I am not afraid of monsters in my closet. I am not afraid of the dark. I am not afraid of werewolves or vampires or the boogie man. I am an adult. I know these things are not real. They haunt the moments before sleep of my son. He can see them in the long shadows cast through the moonlight in his bedroom. He can see them when he closes his eyes. We practice banishing them. I told him to yell in his mind "you are not real and you can not hurt me" Sometimes he does this out loud and I hear him in his room trying to put the nightmare visions in their place and out of his head. I do not have nightmares of fire breathing dragons and six legged dogs trying to eat me. I am not afraid of being home alone. I am not afraid to answer the phone for fear that there is a killer in the house upstairs, making the calls.
I remember the horror stories we told by the campfire. We tried to come up with the scariest things imaginable, always involving a girl in peril. Some I'm sure my parents heard, they had been around that long. Some we made up on the spot trying to freak each other out. There is nothing quite like scaring the pee out of a bunch of pre-teen girls and then sending them off to bed. These stories never really scared me. My father had been telling me scary stories since I was a little girl."The Man with The Golden Arm" got me every time. But not anymore.
We all knew the one about the couple who drove to lovers lane to make out and heard a report on the radio that a dangerous serial killer with a hook-hand has escaped and is on the loose in the area. Everyone should keep there doors and windows locked. The killer was last spotted heading into the woods, towards lovers lane. The couple is seriously wigged out and decide to get the hell out of there. When they get home, there is the hook-hand and bloody stump hanging from the door handle. They had narrowly escaped the wrath of the psycho killer. There are many variations of girl and boy in peril stories they always involve escaped psychopath or serial killers(which is a real threat these days you know). Still we tried to scare the sleep out of each other even with stories we had all heard repeatedly.
I loved to see the eyes get wide and the glances over the shoulder start, so nothing could sneak up on them out of the darkness. If you threw a rock into the woods at least three girls would come off their seats and yell "what was that?" turning in circles trying to look everywhere at once. I would get up to go the outhouse and creep back around behind them and moan and rattle leaves, or bang the outhouse door and stifle a scream. That got them every time. We woke up many a camp counselors with our screams.
There was one story about a girl baby sitting, after putting the children to bed she is watching the news and they are put out an alert because a dangerous psychopath has escaped from the mental institution and is in the area. She knows she has locked all the doors. She checks on the sleeping children and makes sure the windows are locked. She settles down to watch more TV and hangs her hand over the arm of the couch. She feels the dogs licking her fingers and then realizes the dog is on the chair. She looks down and it is the escaped psychopath who has been licking her fingers. I don't remember any more of the story and frankly don't care. This one still gives me the creeps (I quickly look over my shoulder). I don't know why this one in particular but it does. I get the creepy bone chilly goose bumps when I remember it (I have them right now). I have heard many a horror story but this is the one that sticks in my mind and will not go away and give me peace.
To this day I can not hang my hands over the arm of the couch or sleep with any part of my body hanging off the bed. It is not a fear I am even conscientiuosly aware of but It is there. I try and test myself and hang my foot off the side of the bed. I simply can not do it. I last about 15 seconds and then I have to pull it back. My hands remain on the bed at all times as well. I know that there is no psycho killer out there slithering across my bedroom floor waiting for the opportunity to lick my outstretched toes. But I figure, why take the chance?
8/30/2004
8/25/2004
Not in Kansas anymore
The letter came in a regular envelope. The return address was the local police department. I figured we had probably pledged money for the policeman's ball or something and forgot to pay and this was a gentle reminder to get my $20.00 in the mail. I absently tore it open and was already reading it in my mind (Dear Mr and Mrs so and so you recently pledged....) It took me a moment to register what it was actually about. There was going to be a town meeting of the neighbors in our vicinity (within a couple of miles) to inform us that a level 3 sex offender had moved in to our neighborhood.
I heard my illusions shatter all over the kitchen floor. A sex offender, in my neighborhood. My idyllic safe world was suddenly neither. I wanted to grab my son and hug him and tell him never to leave my sight ever. In fact he was not to go outside at all. He was to stay safely cacooned in my house where I could protect him. The reality came crashing home that the world is a different place than when I grew up. Ignorance was bliss. There have always been sex offenders and "funny uncles" but we never knew about them. They didn't have meetings in the local high school to tell you who they were and what they did. They kept them away, locked up longer. In the age of instant information and right to know. We all got the privilege of having our fears exposed and given a face.
At the meeting we got a sheet explaining who this person was and the specifics of his crime. He liked girls, little ones, under age 12. He was a repeat offender. His crimes were fondling and inappropriate touch with penetration (why didn't they call it what it was, rape?) He hadn't responded well to treatment in jail and had in fact quit or failed at the "program" and so would be monitored closely for a while. A while was never really defined, it was until his probation was done or they ran out of ankle bracelets or something. I stopped listening when they showed his picture on the big screen at the back of the stage. Twelve feet high. Twelve feet of menacing terror staring me in the face. He looked mean. He looked evil. He looked like I wouldn't want to meet him on a sunny day in the park. He might have looked like anybody normal, but not to me, not to any parent in that auditorium.
They wouldn't divulge his address but we already knew. I live next to the guy who knows everyone and everything that happens in our neighborhood. He knew which house he lived in. the guy had moved in with his grandparents after release. They are well known real estate agents, the kind with their picture on the signs that hang outside houses they are selling. I bet that was good for business.
It was apparent that a lot of people at the meeting were already aware of this new neighbor. Parents stood up to protest his moving in. The police said he had paid is debt that was mandated by the court and he had the right to live anywhere he wanted to. Parents said there was a bus stop at the end of this guys driveway. They petitioned the school to change it, but they wouldn't. So there was always at least two parents when the kids got on and off the bus. The guy liked to stand on the veranda and watch the kids. Maybe that wasn't what he was doing, maybe he was just getting some fresh air and having a smoke, but all the parents knew he was trolling for their children and they were not about to let him reel one in.
One of the things that struck me most about that meeting, other than the obvious ones. A lot of parents had brought their children some as young as six or seven. I am not sure that was a good idea. I certainly had no intention of bringing my son. I think it is important to be honest with your children and tell them the real dangers of the world in which we live. I am not sure it is a good idea to show them a picture of the monsters that live among us. Do they need to know who this guy is so they can stay away? I think they should stay away from anyone they don't know. We need to teach our children that there are mean people who could want to hurt them. We need to teach them how to be as safe as they can and what to do if they are frightened or feel in danger. I don't think we need to say "See that guy? Look at his picture. He is one of them". The world is a scary enough place.
I have never seen this man in person. I drive or ride my bike by his house and always look, like daring to look in the haunted house, waiting to see if you see the ghosts in the window. He is never there setting his trap for unsuspecting children, baiting it with laffy taffy and M&M's. "Paranoia runs deep, into your hearts it will creep". Truer word were never spoken/sung.
The initial shock fades a bit with time and we go about our lives. We try not to live in fear or let it dictate what we do and where we go. We know that sex offenders don't rush out out their houses with nets and nab children off the streets while we stand mute with horror unable to react as they scuttle away with our precious ones tucked under their arm. We know this in our heads but not in our paranoia. We know they are more subtle and that is even scarier. We take a different street to the park. We are more vigilant than before that meeting. My son does not know about the "monster" who lives down the lane. He knows about "stranger danger" and we talk about everything and do the best we can to make him safe. We don't know if the guy even lives there anymore. They tell you when they move in, they don't tell you when they move out.
Be safe. Give your children extra hugs tonight and hope you don't get a letter.
I heard my illusions shatter all over the kitchen floor. A sex offender, in my neighborhood. My idyllic safe world was suddenly neither. I wanted to grab my son and hug him and tell him never to leave my sight ever. In fact he was not to go outside at all. He was to stay safely cacooned in my house where I could protect him. The reality came crashing home that the world is a different place than when I grew up. Ignorance was bliss. There have always been sex offenders and "funny uncles" but we never knew about them. They didn't have meetings in the local high school to tell you who they were and what they did. They kept them away, locked up longer. In the age of instant information and right to know. We all got the privilege of having our fears exposed and given a face.
At the meeting we got a sheet explaining who this person was and the specifics of his crime. He liked girls, little ones, under age 12. He was a repeat offender. His crimes were fondling and inappropriate touch with penetration (why didn't they call it what it was, rape?) He hadn't responded well to treatment in jail and had in fact quit or failed at the "program" and so would be monitored closely for a while. A while was never really defined, it was until his probation was done or they ran out of ankle bracelets or something. I stopped listening when they showed his picture on the big screen at the back of the stage. Twelve feet high. Twelve feet of menacing terror staring me in the face. He looked mean. He looked evil. He looked like I wouldn't want to meet him on a sunny day in the park. He might have looked like anybody normal, but not to me, not to any parent in that auditorium.
They wouldn't divulge his address but we already knew. I live next to the guy who knows everyone and everything that happens in our neighborhood. He knew which house he lived in. the guy had moved in with his grandparents after release. They are well known real estate agents, the kind with their picture on the signs that hang outside houses they are selling. I bet that was good for business.
It was apparent that a lot of people at the meeting were already aware of this new neighbor. Parents stood up to protest his moving in. The police said he had paid is debt that was mandated by the court and he had the right to live anywhere he wanted to. Parents said there was a bus stop at the end of this guys driveway. They petitioned the school to change it, but they wouldn't. So there was always at least two parents when the kids got on and off the bus. The guy liked to stand on the veranda and watch the kids. Maybe that wasn't what he was doing, maybe he was just getting some fresh air and having a smoke, but all the parents knew he was trolling for their children and they were not about to let him reel one in.
One of the things that struck me most about that meeting, other than the obvious ones. A lot of parents had brought their children some as young as six or seven. I am not sure that was a good idea. I certainly had no intention of bringing my son. I think it is important to be honest with your children and tell them the real dangers of the world in which we live. I am not sure it is a good idea to show them a picture of the monsters that live among us. Do they need to know who this guy is so they can stay away? I think they should stay away from anyone they don't know. We need to teach our children that there are mean people who could want to hurt them. We need to teach them how to be as safe as they can and what to do if they are frightened or feel in danger. I don't think we need to say "See that guy? Look at his picture. He is one of them". The world is a scary enough place.
I have never seen this man in person. I drive or ride my bike by his house and always look, like daring to look in the haunted house, waiting to see if you see the ghosts in the window. He is never there setting his trap for unsuspecting children, baiting it with laffy taffy and M&M's. "Paranoia runs deep, into your hearts it will creep". Truer word were never spoken/sung.
The initial shock fades a bit with time and we go about our lives. We try not to live in fear or let it dictate what we do and where we go. We know that sex offenders don't rush out out their houses with nets and nab children off the streets while we stand mute with horror unable to react as they scuttle away with our precious ones tucked under their arm. We know this in our heads but not in our paranoia. We know they are more subtle and that is even scarier. We take a different street to the park. We are more vigilant than before that meeting. My son does not know about the "monster" who lives down the lane. He knows about "stranger danger" and we talk about everything and do the best we can to make him safe. We don't know if the guy even lives there anymore. They tell you when they move in, they don't tell you when they move out.
Be safe. Give your children extra hugs tonight and hope you don't get a letter.
8/18/2004
Laura
She knew him better than any of us. They were together for almost three years and lived together for over a year. They would have gotten married but knew they didn't have much time. He was dying. They tried to work around that. They didn't dwell on it. They tried to enjoy each moment, each day but it was there in the room with them always. Daring them to live life with out the knowledge of the inevitable in control. They were happy. They were in love.
I have always wanted to talk to her about him. What they went through as a couple, how she dealt with it as a partner, lover. How had he told her about his illness? He had been fighting this battle since he was 18. She had to have a lot of courage and love to go into this new relationship knowing what pain and hardship most likely was ahead of them. When he was very sick, toward the end, he refused to eat, he didn't have the energy and felt sick all the time. She threatened to leave him if he wouldn't eat. She didn't want to leave him but she was desperate. She knew she was going to lose him. But not like this, not by giving up. So she threatened the one thing she could, to take away her love, hoping it would jump start him. Rattle him enough to try. She broke his heart.
I remember when he came tell my mom about it. He was 6'2" my mom 5'1" but she had her arms wrapped around him cradling him to her chest. He was heartbroken, crying on her shoulder because Laura was going to leave him and he was going to die alone. He loved her more than she would ever know. I don't know what my mother told him, but she always knew the right words. She held his head against her shoulder and rocked him slowly, stroking his head whispering what he needed to hear.
Laura did not leave him. Finally it was he that did the leaving.
They were in class together at college. She said she couldn't help but notice this tall skinny guy with a red beard that kept moving his chair closer to hers. He, like most males of the ripe old age of 20, admired tall, leggy blondes as the ideal woman. Then came Laura. She was small and dark and fit neatly under his arm. She was smart and funny and one of the most genuine people I have ever met. I remember the first present she gave him for his birthday was an antique salt shaker in the shape of a rooster with a body of cut glass and its head made of silver. I have that now and think of her whenever I see it.
I have always wanted to ask her what he was like as an adult. What things was he passionate about? Was he scared? What did they talk about? How did they talk about the future knowing there wasn't going to be a long term one? What were his dreams? Was he angry that he wasn't going to get to fulfill them? What did he feel about leaving us all behind? What did he believe came next.? Was he really as strong as we all thought he was? These were all questions we never asked. There was just no way to get those words to fit in our mouths. We tried to visualize the cure, the return of health. We wanted to believe that this treatment would work. This medication would knock the cancer on it's ass. We couldn't bring ourselves to acknowledge that this was a battle we could not fight for him.This was not a battle he was going to win.
I knew him so little as a person, not just my brother, before he died We hadn't reached the stage yet when we knew each other outside that sibling bond, as people whole and unto ourselves. He moved out when I was 15. Then I was 17, he was 23 at that age the gap seemed huge. He was an adult, facing death. I was a scared kid facing his death. What could I possibly say to him? We talked about the daily things that made up our life, school, work, movies, etc. but never about his illness and all that entailed.
It has been many years since I have seen Laura. She used to show up at my parents house out of the blue on the weekends, she had a knack for arriving just at lunch time. She would stay and chat and tell us about what was going on with her. The bond was breaking. They weren't married, had no children. We had no claim on her. She came around less and less often. She called when she was getting married to invite us to the wedding. She wanted to do it in person not just have the invitation with her name show up in the mail. She was getting married on my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary so we could not go. We thought it was a good omen though and wished her well and sent a gift.
That was it. There was no more from Laura. She had moved on. She had a new life. A new husband and family. We were the 5th wheel. How could she bring a ghost and his family along? Maybe she never told her new family about her experience with her last boyfriend.
She meant so much to me back then. She was the only link to the man I never really knew. When my father died I wanted desperately to tell her, ask her to come to the funeral. I just couldn't pick up the phone and say "Hi, remember me? How has your life been these past twenty some years please tell me all about it. Oh by the way would you like to come share some more grief with us?"
I look her up on the internet sometimes. I write down her address and phone number. I think maybe someday I will call her. But what would I say? The what-ifs haunt me. What if she doesn't want to remember? What if she doesn't want to talk about it? What if she doesn't remember all the things I want to know? What if she has finished that chapter and does not want to go back and analyze it again? She can't have forgotten him or us. You don't forget losing your lover at age 23. I think it has been too many years and am afraid it is selfish to want this from her. I put the little piece of paper I have written her information on in the bottom drawer of my desk, under some papers, like I am trying to hide it, keep it safe. Maybe someday I will have the courage to call and ask and she will have the courage to talk.
I have always wanted to talk to her about him. What they went through as a couple, how she dealt with it as a partner, lover. How had he told her about his illness? He had been fighting this battle since he was 18. She had to have a lot of courage and love to go into this new relationship knowing what pain and hardship most likely was ahead of them. When he was very sick, toward the end, he refused to eat, he didn't have the energy and felt sick all the time. She threatened to leave him if he wouldn't eat. She didn't want to leave him but she was desperate. She knew she was going to lose him. But not like this, not by giving up. So she threatened the one thing she could, to take away her love, hoping it would jump start him. Rattle him enough to try. She broke his heart.
I remember when he came tell my mom about it. He was 6'2" my mom 5'1" but she had her arms wrapped around him cradling him to her chest. He was heartbroken, crying on her shoulder because Laura was going to leave him and he was going to die alone. He loved her more than she would ever know. I don't know what my mother told him, but she always knew the right words. She held his head against her shoulder and rocked him slowly, stroking his head whispering what he needed to hear.
Laura did not leave him. Finally it was he that did the leaving.
They were in class together at college. She said she couldn't help but notice this tall skinny guy with a red beard that kept moving his chair closer to hers. He, like most males of the ripe old age of 20, admired tall, leggy blondes as the ideal woman. Then came Laura. She was small and dark and fit neatly under his arm. She was smart and funny and one of the most genuine people I have ever met. I remember the first present she gave him for his birthday was an antique salt shaker in the shape of a rooster with a body of cut glass and its head made of silver. I have that now and think of her whenever I see it.
I have always wanted to ask her what he was like as an adult. What things was he passionate about? Was he scared? What did they talk about? How did they talk about the future knowing there wasn't going to be a long term one? What were his dreams? Was he angry that he wasn't going to get to fulfill them? What did he feel about leaving us all behind? What did he believe came next.? Was he really as strong as we all thought he was? These were all questions we never asked. There was just no way to get those words to fit in our mouths. We tried to visualize the cure, the return of health. We wanted to believe that this treatment would work. This medication would knock the cancer on it's ass. We couldn't bring ourselves to acknowledge that this was a battle we could not fight for him.This was not a battle he was going to win.
I knew him so little as a person, not just my brother, before he died We hadn't reached the stage yet when we knew each other outside that sibling bond, as people whole and unto ourselves. He moved out when I was 15. Then I was 17, he was 23 at that age the gap seemed huge. He was an adult, facing death. I was a scared kid facing his death. What could I possibly say to him? We talked about the daily things that made up our life, school, work, movies, etc. but never about his illness and all that entailed.
It has been many years since I have seen Laura. She used to show up at my parents house out of the blue on the weekends, she had a knack for arriving just at lunch time. She would stay and chat and tell us about what was going on with her. The bond was breaking. They weren't married, had no children. We had no claim on her. She came around less and less often. She called when she was getting married to invite us to the wedding. She wanted to do it in person not just have the invitation with her name show up in the mail. She was getting married on my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary so we could not go. We thought it was a good omen though and wished her well and sent a gift.
That was it. There was no more from Laura. She had moved on. She had a new life. A new husband and family. We were the 5th wheel. How could she bring a ghost and his family along? Maybe she never told her new family about her experience with her last boyfriend.
She meant so much to me back then. She was the only link to the man I never really knew. When my father died I wanted desperately to tell her, ask her to come to the funeral. I just couldn't pick up the phone and say "Hi, remember me? How has your life been these past twenty some years please tell me all about it. Oh by the way would you like to come share some more grief with us?"
I look her up on the internet sometimes. I write down her address and phone number. I think maybe someday I will call her. But what would I say? The what-ifs haunt me. What if she doesn't want to remember? What if she doesn't want to talk about it? What if she doesn't remember all the things I want to know? What if she has finished that chapter and does not want to go back and analyze it again? She can't have forgotten him or us. You don't forget losing your lover at age 23. I think it has been too many years and am afraid it is selfish to want this from her. I put the little piece of paper I have written her information on in the bottom drawer of my desk, under some papers, like I am trying to hide it, keep it safe. Maybe someday I will have the courage to call and ask and she will have the courage to talk.
8/16/2004
Ever widening circle
I believe that I would be content to spend my days in cyber space. I could sit for hours, Okay I have sat for hours, bouncing from one blog to the next. Some I pause on briefly and quickly click away, from the vaguely disturbing to the downright scary or just plain yucky. I came across one through a link of a link of a link and as I was scrolling down the page suddenly assaulting my vision a nice picture of the bloggers anus. Why would I want to see that? I think of this woman telling her friends. "Hey check out my blog today, there is a great picture of my butthole"!?! I know, different strokes for different folks. I will just remember not to follow some links. I like going to the profile page and check out who has put the same books or movies on their list. It is amazing to see how different people are that have the same interests.
There are others that I linger on and read everything, depending on how far back the archives go. I check several everyday so see what is new in the life of Audi, Lab Munkay, Moon, Tykho, Red Clover, Real Cinderella, Lucky, Jules and others. I feel like I have a whole new world of "friends" out there. I realize they are not really friend friends. We don't go to movies together and have coffee the point is I feel like we could, with the ones that I trade comments back and forth. I feel like I know these people, at least part of them, for a brief moment I am a part of their lives, they have shared something important with me. I have been moved to tears and almost fallen off my chair with laughter. I like getting a small glimpse into the lives of people from my hometown to Iceland and Kenya and beyond. Peeking in the window of their life and culture, some vastly different from my own but on the web we are all neighbors. I love that.
I like following the comment train. I board at mine and move on stopping at various blogs along the way and follow the comments of blogs I have never been to and so on and then leave a comment and they come back and I have widened the circle. I like the input from other people. I get almost giddy when I realize I have a comment.
Where did my circle start? I have to thank Professor Batty for that. He kept talking about blogging so I had to check it out. Through our blogs we have discovered new things about each other, depths we never knew. I have found many of my favorite blogs through the Profs. He sifts through the throngs and picks the best of the best. Does that sound conceited since I am on his list?
Anyway, There are things I don't talk about and share in my "real" life. Sometimes I am willing to share more than someone is willing to hear. Sometimes truth and honesty about important, emotional things makes people uncomfortable. Trying to explain a small seemingly insignificant moment of pure beauty to people who don't get it becomes too hard. I end up sounding like one of those people who talk just to hear the sound of their own voice. Some stories are not "big" or important to anyone but me but I want to tell them anyway. So I kept most of it in my head and wrote it down in journals. Words that never saw the light of day once the page was turned. Then came blogger. I just like knowing it is out there. It is especially gratifying when I know someone else has read it, but I like just knowing it is out there. I have released it into the world. Be free my words, be free.
Let's all share. I am curios, where did your circle start and where has it taken you? Why do you blog?
There are others that I linger on and read everything, depending on how far back the archives go. I check several everyday so see what is new in the life of Audi, Lab Munkay, Moon, Tykho, Red Clover, Real Cinderella, Lucky, Jules and others. I feel like I have a whole new world of "friends" out there. I realize they are not really friend friends. We don't go to movies together and have coffee the point is I feel like we could, with the ones that I trade comments back and forth. I feel like I know these people, at least part of them, for a brief moment I am a part of their lives, they have shared something important with me. I have been moved to tears and almost fallen off my chair with laughter. I like getting a small glimpse into the lives of people from my hometown to Iceland and Kenya and beyond. Peeking in the window of their life and culture, some vastly different from my own but on the web we are all neighbors. I love that.
I like following the comment train. I board at mine and move on stopping at various blogs along the way and follow the comments of blogs I have never been to and so on and then leave a comment and they come back and I have widened the circle. I like the input from other people. I get almost giddy when I realize I have a comment.
Where did my circle start? I have to thank Professor Batty for that. He kept talking about blogging so I had to check it out. Through our blogs we have discovered new things about each other, depths we never knew. I have found many of my favorite blogs through the Profs. He sifts through the throngs and picks the best of the best. Does that sound conceited since I am on his list?
Anyway, There are things I don't talk about and share in my "real" life. Sometimes I am willing to share more than someone is willing to hear. Sometimes truth and honesty about important, emotional things makes people uncomfortable. Trying to explain a small seemingly insignificant moment of pure beauty to people who don't get it becomes too hard. I end up sounding like one of those people who talk just to hear the sound of their own voice. Some stories are not "big" or important to anyone but me but I want to tell them anyway. So I kept most of it in my head and wrote it down in journals. Words that never saw the light of day once the page was turned. Then came blogger. I just like knowing it is out there. It is especially gratifying when I know someone else has read it, but I like just knowing it is out there. I have released it into the world. Be free my words, be free.
Let's all share. I am curios, where did your circle start and where has it taken you? Why do you blog?
8/13/2004
Follow up
So my friend who had "The Episode" spent two days in the hospital being poked and prodded, imaged and screened. He had bloodwork done, an MRI, a CAT scan an ECG and EKG. The good news is. He is fine. He has no blockage or build up in his arteries. Everything checked out perfect or nearly so.
What caused it? The Doc says it was either a migraine episode, which he has had in the past but never like that, or a TAI (mild stroke). Okay to me those seem vastly different in severity. They don't really know what it was or what caused it. It seems so strange to me that in the age of technology in which we live that sometimes they still just shrug their shoulders and say "We don't really know."
Oh yeah, and they found a hole in his heart! "A WHAT!!" There is a small hole in his heart covered by a flap. Apparently about 16% of the population has one, but most people never even know it (so how do they know 16% have them???). It doesn't cause any problems and is not related to what happened it is just a new and interesting fact to add to his medical records. The Doc says it shouldn't interfere with his life or activities.
Doc says you've got a hole in your heart, what do you do? I asked him if it freaked him out at all, as I would be paranoid, he said "Let me put it to you this way, there are 64 steps between my office and the lunch room. I usually take them two at a time. Friday I stood at the bottom of the stairs and thought 'do I really want to do this?', I took the elevator." So it freaked him out a little.
After a couple of days to let it sink in, he decided he had to live his life and couldn't let fear of the unknown, unknowable or maybe-possibles run his life. The next time he faced the mountain of stairs, he took them two at a time, like always. He passed a fellow co-worker who asked him "Are you sure you should be doing that?" To which he replied "I guess we'll find out, if I die you might want to get out of they way of my falling body I'd hate to take you out on the way down."
I think he'll be fine.
What caused it? The Doc says it was either a migraine episode, which he has had in the past but never like that, or a TAI (mild stroke). Okay to me those seem vastly different in severity. They don't really know what it was or what caused it. It seems so strange to me that in the age of technology in which we live that sometimes they still just shrug their shoulders and say "We don't really know."
Oh yeah, and they found a hole in his heart! "A WHAT!!" There is a small hole in his heart covered by a flap. Apparently about 16% of the population has one, but most people never even know it (so how do they know 16% have them???). It doesn't cause any problems and is not related to what happened it is just a new and interesting fact to add to his medical records. The Doc says it shouldn't interfere with his life or activities.
Doc says you've got a hole in your heart, what do you do? I asked him if it freaked him out at all, as I would be paranoid, he said "Let me put it to you this way, there are 64 steps between my office and the lunch room. I usually take them two at a time. Friday I stood at the bottom of the stairs and thought 'do I really want to do this?', I took the elevator." So it freaked him out a little.
After a couple of days to let it sink in, he decided he had to live his life and couldn't let fear of the unknown, unknowable or maybe-possibles run his life. The next time he faced the mountain of stairs, he took them two at a time, like always. He passed a fellow co-worker who asked him "Are you sure you should be doing that?" To which he replied "I guess we'll find out, if I die you might want to get out of they way of my falling body I'd hate to take you out on the way down."
I think he'll be fine.
8/11/2004
Visitors
Insomnia seems to be my new companion. No nightmares last night, I don't know why sleep eluded me. I was blissfully sleeping and then I was awake, as simple as that. I was bone weary but just couldn't get back to sleep. I tossed and turned and flopped around fluffing my pillow and flapping my blanket until my hubby in a small tired voice said "don't I get to sleep either?" With a sigh of resignation I rose in the middle of the night like Nosferatu awake and thirsting for something I couldn't quite put my finger on, restless. I wandered the quiet rooms of my house. The world looks so different under cover of darkness everything looks peaceful and soft, lines smudged by the dark. The cats are curled up on the couch they barely notice me. I turn on the light in the fish tank. They swim in lazy circles wondering if it's time to eat.
I went outside to look at the sky. The night was cool and the breeze raised goosebumps on my arms. It felt refreshing. I took a deep cleansing breath. There is something different about night air. The moon cast an eerie glow across my landscape the stars were not as bright in the city as I remembered them from the north woods but I could see the big dipper and Orion's belt.
There were no lights on in any of the houses in my cul-de-sac. My neighbors were still tucked in their beds, unless like me they were at peace in the dark. Maybe they were looking out their window seeing me wondering what we have in common that we were both awake at this hour sitting in the dark. I sat on my front porch and just listened to the sounds of the night. I could hear cars on the freeway I wondered who were all the people in all the cars where were they going rushing to and fro in the middle of the night?.
I could hear the faint barking of a dog far away. I heard a rustle off to my left. I held my breath and waited quietly. I was not frightened, it was not the stealthy sound of someone sneaking. I heard crunching footfalls through the thicket of woods in my neighbors yard. Then I saw them. There were three of them. Deer, beautiful, sleek, gentle. They turned their dreamy brown gaze on me, for just a moment we regarded each other. I did not move or say anything. They stood perfectly still, gorgeous breathing statues. They were not spooked by me, perhaps they just thought I was another creature of the night. This is their time, the night belongs to them I am out of place in their space. They turned away, I was dismissed. They decided I was not a threat, just another piece of the landscape. They sauntered slowly past me and walked up the hill single file and disappeared behind another house.
I was reminded that the night has its own rhythm and people and creatures that move with it. I got another glimpse of my visitors as they crossed at the top of my street. I let out a whistle. They froze and looked at me again. Then turned and bolted like brown lightening, I saw the flash of their white tails and they disappeared into the night. I was suddenly very tired. This is what I woke up to see. I crawled in my bed and cuddled under my blankets slowly warming up and relaxing. I went peacefully back to sleep.
I went outside to look at the sky. The night was cool and the breeze raised goosebumps on my arms. It felt refreshing. I took a deep cleansing breath. There is something different about night air. The moon cast an eerie glow across my landscape the stars were not as bright in the city as I remembered them from the north woods but I could see the big dipper and Orion's belt.
There were no lights on in any of the houses in my cul-de-sac. My neighbors were still tucked in their beds, unless like me they were at peace in the dark. Maybe they were looking out their window seeing me wondering what we have in common that we were both awake at this hour sitting in the dark. I sat on my front porch and just listened to the sounds of the night. I could hear cars on the freeway I wondered who were all the people in all the cars where were they going rushing to and fro in the middle of the night?.
I could hear the faint barking of a dog far away. I heard a rustle off to my left. I held my breath and waited quietly. I was not frightened, it was not the stealthy sound of someone sneaking. I heard crunching footfalls through the thicket of woods in my neighbors yard. Then I saw them. There were three of them. Deer, beautiful, sleek, gentle. They turned their dreamy brown gaze on me, for just a moment we regarded each other. I did not move or say anything. They stood perfectly still, gorgeous breathing statues. They were not spooked by me, perhaps they just thought I was another creature of the night. This is their time, the night belongs to them I am out of place in their space. They turned away, I was dismissed. They decided I was not a threat, just another piece of the landscape. They sauntered slowly past me and walked up the hill single file and disappeared behind another house.
I was reminded that the night has its own rhythm and people and creatures that move with it. I got another glimpse of my visitors as they crossed at the top of my street. I let out a whistle. They froze and looked at me again. Then turned and bolted like brown lightening, I saw the flash of their white tails and they disappeared into the night. I was suddenly very tired. This is what I woke up to see. I crawled in my bed and cuddled under my blankets slowly warming up and relaxing. I went peacefully back to sleep.
8/10/2004
My protector
I had that falling sensation, barely conscious, vaguely aware of my surroundings. BAM! wide awake, adrenaline pumping my fists curled tightly in my blanket. I couldn't see. There was no sound. I was breathing like I couldn't catch my breath. In that split second before full awareness there was panic, sheer terror. Something was chasing me in my dream, I had leaped off a building to escape it. I couldn't see what was pursuing me but it was big and black and emitted bloodthirsty, wet snarls. I couldn't see teeth but I knew they were there I could feel it's hot putrid breath on my neck as it got closer and yet was far behind me (only in dreams is something there and not at the same time). I must have thought I could fly like Superman or Batman. Why else would I have leapt off the building. There was no choice. I had to fly or die. The panic in my brain was subsiding. My breathing returning to normal. But I still felt that lingering panic, fear. I looked at the clock it said 4:26 was it afternoon? No, it was dark must be the middle of the night. What day was it? did I have to get up for work? Where was I? Is this my bed? It didn't feel right. I flung my left arm out for my safety net, to stop my descent back into dream hell. There he was, my hubby. Big and strong enough to chase away all demons of the night and protect me. I curled up against his side. "I'm scared." He snuggled me in his strong, muscular arms and kissed the top of my head. I let my breath out and relaxed against his warm, solid body. With my head on his chest I could feel his steady reassuring heart beat. I am plagued with nightmares from time to time and he is always there to wrap me up in his strength and admonish them back to their dream scape. When he holds me I really feel held, safe and secure. Nightmare creatures and fears vanquished for another night.
8/07/2004
Indifference
This was the game
We played it well
I open myself to you
You stare blankly
I try to touch you
you turn away
I say "I love you"
You say nothing
I say "I hate you"
You say "you'll get over it"
I want in your life
You shut the door
I try all my keys
You change the locks
I walk away
You say "Good-bye"
It means nothing
You make it clear
I come back
You say "Hello"
I am nothing
You make it clear
Can't you feel
Beside indifference?
I long for you
You reach in need
I respond
Pretend it matters
I stroke your cheek
You absently smile
How sad am I
That this is enough?
I try to change you
I am changed
I stop caring
You don't start
I am alone and lost
you don't look for me
I am here
You can't see me
I lose touch
You don't hold on
I drift away
You can't swim
I say "Good-bye"
You don't miss me
We played it well
I open myself to you
You stare blankly
I try to touch you
you turn away
I say "I love you"
You say nothing
I say "I hate you"
You say "you'll get over it"
I want in your life
You shut the door
I try all my keys
You change the locks
I walk away
You say "Good-bye"
It means nothing
You make it clear
I come back
You say "Hello"
I am nothing
You make it clear
Can't you feel
Beside indifference?
I long for you
You reach in need
I respond
Pretend it matters
I stroke your cheek
You absently smile
How sad am I
That this is enough?
I try to change you
I am changed
I stop caring
You don't start
I am alone and lost
you don't look for me
I am here
You can't see me
I lose touch
You don't hold on
I drift away
You can't swim
I say "Good-bye"
You don't miss me
8/04/2004
The Episode
I was reminded last night how precarious our hold on this life can be. How simply and quickly it can change from happiness to sadness from health to illness (unhealth?). I was at a friends house we were chatting and watching a movie. Her husband T was about, feeling restless he went for a bike ride, came back chatted a bit and took the dog for a walk, just a block or two and back.
He was sitting on the couch, we had our back to him, when we heard a heavy harsh intake of breath and deep sigh as he let his breath out. When we looked at him he was holding his head cocked like he was listening to something, he was flexing the fingers on his right hand. "T are you okay?"
He shook his head as if to clear it, turned towards us looking kind of dazed and said "I don't know, I can't really feel my right side, it's all tingely and numb and I feel like I can't control it and the vision in my right eye is gone."
"What!"
"yeah, I feel really weird."
I jumped out of my chair and knelt in front of him.
"Look at me." His pupils looked fine. I'd read somewhere, or maybe watching ER that if you have a stroke one of your pupils stays dilated, I don't know if this is true but I was checking anyway. I took his pulse, it was regular and strong. His breathing wasn't labored. I asked him his name, age, address and phone number. He stumbled over a couple words like he was having trouble spitting them out but he knew all the pertinent information. He looked at me
"The right half of you is gone, just gone, wait it's back, nope gone again" He laughed like this was some parlor trick his brain was playing on him. I had him grip both my hand in both of his, his strength felt the same on both sides, but he still said he couldn't really feel his right arm or right leg. While I was doing my best paramedic impression his wife couldn't decide what we should do.
"call 911"
"Do you think I should?
" huh? "Yes! call 911."
She starts flitting around looking for his wallet.
"Where is your insurance card? What is your doctors name? What hospital do we use?" I took her by the shoulders and stopped her mad pacing.
"Worry about that later, call 911"
She was doing her best to remain calm but was being distracted by things we didn't need to worry about right now. T was starting to list to the left and put his hand on his chest
"My breathing feels kind of funny, fluttery, like I can't catch my breath and I fell like I'm gonna barf" I ran and got a bucket just in case.
"Just hang on, keep talking, the paramedics will be here soon"
"What should I talk about?"
"I don't know, whatever you want, I just want to make sure your speech sounds okay and that you stay awake" He didn't look like he was going to pass out but what the hell did I know.
It was national night out so the police and firemen we out and about in the neighborhoods. It took the paramedics from the fire station approximately a minute and half to get there.
The short version the ensuing events. They check him out, took his pulse and blood pressure. Did and eye check, checked the strength in his hands and feet. Had him stand up, close his eyes and put his hands straight out to his sides and touch his nose (when in doubt do a sobriety test?)
He said the symptoms were subsiding and he was feeling better except now he had a headache. The ambulance arrived about this time. They did the same battery of tests as the firemen. They told him since the symptoms were almost gone it was unlikely he had had a stroke, or a mini stroke but that he should get checked out in the ER tonight because there was no way to know what caused the episode and she couldn't guarantee that something else wouldn't happen again tonight, he shouldn't wait until tomorrow to see his regular doctor.
When I left them they were packing up to take a trip to the ER, I don't know what the outcome was yet and anxiously await a call.
He is 44 years old, he doesn't drink or smoke. He eats healthy and exercises regularly. He doesn't take any medications daily, just a vitamin. He does all the things you are supposed to do to keep healthy at his age. With the exception of work. He is an architect. He works 60 to 70 hours a week constantly against tight deadlines and demanding clients.
He needs to take a break but says he can't. He may be forced to now. It is amazing how quickly we are reminded that we need to take care of our mental health as well as our physical health.
The old saying about stopping to smell the roses is true. We need to take time to decompress. Stress kills. It's not big and dramatic and messy, but it kills just the same. Sitting there watching TV and your body just says "That's it, I can't take the stress anymore, listen to me or I'm done" I hope he heeds this wake up call.
He was sitting on the couch, we had our back to him, when we heard a heavy harsh intake of breath and deep sigh as he let his breath out. When we looked at him he was holding his head cocked like he was listening to something, he was flexing the fingers on his right hand. "T are you okay?"
He shook his head as if to clear it, turned towards us looking kind of dazed and said "I don't know, I can't really feel my right side, it's all tingely and numb and I feel like I can't control it and the vision in my right eye is gone."
"What!"
"yeah, I feel really weird."
I jumped out of my chair and knelt in front of him.
"Look at me." His pupils looked fine. I'd read somewhere, or maybe watching ER that if you have a stroke one of your pupils stays dilated, I don't know if this is true but I was checking anyway. I took his pulse, it was regular and strong. His breathing wasn't labored. I asked him his name, age, address and phone number. He stumbled over a couple words like he was having trouble spitting them out but he knew all the pertinent information. He looked at me
"The right half of you is gone, just gone, wait it's back, nope gone again" He laughed like this was some parlor trick his brain was playing on him. I had him grip both my hand in both of his, his strength felt the same on both sides, but he still said he couldn't really feel his right arm or right leg. While I was doing my best paramedic impression his wife couldn't decide what we should do.
"call 911"
"Do you think I should?
" huh? "Yes! call 911."
She starts flitting around looking for his wallet.
"Where is your insurance card? What is your doctors name? What hospital do we use?" I took her by the shoulders and stopped her mad pacing.
"Worry about that later, call 911"
She was doing her best to remain calm but was being distracted by things we didn't need to worry about right now. T was starting to list to the left and put his hand on his chest
"My breathing feels kind of funny, fluttery, like I can't catch my breath and I fell like I'm gonna barf" I ran and got a bucket just in case.
"Just hang on, keep talking, the paramedics will be here soon"
"What should I talk about?"
"I don't know, whatever you want, I just want to make sure your speech sounds okay and that you stay awake" He didn't look like he was going to pass out but what the hell did I know.
It was national night out so the police and firemen we out and about in the neighborhoods. It took the paramedics from the fire station approximately a minute and half to get there.
The short version the ensuing events. They check him out, took his pulse and blood pressure. Did and eye check, checked the strength in his hands and feet. Had him stand up, close his eyes and put his hands straight out to his sides and touch his nose (when in doubt do a sobriety test?)
He said the symptoms were subsiding and he was feeling better except now he had a headache. The ambulance arrived about this time. They did the same battery of tests as the firemen. They told him since the symptoms were almost gone it was unlikely he had had a stroke, or a mini stroke but that he should get checked out in the ER tonight because there was no way to know what caused the episode and she couldn't guarantee that something else wouldn't happen again tonight, he shouldn't wait until tomorrow to see his regular doctor.
When I left them they were packing up to take a trip to the ER, I don't know what the outcome was yet and anxiously await a call.
He is 44 years old, he doesn't drink or smoke. He eats healthy and exercises regularly. He doesn't take any medications daily, just a vitamin. He does all the things you are supposed to do to keep healthy at his age. With the exception of work. He is an architect. He works 60 to 70 hours a week constantly against tight deadlines and demanding clients.
He needs to take a break but says he can't. He may be forced to now. It is amazing how quickly we are reminded that we need to take care of our mental health as well as our physical health.
The old saying about stopping to smell the roses is true. We need to take time to decompress. Stress kills. It's not big and dramatic and messy, but it kills just the same. Sitting there watching TV and your body just says "That's it, I can't take the stress anymore, listen to me or I'm done" I hope he heeds this wake up call.
8/01/2004
Be The Ly
My son loves to make me things. He is always presenting me little treasures that he has made for me. Little boxes that he has wrapped in tissue paper and glue and painted to look like stain glass, paper roses or bracelets made from colorful pipe cleaners. An old tobasco bottle with layers of colored sand, suncatchers that he has painted hang on almost every window. He made me a Tour de France trophy out of modeling clay. I have a number baby food jars that are painted bright colors, for holding paper clips, rubber bands etc.
Beads are his favorite. I have a beaded lizard key fob, a beaded bookmark(makes the book rather unhandy and keeps falling out, but he insisted it was a bookmark). A beaded ponytail bungee. My hair is approximately 2" long "it's for when you grow it out". I have many bracelets full of bright plastic beads, when he gets help from Grandma sometimes there are small chunks of turquoise or malachite.
My favorite of all the things he has made me is a necklace. It is white elastic with pink, blue, yellow and orange beads, a couple silver beads with the words "friend" and "live" stamped on them. In the center of the necklace are three white beads with words in black type "Be The Ly". I asked him "Why does it say Be The Ly?" He looked sheepishly at the floor "Well I wanted to spell "Be The Leader" but I didn't have enough letters. I told him I liked Be The Ly better, because anyone can be the leader but only I can be the Ly. He smiled at me with that bright blue eyed twinkle of his, swelling with pride because I didn't mind being the Ly instead of the leader. I asked him what Ly meant, he said "the best, first, most, better than anyone." I put my necklace on with joy. I felt like the supreme Ly.
Beads are his favorite. I have a beaded lizard key fob, a beaded bookmark(makes the book rather unhandy and keeps falling out, but he insisted it was a bookmark). A beaded ponytail bungee. My hair is approximately 2" long "it's for when you grow it out". I have many bracelets full of bright plastic beads, when he gets help from Grandma sometimes there are small chunks of turquoise or malachite.
My favorite of all the things he has made me is a necklace. It is white elastic with pink, blue, yellow and orange beads, a couple silver beads with the words "friend" and "live" stamped on them. In the center of the necklace are three white beads with words in black type "Be The Ly". I asked him "Why does it say Be The Ly?" He looked sheepishly at the floor "Well I wanted to spell "Be The Leader" but I didn't have enough letters. I told him I liked Be The Ly better, because anyone can be the leader but only I can be the Ly. He smiled at me with that bright blue eyed twinkle of his, swelling with pride because I didn't mind being the Ly instead of the leader. I asked him what Ly meant, he said "the best, first, most, better than anyone." I put my necklace on with joy. I felt like the supreme Ly.
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