally able to parent. She left the state a second time to go to rehabilitation in another state. For the second time in their young lives, the girls’ mother disappeared with no way for them to contact her. She returned the end of 2018 and told Fergus she was planning to marry someone she met during her last extended period away from her children.

She has no job, no home and limited mental functioning. Fergus made certain she spent time with the girls and was in the process of setting up supervised visitation when she filed a motion requesting an order of protection claiming he has stolen from her and raped her.

It’s safe to say this family has been destroyed by drugs and addictions.

Tittle-Tattler

I was a gossip. A tittle-tattler.

My son Samson had caught me with my lips flapping, gossiping about he and his girlfriend Callie Stafford. I was mortified but confused.

Fast forward weeks or months. I’m at a large 12 step meeting. I’m listening to each person share about the topic of gossip. Initially I felt like it didn’t apply to me. I wasn’t talking about Samson out of meanness or to make myself look better. He’s my son and I want only good for him. I was concerned the choices he was making were going to negatively impact his future. I was voicing my concerns which were born out of my love for him. That’s not gossip! Right?

As I reflected, I realized that I often had conversations with people I have in common with other people I worried about. I thought I knew how to fix the talked about person’s problems, and I was telling our mutual person how the talked about person can fix all their problems. Only I rarely talked to the person we were talking about to share all this great advice. Wait a minute? Who put me in charge? What made me think I could fix anyone else’s life? Look at the unholy mess I had created out of my life; listening to my best advice!

I have no right to try to fix someone else’s life and if I’m really trying to “help” them, why aren’t I talking to them directly?

Duh!

I hadn’t been able to figure out how to fix my problems, so I had started focusing on fixing other people’s problems. It wasn’t intentional but it happened anyway. So, I had plenty to say about other people. I didn’t have much to say about myself.

I wasn’t okay with myself or silence. I felt like I had to fill the gaps in conversation, so I filled them with talk about other people.

I realized I needed to make a major change in my life, and it was going to be uncomfortable and awkward for a while.

I decided to ask my Higher Power for insight into what to do next.

An Aunt’s Love and Scrutiny

Imagine you’re 10 years old and failing all your 4^th grade classes. Imagine you’ve already been held back once. Imagine you have questions; but your teacher doesn’t have time to give you the one on one attention you need because they have 20 other students in class. Imagine you’re smart and often bored and distracted. Imagine you start having behavior problems and get sent to the office where it’s quieter than the classroom. Imagine you get sent home often, and your dad works full time so it’s your grandma who comes and gets you.

Imagine you’re 7 years old and struggling in school. Imagine you struggle to remain still for any amount of time at all. Imagine you spend eight hours a day at school where you’re expected to sit still. Imagine you’re intelligent and inquisitive. Imagine you have more questions than your teacher has time to answer. Imagine you start getting in trouble at school every day. Imagine you dread going to school and get physically ill almost every day just thinking about going to school.

Imagine the grownups in your life realize the current situation is not working well for either of you, so they sign you up for an online charter school.

I imagine you think this is going to be sweet. You’re 10 years old and you remember when mom was “home-schooling” you before you went to a brick and mortar school. She told everyone you were on the honor roll, but she was doing the work for you while you played video games. I imagine you think Aunt Maria is going to do your homework for you while you play video games. Au contraire my little chickadees.

I imagine the last week has been a difficult adjustment for you. Unexpected. You haven’t seen much of your Aunt Maria’s stern side, until now.

Aunt Maria loves you and she’s only responsible for watching you and your brother. She wants you to have a strong academic foundation so you can choose college if that’s your desire as an adult. She wants you to spend time around adults of good, strong, moral character so your core values have the opportunity to develop. Aunt Maria raised two intelligent, boisterous, inquisitive, difficult boys. She’s no pushover.

Welcome to your Aunt Maria’s love and scrutiny!

How Willie Became Disabled

Willie was 19. He had dropped out of high school. He had enlisted in the Army National Guard, but his start date had been delayed because he’d gotten a DUI and was on probation. He was working. He’d just gotten paid and paid his last probation payment. He ate dinner with his grandparents. He had one beer with dinner. He took off on his motorcycle. It was dark. He was on a dirt road headed North out of town. There was a panel truck in front of him, the kind people use to move. The truck was moving slower than he, so he’d started to pass the truck on the left. The driver of the truck, without using his turn signal, suddenly turned left while Willie was still passing. There was no time to react.

The truck and motorcycle collided; and Willie was thrown onto and over the hood of the truck and onto the ground. He had to be life flighted out of the smaller town he lived in to a larger city where there was more medical help available. His spine was crushed. He spent months in rehabilitation before returning home. His life was changed forever.

Here was a young man who was in tiptop physical shape. He’d been walking the hills and mountains since he was a preteen. He’d worked local cattle ranches. He worked on the side construction jobs with his father. He had done roofing and cement work. Now, he was in a wheelchair. Now, he’s in pain every single moment of every single day. The only thing that changes is the intensity of the pain. He has not given up.

In rehab, he told them he didn’t need Occupational Therapy because he was going to do what he was doing when he got injured. He tried to return to cement work but that didn’t work out. For years, he supported himself by welding. When he could no longer do that, he applied for disability. Turns out the amount a disabled person receives is tied to how much has been paid into Social Security for disability on their behalf. The younger the disabled person is when they become disabled, the less they’ve earned and paid in, so the smaller their disability payment. Willie’s payment is currently under $650 a month and he’s 57 years old now. Hardly enough to pay for rent, utilities, transportation, insurance and the sundries of life. He does receive food stamps that are adequate for his needs.

The man driving the truck lied about his actions that night, which caused the accident and put Willie in a wheelchair. There is no auto insurance payout for this man’s mistake.

As he’s aged, he’s gained weight so he’s no longer able to get down on the ground and back up into his wheelchair. When he was younger and weighed less, he was able to do more physical activity.

He’s still a force to be reckoned with. You don’t want to get into a physical altercation with him, as he can take down just about any opponent. He still hunts. He has a CHAMPS designation, and hunts from his vehicle. He has retained his knowledge of the terrain, the animals, and the weapons. He’s an excellent, patient, passionate teacher. He has friends who love him dearly and will come out to help him load up an animal. He has lots of memories from before and after the accident and he’s a great storyteller. He still knows a lot about roofing and cement work. He can share the information in a way that the hearer can use it to do things they don’t know how to do on their own. He can still weld but with a great deal of difficulty and pain.

He has had long term relationships and helped raise other people’s children. He still has his excellent sense of humor and people still love to be verbally abused by his witty remarks.

A Medical Monopoly

The town I live in has one hospital. For a while, there was another hospital in town which was built by a group of doctors. After construction was completed and patients were being seen, the other hospital bought the new hospital out. And the town is back to one hospital. This seems to have dramatically affected the quality of care. It is also a teaching hospital. It is supposed to be non-profit but seems to be quite expensive for the results received and some people feel like the hospital is all about making money and has no concern for patient’s health or ability to pay. Many of the doctors and the clinics in town are connected to the hospital.  The hospital is busy buying up property rather than working within a budget or providing affordable healthcare.

Here are some of my experiences.

My husband has been to the emergency room multiple times in the last year. He experiences vomiting, pain, clamminess, constipation, shortness of breath, chest pain, nausea, low potassium, and elevated white cell count. The emergency room has diagnosed him with tooth infection, bladder infection, and haven’t got a clue. The most frustrating visit was the one where my husband had repeatedly informed those treating him that he had vomited up his pain medications and was in a great deal of pain. A male doctor, when asked directly, told my husband he couldn’t prescribe pain medications without consulting with his supervisor and suggested he would be in trouble for administering pain medications to someone who is on pain management.

Another time, my husband and I were told his femoral artery was 70% blocked and he needed an angiogram. The cardiologist (affiliated with the hospital) started to do the procedure, then came back and told us he had no abnormal blockage. He claimed the emergency room “overread” the radiology report. Apparently, he didn’t notice it had been “overread” when he reviewed it?

When I experienced my first extreme vertigo attack, I drove myself to the hospital after trying to get into my primary care physician. I had at least three more attacks while at the hospital and at least two were while the doctor was “examining” me. The doctor checked my blood for electrolytes. He also tried to do a Dix-Hallpike test but did it incorrectly. He had me walk down the hallway about four steps while I grasped onto him. After being there for several hours, the doctor released me after suggesting I take meclizine, but he wasn’t sure it would help and I’m not typically a pill taker. I was unable to drive myself home from the emergency room and haven’t driven since.

My brother was in the emergency room. After hours of waiting, he was told his diabetes was out of control and he needed to be seen at a larger hospital and he was transported hours away in the middle of the night. He arrived at the bigger hospital and after running tests, they told him he didn’t need additional treatment. His diabetes was under control, and his heart function was good.

I’ve lived all over the United States, the only time I experienced worse care by a hospital was when I was living in Georgia, had a miscarriage and almost bled out in the emergency room waiting area of a military hospital. 

If you’re not happy with the care you receive here, you can travel a minimum of an hour away to go to a hospital in another small town. If you want to go to a larger hospital, you must travel at least two hours away and your insurance may not cover it as it’s in another state. I’m not saying all the doctors and nurses at this hospital are more interested in money than income, but my experiences lead me to the opinion that the hospital is more concerned about making money than its patients’ health.

Is anyone else experiencing this type of problem?

Love / Hate Relationship

Grandma Jones lived in the farmhouse where she raised three sons and two daughters with Grandpa Jones. Grandpa died when I was two years old. I was his only granddaughter at the time, many more were born after me. The farmhouse was large; two stories. You entered by the side door into a “mud” room, then up a step and to the right into the kitchen. There was a large bathroom off the kitchen. If you turned left at the entrance, there was a large dining room with a coal furnace, a record player and a treadle sewing machine. I spent hours listening to the records other people had left, including The Beatles album my biodad left. To the left was the coat closet directly across from the front door. Grandma’s closet was full of gallon containers with the spouts cut off to form large scoops. They were full to the brim with dominos, marbles, army men, etcetera. If you continued straight through the dining room, there was a living room with a piano in it and lots of knickknacks behind glass doors in cupboards. To the right of the living room were two doors. The door on the left led into Grandma’s bedroom, which was on the small side. The door to the right was a wide staircase up to the second floor.

The room at the top of the stairs was painted bright white and had a fringed chenille bedspread on it. The walls were lined with toy refrigerator, sink, cupboards, etc. There were plastic meats, vegetables, and fruit. It was a room for two little girls (my Mom and Aunt) to play at being grownup. We spent many bad weather days riding blankets and sheets down the stairs and into the door at the bottom of the staircase. I don’t remember ever getting in trouble for that activity. The upstairs room were accessible one after another, so the two in the middle had to be entered via another room. The next room was another girl’s room with a matching bedspread in a different color in it. This was the room where we napped. The next room had apparently been a boy’s bedroom at one time; however, there were no beds in it then. This was the biggest room in the house, you could easily fit six twin size beds in it. When I was a child, there were some steamer trunks lining a wall and there were loads of dress up clothes in them. In the center of the room, there sat an enormous table that took up most of the room. It was covered from one end to the other with railroad tracks, miniature trees and buildings. There were tunnels through mountains. There was a frozen lake. It was magnificent. The last room was another boy’s room. The walls were covered by pennants from various colleges. This room was dark; and it seemed the sun never shone into it. I didn’t spend much time in this room as it was uninteresting to me and more than a little creepy. There was a railing along one side of the room along one side of the narrow, dark stairway. Along the outer wall, running the length of the stairwell were bookcases. These bookcases were stuffed full of books. There were: “Nancy Drew”, “The Hardy Boys”, and “Reader’s Digest Condensed Books”. The only place I’ve ever seen more books is the library. I spent many hours sitting on the steps, in the twilight in that stairwell, reading.

I loved that stairwell and its treasure trove of books. I hated that stairwell because it was dark and creepy. I believed there was a witch who lived in the room at the top of the stairs. I believed she hid in the corner closet during the day. I had many nightmares where somehow I ended up staying too late in the stairwell and she came out and nearly got me before I woke up terrified.

Shaking My Head Over Spilt Coffee

So class is in session.  It’s late morning.  Nathan is to my left, Noah is to my right.  We’re all sitting at my dining room table which is a small, rectangular one which can comfortably sit four people.  They each have a laptop in front of them and are working on lessons.  I’m sitting between them.  We have a stack of class books in front of us that’s at least 7 books high.  There are art supplies on the table to include an 8 1/2 by 11 sketchpad.  There are two bottled waters on the table, labeled with names.  My half full coffee cup is between myself and the stack of books. 

I have no depth perception.

I finish talking and reach for my coffee cup.  Instead of grasping the handle with my fingers, my hand pummels the cup and knocks it over.  Coffee everywhere!  I snatch up the books, grab paper towels and direct my older nephew to grab a clean dishcloth to wipe down the laptop he’s rescued.  I’m apologizing profusely.  My nephews, Nathan and Noah are looking at me wide-eyed. 

The books are dry (no clue how that happened!).  The laptop is dry (again, no idea!).  Nathan’s sketchpad is soaked along one edge and two of his drawings are stained coffee brown.  I apologize and apologize.  Nathan doesn’t seem to accept.  I don’t blame him.  I’m thinking through possible ways to salvage the art.  We’ll figure it out.

We settle back in to classwork.  More than an hour goes by.  Nathan says, “Aunt Maria, I’m really wet.”  I look down and his right jean leg is soaked!  Poor kid!  He tells me it stinks (he thinks it smells like vomit, but it’s just cold coffee).  I apologize again and give him a pair of my long, black shorts to wear.  I put his coffee soaked jeans in the laundry. 

I apologize again, profusely.  I’m so clumsy and so sorry and I can’t believe he’s suffered in wet, smelly jeans so long without saying anything!  The shorts fit reasonably well and we go on about our business for the day.

When Grandma arrives to pick them up, the jeans are retrieved from the dryer and are still wet (not sure why they didn’t dry).  Nathan ended up wearing his Aunt Maria’s shorts home. 

I can totally believe this happened.  I am very clumsy.  Ironic that the adult at the table is the one who made a mess.  Said adult is no longer allowed to have uncapped beverages on the table during school time. 

I cannot believe how much liquid is in a half cup of coffee!!!

Do you have a clumsy moment to share?   

I Couldn’t Have Imagined This!

Thank You Father God!  With one plan, You’re blessing me, my nephews, my husband, my parents, and my brother and I’m sure the blessings spread beyond what I’ll ever know. 

It’s been a week and a half since I started coaching my nephews.  They’re 7 and 10 and were not succeeding in a traditional brick and mortar school.  I’m not here to bash teachers, there are good and bad apples in every barrel, but our education system is broken. 

I’d moved back to my hometown and was happily married.  My husband and I were attending a vibrant church with a loving Celebrate Recovery program.  I was working in child protection and we had more than adequate income and good health insurance coverage.  My husband was teaching me to hunt and I’d discovered it was fun to share his passion and I was reasonably good at it.  I envisioned us spending the rest of our lives loving each other, family, and forever family (fellow Christians).  I thought I was going to work right up to retirement.  All I wanted was God’s will for my life and I was asking him for a different job. 

The vertigo came on suddenly, taking me by surprise.  At first, I was just frustrated (I hate to be sick, period.)  I thought I’d be back to normal in a few days.  That hasn’t happened.  My health is preventing me from working and has basically turned me into a shut in.  I hate it.  I have no income.  I had to give up my position with the state because I couldn’t pay the health insurance premiums.  I can’t do normal things like house cleaning, grocery shopping, and personal care like I used to do; I have to find ways to accomplish these things with the help of family.  I felt like I wasn’t contributing to society.   

Because I haven’t been able to work for four months, the idea that I might serve as a Learning Coach appealed to me.  I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to do it, physically.  I want to be reliable.  After much prayer, much talk with my mother, and much research, I decided to commit to trying it out. 

Whoo boy!  My nephews are delivered to my home four mornings a week.  (I can’t drive right now.)  They’re always smiling and happy to arrive.  They each have a laptop and a seat at my dining room table and I sit between them while they do their online classes.  (Movement is a trigger.)  I clarify what needs to be done, answer questions, and try to keep them on task.  We eat a light, easy lunch:  sandwiches, pizza, leftovers, etc.  They don’t seem to notice when my symptoms get bad.  I hold still when I can, wall walk when I have to, lie down briefly when needed, and smile.  So far, so good.    

I’m blessed.  I get to contribute.  Even better than that, I get to spend time getting to know these marvelous young men.  I get to experience a wide range of emotions, including love (the younger nephew loves to hug and tell me he loves me, so sweet!), amusement (oh my gosh, they’re funny and the older nephew is exploring his gift of humor and testing what makes people laugh), boredom (yes, there are those moments when they’re both engaged in their lessons and I’ve nothing to do but wait), frustration (why can’t I find what I need easily on the school’s website?), fearful (can I handle this?), exhausted (sometimes I almost fall asleep during breaks and I’m not as productive on the weekends), grouchy (side effect of health issues and I try to keep it to myself), joyful (I love these guys!), optimistic and proud (it’s an amazing feeling when you realize they got a concept they were struggling with or are learning how to be students).  

My nephews are blessed to be taking online classes with teachers that are assigned to them, using technology to learn in a world that is technology-driven, with an aunt who loves them sitting next to them giving them tons of attention and love, and a family who loves them and works together to give them the best we can.   

In just a week and a half, I’ve been so challenged and I’ve learned so much about my nephews, my family, teachers, and myself.  I can’t wait to find out what will happen next!

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.”                                    Ephesians 3:20

I Resemble These People…and I Like Them

A friend lovingly suggested I might be a codependent and that I might want to try out a 12 Step Program.  I was furious!  How impertinent for her to say I had a problem!  I didn’t have a problem!!  I was in the process of divorcing husband #3 and already dating a new person.  Husband #3 and I had been married 15 years.  I wasn’t happy, not for most of the 15 years.  He was the problem, not I.  I believed I had a faulty “picker” at worst.

It was several years before I had my first 12 Step experience.  My marriage to husband #4 was falling apart.  I had tried everything I could think of to make it work.  My husband continued to drink, gamble and smoke meth. 

I went to my first meeting.  I thought it seemed like they might be a cult; however, I heard something I liked and kept going back.  I started off thinking there was something wrong with the people I met in the meetings.  I went back for weeks, perhaps even months.  I realized I had a lot in common with these people.  I could learn a lot from them.  All of a sudden, I had an epiphany, the people in these meeting were kind, loving people who were making a lot of mistakes but ultimately intended good for their loves ones.  They were nice people! 

I was a nice person too!  I had made a lot of mistakes throughout my life but not because I was bad, unlovable, or trying to hurt someone.  I needed new tools and thinking.

Soon, I was attending more than seven meetings each week.  I spent time with my fellow 12 Steppers and got to know and love many of them.  I was listening and learning.  I began applying and my life started to improve.   

If you need help, I encourage you to see out a 12 step program.  There are many and they are not all alike.  Each group has it’s own “feel” or “flavor” if you will.  I recommend giving each one you try 3 visits so you have a really good idea of whether or not it’s a “flavor” you like.  Try different meetings within the same group umbrella as not all meetings are healthy. 

If you want change, if you need change, if you’re desperate (I was); practice what you’re hearing when it sounds like it might work and keep going back until you receive a miraculous change in your thinking and behaviors. 

I have been transformed.  I have to say thank you, thank you, thank you to God, my Higher Power!

Prescription Insurance Confusion

Earlier this week, we went to my husband’s favorite pharmacy to pick up his pain management medications.  The pharmacy tells my husband someone else picked his meds up earlier in the day.  Our sister-in-law beat us to the pharmacy.    

We find out later from our sister-in-law Marie, she paid $465.26 for the prescriptions. My husband was expecting our co-pay to be around $40. She said the pharmacy told her they need a copy of his new insurance card. He was frustrated because he had taken a copy of it in the previous week when he received it. There was even a copy of the card in the bag with the prescriptions. He was sure there was no way to get the money back. This is a huge deal because our monthly income is less than $650.

I called the pharmacy to tell them my husband has prescription coverage, a copy of the card was in the bag with the prescriptions, my sister-in-law paid for the prescription and at $465.26 there is no way the insurance was applied.  She told me the new card he provided was showing it isn’t in effect until 2/1/19.  She stated she would contact the insurance company and call us back.

I called the number on the new prescription card, the woman who answered told us to call the number on the paperwork we received indicating we’re going to receive help on prescriptions through 1/31/19.  I called that number and discovered there are two different programs and the one that’s in effect until 1/31/19 has a “card” that is a representation of a card on a regular sheet of paper in the letter they sent.  She explained we need to ask the pharmacy to rerun the prescriptions with the information for the current coverage and if that doesn’t work, we can fax in the receipt for reimbursement in 30 days.  She laughed and indicated she receives calls like this frequently. I called the pharmacy back but the person we were working with is on hold with the insurance company.  She’s going to call us back.

We hope.

Well, she didn’t call us back, but my husband went in today with a copy of the temporary prescription insurance card and a copy of the receipt. The pharmacy reran it with the correct information and our sister-in-law was refunded her money.

What can I say? We’ve received so many letters from the same places, we simply didn’t realize there were two different coverage plans. Sorry! Super thankful this was a mistake on our part that could be corrected easily and quickly.

Are we the only ones confused?

We have nowhere to go but up!

My nephews are Nathan and Noah. Nathan is 10 years old and in the 4^th grade. Noah is 7 years old and in the 2^nd grade. They’re both super curious, highly intelligent, funny, loving young men. We’ve been living in the same town a couple of years now and were used to interacting at least weekly.

They were enrolled in a normal brick and mortar school but were having some issues which came to a head halfway through this school year. Their father, my brother Adam, is a single father with full custody. He works full time and spends most of his “leisure” time caring for his sons. He’s a great dad, loving and patient. He had some health issues, so my nephews were staying with my mom, their grandmother. She communicated with the school about the health problems my brother was facing because they were life threatening and it was emotionally traumatic for my nephews.

The school was unhelpful with the situation and called my mom nearly every day to come get one or the other or both for behavior issues. The school has refused to provide any practical assistance with them. My mother got them into counseling. We did the research and decided to remove them from the brick and mortar public school. That’s when we discovered neither was succeeding academically and the older one, Nathan, had straight Fs in every class at the end of the first semester.

Because of my vertigo, I can’t work or drive. I’m in the house all day. Pretty much the only thing that seems to really work is for me to try not to move, so that’s mostly what I’ve done over the past five months. Not who I am. Not who I want to be. I feel the need to work and contribute beyond myself.

I’m trying my hand at being their Learning Coach. Pretty much, I’m a teacher’s aide assigned to the two of them only. They are at my home four days a week to work on their lessons, which are mostly online but with lots of textbooks and workbooks to go with the online curriculum. I’m here to keep them honest, on task, and on target. It’s mostly a sit-down job.

Day #1 turned out much better than anticipated as the laptop which arrived the day before functioned in the way it was designed. I’m technologically inept so this was a huge bonus for me. We’ve had some technological issues. First and foremost is the school supplies one computer per family and we have two students. We didn’t think it would be a problem because the expectation was, they would each spend 30% of their time online. Turns out they spend closer to 100% each online. As the Learning Coach, I also need to get online to check planners, grades, webmail and confirm lesson completions. I’m unable to do this during school time as we each must log in as ourselves. We got the school laptop connected to my printer so both nephews can print when needed. Noah had his first live lesson today; Nathan and I enjoyed laughing at him because he seemed to be talking to himself when he was talking to his teacher. Noah and I were able to post a reply on the teacher’s message board and attach his photo and a sample of his artwork. Nathan and I couldn’t figure it out from the school laptop during school hours today; but we seem to have figured it out shortly afterward. We may or may not have figured out how to scan images to each computer.

Day #2 seemed a little better than day one and day one wasn’t that bad. Yeah, I was tuckered out by noon and laid on the couch resting while they ate lunch and played WII. Noah gave me another dozen or so hugs, just like on day one. Today, Nathan gave me a hug too.

Day #3 seemed to go even better! Nathan didn’t have any emotional outbursts. When I told Nathan I was spending more time sitting next to Noah because he needed extra help; he seemed to understand and accept that explanation. I’m very dismayed at their preparedness to learn. They don’t know how to be students. They don’t want to read or write more than a couple sentences. They want to skip around and guess. They don’t know how to take notes. We have nowhere to go but up!

I’m super grateful to have this opportunity to get to know them better (because they’re delightful!) and to have a positive influence on their lives. I would never have felt able to do this if I was physically able to work. God is good and I’m blessed!

Troll Assault

I met Willie in high school.  I fell hard.  I professed to be a Christian but I didn’t trust God and was doing my own thing while giving God lip service.  Willie wasn’t a Christian.  He asked me to have sex with him.  I thought it over and told God, “I love him and I’m going to marry him so it’s okay for us to have sex now.”
A little while after we began having sex, I got pregnant.  I was terrified.  I told Willie and he said “Okay, let’s get married.”  I told him we were too young.  I miscarried a few days later, so we didn’t marry or even tell anyone about it. 
Willie had taken me to a party out in the desert.  There was a lot of alcohol drinking going on and I’m sure even some drugs.  Willie was drinking.  I don’t remember if I was but I don’t believe my judgment was cloudy if I did drink.  I didn’t start drinking heavily until after the following incident occurred.
Willie was a fighter and someone had told him a fellow student he had a beef was at the party.  Willie told me he was going to have his friend give me a ride home.  I was disappointed but Willie is not the kind of person you argue with. 
Instead of taking me home, Willie’s friend Troll parked in the desert and sexually assaulted me.  During the assault, all I could think about was Willie is going to be so pissed.  I had no idea how to stop it.  Due to childhood sexual abuse, I had no boundaries and no idea that I could say “no” forcefully and perhaps stop what was being done to me.  Part of me believed I deserved it. 
The next night, I told Willie what happened while I cried and cried.  Afterward, I clung to Willie as if my life depended on him. I knew he was the man I would marry.  I knew I would love him until my last breath.
I don’t know what lies Troll told Willie, but Willie and he showed up at my home one night a short time later.  Willie was drunk, banging on my window, and calling me names like “whore” and “slut”.  Troll was standing next to him egging him on.  I was devastated but I didn’t want Willie to get in trouble, so I asked him to leave and told him we could talk when he was sober.  He asked me to come out to talk to him. 
I headed to the front door, but my step-father Dick was standing next to the front door against the wall and he told me to go back to my room.  As I returned to my room, I saw my mom standing in her bedroom door.  I went in my room, went back to my window, and told Willie he needed to leave before my step-father called the police and we could talk the following day.   
I felt like I was a worthless, unlovable failure and I attempted suicide.  My behavior was out of control.  I started drinking all day and night, skipping school, and sleeping around.  My mom sent me to visit my biodad in Georgia, with my sister Tammi.  It was the first time we’d met our biodad. 
A few months later, I heard Willie had been in a motorcycle accident and was severely injured.  I called him and we finally spoke, but he told me he hated me and never wanted to speak to me again and seemed to be planning to commit suicide.
My heart hurt so bad, I pushed the memories and feelings deeply into my subconscious and Willie became a high school crush  who I thought had died after a motorcycle accident. 
I will love Willie until my last breath. 

4 1/2 Hours to Get Blood Drawn

Left the house at 10:30 to get my blood drawn for the neurologist. Receptionist at my doctor’s office where I normally go politely explained due to a recent change in my insurance, I now have to go to one of two other locations in town. Sweet of her to tell me so I didn’t have to look it up.

My husband and I had prior experience with both labs and chose the one which seemed to be more respectful of it’s patients and their time. It’s inside a Safeway grocery store. I thought it was immediately inside one of the entrances. It was not. It was at the back of the store. I hadn’t been inside a grocery store since mid-August. The lights, sound and motion there triggers my vertigo.  

I had to traverse long distances with nothing sturdy to use for wall walking to get to the lab. The waiting area is the width of a hallway with 11 chairs lining either side and all but one seat was filled. The receptionist asks if I’ve checked in. I haven’t. She snippily tells me to check in at the kiosk.  I comply, then ask about how long the wait currently is since my husband is waiting for me in the parking lot.  An hour.  I communicate this to my husband so he can go do errands without me.

I read on the door that appointments can be made at their website.  I use my phone to set up an account for future draws.  I notice there are about five appointments still available today.

I attempt to schedule an appointment at the VA Clinic.  I try to set up an account but my username is too long.  I shorten it.  It’s being used by someone else.  I change it.  I receive a message that I cannot set up a new account because there’s already an account set up in my name! 

The receptionist calls my name and asks for my insurance card.  I explain I haven’t received an insurance card from CareFirst yet.  I’m not concerned because I’ve had two doctor visits since 1/1/19 and they both had my new information.  She tells me she has to make a copy of the card.  I explain again they haven’t sent me one.  She tells me they can’t draw my blood until I have my card.  I’m pissed but I feel so stinking bad, I don’t even argue, just leave.   

My husband shows me his CareFirst card and says it was in the paperwork he was looking at the day before.  I ask if mine is there too, he says yes.  I snag a same day appointment at 2:15 using my new account.  We go get lunch.  I leave another message for the local VA Clinic requesting an appointment.   

We go home to get my new insurance card.  It’s not on the table.  I tell my husband I can’t find mine.  He thought I received a separate mailing with my card at the same time his came in the mail.  I did not.  I call CareFirst and explain what’s going on.  She tells me my card should arrive by 1/20/19 and until then they cannot send another one.  I explain the lab won’t take my blood without the card and I can’t see my neurologist again until I’ve obtained all the tests he ordered.  She puts me on hold, talks to her supervisor, calls the lab and tells me the lab must take the blood draw whether or not I have insurance and all I have to give them is my AHCCS number, I tuck the 18 page letter with the number in my purse and thank her profusely.

I call and schedule an appointment for my husband to see a local urologist in 2 months.  It has taken more than 3 months to get this referral!  We haven’t received the referral for the podiatrist yet. 

Called and scheduled my annual mammogram and a sinus x-ray for the same day. 

Called and confirmed my appointment for a mental health exam which Disability set up.  Tried to call Disability to confirm appointment, they didn’t answer. 

Went back into Safeway using a cart to steady myself as I went back to the lab again.  Had my blood drawn after 2 other people were called before me even though I had an appointment and they didn’t.  It took from 10:30 to 3 pm for me to get a blood draw today.  

Finally connected with the VA Clinic and got an appointment in 8 weeks and have to give them a blood sample in 6 weeks.  Hope the next one doesn’t take as long!

My Understanding Keeps Changing, He Doesn’t

I’ve believed in God for as long as I can remember.  My step-father taught me not to trust Him.

As a child, I understood God to be an angry man who hated me and wanted to punish me because He believed I was unlovable and unworthy. I believed this because my step-father was this way and he claimed to be a Christian.

In my mind’s eye, God was an old white man with a white beard and sandals.  He was red-faced with fury, hate and retribution.  He was looking forward to punishing. I was a sinner.  My best wasn’t good enough and He enjoyed tormenting me before He punished me.  I couldn’t trust Him.

After I started working a 12 step program, and had heard others describe their “Higher Power” as a tree or a group, I felt encouraged by God to see “My Higher Power” as a big, dark-skinned woman who gave the best hugs.  She smelled of yeast, cinnamon, vanilla and honeysuckle.  She was waiting for me in the kitchen, ready to listen to me pour out my troubles. She always had enough time.  She loved my sense of humor and was quick to laugh with me.  She made me feel loved and accepted.  She created me to be uniquely me.  I could trust Her.

I later read a copy of “The Shack” by William P. Young and was moved to tears by the author’s description of God.  I took it as confirmation that I was on the right path in my own journey toward learning to trust God again.

Today, God is my loving Creator who created everything out of nothing.  He desires a relationship with me, and every other human being.  God is love.  I am a sinner.  He has redeemed me by providing a plan for his son, Jesus Christ to die for me and all other sinners. 

My understanding of God continues to change and I trust the longer I seek His will for my life and read His scriptures, the more He will reveal about who He is and the more I’ll be able to comprehend.  He is not changing.  I can trust Him forever because He doesn’t change; however, my understanding keeps on growing.

“God is not human, that he should lie, not a human being, that he should change his mind. Does he speak and then not act?  Does he promise and not fulfill?” Numbers 23:19

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” Hebrews 13:8 

I pray for the same for you. 

My Apology for Missing a Daily Post

Oops!

I apologize. It was my intention to post each day when I started this blog. I had realized it was likely I was going to miss days occasionally due to vertigo and migraines and I wanted to warn you in advance. I didn’t get the warning out because there’s so much to tell you and so little time and I didn’t get a new post published yesterday. This is going to happen from time to time.

I was under a great deal of pressure, both physical and emotional, on Thursday and Friday. Yesterday I was simply worn out. I got out of bed and laid down on the couch. I alternated between sleeping and watching television all day.

I did the dishes around 4 pm. Then I started working on a monthly grocery list so it can be ready when my sister-in-law has time to shop for us. I was mostly seated for that with a few forays into the kitchen cupboards and freezers.  Around 6 pm, I made dinner and that only took about a half hour.  I was asleep by 8 pm.  

I completely forgot about posting a blog because I was focused on the bare necessities of life, recovering some physical and emotional strength, and didn’t even register it was a separate, individual day.

My promise to you is that I will not forsake this blog.  I’m having too much fun sharing my stories with you to stop.  I will try to write ahead on good days so there’s something to post on bad days.  I will strive to publish daily; however, on really bad days, I may be silent.  I will return as soon as possible.  

Today, my best is enough.  This is huge for a perfectionist in recovery.

Thank you for reading and commenting.  I’d love to hear your stories and opinions too.   

Another Day in Court

Fergus is an amazing dad. He’s affectionate. He’s in constant teaching mode, using everyday moments to educate his daughters. He shops organic food and feeds them healthy, colorful, tasty food he creates himself from scratch. He takes them on adventures in the outdoors frequently. He maintains extended family relationships. The girls are well cared for emotionally and physically. They are well loved. They want for nothing. For the last year, he has had full physical and legal custody of Amiya, Beatrice and Ariel.

Joanna, his ex, has no job, no home, and seems to have cognitive damage caused by drug use. She’s living in a car someone purchased for her. She has attempted to use manipulation, sex and children to control and coerce Fergus into doing what she desires. However, that has not stopped her from filing an order of protection with the courts alleging Fergus of burglary, theft, and rape. Fergus found out about the order and the allegations when he as at the courthouse researching what he needed to do to ask the court to require mediation for the purpose of determining appropriate, supervised visitation.

He couldn’t tell if he could, legally, have the girls with him. He contacted the police and they told him the order had not been granted and they had an upcoming court date to go over the allegations. A few days later, he’s taking Beatrice to a school Christmas presentation, when Joanna shows up with a police officer who told Fergus the order was granted, and he had to turn custody over. He did. The following day, he turned Ariel over to Joanna.

They had court this week.

Since Ariel’s birth, Fergus and Joanna’s relationship has deteriorated as Joanna realized Fergus is not going to marry her even though they share a child together. Joanna became verbally abusive to my son, she kicked him out and moved their travel trailer to her parent’s property.

In early 2017, Joanna left the girls with her parents and went on a business trip for them to Idaho. She did not return when expected and was missing for months. Joanna was eventually found in a hospital where she’d been put after being discovered along the side of a road, unable to tell anyone who she was or what was wrong with her. This was apparently the result of extensive drug use. While she was missing, her parents refused to allow access to the girls for my son or myself. When I called, they refused to call back and the one or two occasions they did answer, they hung up on me.

Fergus went to court on multiple occasions to get custody of Amiya, Beatrice, and Ariel as Joanna’s parents refused to return them to him. Mr. and Mrs. Hope have not allowed Carmen to have contact with myself, and only limited contact with her sisters. Fergus encouraged contact between the girls and their mother’s extended family. He did not bring kidnapping charges against Mr. and Mrs. Hope when they refused to return his daughters to him, even after ordered to do so by the court.

Joanna eventually returned to California. She was mentally unable to appropriately care for her children. She was living in the travel trailer on her parent’s property. Fergus allowed as much contact between her and the girls as possible, while maintaining their safety. Joanna would contact Fergus and tell him they needed to get together to talk about the girls, he would pick her up and she would refuse to speak to him, sitting in silence as if catatonic for hours in restaurants, on his couch, and even on the sidewalk in front of his residence. During this time, she sent me a letter of apology with artwork from my granddaughters telling me she would call. She thanked me for my son and told me she loved me. She never called and when I sent a reply, it was returned undeliverable.

Joanna took off again in 2018 to go to treatment in another state. She only recently returned to California. Both times Joanna disappeared for lengthy periods of time, she left no way for her daughters to maintain contact with her.

Fergus has tried to treat Joanna with dignity and respect, and even gave her financial support he didn’t owe her. He put a deposit on a motel room, so Joanna had a place to stay since her parents have her ex living in the trailer on their property and aren’t willing to have her live in their home.

Joanna appeared at court unprepared and the judge granted her a continuance even though Fergus was ready with his evidence. Their next court date isn’t for about 3 weeks.

A Tribe of Girls…and Fergus

I have an amazing son who’s 32 years old. His name is Fergus Anthony Reed-Gilliland. He’s never been married. He has five daughters: Carmen, Amiya, Rose, Beatrice and Ariel who are all under the age of 9. He’s pursuing an engineering degree while maintaining a household as a single dad.

Carmen is not his biological daughter. She is his ex-girlfriends Joanna Hope Jr’s. Fergus met Joanna in Idaho at a call center they were both working at. He was expecting his first biological child with his girlfriend Ruby. Joanna was married and expecting her first child. After Carmen and Amiya were born, Joanna and her husband separated and got divorced. Ruby relapsed when Amiya was 3 months old and began using meth again, toting Amiya around with her. Fergus found out and left Ruby, taking his child with him. Joanna moved in with Fergus.

It was an odd arrangement because Fergus stated repeatedly how they were just good friends who were pooling their resources to raise their children better. They were friend with benefits that started in the bedroom and touched all the other areas of their lives. Joanna told me repeatedly how much she loved him and wanted to marry him. She asked for my help and I schemed with her to try to convince him they should make a lifetime commitment. I did. My BAD! He never changed his mind and they never married, which potentially drove her to madness.

Fergus met a stripper named Ramona and began dating her. She got pregnant. During her pregnancy, it became apparent she is schizophrenic. I gave her clothing to wear during her pregnancy and supported her in every way I could. She was from the East Coast and had a strained relationship with her mother. Her father flew out to check on her right before the baby was born because she’d been admitted to a mental health facility. The three of us met for dinner and that’s the last time I saw her. She had Rose and went back to live with her parents. She never called me after the baby was born. We stayed in touch on Facebook for a while. Eventually, her anger with Fergus for not committing to her caused her to break all contact between him and his family. Me. I’m heartbroken at not being in Rose’s life.

Within a month of Ramona getting pregnant, I was talking to Fergus and told him if he was still having sex with Joanna, he’d better wrap it up because otherwise she might get pregnant on purpose. He informed me it was too late, she was pregnant. During Joanna’s pregnancy, she confessed to me that Fergus might not be the father as she had sex with her ex to get back at Fergus impregnating and continuing to date Ramona. Fergus explained he was committed to Joanna’s child and his name would be put on the birth certificate regardless of who was the biological father. Although I don’t understand his decision, I’ve supported it. Joanna’s mother, Joanna Sr. hated Fergus and told Joanna if he was at the birth, she wouldn’t be there. I attended the birth, Joanna Sr. did not. Due to ethnic considerations, it was obvious Beatrice was not Fergus’ biological child. Beatrice has my middle name and, more importantly, my heart. My son has been her father from her birth.

Fergus and Joanna moved to California to be close to her family. Ariel was conceived and is the biological daughter of Fergus and Joanna Jr. So out of the five girls my son has been father to, three are his biologically, two are not. Of the two who are not, one is legally.

The relationship of the parents has fallen apart because Fergus won’t marry Joanna. She chose to abuse illegal drugs intravenously and is not mentally able to provide for their basic needs now.

Carmen is with Joanna’s parents as she has no biological parent able to care for her and they won’t allow Fergus to parent her. Amiya is with Fergus. Rose is with her mother in parts unknown. Beatrice and Ariel are with their mother in California pending a court hearing to return them to Fergus’ care.

Carmen, Amiya, Beatrice, and Ariel belong together. They’re sisters. They’re beautiful, energetic, intelligent, inquisitive, spinning princesses who love each other and their daddy deeply. They have gigantic personalities which dad encourages by loving them and spending time with them.

Late Start

So, rough night here. This story is gross.

The last two days I’ve had vertigo pretty much constantly. However, I’m preparing for something big tomorrow, so although I felt like I needed to restrict my activities, I’ve been trying to push through.

I’ve had to push a few activities off, but not too many and I’m ready for tomorrow’s event.

Day before yesterday, I was mildly nauseous all day. Yesterday afternoon, I realized the rumbling, queasy, need to go feeling in my tummy that I’d had all day was because of the extended, constant nausea. I went to bed like normal. Woke up around 4 am with vomit in my mouth!

Yuck!

I hate vomiting! I will fight it and fight it, so I rarely do. This had never happened to me before, waking up like that. I went to the bathroom to see if there was more. There wasn’t, thank God. I brushed my teeth and got back in bed. I’m laying there with the same queasy nausea, afraid to go to sleep and have it happen again.

I remember I have Promethazine for nausea and get up to take it. I find the Meclizine which I haven’t been taking because it causes extreme sleepiness. Apparently, the Promethazine is still in the Dodge’s glove compartment.

Well, it was 4 am and I wasn’t due to get up until 6:25 am. I decided to take a half. I woke up right before 8 am, sleeping through two alarms.

I have a plan for today.

My approach is to make a plan once a week for the following week and do my best to follow it. Some days, I abandon the plan altogether. Most days, I adjust as needed, getting as much accomplished as possible, adding more time to a task, including a nap or naps: I’m dismayed at how little I’m able to do now, but I know I’ve done my best and that’s enough for the day and this is my new normal. Occasionally, I have a day with no or very little vertigo and I’m able to get a lot done. I have to be careful on these days because the temptation is to push myself to hard and I end up really sick again. Today, is going to be a day where I consciously have to allow myself to let things go and just focus on the most important things but hopefully not a day to completely abandon the plan.

Not the way I like to start a day but I’ll take it. It’s better than the alternative. 

A Thing of Dread

I used to love taking a shower. I would sing, pray, and ponder. I would enjoy the sensation of the water running over me and taking my troubles away with the dust and sweat. No more.

I’ve never been a big fan of a bath. While the idea of pampering myself with a tub of warm water, yummy smelling bubbles and an adult beverage sound great, the thought of sitting in my own (or someone else’s if the tub is shared by others) dirt is usually just too much for me. If I don’t have to share the tub, I’ve been known to soak while reading a good book. No more.

On August 16, 2018 I woke up feeling excited because I was on vacation for the next two days and my sisters Tammi and Rhonda were coming to visit from out of state to help celebrate my dad, Thomas Strinati’s 70th birthday.

I hopped in the shower to get ready for the day. I lifted my head up toward the shower head and everything began spinning. I grabbed the wall for support and sat down on the built in seat. My husband was at a doctor’s appointment with my sister-in-law Marie. I was home alone, naked, wet, and terrified I would fall and hit my head. I don’t know how long it took me to get out of the shower and get dressed. I don’t remember. The dizziness didn’t go away. I decided I needed medical attention. The dizziness plagues me nearly every day.

I dread getting in the shower now. I never know what is going to happen. I can get in feeling fine (no vertigo) and pull back the curtain when I’m done and nearly pass out. Sometimes I have to lean against the wall or hold the railing the whole time I’m in the shower. Sometimes I keep my eyes open even though I have shampoo in my hair because I feel so unsteady.

I dread it so much that I sometimes put off showering too long. If the vertigo is bad enough I’d prefer not to shower, I’ll check my daily planner to see if I have to go somewhere that day. I believe I’ve waited four days a few times now. I’m mostly a shut in these days so it’s unlikely I’m going to offend anyone and I’ve asked my husband and sister-in-law to inform me if I’ve pushed it too far.

I would love to go back to being able to get in the shower without thought or hesitation. Mostly, I wish taking a shower hadn’t become a thing of dread for me.    

Sample for Mold Testing in the Mail

Well, I finally got the samples collected and they’re in the mailbox to be picked up by the postman tomorrow morning.

The master bedroom ceiling had caved in before my husband and I married. We got it fixed this year but there is some water damage, so the swab sample was from a water stain. 

The second sample was a collection of vacuum dust from throughout the house.

You might be wondering why we’re testing for mold in our home. My mom, my sister Tammi, and my sister-in-law Marie have been asking us to do this. They think the health problems my husband and I are experiencing could be from mold. 

My husband has been having new health problems since March of 2018. He started waking in the middle of the night feeling like he couldn’t breathe, with a sense of dread and unrest, clammy, hot and cold, hot and cold, unusual pain in his back, and severe vomiting. Doctors have been unable to pinpoint the cause of his symptoms. They come and go. There’s nothing I can do to ease his symptoms. He’s been to Urgent Care, the Emergency room, our Nurse Practitioner, specialists, and the Mayo Clinic.

I began having daily vertigo episodes in August 2018. The doctors haven’t been able to determine what is causing my vertigo or how to stop them. 

It seems strange to me that such wildly different symptoms in two people living in the same home could be from mold, but we’re willing to try almost anything.

Our exposure times are also different. My husband has lived in this home for 17 years. I’ve lived here just over 2 years.

Results should be in within 2 weeks. I hope they’re negative because I have no idea how to get rid of it if it’s positive. 

Does anyone else have experience with this type of thing?

The Most Important Thing About Me

As we’re getting to know each other, I feel it’s important to tell you the most important thing about me.

I love God! I have a personal, unique relationship with God! I’m HIs daughter. He has redeemed me through the sacrifice of His Son Jesus and I’ll be spending eternity with Him, in Heaven, when I leave the earth behind. He is healing me and using my brokenness to further His will.

I grew up in a “Christian” home. My mother and my step-father Dick both professed to be Christians. My mother’s actions were Christ-like. My step-father’s actions were evil. God intends for Christians to demonstrate to other people what He looks like through them. When they don’t behave in Christ-like ways, it skews the perceptions of those who are observing.

My step-father was not trustworthy and I mistakenly believed God wasn’t trustworthy either.

I accepted Christ as my Savior in the 3rd grade. I don't know how many times I was baptized: my home church, vacation bible school, church camps. I still wasn't perfect, so I didn't think it worked. I prayed asking God to fix my childhood home and nothing improved so I believed God didn't really love me and had failed me.

When I was 11, I remember God calling me to follow Him and be obedient to Him. I didn't trust Him so I told God I would do things my way.

God can use anyone. I have a girlfriend who didn't believe in God and He used her to tell me I might be codependent and might benefit from attending a 12-Step group.  God spoke to me in those rooms and I slowly let Him into my life and began to trust Him. I began to follow His promptings.

In 2015, I started attending church regularly and was deeply impacted by Christians who loved and accepted me. On August 23, 2015 I went to a church dinner. There was an invitation to accept Christ at the end of the evening and I couldn't get my hands up fast enough when asked if I wanted to make a decision to follow Christ. I wasn't getting saved again. I was surrendering to Christ for the first time.

I am convinced God loves and accepts me and I can trust Him with my life. 

These verses describe the change in me. "Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God-this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is-his good, pleasing and perfect will." Romans 12:1-2.

First Love

It was the summer between my Freshman and Sophomore years of high school. I was working at the Tax Department at the County Treasurer’s office. I was walking across the parking lot to enter the back door and saw a co-worker Mary standing next to a little pickup truck talking to the cutest guy I’d even seen. Our eyes met and I was spellbound.

I discovered later he was her stepson William and he had asked her for my phone number. I gave it to her and he called me. The first phone call was excruciating for me, I was so nervous and tongue tied. He asked me out and I agreed. He took me dancing. I still remember the blue dress I borrowed from my mom.

I was a shy teen who didn’t believe I had any value. I had secrets. I was socially awkward and uncomfortable. I believed I was ugly and unlovable. I was convinced everything I did was somehow wrong.

He was so handsome and confident. Tall, muscular, dark hair and eyes, a contagious laugh, smart, an intense personality, and confident. I watched the way this 19 year old man interacted with adults, as if they were equals; and it totally amazed me. He was fearless. 

He rode a motorcycle and my parents wouldn’t allow me to ride it, so we’d agree on a time and meet on the next street over to go riding. I loved having my arms around him but was always thinking I was not a good passenger.

We continued to date after school started again. I was a Sophomore, he was a Senior. He had a reputation as a bad boy but people loved him. He got into a lot of fistfights and I even saw him call a teacher outside to fight. He hollowed out a textbook and collected cash donations from schoolmates to pay for alcohol at class parties.

At the time, our high school was an open campus and we would go to Sonic often. He’d order a meal, I’d order tater tots. We’d talk and talk and talk. He always shared a few fries with the birds. I didn’t eat much in front of him because I was afraid he would think I chewed gross or something. I also thought I was fat. I can remember seeing the motion of the truck make my thighs jiggle and being embarrassed he might notice. I weighed 97 pounds then. Good grief!

He made me feel special.

He was always a gentleman with me. He would walk me to class and carry my books. We were always kissing. This led to one of the two times I was called to the office. The school decided a new rule was needed which forbade students from kissing on school property. We got caught by the assistant principal, Mr. Showalter, and were called into his office. He threatened to expel us and Willie told him that would be okay because then we’d have more time to kiss. He sent us to class with a warning.

My German class entered a float in the Homecoming parade and we decorated it as a Panzer tank. Willie loaned me his camouflage hunting clothes to wear on the float. After the parade, we went to his house to shower and change before going to the Homecoming dance. He loved to dance and was good at it, I felt gangly and uncoordinated so I’d only dance slow with him.

Willie was my first love and the first person I chose to give myself to. It was delightful while it lasted. 

Dashed Hopes for Vertigo Solution

Ugh! I need to write about this but I really don’t want to because there’s a part of me that believes by talking about it I’m focusing too much attention on it and inviting negativity into my life. I don’t want to deny it’s happening either. I guess I’m hoping that if I don’t talk about it, it’ll go away. It could go away as quickly as it started. 

I have vertigo. I don’t know why it’s happening or how to make it go away. I was a “normal” person working a “regular” job until mid-August 2018. In a way, it feels like karma because I have worked since I was 11 years old and have always harshly judged people who claimed disabilities I couldn’t see this. If you saw me, you probably wouldn’t realize I have an issue as I’m using coping skills like wall walking and using something on wheels to stabilize me as I walk. Some of my triggers are: light, noise, and commotion.

I am dizzy more often than not. The dizziness causes me to be nauseous most of the time. I’m also constantly trying to compensate for the feeling that I’m unbalanced which is physically and mentally exhausting. I’m frequently mentally confused now. I’ve tried exercises and medications. I’ve stopped medications hoping it was a side effect that developed over prolonged use. I’ve had a bunch of tests and seen a lot of specialists.

I had an appointment at my neurologist Dr. George Frazier.  His office is located an hour away from where I live. This was a follow up visit to my first visit with him in mid-November. He had asked for some tests to include an MRI, blood tests and an ultrasound and left me feeling he was confident in his ability to figure this out.  I had done the MRI the morning of my appointment with him at the request of my Nurse Practitioner Samantha Tulare. I did the blood test within a week and the ultrasound within two weeks. I don’t drive right now so I have to rely on others for transportation.

Yesterday, my husband and I arrived on time and waited 45 minutes to be seen. The doctor came in and asked me “What bothers you the most?” I had no idea what he was asking. I tried to figure out what I could ask to clarify what he wanted to know but didn’t feel successful at all. He asked why I hadn’t done an MRI, I explained I did the morning of our last appointment. He told me I’d had an MRA not an MRI and they’re different. I told him a hospital employee told me they were the same thing when I called to make the appointment. That was wrong and he seemed upset with me for not knowing better. He said I need VNG and I reminded him I had that done by an audiologist. He stated he needs results and I asked if he wants me to get them and bring them to him.  Yes (glad I clarified or he wouldn’t have them for next appointment either as I thought doctors’ offices gathered this type of thing. Isn’t that the purpose of signing authorizations to release medical records? He asked why I haven’t done the EEG, nerve conduction tests, etcetera. I explained his office had called and said they were waiting on approvals from Blue Cross Blue Shield and they would call back when obtained and they never called back.

I knew some tests hadn’t been done but didn’t consider rescheduling yesterday’s appointment because I did the blood tests and ultrasound and was hoping the answer lay within those results so the others weren’t necessary. Dr. Frazier seemed quite upset with me for not doing something different. I’m not a doctor. I have no medical training beyond first aid training in basic training. I was emotionally crushed.

My husband, William, let me vent my anger, frustration and disappointment the rest of the evening. He’s such an awesome partner in life! I was angry for being held accountable for things beyond my understanding and responsibility. I’m frustrated by the medical community in this part of the country. I’m disappointed at still not knowing why the vertigo is happening or how to stop it.

I want my old life back and I get my hopes so high when I think a doctor has identified the cause or I have a few good days in a row. It hurts so much when I’m wrong.

My Inception and Biodad Introduction

I’ve lived a long time and am in a really good place today.  A lot has happened over the last five decades and I need to give you some history so you have a chance to understand my story. 

It was early 1964 in Indiana.  My mom Peony was a beautiful, shy 16 year old from a farming family rooted in Christian values.  My parents attended the same school.  Girls at their school thought my father Thomas was very handsome and quite the catch.  Dad was a “bad boy”.  Grandma Jones tried to talk Mom out of dating him but Mom rebelled.  I don’t know how long my parents dated before the following transpired, but I do know he was Mom’s first love.  Dad professed to love Mom until his death in 2017.

Dad asked Mom to go to a party at the lake with him.  I don’t know the specifics about the party.  Mom told him she could only go if her mother allowed her to attend.  Mom thought Grandma would say no because it would mean missing church.  To Mom’s surprise, Grandma Jones said yes.  I was conceived at that party and was born on December 15, 1964. 

My parents married in my grandparents’ living room after Mom got pregnant but before my birth.  Neighbors of my grandparents rented a farmhouse to my parents.  Dad’s parents had steady factory jobs and got him a good job too.  My birth was followed shortly by another pregnancy and my sister Tammi was born.  Dad never paid their rent on time because he preferred to spend his money on himself. 

Grandma Jones came to visit one day and Dad wasn’t home.  Grandma asked Mom where Dad was and Mom told her he went to buy cigarettes three days prior and hadn’t returned.  Dad had a problem; he’s rather drink, fish and hunt than work or take care of his family.  Grandma told Mom to pack up and took the three of us back to her farmhouse.  Grandma Jones called her attorney and started divorce proceedings for Mom. 

I was unaware the father listed on my birth certificate wasn’t my biological father until I asked Mom why I had three grandmothers instead of two.  I didn’t meet my biodad until I was 16 years old.  Mom has been married to two other men; my wicked step-father and my dad.  The wicked step-father was Mom’s second husband and you’ll get to know him.  My dad is Mom’s current and third husband.  He’s an amazing man whom I cherish in my life.  I call him Dad and refer to him as Dad in conversation.  This is why my biological father is relegated to the title of Biodad in conversation.  Are we clear?

Caught Flapping My Lips

I'm writing under a pseudonym to respect my loved ones who prefer I not reveal details of their lives.  Personally, I do not mind sharing the details of my life.  However, I'm a recovering gossip and try to be ever mindful of other people's boundaries.  I learned this lesson painfully starting with this event.

About seven years ago, my youngest son Samson and his girlfriend Callie (both adults) were living with me.  My older son's girlfriend Joanna showed up unexpectedly to visit.  I was home alone, so I invited her in, offered her a drink and sat down on the couch to chit-chat with her.  We started off talking about her frustrations with my son Fergus.  We talked about her hopes for the future.  I'm sure I gave her a lot of really great advice.  Or not.  I'm not certain why but I began sharing with her my hopes and fears for the future of my younger son and his girlfriend.  Everything I said was motivated by a mother's love.  At least that's what I believed at the time.

The next morning, Samson told me they needed to talk to me.  He told me they had been in their room the night before and heard the entire conversation between myself and Joanna.  He was hurt and disappointed.  My heart sank.  My face became hot from shame.  I apologized to my son and his girlfriend but the damage was already done.  I was confused about my behavior, my intentions, and the results.  I'm still trying to earn back his trust.

Everything I'll be writing about is true.  The names of all participants will be changed to protect the privacy of the other people involved in my life.      

New to Blogging

Hello and welcome to my new blog!

I'm blogging because I'm not able to work outside my home anymore.  I started working at the age of 11 and continued until the middle of August of 2018.  I loved to work.  My work was part of my identity most of my life.  Things have changed.

I woke up one morning, excited to be on vacation for two days to spend time with out-of-state family. As I was getting ready for the day, I lost my equilibrium in the shower and nearly fell.  The vertigo persisted, my husband and I went to my doctor's office but she had no appointments available and told me to go to the local emergency room.  I drove to the emergency room but when I left several hours later, the vertigo was worse and I couldn't safely drive myself.  I haven't driven since.  I haven't worked since.  Four months and many tests and specialists later, I still don't have a cause or effective course of treatment.

I don't know what to do with myself.  I've done a lot of research and learned some coping skills but my life has changed dramatically.  I've filed for disability but would prefer to be self supporting.  My mother suggested I try blogging.  I've always loved to read, write and talk to people.  So I'm going to learn how to do this and am excited about the possible outcomes.

I've been reading a comprehensive book about blogging for over a month now and am ready to begin. I'm certain I will make some mistakes along the way.  I hope the learning curve doesn't take too long.  I look forward to getting to know you and sharing my life's struggles, lessons and successes with you.