This Chapter Was Over Decades Ago

The Rock was sent to his next duty assignment in Japan. He married a Japanese woman. While we were married, he would often tell me he wanted to be married to an Asian woman because he was fascinated by their dark, silky hair. For some strange reason, he sent me a photo of himself with his brother-in-law, and a trivet. He looks good in a kimono.

Twenty years later, I received a phone call from someone in Chicago. My ex-husband had listed me as a referral on a housing application. I was sure I misunderstood the caller. No. The Rock had just returned stateside and needed referrals for housing. I explained I couldn’t help as I hadn’t had recent contact with my ex-husband and had no idea what kind of person he had become. I told the caller I didn’t want to malign my ex-husband, but he was not a good person while we were married. Which is why we were divorced.

How does he keep finding me?

I had moved from California to Nebraska to Idaho. I had left the military. I had remarried and had a different last name.

Why does he keep finding me?

That chapter of my life is over and has been for decades.

I Filed for Divorce

I joined the active duty Air Force. The sent me to Texas for basic training and then to California to my first duty station. The Rock called me while I was in basic training and told me all I had to do was tell my first sergeant I’d made a mistake, they’d release me, and we could continue our life together. I declined.

I was living in the barracks and enjoying the single life. I met a really nice guy on the dance floor at the Enlisted Members’ Club. We had a one-night stand and I got pregnant.

My parents told me The Rock showed up at their home in Arizona unannounced. He was traveling with a friend. He basically was trying to get them to climb on board his train of marital bliss for the two of us. They just needed to talk some sense into me. My dad Tom was home alone. He’s a retired highway patrolman. He offered The Rock coffee, then made sure he saw the handgun tucked in the back of his jeans as he reached to the top shelf for cream and sugar. The Rock and his friend left a short time later.

A day later, The Rock showed up at the base I was stationed at, without warning. I was about six months pregnant. He told me he wanted to reunite, and he would raise the baby as his own. We would be happily married for the rest of our lives. I couldn’t believe him. He had abused me throughout our marriage and now he wouldn’t? He would love another man’s baby and not abuse it? Right. I just couldn’t believe him. I told him I wasn’t going back to him and the only reason I hadn’t filed for divorce was because I didn’t have the money yet, because I was paying back my half of our debt. He continued to his new assignment in Alaska.

Three months later, I have the baby. A few days after I returned home, The Rock called me screaming at me because he wants me to take his name off the birth certificate. I tell him his name isn’t on it. It’s not and never was. I never considered putting him on it.

I file for divorce and it’s granted.

Evidence in a Toy Box

I was active duty Air Force and worked in the Education Office. One of my duties was to collect tuition assistance from students who didn’t successfully pass their classes. This required my interaction with other support staff across the base. One of the airmen I interacted with was Jedidiah Day Jones. I loved having to call him up. He had the sexiest voice. We flirted a bit.

One day, I was at my desk working when I heard a voice. Oh my. I knew that voice. It was Jedidiah. He was not nearly as sexy looking as he was sounding. We talked for a while and he asked me out. I accepted. We dated a bit and got along well. He seemed to like my son. I was still heartbroken over my last failed marriage. I didn’t want a really good-looking man who would cheat on me. I was okay with liking someone and having it grow into love.

I was honest with him. I told him I wanted to have another child when I was 25 years old because I didn’t want my son Fergus to be an only child. He asked me to marry him and I said yes. He told me he wanted to be a father and for us to be a family. We went to Las Vegas and got married at the Little White Chapel. He told me to stop taking my birth control pills. I asked him if he was sure because as soon as I stopped them, I would become pregnant. I was that fertile. He said yes. Three times.

(That’s right people, we had the same conversation about having another child … count them … three times. Every time, he said he was ready for us to get pregnant and have a child together.)

We got married, got a ticket for a burnt-out headlight on the way home, he moved in with me and we were pregnant three days later. I told him I was pregnant, and he said, “I’m not ready to be a dad.” What the????

The next several months were an emotional roller coaster in a Hell-inspired theme park. He started sleeping on the couch. He drank every leftover dime up. His car was broken down and he expected me to pay to fix it. He stole my son’s birthday money. He got drunk at a house party we threw and tried to drive away in my car, I threw my keys into the neighbors darkened yard. He got angry and left. He moved out. He moved in. He moved out. He cheated on me with a coworker of his who was short and quite plump. I was angry he cheated on me with someone less attractive than I. He moved in. He got angry and wanted to move out again and his best friend who was also a long-time acquaintance of mine told him he was being ridiculous, and he would only move him one more time. He moved out. He tried to take things that were mine before he came into my life. He took back gifts he’d given me. He threatened to take my unborn child.

I panicked. I lied. I told him the baby wasn’t his.

Later I told him the truth, but it was too late. He grabbed hold of that lie and ran with it. He said he wanted a DNA test. I agreed to allow it but refused to pay for it. I told him it was physically impossible for anyone else to have fathered my child.

He told me he was going to ask for full custody and that he was only going to agree to pay $65 a month in child support. He wrote a letter and left it in my son’s toybox stating he was being tempted by Satan to kick or hit me in the stomach, so I’d lose our baby. I still have that letter 28 years later. I used it to ask for supervised visitation after our child was born because it proved he was considering harming our child.

Don’t Get in the Shower If You Feel Paranoid!

I pawned my wedding rings and moved into an apartment. While The Rock was in custody, I returned to our housing and took my belongings. I left everything that was ours for him, I just wanted out with my life and my freedom. We had two vehicles, a VW bug and a Chevy Impala. I took the bug that I drove all the time and paid for and left the Impala which he drove all the time and I paid for with my Guard bonus.

He stole the VW and the police couldn’t do anything because it was titled “The Rock OR Maria O’Rourke.” If it had said AND in between our names, neither of us could do anything without the other person’s signature. Because it said OR, either one of us could do anything we wanted with it. So, I stole it back.

His female Commanding Officer somehow managed to keep him from going to trial or jail. He was released on his own recognizance and as far as I know was never held accountable for attempting to kill me. No one in his chain of command ever contacted me to find out if I was okay. The police never followed up.

I moved on with my life.

I began a relationship with the Supply Sergeant in my National Guard unit. He moved in with me. I didn’t have a refrigerator, so I kept a cooler full of ice and just kept necessities on hand.

My new boyfriend was a drug dealer. We would go to his supplier’s house and he would have me wait in my car. He’d say, “If you hear gunshots, just leave. Don’t wait for me.” Then, he’d distribute it out to street dealers.

I let him talk me into trying cocaine and smoking marijuana. I didn’t like either. The cocaine had no effect at all, and I became weirdly paranoid when I smoked marijuana. I would smoke, then become paranoid, so I’d get in the shower. Once in the shower, naked, I’d become convinced the cops were going to bang on my door any second because someone walked by, smelled it, and reported us.

What an idiot! Don’t get in the shower if you feel paranoid!

How I Escaped His Attack

I had agreed to work overtime to speed up when I could afford my own place. I had just finished my early shift and was due to start my regular shift shortly when a coworker told me my husband was there looking for me and wanted to talk to me. I agreed to go out back to talk to The Rock. The store was the central retailer in a strip mall. The parking was in the front of the various stores, but there was also pavement in the back which was never occupied by anyone. At the time, I was a cigarette smoker and that’s where we took our smoke breaks.

I go out back and we’re talking. The Rock is accusing me of having sex with the person I’m rooming with. I’m denying it again. Suddenly, the light goes out of his eyes, and he says “Well, I just came here to do this.” He pulls out a brand-new switchblade and opens it to reveal the 6” blade. He makes a stabbing motion toward my stomach and I put up my hand in defense: he cuts the tips of three of my fingers and I begin to bleed quite a bit.

I was hopping mad! Literally.

I lost my mind and started hopping in a circle, screaming at him, “You cut me! I can’t believe you cut me!” I was thinking about the woman they’d recently found dead in a secluded pond, killed by her angry lover in a domestic violence attack. I was thinking about the fact that he had an open switchblade in his hand. I was thinking if I ran, he would catch me before I got to safety. I was thinking that I was losing blood and starting to feel woozy.

A couple in a VW pull up to ask for directions and I ask them to call for help. They sped off.

I told him I needed medical attention. He offered to take me to the hospital. I didn’t want to get in the car with him. (Never let them move you to a different location.) I told him I was woozy and there was a pharmacy in the mall where we could purchase hydrogen peroxide and bandages. He agreed. We walked in together, got the items, waited in line for them, and paid for them. I couldn’t believe no one noticed my distress, the blood, or my wounds.

I told him my regular shift was starting soon and I needed to eat before it began. He offered to treat me to fast food across the street. I suggested we eat inside Montgomery Ward at their little diner. He agreed. We went inside, ordered, and sat down in a booth with our food. I sat there picking at my food, trying to respond to him in a way that wouldn’t create suspicion, while I was trying to figure out how to get away from him.

My supervisor comes in and approaches us. I’m thinking she’s looking for me because I’m late for my shift. Yay! She kneels next to us and starts making small talk. I’m wearing white flats which are splattered with blood and am sporting new bandages on three fingers. She doesn’t notice. While she’s talking to him, I interrupt to ask him if it’s okay if I go to the restroom. He agrees. I leave the table and head upstairs to the employee only bathrooms. He can’t get past the locked door. I go straight to Security and tell them what’s going on. They go detain him until the Air Force Security Police arrive to take him back to base.

The Common Denominator

I was at another 12-step meeting.  I’d already been to one that day and now I was double-dipping. 

My husband had asked if he could use my car to go watch a soccer game his friends were playing in.  I agreed.  He didn’t come home for 3 days.  We only had one car between us, so I was stranded all weekend. 

He didn’t call me until he was out of money and had no gasoline to get back home from the casino, which was hours away. 

I sent him just enough cash by Western Union to get home (not like in the past when he had padded the amount he needed so he could go back in and gamble some more).  He had my car and I needed it to get to work. 

I was hurt.  I cried all weekend.  We’d been through this before and I was realizing I couldn’t trust him.  He’s a gambler and a liar. 

I didn’t know if I could be in a relationship with someone I couldn’t trust, (More on this later.) so I was freaking out. 

I didn’t really know the people at this second meeting but I was desperate.  I poured my heart out.  I cried.  I was distraught. 

Afterward, a woman asked me if I’d like to have coffee.  I did. 

We sat and talked.  I told her the sordid details of my three prior marriages and divorces.  I told her all about the issues my ex-husbands had.  She asked me, “What’s the common denominator?” 

I kept on telling her about the shortcomings of my exes.  I’d heard her question but only in the edges of my conscience because it didn’t make sense.  They had problems.  I didn’t. 

She asked again, just as quietly, “What’s the common denominator?”

I stopped.  Dumbstruck.  I sheepishly responded, “I am.”

For the first time in my life, I looked at my marriages objectively and realized I was the common denominator.  I chose each of those partners. 

This was a pivotal point in my recovery because I started taking accountability for my part, the part I can change. 

I realized that each of my chosen partners had addiction issues of some kind:  alcohol, drugs and gambling. 

I loved addicts.  I hated addicts.  I was comfortable with these relationships as I’d lived them my entire life.  I was miserable and wanted something different and better. 

I kept going back and as a result I’m no longer the person I used to be.  I make better choices.  . 

Referrals Clerk Incompetent

Over the last year, my husband and I have needed a lot of referrals.  I now have major frustrations over the process.  Every time I call the doctor’s office, they tell me it’s “in process” or they’re waiting on the insurance company.  Most recently, the insurance company told me the doctor’s office simply needs to fax the referral to the clinic they’re referring to as the insurance company only needs to pre-approve procedures.  The specialists consistently tell me they didn’t receive the referral so they can’t make an appointment. 

My husband has had multiple ER trips since March 2018 for kidney infections and he’s been on antibiotics numerous times.  It took months before our “doctor” put in a referral to a urologist even though my husband has a rebuilt bladder and was complaining about feeling like he had an infection.  The local hospital urology clinic had two providers, both claim his case is too complex for them.  My husband got a referral to a doctor in the next town who said he could handle my husband’s case then won’t because he doesn’t take his new insurance. I called the doctor’s office and advised we would prefer a urologist in the next state over as it is less than 2 hours away from our home and a straight, easy drive.  The doctor’s office sent his referral to a doctor who is 3 hours away from our home and in the mountains where it’s snowing. 

Early January my husband was having another bout with a bladder infection.  He was miserable: puking, clammy, unable to eat or drink or keep his pain medications down.  He was in tears.  I was enraged.  I called his doctor’s office and explained he needs a referral to a urologist, podiatrist, and some kind of referral for the pain in his shoulder and back.  I explained to the person who answered the phone that this is becoming a mental health crisis because Miss Melissa is not doing her job correctly and my husband is not receiving the care he needs.  I explained he DOES NOT need a referral for pain management as he’s already being seen by a doctor for that.  (Twice I’ve explained he needs a referral for diagnostics for the new pain in his shoulders and back.  I explained the metal rods in his back have shifted.  I explained if he’s referred to another pain management doctor he can be fired-TWICE they ignored me and sent pain management referrals.)

Miss Melissa hadn’t returned my calls but when I called and she was there, the receptionist patched me through.  Miss Melissa told me she was confused and had left a message-true.  She also claimed to have left a message advising a referral had been processed and my husband just needed to call to schedule an appointment.  That was a lie. 

Miss Melissa argued with me about what the insurance company said and told me the referral has to be approved by the insurer.  I asked her why they would lie to me.  She finally agreed to fax the referrals to the specialists the same day, then she didn’t do it. 

I called and left a message for Miss Melissa’s boss advising she either needs to be fired or retrained (I’ve never done this before in my life).  I’ve also left 3 messages for her boss asking for a call back and not once has she called back. 

My husband has an appointment with a podiatrist coming up but he went through his pain management doctor to get x-rays ordered to diagnose what’s going on with his shoulder and back. 

After an ER visit, I called my doctor’s office and requested a referral to a urologist and a gastroenterologist.  The referral for the urologist was sent to a clinic 3 hours away.  Apparently Miss Melissa thinks my husband and I have interchangeable health needs.  I’m still trying to make contact with the gastroenterologist as they didn’t have my referral from my doctor’s office the first time I called. 

Yesterday, my husband received a letter from the “referral clerk” at the offices of our primary care physician reporting that his referral for Neurosurgery had been sent.  My husband has not been advised by any doctor that he needs a referral for Neurosurgery, so this letter is unexpected.  I have been seeing a neurologist since November of last year, so more than 3 months.  It would seem Miss Melissa has erred again and I needed the referral more than 3 months ago. 

We’re considering switching doctors but what we’re hearing again and again is it’s like this in most doctor’s offices in this community. 

Shame on you for treating people as if you don’t care if they suffer or survive!

No Wonder Older People Are Cranky!

My husband and I were in reasonably good health up until March 2018.  We’re both in our 50s.  My husband has been a paraplegic since he was 19 when his spine was crushed and he has been on pain management for many years. 

March of last year, my husband began having some really scary health issues.  He would wake in the middle of the night, short of breath, with chest pains, clammy and vomiting.  We’ve taken him to the local emergency room on multiple occasions and we’ve taken him to the Mayo Clinic.  No one has given us a diagnosis and he continues to have these attacks. 

He had a tooth infection.  He has a hiatal hernia.  He has metal rods in his back which aren’t in the correct place anymore.  His left shoulder has been hurting for years.  He’s frequently in pain despite being on pain medication for chronic pain.  His right hip hurts.  His low back hurts.  He continues to have bladder infections.  He has high blood pressure and diabetes.  He’s overweight.  He has complained of foot pain for years and his feet are frequently cold and almost always discolored to the point of being nearly black at times. 

August of last year, I suddenly had vertigo and have had it virtually daily since.  I desperately tried to identify a cause and solution so I could keep my job.  Four months after onset, I had to resign my position as I no longer could afford my health insurance premiums and still didn’t have a cause.  I still have no idea how to resolve the problem. 

We’ve had to wait months to get referrals to specialists.  We’ve gone through all the testing our Nurse Practitioner ordered.  I’ve done a lot of research online and have come to appointments well prepared with details about symptoms.  I even came with a list of possible medications to share with her. 

It almost seems like our “Primary Care Physician” who’s a nurse practitioner is clueless about what’s causing our symptoms and either doesn’t care enough or doesn’t have the time to try to figure it out and is waiting for it to resolve itself or for us to find a solution. 

It almost seems like the insurance companies are waiting as long as possible to give authorization for referrals, in the hope that we won’t need them when it resolves itself, we’ll give up on getting the medical help we need, or we’ll die.  Any of those scenarios means they don’t have to pay for diagnostic testing. 

I know my husband and I are at our wits’ end some days.  We are hurting, scared, tired, depressed and unhappy. 

No wonder older people are cranky!

I Didn’t Love Him Enough to Go to Prison for Him

I was trying to find ways to cope. I had numbed myself emotionally and had become adept at twisting the tables on The Rock verbally. He would start an argument and I would end it by saying the meanest things (true or false didn’t matter) I could think of and causing him to cry.

One day, my supervisor asked me how things were going at home. She asked if he’d physically attacked me since the last time I’d talked to her about it. I told her he hadn’t touched me but was going out drinking regularly. I told her I had started keeping a kitchen knife under my pillow in case he came home in the middle of the night and started to assault me. She told me if I used the kitchen knife I would go to prison for murder because it showed premeditation by having it under my pillow instead of leaving him now.

Well, I didn’t want to go to prison. I did love The Rock, but I had no idea how to show him love or be the wife he wanted or how to build a successful marriage.  I didn’t want to go to prison for him.

The next time he was sent away on a mission, I moved out. I didn’t have much financial resource, so I was staying on the floor at a friend’s economy apartment. This friend would have married me and taken care of me in a heartbeat, but I wasn’t interested. He was a perfect gentleman. My intent was to get my own place with my next paycheck.

The Rock returned and found my note explaining I was leaving. He was furious. He began calling and trying to find me. I spoke with him and told him I wasn’t coming back. He wanted to know where I was staying. I wouldn’t tell him. I believe he followed me from work to the apartment and then he accused me of having sex with my friend. I denied his allegations.

Snow Day

Well, this is almost unheard of.  The forecast snow storm actually arrived.  My mother doesn’t like to drive in snow, so she had forewarned me there was impending inclement weather.   

Early this morning, she sent me a link to local traffic information which showed many road closures due to snow.  The city had already closed its offices for the day.  My brother works for the state and they hadn’t closed.  I let my brother know his boys could spend the day with me and was trying to decide whether or not they were going to have school at my house.  (The youngest has been doing his school at my mom’s for the last week and a half due to behavior issues which meant they needed to be kept apart.)  I began getting ready for their arrival.

An hour later, my mom sent a group text to my brother and I and our out-of-state sisters of her yard with five inches of snow and still falling.  I followed up with a photo from my front door.  My fun sister Tammi suggested we make snow angels.  I advised I do not want to touch the snow: I only like the way it looks.  My brother reported his boys were up at 6 am playing in the snow in his yard.  They did make snow angels.  He announced his office was closed for the day. 

Yay!  Now the boys get a real snow day to play!  I notified their online charter school.  Ours is an odd situation since they’re attending class online but not at my brother’s home.  We’ll have to catch up, but it’s worth it to have a rare day to play in this white stuff we almost never get. 

My brother added photos of his yard to the group message. 

I’m thinking I get a snow day too!  Hopefully.  My husband is horking (the sound he makes when he’s puking and nothing is coming up).  I’m thinking I’ll work on writing my blog and watch some scary flicks, maybe catch a few episodes of “Designated Survivor”. 

Three hours later, my mom reports her power is out.  Yikes!  We’ve already had two brown-outs, so I turn off what I don’t need.  I play nurse to my husband (I’m not very good at it): made him peppermint tea and oatmeal but he can’t hold anything down, brought him things he asked for and checked in on him while he slept.

I did watch two episodes of my series and two scary movies. I worked on my blog and actually enjoyed it instead of feeling like it was a chore.  I haven’t gotten dressed.  I ate homemade tuna salad on homemade bread for lunch (both made earlier in the week).  I snacked a bit here and there.  Our power never went out.  Yay!

I saw two cars drive past during the morning.  A little before noon, two more vehicles drove past.  The pickup stopped at a stop sign, then tried to turn right, couldn’t do it without sliding and skidding until he got some traction again.  Heard sirens approach and stop about a block away around mid-afternoon.  Have seen a few more vehicles drive past late in the afternoon.  It has stopped snowing.  The air temperature has increased to the point that it’s melting now. 

My mom reported their power was back on about five hours after it went out.  Mom and Dad had breakfast in their camper and listened to the news on their radio.  They’re fine and grateful. 

My family prayed for my husband and he got a good two hour nap.  He’s still not feeling well but at least he’s rested for the moment. 

I fed our little dog and she began whining because she wanted to be let into the side yard.  I let her out but she wouldn’t step off the covered concrete into the snow.  Pansy!  

An Attitude of Gratitude

Where do I start? 

When I was in the Army National Guard, one of the call and response deals we did went like this:

     Sergeant:  “Company!  You all need an attitude check.”

To which we would respond:

     Company:  “Aw shit, fuck you, man.”

I have no idea why I like foul language so much.  I feel like they convey a deeper emotion than a more civilized choice.  It’s like, your feelings are so intense, you have to swear. 

I loved that I had been instructed by someone with more rank than I to say this phrase.  It tickles me. 

I’m so very grateful for the sense of humor God created me with.  Laughter is my main coping mechanism.  As a child, I loved to make my mom laugh.  I’d come home from school and regale her with stories chock full of humor. 

Oh and we’re a bunch of sarcastically funny people, my family.  I’ve been told the Greek root of sarcasm means to “tear flesh”. 

I have no idea how much of my life I was so focused on the negativity in my life that I totally missed out on many, tiny moments worthy of gratitude. 

After I started my recovery, I remember the first moment of gratitude to take me by surprise was seeing a tiny butterfly flitting about, sharing its exquisite beauty with me. 

What makes it really funny is I previously considered myself a positive, glass is half full kind of gal. 

Right. 

I find that if I start telling God what I appreciate and am grateful for, my focus shifts from the problems in my life to all the good in my life.  And in the reverse, if I let my thoughts and energy weigh on my problems; I don’t even notice my blessings. 

I can make a choice to improve my life by simply refocusing on the good until it becomes a habit. 

I’m going to face problems throughout my life on Earth, it will be easier if I do it with a grateful heart. 

I have much to be grateful for:  a loving husband for whom I have an enormous amount of love and respect, loving parents, loving siblings, two wonderful sons, seven amazing grandchildren, food, transportation, clothing, home, friends, eternal life, a unique relationship with my Heavenly Father and Creator. 

Yeah, I’m much happier when I exercise an attitude of gratitude. 

This Too Shall Pass

Worn out.

I’m worn out from a month of being a Learning Coach to two young men who don’t seem to care about anything but having fun in the moment. 

They started the week out with no overdue lessons.  Both wasted so much time this week arguing with me and cutting up with each other that they now have overdue lessons and have homework this weekend. 

I’m at a loss for words. 

I was supposed to ride around the desert mountains looking for javalina yesterday.  By the time the truck was loaded up, I was dizzy and nauseous.  I took a promethazine for the nausea; first time I’d taken the full dose.  Ugh!

I couldn’t keep my eyes opened and ended up crawling into the back seat to nap while my husband and brother-in-law looked for them. 

I thought I’d be okay by noon.  I woke up just long enough to eat a portion of Lemon Pepper tuna and a half dozen crackers. 

I slept all day on a too narrow seat with no support for my head or back.  I was cold all day because I had no blanket and the windows weren’t rolled up. 

I had some Ruffles for dinner. 

I told my husband I wasn’t joining him today and went back to sleep. 

I woke up to say goodbye this morning, rolled over and went back to sleep. 

I got up a little before noon today. 

I watched a couple of documentaries about food. 

I decided I’m sick of feeling sick after I eat and I’m, going vegan. 

I spent hours looking for vegan recipes to try on myself and my husband. 

Recipes are tucked away now and I’m planning to have fast food for dinner, when my husband returns. 

Choked Unconscious

The Rock and I had fun together. He continued to drink with his friends after work. We would go bowling together. He began borrowing money from his friends and each pay period he would borrow more. We were falling further and further behind. I was in the Florida National Guard but only received a small paycheck for one weekend of training each month. I went to work at a convenience store to supplement his income. He didn’t like it but didn’t complain too much as long as I was bringing money in. His mother was “borrowing” money from us which I didn’t appreciate since I’d been to her home and knew she had a lot more than we did.

My cooking got better, and we had everyone over for Thanksgiving dinner (Shake ‘N Bake). He started going out more and more often without me. I could tell something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. I was doing the laundry when I pulled a photo of a pretty blonde in a bikini out of his shirt pocket. I didn’t say a word when I handed it to him. He immediately stated, “It’s not what you think.”

We went to a birthday party in a dormitory for a friend of my husband. There were tons of people there. I was on the balcony smoking a cigarette and admiring the night sky when another female guest joined me, and we started chatting. Eventually she hit on me. I giggled and told her I was married, not interested. Every so often, some new person in my life will get it in their head that I’m gay and it always strikes me as funny. I don’t think I’m butch. I’m heterosexual. Anyway, on the way home, The Rock and I were laughing and talking about the conversations we had separately during the evening. When I told him about this exchange, he became enraged and accused me of WANTING TO SLEEP with her. What? I didn’t want to and how in the world can you accuse someone of WANTING to do something! Absurd. We parked in front of our quarters, walked across the grassy lawn, he opened the front door (we’re loudly arguing all the way in) and let me enter first. He put his hands around my throat from behind and I began gasping for air. He made accusations in my ear as he was choking me. I woke up the next morning in a heap, on the floor, in front of the front door.

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. 

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

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?

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!