The Story of A Boy part 13: From great despair to choosing hope.

The Story of A Boy Part 13 From great despair to choosing hope

 

The story of a boy….well, he was much more than that to me……

 

This is the 13th  in the series. 

Before I begin; let me say that this post will most likely not be funny. And it might contain information that upsets you and not in the usual way with offensive language and politics…..but in a human, sad and guttural way. I may very well ramble at times and for all of these things: I am genuinely sorry. Please read Parts 1-12 before reading this. It will just make more sense that way.


March 29, 2008

20 weeks 3 days pregnant~ standing in a puddle of amniotic fluid~ frozen for a moment....then I finished tucking my dear sweet living son into bed....went to the bathroom down the hall~ yep no question about it~ my water had broken.......I have no idea how long I sat there feeling a thousand different emotions all at the same time~~~ but eventually I must have left the bathroom ....

Dear husband was sitting on the couch~ took one look at me and said "what's wrong?" and when I told him that my water broke~ all of the color left his face. As we had done before just 10 short months ago~ we called mum to come and stay with the boy so we could go to the hospital.

As luck would have it my Doctor was at the hospital and she greeted us as we walked through the labor and delivery doors. She tried to be reassuring......said not to worry we don't know anything for certain right now......but I knew~ in my heart of hearts I KNEW.

change into the sandpaper hospital gown...climb up on the bed.....dr brings in the portable Ultrasound machine......she puts the cold jelly and then the cold ultrasound wand on my very pregnant belly. She smiled at me as she pointed out "look, plenty of amniotic fluid" and for a micro minute I allowed myself to think maybe I was mistaken......

right up until she put the litmus paper into the fluid~ and it turns immediately. FUCK YOU  LITMUS PAPER~ I HATE YOU!

we cry, we talk, she lays out the options.....in the end she said "Do you want to go to Pittsburgh?" they have a world renowned labor and delivery floor......I say yes...she says "they are going to think I am crazy~ but I'm giving you a shot of betamethasone" ~~a drug meant to help fetal lung maturation in preemies~~ but almost never given before 24 weeks.

phone calls made, consents signed, IV started, fluid and antibiotics pumped into me, the wind is too high for me to go by helicopter~ so we wait for the ambulance to arrive...and in the wait DH said to me "honey you are much farther along than you were with William~ maybe they can do something". But at this point I was calm and deliberate and all I could say was 'yeah maybe'.

You see friends I really was NOT much further along than I had been with William~  A fetus is not considered 'viable' (able to live outside the womb) until you pass the 24 week mark and that mark was nearly FOUR full weeks away~~~ and even then babies born having had no amniotic fluid for that length of time at 24 weeks most often either live with profound deficits or die. As I had been a labor and delivery nurse for 10 years~ I *knew* all of these facts. And my heart was sinking with every passing moment.

It was a very long two hour drive to get to Pittsburgh~ me strapped to a gurney~ my husband riding shotgun in the front seat. The paramedics were very kind and loving....tried to fill the 2 hour drive with small talk~~~ couldn't even begin to tell you what they said~ I was in my own head~ consumed with hopeless despair and agonizing sadness.

They radio report in to the hospital~~ wheel me via stretcher into the teeny tiny hospital room they put mothers in when their babies are pre-viability. FUCK YOU TEENY TINY HOSPITAL ROOM~ I HATE YOU!

Now I *realize* that large medical facilities are usually more busy~ but there I lay on what was quite possibly the most uncomfortable gurney in the GD world for over AN HOUR before a physician came in to see me. And the tears and the agony and the sadness consumed me.

Finally a Physicians Assistant came in and per hospital policy THEY have to confirm that I am leaking amniotic fluid. So the PA does an internal exam....and as she removed the speculum a great gush of amniotic fluid came out with it...I heard it hit the floor.....and from the foot of the most uncomfortable gurney in the GD world she looks up over the sheet and says "your membranes have ruptured~ I can see the sac coming out, you are already dilated to 3. I am sorry, I will get the doctor".

AND THEN THE REAL CRYING BEGAN. Body shaking wrenching sobs of despair and hopelessness.

I tried to pull myself together when the Dr. came in. I cannot tell you how hard it was to hear AGAIN "your water has broken, your fetus is too small, if you are in labor we won't stop it, the fetus will not survive" and in that moment a hatred such as I have never felt for another human came over me......this Dr. at the world renowned women's hospital had the goddamned bedside manner of a fucking stone. On and on and on he went~ with statistics~ with words like~ even on the very remote chance your fetus survives it would most likely face any manner of health issues: blindness, deafness, cerebral palsy .....and there is a huge difference between survivability and a good quality of life...and if you are in labor we won't stop it...and the likelihood that you will carry this fetus another 4 weeks without any amniotic fluid is slim to none.......and NEVER ONCE did he call her a baby and NEVER ONCE did he speak to us with anything but callous hard facts. And then he said the words that caused my hatred for him to quadruple (I swear to the gods I think I could have killed him right there on the spot) he said: "the only thing I can recommend is that you terminate your pregnancy tonight; there is no chance your fetus will live~ it would be best if you terminate the pregnancy now. You talk it over ~ I'll be back with the consent forms" And with those words he left the teeny tiny hospital room. FUCK YOU DOCTOR FUCKFACE, I HATE YOU.

And then the wailing came~ I am talking wake the dead volume of screaming and cursing and crying. DH silently wept beside holding my hand.

And I screamed at the very top of my voice: WHAT THE FUCK GOD? WHAT FUCKING LESSON DID I NOT LEARN LAST TIME THAT YOU THINK WE NEED TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN? I CANNOT DO THIS AGAIN. I KNOW I CAN NOT, NOT, NOT SURVIVE THIS AGAIN.

If I live to be 100 I will never, ever forget the words that I LITERALLY HEARD in that teeny tiny room on a dark night in March: 'Mommy, you don't have to. This time it will be different, I promise'

now I have never been much of a religious person~ but clearly I do believe in God. I also believe that sometimes people who have died ~well a part of their spirit stays here. And I am telling you point blank: I HEARD those words~~~ as clearly as if a person had been standing next to the gurney talking to me~ I heard them.

And I sat straight up on that goddamned uncomfortable gurney and I pounded my fists on the gurney and I exclaimed: NO, I cannot do this again...I will not be able to survive the death of another child....I will NOT give up hope.

And then there was calm and quiet and a resolve such as I had never felt before washed over me.

A nurse came in and asked us if we had made up our mind? I said 'yes I'd like to see the doctor'. Of course doctor fuckface assumes that we have decided to "terminate the pregnancy tonight". And in he swept with my chart and a pile of consent forms.......and when I said : no we do not agree to terminate~ he once again goes over every single fact he'd already said. To which I replied: yes I am aware of all of that.....and then he left the room.

A few moments later a nurse came in and started to take out my IV. And I was all~ what? wait? why would you do that? And she muttered something about  since we didn't want to terminate tonight the doctors had ordered that the IV be removed because there really was no need for it~ and hospital policy is that they keep me 48 hours to make sure I'm not in labor or sick...and then they would discharge me. I demand to see doctor fuckface.....the nurse scurries away~~ a half an hour later he comes back in looking exasperated and annoyed. And the conversation went something like this:

Me: I'd like the IV left in for extra fluids and shouldn't you be giving me some prophylactic antibiotics?
DFF: you are healthy you can drink all the fluids you need there is no need for an IV. There have been no studies that show that giving prophylactic antibiotics improve the outcome.
Me: Has leaving the IV in and pushing fluids and prophylactic antibiotics ever been shown to cause HARM?
DFF: none that I am aware of. But again it's really not necessary it won't change your outcome.
Me: Doctor Fuckface (I'm sure I didn't actually address him as that~ but that's what I was thinking)....Doctor Fuckface do you have any children?
DFF: I don't see how that is relevant, but yes I have 3.
Me: and have you ever lost a child~ held your child as it died in your arms?
DFF: no, I have not
Me: and have you EVER known of a single case where the water broke this early and the outcome was a positive one?
DFF: I think I may have read about one in medical school~ but please understand that's exceedingly rare...lasting medical issues blah blah blah
Me: <<<<raising my palm in the stop mode to end his textbook replies which he had already repeated THREE times>>>> If you have heard of EVEN ONE case where it all worked out~ then there is room for hope
DFF: your physician really should never have given you that betamethasone~ that is just giving you false hope
Me: well I **have** held my own child and watched him die in the arms of his father~ and at the end of the night you get to go home to your three living children~ and if I give up hope now I will go home and have to have a funeral  for another baby
DFF: I think you are just prolonging the inevitable. This will not end well~ your fetus will not survive and even if it does the likelihood of it having any sort of quality of life is minimal. We would not even attempt to save the fetus until you are 24 weeks along~~ and even then blah blah blah
Me: but you have heard of one case that it all turned out well
DFF: yes but...
Me: <<<again with the palm up>>> I'd like to keep the IV in and have some antibiotics too
DFF: okay, but it won't make a difference there is very little chance that you'll make it to viability and no reason to hope or believe your fetus will live
Me: The HELL you say~~~ THERE IS ALWAYS ROOM FOR HOPE

and with that he left the room...and I was transferred to another room and admitted...and I never laid eyes on doctor fuckface again



 

 

The Story of A Boy Part 12: life, legacy and waiting

The Story of A Boy Part 12:  life, legacy and waiting

 

The story of a boy….well, he was much more than that to me……

 

This is the 12^h in the series. 

Before I begin; let me say that this post will most likely not be funny. And it might contain information that upsets you and not in the usual way with offensive language and politics…..but in a human, sad and guttural way. I may very well ramble at times and for all of these things: I am genuinely sorry. Please read Parts 1-11 before reading this. It will just make more sense that way.

 

 

Monday arrived and my husband took the day off to go with me for the amniocentesis. I had never had one~ it was weird but not very painful. The OB pronounced that the fluid was clear and looked perfect.

 

and now more waiting

 

and more worrying

 

In talking with my coworkers one day at lunch~ one of them was asking how I would handle the "worst case scenario"......she went on to explain that she is unsure if she could raise a child with Down's Syndrome......I said "that my friend is NOT the worst case scenario". She sat baffled.....I went on to explain that even having an amniocentesis puts the pregnancy at risk~ risk of infection, risk that the baby is hit with the needle, risk that having the amnio would cause my membranes to rupture, risk that I might loose the whole pregnancy because I chose to have a procedure~~ and THAT was my worst case scenario....losing the baby because of the amnio only to find out that the baby did not have Down's Syndrome. She was stunned silent. Eventually she processed what I had said and with a tear in her eye she said : oh my God I never even thought of that.

 

****I**** thought of THAT...and thousands of other 'worst case scenarios"......I thought I might just worry myself to an early grave.

 

The results came: I was carrying a baby girl and she did not have Down's Syndrome or any other genetic abnormalities.

 

That call brought me such a profound sense of relief. But it also brought a profound sadness. I said early on in this story that I had *always* pictured having 2 boys with DH.....that is what I had in my mind for 10 long years.....and learning that my dream, my picture of the way I *thought* my life would turn out, my dream of having 2 living sons died with William and I grieved for him all over again.

 

And like a scab ripped off of huge injury and opening a painful wound~ just that fast~ the waves of grief and sorrow came. Relentlessly they came. Washing over me and threatening to drown me. I was RIGHT back where I had been 7 months ago~ I was devastated again over the death of my son. I wasn't sure I could carry on~ the pain was so great. And it wasn't until one sleepless night when my crying woke my husband~ that some hope and happiness returned~~ and he held me in his arms. And I apologized to him that I could not give him 2 living sons. He took my face into his hands and he looked in my eyes~ he said he loved me~ he loved all of our children and he said he would not love our baby girl any LESS. It was the reassurance I needed to move on. But just like grief itself~ acceptance and healing is a process~ not an event. This particular part of the grieving has returned over and over........but it gets easier.

 

In the next two weeks I allowed some hope and joy to sneak in. By this time I was showing and people were telling me I was 'glowing'........I don't know about all that~ but I was feeling better and looking forward to the third trimester.

 

And then it came~ out of the blue it came~ I was not sick~ I had no premonitions or sense of impending doom~ but there I was reading a book to my dear two year old son~~ tucking him into bed~ and I stood up off of his bed~

 

and IMMEDIATELY with no warning my pants were flooded and I was standing in a puddle of amniotic fluid. I was 20 weeks 3 days pregnant standing in a puddle of fluid~ and I thought I MIGHT just die.

The Story of A Boy Part 11: His Legacy Unfolds: Why Can't ANYthing ever be Easy for me???

The Story of A Boy Part 11: His Legacy Unfolds: Why Can't ANYthing ever be Easy for me???

 

The story of a boy….well, he was much more than that to me……

Part 11: His Legacy Unfolds

This is the 11^th in the series. 

Before I begin; let me say that this post will most likely not be funny. And it might contain information that upsets you and not in the usual way with offensive language and politics…..but in a human, sad and guttural way. I may very well ramble at times and for all of these things: I am genuinely sorry. Please read Parts 1-10 before reading this. It will just make more sense that way.

 

 

The Sonogram results: one tiny fluttering heartbeat: check

 

Due date:8-11-08 I remember thinking briefly how cool it would be if the baby came on 8-8-8~HA what a dreamer I was.

 

Next milestone: make it through the first trimester. Now being pregnant with a baby conceived through the miracle of modern medicine is extra special. And by "extra special" I mean shots, hormones that make you feel like a crazed lunatic, waiting, near constant monitoring, vaginal ultrasounds (with alarming regularity), more tubes of blood taken than you knew you even HAD, and oh yeah~ ALL of the normal pregnancy stuff too.

 

I am in no way complaining about ANY of that.....I know what it is like to WANT pregnancy and ALL that comes with it so desperately you think of little else. I prayed for 10 years for two lines on a goddamned pee stick~~~~ and ONCE: ONE time in that ten years I got a positive ~ only to have the dream dashed yet again 4 days later when blood work revealed my HcG level was dropping and I was miscarrying. I very much remember the scheduling of sex based on an ovulation predictor kit. I remember the heartache month after month after month when my period came.

 

just to be pregnant, please God.....I wanted it, prayed for it, BEGGED for it. And felt a great relief when it finally happened.

 

That being said: this pregnancy was different. I was different. It is very profound to feel both the greatest joy and the greatest sadness you have EVER felt all in one day...many times even more than once a day.

 

I was exhausted. Beaten down. So very, very sad. You see it was a great leap of Faith to try again after William died. And the wounds of his death and the aftermath was something I was STILL very much in the thick of. Some say we tried to soon~ it was hard not to agree with them. Thinking about it now~ I remember being absolutely possessed with the thought and need to be pregnant again. But I was ill prepared for how HARD it would be.

 

Nothing could bring William back......no matter how many times we decided to try or how much time passed~ nothing would bring him back~ he was dead~ and there is, to this day, a William shaped whole in my heart....and in my soul......I was talking to a good friend of mine once and she said she didn't think you ever got *over* the death of your child~ you just learn how to deal with it better (if you're lucky).

 

That December ~ a mere 7 months after the most devastating thing I have ever survived~~ I was pregnant.

 

And it was HARD.

REALLY, REALLY FUCKING HARD.

 

And I did not allow myself to feel joy. I didn't know *how* to feel joy. When people congratulated me I would force a weak smile and an even weaker 'thank you'. Frankly it felt WRONG to feel joy. There was such a cloud of pain~ and the moments of pure joy felt like a betrayal of William's life and death.

 

And physically this pregnancy was very hard on my body (we would find out why later). Constant puking, devastating fatigue....some days I swear to god I felt as if I was just going through the motions~ and in reality~ I was.

 

I mean who the fuck did I think I was Wonder Woman? No sick time left~ a cloud of grief surrounding me~ a two year old to take care of~ a husband who is also grieving ~ a house to take care of~ a full time job I really wanted to keep~ and **I** thought it was good idea to get pregnant?

 

I often say to my husband that there was NOTHING easy about this whole pregnancy. Almost NOTHING went the way I thought it was going to. It makes me sad that I do not have a single picture of me pregnant this last time. It's one of those things that just didn't occur to me to do.

 

So I am doing my best~ with all of the above.....and one day on a routine trip to the ladies room at work~ there it was: bright red blood. Too panicked to drive I ask a coworker to take me to the hospital~ called my husband he met us there. An ultrasound revealed that my placenta was covering my cervix almost completely ~ I had what is called 'placenta previa'....and they tried to reassure me by saying that I could expect some light bleeding: GEE THANKS. Oh and they said I needed to be on 'pelvic rest' which is a fancy way of saying: lady don't put anything in your vagina. Uh~ okay...then how about you get that fucking vaginal ultrasound away from ME! And the ER doctor laughed and said "what I mean is no sex"~~ well FUCKING DUH! look at my life as I have described it above~ yeah sex was about the *last* thing I was thinking about. And then it was DH's turn to laugh~ you know that awkward laugh met by stares and silence? Than one.

 

Okay~ let's just put this whole 'placenta previa' nonsense on the ever growing pile of shit for me to worry about in the dark hours of the night when the rest of the house was sleeping.

 

Somehow we all survived the first trimester~ and all I had to say about that was good fucking riddance: no more nightly progesterone shots. No more oral estrogen........ahhhh another milestone crossed: check.

 

As the milestone of where I was in the pregnancy when we lost William approached I could feel myself getting very anxious. I wanted to talk about it constantly~ my husband (patient though he is) really did NOT want to talk about it. Men and women grieve very differently. And there were many days I was so angry with him~ because I perceived that he had 'gotten over it'.....and I knew in my soul that I never would.

 

I was getting more anxious by the day. I had an amazing OB who is also my friend (and previous boss) and she would fit me in whenever I needed reassurance. I may not have any pictures of ME~ but I have a crap ton of ultrasound pictures of the baby.

 

So now it's time for the 'big' ultrasound and another set of blood work to screen for issues. I went in to that US room not really sure if I wanted to know the sex of the baby~ turns out the baby was not feeling terribly cooperative~ OB said she thought 'maybe a boy' but she wasn't feeling like she could tell with any certainty.

 

Went home~ showed DH the pictures....speculated the sex of the baby, told him the OB said everything 'looked great'.....and he said very flatly "yeah, well we have been here before....so let's just see how things go'.......and I cried~ in that moment I *knew* he was still very much grieving too.

 

And as our luck would have it....we didn't have to wait to long for the next shoe to drop.

 

You know it's not great news when the dr herself calls you~ even if she is a friend~ the call came~ my blood work revealed a 1 in 22 chance that the child I was carrying had Down's Syndrome. 1 in 22 and that was after correcting for my "advanced maternal age of 37".......holy fuck.

 

We spent the weekend crying and praying and talking and crying some more.

 

I am a big proponent of being "prepared"....I have seen the devastation that parents face when they deliver a child they presumed was healthy and found out in the delivery room that there child carried a disease or deformity.......I want to know what I am facing up front.

 

But what would I *do* with the information when it came? What if the baby did have Down's Syndrome? Of the many possible genetic diseases a person can have: Down's Syndrome always seemed like a wild card to me~~~~ there are people with Down's that are highly functioning and live happy lives......and then there's the other end of the spectrum~ the end where the child needs round the clock care. AND about 17 gazillion variations between those two.

 

We talked, we cried, we prayed some more (I yelled at God a lot~ not sure if DH did or not).

 

At the end of our discussion I told my husband through tears that even if the baby had down's there is no possible way I could have an abortion....you see as luck would have it.......this was THE VERY WEEK we passed the milestone of when we lost William......and try as I did to not get my hopes up~~ passing that milestone felt like a big relief. But it meant that I KNOW exactly what this baby I am carrying looks like~ I held a baby of this same gestational age in my hands and for an hour and forty seven minutes.....that boy LIVED. I have always believed in a woman's right to choose ~ but facing this issue personally~ it was crystal clear that I could not do it.+++

 

We agreed that we did need to at least be prepared. I called and scheduled the amniocentesis for Monday.

 

Coming next: More waiting

 

 

+++sidebar this is NOT the time or place for ANY discussion on abortion,  PLEASE respect my story enough to let it just be my story and the way I feel~ we can discuss abortion and politics another time. thank you

The Story of A Boy Part 10: His Legacy Begins

The Story of A Boy Part 10: His Legacy Begins

The story of a boy….well, he was much more than that to me……

Part 10: His Legacy Begins

This is the 10^th in the series. 

Before I begin; let me say that this post will most likely not be funny. And it might contain information that upsets you and not in the usual way with offensive language and politics…..but in a human, sad and guttural way. I may very well ramble at times and for all of these things: I am genuinely sorry. Please read Parts 1-9 before reading this. It will just make more sense that way.

 

 

After finally gathering my thoughts together and trying to begin processing the fact that our final IVF had worked and I was pregnant~~ I decided to wait until I got home to tell my husband the results.

 

One of our concerns going into IVF (what seemed like a lifetime ago) was the idea of multiples.....it's actually safe to say that it was a FEAR. Since we had embarked on this journey I met lots of women through these here interwebs for whom IVF had not only worked~ but they had multiples. One woman I met on a support site had 2 embryos put in and BOTH implanted and BOTH split. So she had 2 embryos transferred and she ended up with TWO sets of identical twins~ FOUR babies! This science stuff is crazy!

 

This last IVF for us was what is known as a frozen cycle (as compared to a fresh cycle) the embryo had been frozen over 2 years~ generally this means that even when the transferred embryo implants your initial test for the pregnancy hormone (beta HcG) is usually lower than that of a fresh cycle. So to have my level be 1040 (which was nearly DOUBLE what my level was when we did the fresh cycle) was a bit disconcerting for me...and I knew my husband (who has no medical background) would need explanations and reassurances......so I waited to tell him face to face.

 

Of course as soon as he arrived home~ he took one look at me and he KNEW it had worked! I burst into tears. We talked about what the lab results might mean...and he being the 'let's not get worked up until there is a reason to' kind of guy~ took the high # with a grain of salt.

 

Now I don't know how other women are~ but I am a worrier by nature....given the fact that we had such a gut wrenching journey to get HERE to this place of what I KNEW in my soul would be my last pregnancy ever~ I worried~ I worried A LOT.

 

There is ONE thing worse than the hormones and physical torture a woman endures during IVF~ only ONE THING: the godforsaken WAITING! All the prep~ every single step of conceiving a child through the miracles of science INVOLVES WAITING........and I **suck** at waiting.There is so much waiting and all the while I felt physically like absolute crap~ bloated, nauseated, crampy, exhausted and ZERO patience!

For the next two weeks I tried~ I mean I really, really tried NOT to worry. One thing about having such a high beta HcG ~~ that the nausea started immediately. So there I was working, taking care of our dear toddler son, vomiting and worrying. Oh and yeah it was also the week of Christmas. Suffice it to say~ given everything we had already been through~ *this* particular two week wait nearly flew by!


December 26, 2007~ D day. Any woman I have ever met who has experienced infertility and/or the loss of a child through miscarriage or still birth~ they  no WE all set these milestones for ourselves~ for most it is the point at which things went downhill with a prior pregnancy. We never really allow ourselves to hope that this time will be different until we pass that milestone~ even after we pass the milestone there is worry~ but we breath a little easier.

I came into this~ my 7th and final pregnancy with a steamer trunk FULL of milestones that needed to be passed before I would allow myself to think ~even for a moment~ that this whole thing would end with a healthy child. The first was the blood test: check ~ you're pregnant. The next is the ultrasound.

So here we are~ the day after Christmas~ into the darkened room we go. I feel as though MY heart may very well beat right out of my chest. Legs in the stirrups for what feels like the fucking millionth time~ internal ultrasounds are NOT for the shy or faint of heart. The sonographer knows us~ in the last two months she's seen my vagina FAR more than my Dear Husband has for fuck sake! Mary was her name and she was always very nice and comforting. She is small talking with my DH while she puts my info into the ultrasound machine~ I just want to scream SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LET'S SEE WHAT'S HAPPENING IN MY FUCKED UP UTERUS, please.

Of course I did not *say* that...but God knows I wanted to.

December 26, 2007~ in the darkened room~ I held my breath~ Mary turned the screen toward us and there it was~ one tiny baby ~ resembling a bean more than a baby~ but there she was: ONE tiny baby~ heartbeat fluttering away~ everything measuring just as it should.

There is something life affirming in seeing your child's heartbeat for the first time.....


And then there were tears and such profound gratitude and tears and tears and tears.

Coming next: Why can't anything EVER be easy for me

 

 

The Day After~~ learning from tragedy

Tuesday April 16, 2013

The day after the Boston Marathon Bombing

The day after.....

This morning after reading my good friend and co admin's status update ~some things occurred to me. She and I have very very different political views, in fact in some ways we are quite opposite. And this is THE VERY REASON I have asked her to help me admin this page.

You see my friend and I have FAR more in common than not. I respect her as a woman, a mother, a friend and a Veteran.

We can all stand to learn from one another. We would all be better off if NONE of us pretended to KNOW everything. For it is when we think we have it all figured out~ with nothing left to learn~ that we are most vulnerable.

When tragedy comes to our own front door~ our human nature is to want answers. We seek to make sense of and understand things that are senseless and beyond comprehension.

Some will take this opportunity to benefit themselves. You can safely bet that many politicians will use this tragedy to further their own agenda. This sickens me.

However: my mother taught me long ago that the only person I can control is myself.

In that light:
I will strive to be informed without glamorizing tragedy.
I will continue to teach my children the importance of human life.
I will talk to my small children on a level they can understand without terrifying them.
I will always vote my conscience ~ even when it is not the popular opinion.
I will make my home a safe haven~ a place where my children feel safe and protected.
I will stand up for what I believe in.
I will add my voice to the chorus ONLY when I believe in the song.
I will continue to teach my children to respect members of the military, EMS, firefighters and police.
I will continue to teach my children to love based on what's in their heart without regard to race, creed, color, religion, gender or sexual orientation.
I will teach my children to stand up to bullies.
I will do whatever I can to make my home, my neighborhood and my country a better place.
I will do my VERY best to teach these things by modeling the behaviors MYSELF.

What will YOU do?

love and light,
Ginger

Breaking the Silence

Breaking the Silence

March 25, 2013

            Unless you have been living under a rock~ there is no doubt that you have heard something about the Steubenville rape case: the sickening facts, the verdicts recently handed down, the aftermath. News media and the blogging world are filled with opinions, testimonies and articles expressing everything from sympathy to hate (and all possible emotions in between).

            Initially I tried to avoid the coverage of this case. Too painful and ghastly were the details surrounding the case~ I did not feel strong enough to hear the details. And then the verdicts were handed down………and people on all sides of this horrific tragedy starting weighing in with their opinions. And then I could not STOP myself from reading articles and opinions on the case.

            I have recently become part of a small group of bloggers….talented and amazing women that I respect. They have provided a window into their lives and shared their stories and families with the world. MANY of them have now written blogs about the case……and I am absolutely ASTOUNDED at how many of them have been the victim of rape, sexual assault and sexually violent crimes.

For days now I have wrestled with whether or not to share my story. It is in contemplating the possible ‘backlash’ of sharing my story that I decided that to remain silent is to add to the problem. Silence only perpetuates the idea that it is something that should bring shame TO ME.

So today~ I am breaking the silence.

            My earliest childhood memories are of physical and mental abuse. In fact I have very few happy childhood memories. The kind of people who lived in and around us~ the transients that seemed to always be a part of the landscape of my childhood……there were MANY who seemed to have no moral code~ who would take advantage of anyone and everyone including small children.

            For years the smell of leather made me physically ill…….I never really could recall **why**. I just knew it triggered some internal and very real fear. And then a few years ago I was having a rare visit with my sister (who is recently deceased). I am not even sure how exactly it came up…..but somehow we were talking about our childhood and out of the blue she asked me if I remembered a male babysitter that we had…..and then she asked if I ever knew that he had raped her. And just as if a light switch had been flipped ON into a previously darkened room~ all of the sudden the memories were bright, crystal clear and painful. I remembered as if it had happened yesterday that this man~ while babysitting us made leather belts. I could smell the leather. I could SEE him with a very sharp knife cutting the leather into strips. I could see him using various heating elements to burn images into the belts. And I could taste the vomit in my mouth and feel the terror in my heart. Silent tears slid down my cheeks….both in the past and during this conversation with my sister. And she quietly asked: “did he hurt you too?” And all I could do was nod. Feeling as though if I dared open my mouth the fear and the pain would consume me. My sister was 4 years older than me….so this meant that at the time of the rapes she would have been about 8 and I would have been about 4. EIGHT AND FOUR. Let that soak in a moment………I don’t know if she ever told our mother~ I doubt that she did~ I know I did not. But it is hard for me to fathom how our mother could not have known…how the many adults who came and went during any given day could not have NOTICED. The fear~ no fear is not strong enough~ the sheer terror that I feel was plain as day on my face whenever this man was around. But if anyone noticed~ they never **said** anything….and they surely never bothered to DO anything about it.

            We moved around a lot when I was a child……the years between ages 8 and 10 my siblings and I were subjected to torture by a different set of parents~ in the form of my biological father and step monster. I’d rather not go into that right now~ as those are stories for another day and time.

            In the summer before I turned 11 we were reunited with our mother and stepfather. This particular stepfather (and I had 4 all together) was an evil man. But I was his favorite~ and he never laid a hand on me. I do not know if he sexually assaulted my sisters and brother~~ but I know he physically abused them. And then he went to jail~ and just when I thought our lives could not get any worse~ they did indeed get worse.

            Back to the transients and random men and women always “living” with us for a time~ which really means they came and went almost continuously. When I was 10 years old ~ seemingly overnight~ I went from a scrawny girl with the body of a tomboy to a girl with hips and C cup boobs. I HATED THEM. The transients and my sister’s boyfriend’s all seemed to think they were amazing and that I was now fair game for their (very unwanted) attention.

The summer when I was 12 one of these transients showed an interest in “dating” me. He was 19. He was very handsome and charming……..until you made him mad. I would find out later that my mother KNEW that he had an interest in me…..and sadly instead of asking him to leave our home she herself began a sexual relationship with him. She would later say that she thought that doing so would “protect” me……but even now~ 30 years later~ I am not sure I really believe that. That summer I had my tonsils removed and I was given liquid pain medication that included codeine……I remember very vividly feeling fuzzy headed and weird…….I also remember that it was during this time that this man REALLY started pressuring me to have sex with him. It was late summer when there came a time that he would no longer accept NO as my answer. One oppressively hot summer night~ he cornered me in the bathroom. He was drunk and he was angry. And there was nothing I could do or say that would make him stop. It was horrific and incredibly physically painful. It was (thankfully) over quickly~ but I remember him leaving the bathroom smelling of booze with a satisfied smirk on his face. I remember the blood and the nauseatingly sticky and disgusting mess. I remember trying to clean myself while crying uncontrollably. I remember trying to be quiet so as not to arouse suspicion and have someone knock on the bathroom door. I remember feeling as though I wanted to die. Over the course of the next few months this man would convince me that since it had already happened ONCE~ it may as well become a regular thing. When he was in a good mood and sober he would lavish me with kind words and attention….when he was drunk and angry he would take what he wanted whether I agreed or not. Eventually this man moved on.

When I was 14 years old my mother worked with a man who was 20. And he frequented our house and became friends with my mother and others who stayed with us. I suppose you could say that we were dating that summer. My mother died on September 2^nd……..and on the night of her funeral 3 days later my first child was conceived. I believed then and now that it was consensual sex. I recall being in the hospital~ vomiting and so dehydrated that I had to be admitted. The doctor coming in before dawn then next morning and telling me that the reason I was so sick was because I was pregnant. She suggested that I consider abortion. I cried and puked for days trying to figure out what to do. Eventually I worked up the nerve to tell my 20 year old boyfriend. Three days after my 15^th birthday that man became my first husband. We were married for nearly 5 years and together we had two daughters who somehow by some amazing miracle and a shit ton of hard work have developed into well adjusted, successful adults.

            As my girls grew up and turned the ages that I was during the most traumatic times of my life~ I remember trying to be hyper vigilant. I remember wondering if I would recognize the signs if someone were hurting them. Fearing deep in my soul that I would not. When they turned 14 I remember trying to picture them as wives or mothers and immediately dismissing the idea of that as completely preposterous. And yet when I was 14 it seemed to be the most normal thing in the world~ it WAS MY NORMAL.

            When I hear about the things that were done to this young woman in the Steubenville case~ I shudder with fear and repulsion. I do not give a flying fuck WHAT these boys did BEFORE this incident~ or how much “potential” they had. I do not give a FLYING FUCK if their victim was drunk, scantily clad or passed out. There is no way to label what they did to her as anything but RAPE. The heinous way they treated her is both inhumane and unforgivable. The fact that we live in a society where people would not only stand by and WATCH without trying to help her~~ but would also laugh, and take pictures and take videos and tweet details of the assault makes me physically ill. It has caused me to lose some of my faith and hope for our humanity.

            For days I have been paralyzed with fear. I have wanted to turn away. I have wanted to spare myself the knowledge of the details of this case and the way it has been handled. I have made excuses to myself about the reason for my withdrawal and my desire to hide what happened to me.

            But today I will BREAK MY SILENCE. I will add my voice to what I hope will become a cacophony of voices DEMANDING that things change.

            I do not promise to know the secrets of the world or how to solve this horrific situation in which THE VICTIM is held liable and excuses are made as to why the people who perpetrate these crimes (THE CRIMINALS) must have done so……but I DO know some things.

These are the truths I know TODAY:

One cannot consent to sex when one is passed out, drunk or high.

One cannot consent to acts of a sexual nature when one is a child.

Rape is NOT ABOUT SEX.

Rape is about power.

Rape is about control.

We must teach our children that it is not ONLY strangers that can harm you.

We must teach our children that most often rape and sexual assault are committed by someone they KNOW.

We must teach our children that it is OKAY to talk about it.

We must teach our children to stand up for others~ to not allow another human being to be taken advantage of without trying to stop it, or summon help, or tell what you know.

We must teach our children that it does NOT matter how a person dresses, or if they are DRUNK, OR HIGH, OR PASSED OUT that does NOT mean they have given consent to be violated~ in fact~ it is during THOSE times that other humans deserve our PROTECTION!

We must teach our sons and daughters to respect their bodies~ and ALSO to be completely comfortable with setting LIMITS and coming forward if their limits are not respected.

We must teach our sons AND daughters that NO means NO.

You see~ although what this young woman has been subjected to sickens me…….I am equally ~ or perhaps MORE~ sickened by a society that would defend her rapists. Perhaps even more so that her peers and fellow humans would not only NOT HELP~ but that they would photograph and mock her torture.

As my dear friend at DeBie Hive says: RAISE THE FUCKING BAR society.

Wise up~ protect your children, teach your children. If YOU don’t~~ I can fucking guarantee you that SOMEONE ELSE WILL.

Donna Day 2013

Donna Day

March 1, 2013

So, many of you may know that it is Donna Day on this here internet. Unless you have been living under a rock you KNOW about Donna. You have seen or read at least part of Donna’s Cancer Story. You have heard of or know about Mary Tyler Mom who is the incredibly powerful and brave woman chosen to be Donna’s Mama.

I first read about Donna last summer. Even though all of the 31 installments were written and available I could only read a few at a time. See: I knew how the story ended. And the words on the screen spoke to a part of my soul that, until then, I had mostly kept hidden. It was a painful story to read~ and yet I have read it over and over. It is not EASY to read knowing as we do that Donna did not survive her cancer. But once read: it changes a person in some intrinsic, inexplicable way.

Reading Donna’s story changed ME in some intrinsic, inexplicable way. In all of the ways it does most mom’s who read it I am sure……but for me there was also an instant connection……that hidden part of the soul…..that soul crushing grief that threatened to consume me nearly 5 years prior…..Donna’s Story brought it to the surface……to be felt and lived and explored again.

There is no pain in this world that can compare to the pain of losing a child. And although I had always **intended** to write The Story of a Boy; until I read and reread Donna’s Story I did not have the courage to even try. Too painful it was to go back and almost literally relive the story of my son’s death.

Since I have read Donna’s Story and learned more about her family and fallen in love with them~~~ my own life has continued to move forward. But there in the back of my mind….in a Donna shaped place in my heart I carry her and her family and their amazing grace, strength, perseverance, love and HOPE with me~ as much a part of me as any other profound experience in my life. Donna IS PART of my experience now and she and her family always will be. It is profound to me that Donna was born the day before my own living son was due. Were Donna alive today she and my living son would be the SAME AGE almost to the day.

These last few months have been very trying for me. My sister~ who in some crazy cosmically connected way is also named Donna~ died suddenly and unexpectedly at the young age of 44. The ripple affect of my sister’s death continues to shape and mold me…… I am still processing the grief and the revisiting of the past that came with my sister’s death.

But this post is NOT about grief, or loss, or death. THIS post is about HOPE. It is about choosing hope even when it is hard. It is about choosing to be active and to HELP even when it is hard. It is about what the Donnas' in my life have taught me~ one of whom I have never even met. But that matters not~ she had a profound effect on me just the same.

I will start with my mother Donna 12-27-47 to 9-2-86

She taught me that I am smart and I should not be afraid to use my intelligence.

She taught me to believe in myself.

She taught me that it is possible to live a horrific life and STILL do the best you can.

She taught me that you do not have to tolerate abuse.

She taught me to stand up to bullies, to fight for people who have less than you and to always, always fight for what you believe in~ ESPECIALLY if it is not the popular choice.

She taught me that no matter how bad I have it: someone has it worse.

She taught me that no matter how good I have it: someone has it better.

She taught me to appreciate what I HAVE.

She taught me to love.

She taught me that life is short, it can be snatched away in an INSTANT, and that I should enjoy life and find pleasure, peace and happiness. Every. Single. Day.

My Sister Donna 6-1-67 to 12-21-12

She taught me that the past can be a difficult if not impossible thing to overcome.

She taught me that it IS possible to give too much of yourself.

She taught me that maintaining your OWN health should be of primary importance.

She taught me that it is possible to live a horrific life and STILL do the best you can.

She taught me that you do not have to tolerate abuse.

She taught me to appreciate what I HAVE.

She taught me that it is ok to say NO, it is ok to refuse to involve yourself in other’s self created drama and misery.

She taught me that life is short, it can be snatched away in an INSTANT, and that I should enjoy life and find pleasure, peace and happiness. Every. Single. Day.

And lastly~ and what THIS post is about:

Donna Quairke Hornik 7-20-05 to 10-19-09

She taught me that life on Earth is but the beginning of one’s legacy.

She taught me that there are mother’s in the world who have been through far worse than I~ and still have the courage to share the story.

She taught me that **I** have the courage to share my son’s story.

She taught me that with MY voice I can share her legacy and I can help another child.

She taught me to love my children more, to appreciate their health and to celebrate LIFE with them.

She taught me that life is short, it can be snatched away in an INSTANT, and that I should enjoy life and find pleasure, peace and happiness. Every. Single. Day.

And lastly~ but perhaps MOST importantly:

This little girl, who I never met, who suffered so but loved life DESPITE that…….this amazing, beautiful, powerful little girl taught me that it is ALWAYS possible to CHOOSE HOPE.

Please go to Donna's Good Things.....read and share her story....if you are touched and can: PLEASE GIVE GENEROUSLY  every penny counts~ and every single child who dies from cancer IS ONE CHILD TOO MANY.

Love and Light,

Ginger