You know, Clyde and I have known each other and have been living together for 15 years now — in different states including marriage. LOL. Two days ago was our anniversary. You know we still like each other???? Totally amazing. One more year and I will have surpassed the length that my ex and I made it. There will be no issue getting there banning anything extreme (like death). I am amazed every single day that love, and passion still exists. That we still don’t seem to take each other for granted and make an effort to do our best for one another. A true team. I realize this is everyday stuff for a lot of people. But, it was not every day for me, not the first time. Not sure my ex ever put his best foot forward-I was property for him. I am unsure if I ever really took him for granted, but I can say my attitude got worse and worse as the years went on. But, you know….. mental, emotional, physical abuse will do that to a person. The difference (not that it is at all fair to compare the two) between these two men are like night and day. Every day, almost Clyde lets me know he loves me. He tells me how sexy I am (really???!!!!). He calls me beautiful. These things matter to me. Not that I believe it all the time, but it’s great practice at taking a compliment with grace. We have our moments and disagreements. But, we both care enough that we never push it too far, and have asked for help at appropriate times (both of us). He is probably more committed than I am. I say that because where I come from, (divorced parents) has left me with ‘one foot hanging out the door’ for most of my life in terms of commitments. I am proud of Clyde and I. We both came from our own kinds of backgrounds. Yet, we are both grown up enough to care enough, to make it work. When we were married my pastor told me that this was truly my first marriage. I agreed with him at the time. But, looking back, with more experience under my belt. I agree with him even more now. Thank you Clyde for the best time in my life. For reminding me that it’s ok to play, and that hard work does work. That really good men who are relationship worthy do exist. To put up with and then allow me to outgrow my ‘man bashing’ years….. He has done a world of good for me and my health with his patience and love. Who do you know that would walk 12 miles to get help to get you off the top of a mountain and out of at least 2 feet of snow!!!! Still my hero.
This essay, such as it will be… was going to be called, “My Kind of Crazy”. But, I realized suddenly that to call it “MY KIND OF…” means that I approve, condone, am ok with. The reality is, that I am very, very sad about where I come from. My family is highly, highly dysfunctional.
Instead, officially, the title of this essay is, “A Spy In the Family” the idea comes from a conversation I had today with my therapist. And it suits the situation perfectly. I often feel as if I am the odd man out in the family. I won’t go so far as saying I’m the black sheep, though I think I probably am. I was a child who was fearful and at the same time hyper-aware of everything going on around me. I was watching the show, even when grown-ups thought I was not. What it has come down to, is that I watched and heard, and was told enough to put the puzzle at least partially together. Yet, after all these years, I have no final conclusion.
Having found some new cousins recently — I felt the need to protect them from the truth. I told the adoptive mother of one of them tonight, and I hope she got the message that if I could talk as plainly as I wanted and if she could hear it – don’t let your baby get to know his biological family. He doesn’t need them. He may look just like his father, but there is NO need to set him up for failure by introducing him to the idea that his real father was probably a piece of shit. Just cause his father was a loser, doesn’t mean that this kid is a loser. Don’t let this history bring your kid down.
To say that this was hard to say is an absolute understatement. I probably could not have said it 20 years ago. I told her, they are all dead now so I can say it. I was in all truth hiding truths that showed that most of my uncles and possibly grandfather were at the very least sexually promiscuous. And at the most, sexual predators. I am unsure just where on the spectrum they were all on. It is funny and not- in that our culture teaches us to not speak ill of people, and especially of the dead. And yet, if people are trouble makers, why should we not warn others? Why should talking about the dead shake up a person so much?
Then it dawned on me…. that just because my father was a loser in some ways… (probably the same ways as his cousin and brothers) doesn’t mean that I am a piece of shit. I should have never let it hold me down. But, you know, kids just don’t know these things. We have to figure it out and it comes one small step at a time if it ever comes. One must be willing to look at history, and family stories, the myths, and the truths and tease them out without denial. It is a very hard process. It is very painful. I am 57 years old, have been in therapy now for more than 1/2 my adult life. I’m still teasing out the truths, still trying not to have denial, and still wanting to cry as I come to more realizations.
I just posted this to Facebook only 30 or so minutes ago: “I had my therapist laughing so hard she was in tears today (not a lot, maybe just watery eyes, still…) Problem is I think that the laughter was because I told something that shocked or surprised her. I told it like it was funny, but the truth is, that it was not funny at all. She told me I should write a book. And I must have looked at her like she was nuts. She said, “Fictionalize it, no one is going to believe it was ever real life.” OMG—– All I did was tell what I grew up hearing and heard after growing up, and what I saw with my own eyes. At the end of my session, I had to look at her and say, “And that is just one side of my family”. The paternal side of my family. But, consider that my mother married into this mess, and after dad left her, she married a what came to be known as a child molester, and that, dear reader, is documented:
And yes, reader, just so you know, I am actively working and have been for years, to ‘overcome’. At 57 years of age, thanks to adoptees coming into the fold, and me feeling the strong need to warn the younger of them — I came to some new realizations. It was NOT just my father and his brothers with the issues, and that showed me that these problems went beyond them in the family generational structure. On the Rowe side of things, I can document violence going back probably 5 generations. On all sides of my family, I can document men at war, if that has any bearing on the situation (studies show that it does a have a bearing). On the McClaskey side, not so much. But, to farm out a 10-year-old to be a servant, probably knowing that sexual ‘service’ was part of the deal. I’m not quite sure just how my great grandfather lived with himself. Maybe this is why we never see him smile, and even looking downright sad in his later in life photographs. As I put the graphic together, it became evident that there was probably NO one in my father’s family (mother, father, siblings) who had not been touched in one way or another of some sort of sexual abuse. And I AM including verbal abuse, emotional abuse, and physical abuse.
Getting back up to that graphic up above. I have a 2nd cousin, we’ll call him Johnny. Johnny had a girlfriend when he was 17, turned out she was way older than he was (think statuary rape). I really had issues with my cousin accepting this and not having the woman thrown in jail. Very recently, I was told that she had been married to Billy (my cousin, today, if Billy were alive he’d be 57. I doubt that Johnny is even 30). And even more recently, I realized she was one of the women that Billy and my Uncle had swapped. So, this woman has had three generations of ‘Rowe’ men (boys). Don’t get me wrong, she’s a good looking woman. But, the whole situation creeps me out. I am fairly (like 100%) sure that this would be considered a normal reaction to an abnormal situation.
This is the gift that my family has given me. And every other child of my generation, and to our children and grandchildren. It is no wonder we have boundary issues. Problems saying NO. It is NO wonder… mom wanted to keep us from that side of the family, and that her brother and parents considered them “uncivilized”. Where do I go with this? Who wants to help me write this book? Rather than fictionalizing it, perhaps, I should just write it up as part of my biography. After all, I keep telling myself that I have/will overcome, and I can talk a good one about ‘bouncing back’.
My God, this is where I come from…. How do the women in these men’s lives live with these stories and images? I am a child of one of them and grown and still having trouble placing it where it belongs in this puzzle we call life.
(To add to the graphic above — Alveta’s first husband was a bigamist, and her second was a winner at domestic violence. She was beaten and hence a divorce. The third was her charm, and thank God for him. He was a stabilizing force within the family.
On being a ‘whistleblower’
when push comes to shove… I bounce back!!
While writing the previous post, it dawned on me. That being a ‘whistleblower’ is a theme in my life. The outcome is very nearly always the same. Wow.
The first time I was a ‘whistleblower’ is when I supposedly betrayed my mother. This might be what she is talking about when she says I betrayed her, I really do not know. Not sure I care at this point. But, when I realized she was involved with my step father’s criminal acts, I worked very hard to get the detective to arrest her, to get the D.A. to press charges, to get the school district to fire her. And I’d agree that it was a betrayal, except to say that the betraying had already been done by herself, once she decided that my child was the other woman, and she had to protect herself from the said seven-year-old. The detective in an act or acts of support actually nagged the District Attorney. I went to see the district attorney in person. It finally was explained this way. Criminal charges are very much linked to money, and by money, I mean the money it takes to prosecute a criminal. The taxpayers in our country do not want their taxes spent unwisely. They see it as foolish and a waste of time and resources. And so, yours and my local district attorney must weigh each case to see if it is a winning case. IF it does not look like it can be won (regardless of how guilty they feel the person might be), they will not charge the case, because it’s a waste of time and money.
In the case of women — they have a tendency to be able to play up their so-called ‘womanhood’. In my mother’s case specifically, the District Attorney, explained to me that women her age have a tendency to: 1.) find the best attorney they can afford 2.) Act old 3.) Act helpless and the jury reacts by letting the criminal (woman) go free.
And that is the only reason my mother wasn’t charged. The detective was pretty sure she was guilty. The District Attorney was pretty sure she was guilty. Everyone told me so. And just to finish the story completely, my mother did hire the best attorney out of San Francisco who’s was very well known for protecting child molesters and advertised and was proud of it, along with the acting of being THE victim.
So, yes there was ‘harassment’ there on my part. How in the hell do you let things like that, that hurt your child so badly go? Obviously, she never hung onto the hurt that my father rained down on me. In fact, I’d say she blamed me for it when I was still quite young. The same way she blamed my daughter for what my stepfather did, because a seven-year-old is, of course, an impossibly irresistible ‘other woman’ for the man of the house. (YUK!)
The net result of this small campaign of mine, was I suppose, being cut off from my mother. She threatened to have me cut off from the whole family. And at the time I thought she did. And I stayed away from EVERYONE including my beloved grandmother, because I thought I was unwanted. So, yes, I have paid in spades.
But, in the end, I bounced back.
Then I sent a message to an almost son in law. They are still not married so much as I know. And I’d never felt the need to send the message except since what happened to my child I made a solemn promise to myself that children always came first. Had the same (grown up now, and in her 30’s) beloved daughter not told me that she did not like child of the house and considered her a spoiled brat, I would never had a reason to send a message to the almost son in law. The worst of it though, was that she told me that the young child had done some smart-mouthed talking back to her. Daughter basically told me of her reaction. Her reaction was to tell the child that she could talk to her biological mother like that, but she was NEVER going to speak to her like that again. Um, confusing much???
This child’s father was raised Mormon, and it is soooooooooo intertwined with his personality that regardless of how he says he hates it and doesn’t approve of religion and is atheist and so forth— I’m sorry it made him mostly the man that he is, which is considerate, and kind, and a pretty good father to boot. I was/am pretty impressed by him. One of the things that he seems to have stressed was that was important to him that he stay on good terms with his child’s mother, and that his child shows her mother respect. I will tell you, the way the man is, it is hard for me to not see how a person could disrespect what he wants. He’s just a good man, albeit, somewhat angry. But, not angry with my daughter, apparently and in denial since obviously he doesn’t think she’s capable of uttering such words of basically disgust for his child and for what he believes is best for his child. Had she thought about it, she’d known that what she was doing was manipulative toward him and what he wants, as well as toward his child. She is poisoning the child against her mother. She is confusing the child at the very least. My daughter may be well-intentioned, but she is really and truly poisoning the well.
And so, I got kicked to the curb for warning the father to not let the child be alone with said daughter. Because I am afraid of the little girl being hurt by my daughters sometimes incredibly hurtful mouth, which she’s has in her possession and is probably the biggest defense mechanism she owns. So, for basically for being a ‘whistleblower’ again. And it hurt. My god, it hurt. This is partly what led to be my being suicidal at one point.
And just to make an extra point. If I could have handled it another way I would have. But, I was already feeling threatened by the time I opened my mouth. I am sorry for how things turned out. But, I am not sorry for what I tried to accomplish. My ultimate goal was not to hurt anyone, or cause trouble, but to protect a child from a person who owns at times a very nasty mouth. (and her having that mouth, that’s just a fact, and it can not be denied. I would not be surprised at all to see acknowledgment on her headstone!) “Here I rest, Here you see, in the end, MY MOUTH got the better of me. Now kiss my assets!”
but, I HAVE bounced back…
And then, came the situation at the Douglas County Historical Society. Where I got into trouble for having the audacity to point out that artifacts were being abused. That I opened my mouth to point out that board members are not ethically or legally allowed to use DCHS property for their own personal use. I pointed out that it was becoming a habit and that the people were becoming untruthful, unethical, and participating in mutual illegal behaviors. I have turned them into the state of Oregon and into the IRS. I was President of the society, and I was told to turn in my keys. I thought there was board backing or I never would have. Lastly, I have pointed out to the officials that the bookkeeper on the board is Mobile Tune’s bookkeeper and receives her paycheck from Ken. Had she never told my husband that she does as told or she doesn’t collect the paycheck, I’d never thought anything of it, but ahem… her being on the board is unethical. And I know that Ken knows it, because he’s a board member on other boards, and probably knows more about ethics than I do. So, the bottom line is that I got kicked to the curb for being a whistleblower… (Ken Deatherage of Roseburg, Oregon arranged that little Harrah. Beware, and do not use his business, Mobile Tune, for if he can’t be ethical at a small town historical society, imagine how ethical he’ll be with YOUR automobile. Ask my husband what happened to his Jeep and a rear end job that Ken’s shop was paid to fix & did not. I’d stay away from Cynthia Rockney Wilson too, she and Ken both thought it was ok to use DCHS property for their own personal use–and in both cases, a small yet, illegal gain)
I bounced back
& I have and will PREVAIL…
I rediscovered my goal and have taken the steps to be able to do a better job with what I feel is my calling, and I will enjoy every step along the way. My goal is to know more about our world and it’s history and apply it to our culture in terms of women and children and how they are used and abused, and what we can do to change our world to where it should be concerning these issues. I have applied to the University of Oregon @ Corvallis for a major in history, and women’s studies for a minor. I have been accepted. And I will fulfill my calling…and remain true to myself, and true to what I believe is acting right. Protecting women & children (all of them) first and foremost, and using history and the written word to do it.
The past couple of weeks have just been absolutely nuts! So much going on. A car in the shop to get the transmission worked on yet again. We have not driven it like a race car or abused it in any way. It’s still under warranty for the rebuild, so back it went. It’s leaking Transmission fluid and having trouble engaging the gears. I’ve only lost my temper and drove it fast once. Really! Yes, for me that’s a pretty much a record. Another idiot thought he could run me off the road coming up on my rear end probably close to 100 MPH. I think, (not that I’m a mind reader), but I think he thought I’d see him and get out of the way. I was going the speed limit. I was keeping up with traffic, and I was in a SOUR mood. I tapped my brake which had the desired effect. He panicked and hit his brakes pretty hard, and I used that time to speed up and get even with a big rig. He actually thought he was going to get around me. He had to slam on his breaks again. So sorry, dude. From that point on, he spent very little time behind me after that. Scared much, stupid?? He did think he was going to push me off the road one more time. So, this time I put a little oomph into the brake. That was the end of the game. He did not try it anymore, and I got ahead of the truck on the uphill and got over and he went happily around us both. People really need to take others into consideration though. You know…. I have been rear-ended, and I am fairly sure I have PTSD left over from that. I have terrible reactions to people coming too close to the rear of my car. And by golly, if I can’t see your headlights, you are just too damn close and I’ll take action at that point. Most of the time, I see people coming and get over, but sometimes I miss it. It happens… just don’t ride my ass. And we will get along just fine. I won’t say how fast I was going at one point when I looked down at my speedometer. But, suffice it to say, I had NO clue the car would move that fast on a steep uphill mountain (Cascades, I-5, between Roseburg and Grants Pass). I had absolutely NO freakin clue!!!
More good and nutty news, I’ve been accepted to a University. Yea, age 57, close to 60 and wondering if it’s gonna be a waste of time But, accepted to work on a history degree….and I am absolutely ELATED, I think I’m going to be a BEAVER (Corvallis?). Being a Beaver will be kind of fun. I can hear the jokes now, considering I’m female and all. LOL. Now, I have to break it to my youngest. There is a good chance we’ll be starting and ending at nearly the same time. Which I think will be cool, but she stands to lose a little financial aide. That part is not good. I’ll see if I can not take that away from her.
LOL – and that’s not all. We’ll have an unofficial official anniversary in two days, that will be 14 years. It’s official, in all honesty. We’ve not spent a single day apart in anger…. or any other negative thing. For the most part, I would not change a thing. But, wait, there is more. The best part of this for me and it’s an OLD thing, in one more year, I will officially be married to this one longer than to my first one. If that ex of mine has not been officially been tucked away in my psyche, then I will do that this year. Next year will be one hell of a celebration for me. As the sage says with his/her words: “The best way to get even is to live your best life.” Been there, doing that. LOL. Have realized that most of my PTSD do actually come from my first marriage. Which my family of origin did set me up for. But, most of the stuff I avoid is anything that reminds me of that situation. The final divorce was in March 1995. I waited 10 years before officially tying a knot. There was a boyfriend in between if he can be called that. I have my doubts. It was a pretty one-sided relationship that was fairly emotionally abusive.
Crazier: ….I caught the Detective Pikachu. Not once now, but three times. That’s important, right? Ahem, yea… almost 60 years old and catching Pokemon. LOL, Hopefully, there are worse ways to waste time. I think it is fun, and the game serves its purpose. Even though I swore it would NEVER encourage me to move my body, I was wrong, it does. I’ll walk for a digital, form-less, but cute Pokemon. Crazy right?!? I think so.
After swearing, out loud even, that I would not have any more hens, I’ve given four young hens a home. I’m back up to eight hens. We are getting between five and eight eggs a day. We had our first omelet in about four years. It was just for shits and giggles, and OMG, it was so good. There was no meat in it. Sauteed onion, red bell pepper, and mushrooms wrapped in an egg blanket with lots of fresh black pepper in the egg. Yum. We did do a couple other really bad things with that meal. I included a generous portion of Mexican mix grated cheese (OMG, GOOD!) inside and atop the omelet. We bought a small container of sour cream for it too. The truth is we’ll never be 100% vegan. I wish we were not such meat lovers, but it’s how we were raised. I think only having an omelet every four years could be once a month, we are doing very, very well. That’s nuts!! (Hazelnuts?? !! Nope still haven’t planted the hazelnut trees yet, nor the Cherry trees…)
Speaking of Cherry Trees, we’ve planted two more apple trees, and two new pear trees and have two semi-dwarf cherry trees to plant. We are looking for another plumb tree now. And he’s decided to get a pineapple guava and plant it on a pig fence arch (yet to be installed).
He is moving the fish pond for the third time. I really liked it where it was. It really makes me sad. We’ll see what the follow through looks like. A third time though… that’s nuts. And it’s only about 20 feet from where it was originally (or will be when he’s done). Ha!
The crazies. Well for some it’s not crazy at all. For me it is. I’ve seen people abuse drugs, and show so much lack of empathy (apathy?) that I’ve spent the majority of my life avoiding all illicit drugs. Well, in Oregon, Marijuana is no longer illegal. And it’s not like I fell into just using it, I use it mostly medically and I find that it helps a LOT. But, yes, this is fairly nuts for me. I have to say in my own defense, I waited to even try it until I was pretty desperate. It was not yet legal, but there was the talk of it being on the ballot. I was in so much pain from a psychological viewpoint, that anything, and I do ANYTHING would have passed muster if it helped. My first hit was simply to try and get help overcoming the pain. It was never about getting high, and it never will be for me. Even though, I did it with hubby having full knowledge (he’s an ex-MP, and was in law enforcement for 8 years, ahem…) that did not make it really ok. He accepted it, but did not approve I guess is how I’d say it. But, I had reached the point where I had driven off with the plan of saying goodbye to my loved ones in the cemeteries of Oregon and then driving to Washington (because Oregon land was just too sacred for me to even think about committing suicide in) and plowing myself into a far off mountain ravine. And that is just not me. If ever there was a fighter in this world, it is I. The 2nd and 3rd times, at least 6 months between each hit was for the same purpose. A painful time in life to say the least. My boy was still giving me his growing pains (and still does sometimes, but gosh he is really trying hard right now) and my youngest, well, she was just being hard-headed, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to be her mother for a while. The 2nd hit I got a little too much and got ‘high’ and I fought it as best I could. My son sat with me through it. He kept telling me that I wasn’t acting like it was affecting me at all, and he had trouble believing that I was under the influence at all. Considering I was the one who was clocking out from reality and had the worlds best apple at snack time….. I was till preaching about how bad the shit was. LOL. Mostly because I didn’t intend to end up that way in the least. A hit or two is very relaxing. It helps to melt the hurt away even if only temporarily. In general, I lay down and sleep. I have had a bad case of insomnia my whole life. It is due, I think, to hyperarousal from PTSD. I’m on the constant lookout for the man in the night. In fact, I’ve been running from him for just about my entire life. The unknowable, unseeable, gotta be the male perpetrator of my life. Probably my father. Once the worst of it was over, my son left the house, and I laid down for a nice sleep. I then talked to my sister (who has experience with these things) and she warned me to never take one or two hits. So, I don’t. Except that I’ve now made the same mistake twice. It doesn’t hit instantly so I think I don’t get anything, and I go in for more. That is what happened last week to me and my hubby who did his very first trial run. He hated it because it felt like he was having an anohter stroke. But, we giggled and had a ton of fun. We are both so serious… we’ve never giggled like that before together. I for one liked it. He said never again. I told him he got too much, and a local grocery owner told him he got the “FEAR”. LOL–which I suppose is what I got when my son gave me a brownie full of the shit and I thought I was dying. Either way for the two of us straight-laced old farts, the mold has been broken. Neither of us is virgins of wacky tabacky anymore.
After a while, when the giggling was all over, I guess, at least for him. He wanted to rest and get away from the terrible feeling of an impending stroke. I was left alone with my thoughts, and for someone like myself who likes to break a thought down into its pieces and really think about what they might mean in every way. Well, let’s just say I was in 7th heaven. It was awesome, I thought, that I could think in “Parallel” (the best word I have for it), and that was not all. I had feelings I had not felt in years, and I realized and wondered if I’d been under the influence as a child (2nd handed smoke from dad, entirely possible). Suddenly it made absolute sense and still does. And I was on the very edge of memories. I could almost reach out and touch them they were so close. I have since begun a search of how marijuana might be helpful in retrieving trauma memories. If it helps, even with tears, it would be helpful to move on from all that crap, finally.
So, that is where I stand as of now. I own a little baby clone. It’s cute. My son said to feed it pineapple juice (I don’t thinks so). And it’s still very under control in terms of that it will be used for only pain (Psychological and physical — diabetic neuropathy is hell!). Because my arthritis has taken a turn for the worse and so has the neuropathy, even for temporary relief, mostly so I can get good sleep, I see as a reasonable ‘excuse’ for use. That is the craziest, I guess… of this past week and half.
For those who use Google Photos and don’t know about a couple of features that make sorting photos into albums easier, let me tell you. There is a feature that lets you name every face that Google finds in your collection, and then Google will sort all the matching faces into their own Album by name. If you have a family where people have very similar features rest assured they’ll all be thrown into the other’s albums. My father and his brothers have really, REALLY confused Google a lot! LOL. Another thing you can do is start an album throw a photo into, then name the photo and again, it will sort by features and try to get the right photos in the album. In this way, you can sort through people and ‘pets’. It hasn’t done a great job of sorting our pets by face yet. hahaha!! Google also sorts by places, things, posters, dates, months, cities, and about anything else it can stick a name to. I saw a search for ‘dogs’ that was built into the Animals album. After searching for dogs, the algorithm came up with photos I had taken of deer, bulls, cats (calico & tabby), and of course, the dog! I don’t think Sadie would appreciate being mistaken for Jake. LOL, she’d be even more miffed at being confused for a Malamute! hahahaha!!! For what the service does do, it does save a LOT of time in sorting things for the sake of Albums… Just don’t expect perfection. You won’t get it!
When I was watching the Curlews on the beach the other day, and taking pictures of their wonderful selves…. I remembered a show I saw as a kid, “The last of the Curlews”. And I kind of brushed off the memory. Mostly because I did not believe that I was remembering anything right, and because I did not think I was looking at real Curlews. I really did not think that I was looking at Curlews.
Well, tonight, I remembered the show again, so I typed the title that I remembered (which was exactly correct) into Google. I found that those birds on the beach are called Curlews. I also found that I remembered the detail of there being an After School Special, was correct. It was the very first after-school special ever and showed in October of 1972. I was all of ten years old when the show aired. The story was about a sub-species of Curlew called an Eskimo Curlew.
I thought about it some more after all remember a story from when you are ten years old. What was it that made the memory stick all these years. After some thought, I know why the memory stuck with me so long. The story caused me to cry…. I cried hard over those little birds and how they were going extinct. A little girls tender heart even at 10 years old showed some compassion for another being. If I were my daughter, I’d been proud that she was capable of such feeling.
The birds on the beach and the birds in the story are probably not the exact same subspecies of Curlews, but obviously, they looked close enough alike to jog my memory. I did not know until I looked it up tonight, that it was a work of fiction, based on what the author thought was happening in the world in his time. I might not have cried so hard had I known it was ‘just a story’. But, then…on the other hand, I cried when Dumbo was being rocked by his momma, and I cried over several of the Lassie shows, so maybe not. 🙂
More photos will be available in the ‘gallery’ under the ‘photography’ link in the menu. From there just click “Photography 2019”
This past week has been very, very busy. On the 18th, I saw my cardiologist who looked at my MRI Scan of my heart results and declared that I probably have not had a heart attack or else my ejection rate would not be back at a normal rate (with help of medications). I now own NO dead heart muscle and I am allowed to do anything I want/can physically. So my main goal is to work my health back up to as good as it can be. I found it interesting that he did not even change my medications, though I have the beginnings of Cardiac Artery Disease (CAD). I guess I am not far enough in for the change he thought I might have needed in an earlier appointment. This is all GREAT news!!!
Two days later, as if on cue, my husband said,”Honey, I think I need to go to the hospital.”His chest hurt mildly, and he did his home EKG and found that the pattern matched the picture that the cardiologist (same as mine, Dr. Fred VanDis, Roseburg –we both highly recommend him, get there before he retires!) drew for him so he’d know what Afib looked like. So, I drove him to the hospital around 6:30ish. The intake crew immediately confirmed Afib. Blood was drawn pretty quickly. And in the long run, it came back normal. So there was no heart attack in the making, just Afib. Now, don’t think that I am taking Afib lightly, I am very aware that it can cause life-ending blood clots that lead to stroke. In those moments, I was pretty damn scared, but, you know, you have to be strong for the one actually going through the actual problem. Of course, he was very full of humor. If he was scared, he sure wasn’t letting on.
He got his very first ever, shock. You know, you see it on TV, with the paddles and all. It was determined that he’d caught the Afib and got himself into the emergency room fast enough that shocking the heart was actually an option. If he’d been in Afib for days (as he was the first time) then a shock to the heart is out of the question because there is a good chance that a blood clot has formed and a shock could help it circulate through the system and create a stroke. He consented and signed his life away. The crew knocked him out, and the crew noted how ‘entertaining’ he was while he was on the way out. Then they shocked him.
In the meantime, I very willingly, stepped out as asked. I do believe that would have been too hard for me to watch in all honesty. I got to the waiting room. I used the girls’ room, and I played one game of solitaire. Then Kyle (part of the intake crew, and expert blood drawer) came out to get me and let me know they were done, and that it was a success.
They then began to let him know that as he was able he’d be ready to go home. He was still somewhat groggy. But, his heart tried to go into Afib again, so they decided he had to stay and be watched for 30 more minutes after he was given metoprolol in his IV. Probably an hour later, after his heart had finally settled down for a full 30 minutes, he got to go home. We were home and in by 3:35 am.
While there…we talked about what might have triggered the Afib, as apparently it can be triggered by outside things like stress, exercise, etc. We decided it was probably the physical stress of taking out a mature butterfly bush. Our oldest bush, at least 10 years old, was showing signs of considerable decay— aka rot! He was able to just push branches off with his foot. But, that was foot, leg muscles (the strongest in the body) and quite a bit of effort. OF course, there is also the underlying stress of his bankruptcy. But, we think ultimately, it was the butterfly bush.
But, you know the very next morning (er, same morning) we were both up doing what we had to do. He fixed our push weed wacker and started the lawn mower for me. I finished the front yard, and he started working on the very back which was knee deep in grass and weeds. I pushed the lawn mower to the place that I was afraid I was too weak to do, and the truth is I had to stop once and just breathe. I am not as strong as I was, but I can see now that as long as I have my medications (until my heart gets stronger) that I should be able to do whatever I did before. Good news!! And he got all of the inside of the back yard done. What he did was really no big deal back in the old days, but now, knowing that I didn’t even want him out there, well, I was happy he made it and did not go into AFib. He’s been told he can no longer participate in strenuous exercise. Of course, the joke is…what in the world will you do when sex becomes strenuous. His answer is that he’s going to die a very happy man. LOL
And two days after this round of Afib, and getting put to sleep, and then being shocked to reset the heart’s electrical signal, it was my 57th birthday. He offered me a day trip, which I gratefully accepted. We made a huge circle. And made it to the Oregon coast. He drove the whole way and never once even looked tired. He’s an amazing man. And though, I know he was not trying to prove anything, on our trip, we stopped in Port Orford at Battle Rock to walk on the beach. The man can’t see a rock that he isn’t trying to climb them. Up and over he went, two days after an episode of Afib. Indeed, life goes on…
Note All images copyright April 23, 2019, Peggy A. Rowe-Snyder. Do not use without prior written permission. These and other High-Resolution shots from this day are available for purchase.