The Price of Family Shame

This is probably the hardest post I will ever write. The problem is ingrained in almost every culture.

Even though statistics show our streets are as safe as they were back in the 1970s, we still keep our children close and don't them run about town because of "stranger danger."

I reject "stranger danger."

Why? Because they aren't a stranger to someone. Every person out there who has less than healthy designs on children and other people are KNOWN to someone. But we wait for human predators to mature and get caught instead of doing anything to stop them before they hurt someone.

There will never be an absence of predators out there. That is the way of things. Yet, overall, life is a whole lot less dangerous than it used to be. But we still keep our kids close and often to their detriment. Better overweight from lack of exercise than the remote possibility they will be kidnapped by a stranger while riding their bike.

I maintain that for every bully, sociopath, psychopath, molester, gynophile, pedophile, rapist, hater - for every predator - there is someone who knows, someone who knew, but chooses/chose not to tell. That choice 'not to tell' is the crux.

We aren't doing our kids a favor by keeping them close. Most children are molested by someone they know. More often than not a family member. The odds are EXTREMELY high it will not be a stranger. Same with being raped. Yet we focus on "stranger danger" over all else in spite of the evidence to the contrary. Evidence that is not new. This is the way it has always been.

I've been studying this for over 25 years. I have my own family nightmare that I wish I could talk about openly. I'm being a full on hypocrite, actually, by not talking about it. And why don't I talk about it openly? Why don't I name names? Because it will hurt a lot of people. It's not that I didn't tell people several times back when it was happening to me, I did. No, the blame for not stopping it early on does not fall on my shoulders at least (I was eight). But I am part of the problem none the less for keeping the secret well into my adulthood.

So why didn't the adults I told back when I was eight stop it? First off, they did try. But the biggest reason it wasn't taken to someone, a professional, outside of the family is because of "family shame".

I'm 44 now and, like I mentioned, I've been studying this for a very long time. I've been in group therapy sessions, talked with friends, read books, researched online and studied psychology and sociology in college. I took every psych and related class my university had to offer. I even did independent studies on pedophilia and recidivism, as well as childhood personality development. Because of my "side" obsession, I ended up going to school for over six years before I graduated.

Look at it this way, the adult predator in question who we all love to hate started out as someone's child, someone's sibling, someone's nephew/niece, someone's cousin. If you found out today that your little brother or older sister was a predator, what would you do? Would you really? What if they were 10? That's how old my abuser was when it started. I was five. I told my mother three years later.

Don't envision me as your five your old daughter, envision the 10 year old abuser as your child. What do you do? It's so much easier when the abuser is someone else's child isn't it? Easier to call social services on them. Call the police. Hate them.

What happens to this child you love if people find out they are an abuser? 

Now think of your reputation. Your spouse's reputation. What will people think of your other children? And if you do get the child help, many states require therapists report such things to social services regardless of doctor/patient confidentiality. What will your neighbors think? The people in  your children's school? The parents of your children's friends? Your fellow church goers? Your employer and fellow employees? Can you imagine such a family stigma?

Can you blame these families for burying such secrets?

As a mother myself now... well... I understand it, at least. But, yes, they are to blame.

Why? Because most predators are made, not born. I only found out recently that my abuser was molested in a public bathroom as a young child. If the adults I had told had gotten my abuser outside help, therapy, right away, things could have been so different. BOTH an abuser and a victim would have been saved. As well as any other current/potential victims. Not to mention the next generation of victims and so on. THINK of all those who would never have been victims if the molester who abused my abuser had gotten help early on.

Do you see! Don't you think that is worth any stigma?

No? Well, I understand, I do. But you must also know that keeping such secrets not only doesn't make it stop or go away, but puts a heavy burden on the victim, right? NOW think of me, the five year old victim as your child, too. Do you think getting outside help would make things worse for her? Unlikely. She already lives with a constant dread of accidentally being left alone with her abuser. Or the abuser finding her alone. Her outgoing personality has already changed to one of quiet submissiveness and fear. She blames herself. She hates her parents. The feelings of helplessness will linger long into her adulthood. Sex will be scary. And she will go through life always feeling as though she is tainted. People will judge her on a personality, emotions, reactions, character, that don't seem like her own, but were forced upon her by circumstance. And how does her history of being a victim at such a young age effect her as a mother?

So now is the stigma worth it?

To me, even after airing my own experience in this, it is still, really, all about the abuser. Those young boys and girls who start abusing other young people. Getting them help is the important thing. We have so many tools today to deal with abusers. And the younger they are when they get help, the better. SAVE THEM!

Saving them will be what really changes the future for many would be victims. And by changing the future for them, we change the future for us all.

My main intent here is to get people to realize that there is a remedy, a bitter pill certainly, but a remedy for those we consider human predators. And the whole stranger danger thing is more harmful than good. Now I'm not saying every weird uncle, overly friendly grandma or ham fisted cousin is a predator, but if you were warned as a child to stay away from them, then they probably were.

So please, stop over protecting your children from every stranger they see. Some day they may find themselves in a situation where a stranger will be needed to help them, or possibly even save them. Teach them to simply be observant and smart. And teach them to realize that every kid they see on the brink of violence is probably just trying to survive. Encourage them to speak up and speak out. Regardless of a bully's past, the bullying still needs to stop. For everyone that speaks up and speaks out, whether about a peer or a family member, many will be saved. I truly believe there are many more good people in the world than bad. For every one predator there are 100s more who are caring. All some of them need is a nudge in the right direction.

As for me and my skeleton, well, it still lives with me; although, it barely bothers me anymore except to remind me that it is still in the basement. I would love to bring it out and give it a proper burial (and pronoun), but, then, that would be telling now wouldn't it?

When You Have to Tell Them

Some of you have been there. It starts with the moment you learn something that you KNOW will adversely effect someone you care about. What do you do? Ignore it? If it is bad enough do you contact the "authorities"? Do you tell them knowing they'll probably hate you forever?

Back in late December I found out something that no one wants to find out about. It is hard to talk about this without naming names which means it is hard to write this without worrying people I know and care about. So let me qualify this post early on with saying that I did tell them. They know. So if I haven't talked to you about something earth shattering concerning your family (and that is glib compared to how serious this situation really is), then all is well with you and yours.

But not for one family I know.

So, yes, it took five months to tell this person the heart rending information that had fallen into my lap. I was determined to tell them right away, but things got in the way. Some news you have to tell in person. So how do you encourage someone to come visit without getting all alarmist about it? Well, that is what I tried to do at first. I made social invitations and such, but our schedules didn't line up. Then that big client I picked up totally took over my life. So time past.

Last week I saw this person online and was smacked with the reality of the situation all over again. I talked to my husband and he said I had to tell them. Period. So I had good intentions of sending out an email/personal message to get them over to our house... and forgot. Or put it off, more to the truth. Then the small bearer of the bad news in the first place reminded me yet again. But now things had changed a bit. The person I needed to tell was experiencing a sudden, extremely tough, personal family tragedy. How could I possibly tell them now?

My husband said it doesn't matter. The more time that was allowed to flow by, the worse the situation could get. I had to tell them.

So I sent the private message that said it was imperative we see them as soon as possible. And within the day they arrived at our house. I, with Brian as emotional support for us all, told this friend straight out. Ok, I may have prefaced it with, "You are going to hate me, but..."

Is it a War on Women?

Yeah, I'm doing it. I know I am not the first and I won't be the last to blog about this. But I feel like we need a bit of a record of all the things being debated about at the government level that has to do with women right now. Seeing as how Legislating/controlling women is so in vogue these days and all. As the photo I borrowed illustrates... WTF?! We, the last three generations that is, thought we had made a permanent foothold into equal rights. That we had forged a path that could not be easily done away with. We let down our guard I guess.

Current legal abortion as a hot women's topic is too easy, so I'll let that pass. And going after Planned Parenthood is nothing new, really, so I won't even go on and on about that. But... the bills coming up about uterus police for miscarriages, no abortion even when pregnant as a result of rape or incest, and no abortion even to save the life of the mother EVEN if the fate of the fetus is also death, make no sense. There are laws passed to criminalize doctors for doing any abortion; even life saving ones. Then there are states forcing women to pay for additional ultrasounds (some by wand) and receive a lecture (that goes against freedom of religion) before they can lawfully terminate a pregnancy . Oh, and there was that bill requiring women get permission of the father in writing before they are allowed to have an abortion (a little awkward, no? if the pregnancy is a result of rape or incest?). How about redefining rape to make abortions harder to get? The whole growing bias that women are not smart enough or, as they say, can't make an informed choice when it comes to their own health care, their own bodies or the decision to have, or not to have, an abortion, I find repulsive.

And so we move on to no insurance coverage for female contraceptives of any kind. Even when prescribed for a medical condition other than to keep from getting pregnant. Um, why aren't contraceptives considered medical? What's with no women experts allowed to speak about contraceptives? What's up with that? More of that, "women can't make an informed choice" crap? We are too stupid? Yet no debate on whether insurance should cover Viagra or penile implants. How about the bill that would make it legal to fire a woman for having contraceptives? And now there are religious leaders saying oral contraceptives cause homosexuality. WTF? the latest state bills signed into law allow pharmacists to refuse to fill out any prescription they feel could be used to induce an abortion and physicians are not allowed to legally withhold information from patients if they think that medical information may result in an abortion or other thing against their personal morals. These "Conscious Measures" are so broad and vague it can be applied to anything. So even if the birth control is prescribed for medical reasons, a pharmacist can block a woman from medicine her doctor has prescribed; medicine she may need for a medical condition. And what if that information the doctor decides to keep from their patient costs them their life? Will the law save them in a court of law? This is not how medical care should be practiced in a civilized country! The religious beliefs of a medical practitioner should not trump the religious and cultural beliefs of a patient, especially if it may result in the suffering and/or death of the patient.


Beyond contraceptives or abortion are bills redefining when life starts. I don't know when life started, but I do know that pregnancy is a continuation of life, not the start. The stupidest bill of them all is the one that passed saying conception or life starts two weeks before fertilization. Besides it being against most faiths (including those who follow the teachings of the bible), it negates contraceptives of ALL kinds, makes abortion illegal at any stage, makes every woman a murderer who has a period or a miscarriage, and makes every man a killer who masturbates. Complete idiocy.

And yet women are being punished for choosing to have their children, too. Another state legislature drafted a bill that would make single parenthood tantamount to child abuse (to try and keep poor, single women from keeping their babies).

Recently the money put into preventative healthcare, especially for women, has been given the label "slush" fund and is targeted to be cut. Their rational is that putting money into cancer screenings, child immunizations and quit smoking programs is a waste of money. I believe it has been proven, without a doubt, that such preventative healthcare GREATLY reduces the cost of healthcare overall for everyone. So this goes into the War on Women category because the preventative measures being funded and the target of cuts are mostly for women.

The Supreme Court said, just last year, women employees couldn't sue Walmart for low wages, low raises, low bonuses and little to no advancement in comparison to male employees because Walmart employs mostly women. ie, a majority aren't allowed to sue. Um, Walmart, like a lot of businesses these days, hire women to lower their bottom line because it is permissible to pay women less then men. You'd think men would be pissed about that. Several states have bills up for vote that would lower the minimum wage of tipped employees. Positions mostly held by women (over 80%). The coup de gras, Scott Walker, the much loved (sarcasm) governor or Wisconsin has repealed the state's Equal Pay law stating that men needed the money more than women.

And here I add yet another bill introduced to make all divorce illegal. Which, even though I think people often get married with little intent to stay the minute things get rough, is wrong on many levels including separation of church and state, freedom of religion, and personal freedoms of course. But the main problem is the lawmaker introducing the bill has it as ALL divorce illegal regardless of abuse. He literally said Women need to remember why they got married in the first place. That takes it to the war on women level. But let's take it even further. Yet another state has DECRIMINALIZED Domestic Violence altogether. Why? Because the police have better things to do than keep husbands from raping and killing their wives or live in girl friends. Even though men abuse much more so than women, this law also does a disservice to men who are abused. What next? Decriminalize child abuse?

A friend of mine hypothesized that Republican lawmakers ARE working on creating jobs... they are trying to get women out of the work place so there will be more jobs for men. I'm starting to believe that is true; certainly the new proposed laws seem to support it.

I found out the other day that in all areas of power, from our state and federal legislators to corporate CEOs to governors to boards of directors to mayors to ambassadors and world leaders, et al, the one area where women, by the numbers, are the closest in equality to men is in our own United States Supreme Court. And they are not equal, just the closest. Women make up just over 50% of the population, but even though we are equal in numbers here, we are not anywhere close to equal numbers in positions of power, and therefore, representation.
 
I also was made aware that Obamacare would require all persons pay the same amount for healthcare regardless of gender or adult age. Did you know that, right now, women pay, on average, 20% more than men for healthcare, sometimes as much as 70% depending on which state they live in?

ALL of that mentioned above has happened in the LAST THREE-PLUS YEARS. I'm not even talking about how historically women are treated... just the last three-plus years and only at the U.S. state and federal government level. Sorry, but that really is a war on women at the top levels. I can't see excusing most or any of that. You can't go, "Oh, you can't pay attention to the extremists." We are talking about representatives here. Lawmakers. People voted in by us!


Seems obvious what we need to do to stop this idiocy and work towards a better representative government... VOTE.

Christian Pressure

A few years ago I was watching a documentary on the Amazon and its Indigenous Peoples. Towards the end of the documentary they talked of missionaries coming to convert the natives and I was struck at what conversion did to the natives. Before, they were naked, happy, playful people who worked hard, played hard and generally enjoyed their place in life. After, they were clothed, unhappy, sour people who only worked hard and generally worried about their place in the after life.

It seemed to me that Christianity had become the apple.

The Amazon people before were much like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. But then Eve went against God and took a bite from the forbidden fruit. Doing so opened her up to sin and the realization of evil in the world. Not that I think the Amazon people were naive about evil in the world, and I'm sure their own religion had some aspect of sin and afterlife in it. What the indigenous people lacked was pressure.

I was in a religious chat room back when Yahoo used to have those kind of things (I miss them), and there was a rabidly religious person in there who talked about this dream he had. He was pressuring his sister-in-law to accept Jesus as her Savior and she resisted. She said she had no intention of believing (he made her out to be an Atheist) in the Christian God and would he just leave her alone about it. So he said he would until the dream. In the dream he saw his sister-in-law burning in hell and screaming, "Why didn't you try harder to save me?" Needless to say he was more gung ho about converting her, and everyone, than ever.

Pressure, pressure, pressure. We all know stress and frustration brings out the worst in people, so is it any wonder that folks under so much pressure to "save" everyone aren't people you like to be around so much? Once in a while you come across a happy person who basks in the glory of their God and what not. Yet I only count them as truly happy if they continue to be happy even after you say you don't believe. It never ceases to puzzle me how my not believing in their God will turn an otherwise happy person to concerned, then offended, and quickly to a mean spirited one. And that is before I go to the trouble of pointing out what the specific issues I have with Christianity are and why it is not the religion for me. It is hard not to offend them then, but I totally get it if part of your not believing goes with shooting holes in their faith.

Now part of me is like, well, if they truly believed (regardless of what their faith is), than my issues with their religion and how it doesn't work for me, should not rile them, but that is ignoring a lot of human nature there and doing them a disservice. So unless they trot out the bible quotes first, I don't start off with trying to pick a part their argument at all. I simply chose not to convert. I have faith and love for my own religion and Gods. All I ask is that they respect that. But, in large part, the religion itself does not allow them to do that. Pressure.

See, that is why if a retailer, smartly, markets to everyone, and not just Christians during the winter holidays, it is seen as a war on Christmas. Just the idea that there may be people who worship different Gods or none, and still have a celebration during the winter holidays is considered an affront. I get it, kinda. It is the pressure.

The pressure to convert everyone. The pressure to save everyone from hell. The overwhelming belief that Jesus died for EVERYONE, regardless of ethnicity, ancestry or belief, and it is up to every good Christian to make them believe it. Force them to "see the light."

Make. Force. Pressure. I don't know how many Christians can stand it.

Now I have met many wonderful Christians who subscribe to the point of view that conversion should be done by example and not talk. And I have met others who believe religion should be a mostly private, family, church oriented belief. I have met happy, open-minded Christians who don't prescribe to the pressure side of the religion. They are no accident. They had good, happy, open-minded Christian parents for the most part. Some choose to drop the shackles of pressure that comes with forcing conversion on those who don't want it. The hardest part with the later is to not drop out of the religion altogether because they failed the religion.

For many Christian sects, conversion is part of earning their way into heaven. THAT is a LOT of pressure! Belief is not enough. Good deeds aren't enough. Living a good life is not enough. Nope, they have to convert/save others. For every person they try to convert and don't, is a failure. So much pressure! So much happiness dependent upon the weak will of others. Yeah, it is one of the issues I have with Christianity.

The reason it is an issue for me is because Christianity is a religion not in any way endangered. In the popularity contest that is religion on this world, right now Christianity is first place. And maybe that is why all the pressure. They didn't work hard to get to where they are for no reason. I mean look at where they came from. I suppose it makes marketing sense to keep the pressure on. Snooze you lose. And they do have a couple of religions breathing down their necks, so to speak. Islam and Judaism aren't slackers. Buddhism may be laid back in comparison, but its no young pup to be ignored. Not that Christians ignore other religions. No. They don't ignore. They assimilate.

See I'm Native American so my religious beliefs are those of my ancestors. We don't convert. We do adopt on occasion, but we don't convert. It is not even in our lexicon. But Native American religions have been assimilated into Christian sects whether they wanted to be or not. Missionaries come in, find some similarities between the natives' beliefs and Christianity, no matter how obscure, claim Jesus already came to the new world and "saved" the natives, or natives are one of the lost tribes of Israel, and, bam, see, you've been Christians all this time and just didn't know it! It is wildly patronizing and condescending, but there it is.

With all the pressure to convert, is it any surprise Christians sometimes cheat? Like taking over Pagan rituals, ceremonies and celebrations as their own. Then denying the Pagan version ever existed. Kinda like when a big city annexes a smaller one. The smaller city goes on for a while as its own self, but, eventually, largely, it gets sucked into the larger city in thought as well as deed.

It is funny to me how some New Age Christians point at Catholicism and say it is not a Christian religion/church. Um, really? If you don't count the Coptics (which many don't), Catholicism is the oldest Christian organized church on the planet. The bible, sins, saints, missionaries, churches, Christmas, CONVERSION, etc. all exist because of Catholicism.

Let me point out something, however, that existed before Christians and churches: marriage. Yeah, not a Christian construct. The family, in all its different varieties, also existed before Christianity. And, believe it or not, morals did, too.

Part of me feels sorry for Christians who NEED to convert/save others. As explained above, that is a lot of pressure to live with. But, being the focus of most Christians attempts at conversion, I also hate them. Yes, I know it is a strong word, but I've been the subject of conversion for a very long time. I've suffered through the condescension, ridicule, judgement, and PRESSURE of being the target of good Christians. And, as explained above, I will always be a target because I have no intention of ever converting, and, in my and my children's lifetimes, there will always be a majority of good Christians who HAVE to convert/save others.

One great thing I never take for granted is that I and my family live in the United States. Probably the first country to ever make Freedom of Religion a part of its government. Or, er, religion as NOT a part of its government. :) I think about that first part of the first amendment every day. I do not take it for granted. The sudden insistence of incorporating Christianity into government lately scares the hell out of me. No lie. If that were to come to pass, what would happen to my family? Oh, the pressure!

Well, until that comes to pass, we chose to believe and worship as we wish. And our family, in the privacy of our home, will continue to be naked, happy, playful, joyful, content people for as long as we are allowed to be so.

May it always be so.

Jack of all Trades

When I went to college way back in 1986, I went in thinking I should take every class related to my major and then some. Because I was going into commercial art (that is what graphic design was called back then) and it was a given that anyone with a commercial art degree was hired on at an advertising agency, I decided to learn everything I could about Advertising. I acquired a minor in Psychology, and took most of the Sociology classes as well. I took creative writing, theater, every fine art class they offered, marketing, advertising (I, II & III), broadcasting, photography, journalism, and communications. 18 more months and I would have had three more degrees (BS degrees in Fine Art, Psychology/Sociology double major, and Industrial Technology with an emphasis in Secondary Education [I kinda wanted to be a high school shop teacher, too]). As it was I decided not to go that extra year and a half, and got out with my Bachelor's in Communication Arts with a Graphics emphasis, Associates in Commercial Art and a minor in Psychology with an emphasis in Personality Theory. It only took six years! :P

Then reality hit and I realized an Advertising Agency was not going to hire me. Two reasons: looks and family. There are very few Advertising Agencies in my home state to begin with, and basically the only way to get in is be a model yourself or be related to someone in upper management. So I got a job at a local newspaper instead. Now while in college, I also worked as a graphic designer for the University, tutored and ran the Mac lab, and did graphic design for college groups, clubs and organizations. With that experience and the degrees, I landed a pretty good job, really. Newspapers in my state also double as copy/print shops with in-house graphic designers. In this case just myself, but it was a big step from entry level.

My position included all graphic design for independent projects outside of the newspaper itself, all design jobs for the offset press, one big yearly magazine for the rally, a quarterly gambling magazine for Deadwood, the snowmobiling tab that ran weekly over the winter, and the weekly Sunday giant shopping inserts. I learned so much at that newspaper. Their system was so dated when I got there! I was used to working on Macs, but they had nothing but an old Compugraphic system they had invested heavily in just one year before Macs took over the industry. Compugraphics are like working without a monitor. You have to think in points, do everything in your head and hope it printed right. They were barely a step up from typewriters and line tape. Graphics were clipped out of huge clip art books and waxed into place. The dark room was the heart of the business. Invaluable experience, believe me.

Eventually the family that owned the paper sold it to a big corporation and they updated everything to the latest Macs. My job was expanded to include ads and I was then able to learn QuarkXpress and scanning (which was new).

After that job I worked for a while as an in-house designer for a print shop. While I worked there I taught myself PhotoShop, specifically, photo manipulation. Now you have to understand that when I was in college, Aldus reigned supreme: PageMaker, FreeHand and SuperPaint. Quark and PhotoShop didn't start to hit big until just after I graduated. Then I got stuck in the time warp at the newspaper. But I was young and caught right up.

Eventually I landed a job with a screen shop that did decals and stickers. I had drafting experience from high school and my Industrial Technology classes. Who would have thought those would help me land a job? Again, the company was still pretty much old school. They had just bought their first two Macs, but most everything was still done by hand. First an illustrator drew the design; the line art was then made into a positive on clear film; with rubylith and an exacto knife process/spot colors were cut out; half tone screens were used for shades and gradations; the rubylith separations were then shot and made into positives; color separations were then ganged on large sheets; cut lines and registration marks were added by hand and eye; the large sheets of positives were sent to be burned onto screens as negatives; and, finally, inserted in presses. Some presses were hand run and some were giant machines. All positives and negatives were done in a dark room with a giant stat camera (which caught on fire sometimes). We also ran die cutters, sheet cutters, stampers, sorters and packaging machines. Again, a wealth of knowledge to be soaked up. Eventually color separating and stripping was slowly relegated to the new machines. FreeHand was the main software we used. From that job I became a FreeHand Guru. We also used PhotoShop and Illustrator. I excelled at that job.

From there I went from the boonies to the big city. Fairly quickly I landed a job as a graphic design instructor at The Art Institute. SCORE! It only lasted the one semester, but that was a blast! I totally want to do that again. :) While teaching my one class, I also got a job working for a screen printing/embroidery company that did clothing and merchandise. Again, FreeHand reigned supreme, but I learned to design for different types of screen printing, pad printing and embroidery.

I eventually left that job to take a position with an electronics buying group. I was back using QuarkXpress and PhotoShop, but it was there that I learned how to use PowerPoint. I bolstered my basic graphic design skills and learned to design logos, faxing campaigns, conference building, presentations, catalogs, technical writing, and took a stab at management.

From that point I worked with a lot of start ups sprinkled with some established mega companies (PricewaterhouseCoopers and Houston Chronicle). All those positions drilled branding into my head. I branded companies from the bottom up and was the company brand watch dog at PricewaterhouseCoopers. At the Houston Chronicle it was back to learning about black & white. So many mistakes are made there. Printing black & white is a whole different animal to printing full color. I also learned web design. I can't and have no wish to develop a website, but I can design one with all the right colors, images, text and navigation. Making it run/work I leave up to the experts.

What's my point? Well over the last several years I've been getting a lot of flack from the design community and potential hires that I need to pick a specialty. Why? I personally feel my experience makes me a better designer and better employee. No one is perfect, but I can nip many problems in the bud before they go into production. Why should I limit myself to "Logo Designer" when I can do so much more than just that? Some people are afraid to call me a production artist, as though that may offend me. It does not. I am a damn good production artist. I'm also a good designer as well. Again, why can't I say I do all of that? When did knowing the ins and outs of your chosen profession become a liability?

Now I know I will never be a Design God. I'm good, but not a God. I've met some Gods. I think, however, that, with my experience, I can help mold future Design Gods. I mean where do you go from here? I'm getting tired. My eyes aren't what they used to be (too much staring into bright lights over the years). The tendons in my hands are creaky. I'm into middle age and feeling it (if not showing it). I believe it is time I went back to school and got my Masters in Fine Art so I can mentor/teach the Design Gods of the future.

Healing

So... back where we left it. In the hospital again, but via the ER. PIC line inserted so antibiotics wouldn't destroy my veins like they did with the infection after Leel was born. Even so, and right up to the end, a decidedly green discharge never really went away after that. But, anyway, back on track.

It was time to make some harsh decisions. The most obvious decision was for Brian to take Family Leave. Problem is that means leave without pay. We figured we needed about $3000 that first month to pay our bills and buy essentials. Now the evening I lay on the gurney bemoaning my life in the ER, I had called and dumped the whole emotional package onto my sister, Sherry. She may have called mom after that, I don't know for sure. But mom called and said straight out she'd pay for our expenses if Brian took family leave. What could I do but agree?

I mean we thought of flying this relative or that relative out to help us, but either they had their own familial responsibilities or were simply still in school. We figured we needed two months with Brian home, minimum. We just did not know how long the healing was going to take. A month had already gone by with little to no healing.

So Brian took the time off. Now, in case you are not aware, his taking that time off added another bill we had to pay. The money normally taken out of Brian's check every week to pay for the company provided insurance, we had to pay instead. Thankfully, Brian's parents also helped us monetarily every week. The cash they gave us went straight to groceries and gas for the trips to the Medical Center to get checked by my doctor once a week.

Brian's parents also went so far as to fly his brother in for a few months to help. Unfortunately, there was some miscommunication and misunderstanding so his help did not materialize. Mark did watch the kids for us a couple of times. And he helped his parents watch the kids for us as well. Leel had just turned 3 and Runa was, of course, a growing baby. Being older parents, our kids' grandparents are even older. Our two were more than a handful for them.

So the vast majority of dependence was thrust upon Brian. He cooked, cleaned, took care of the kids, dressed my wound, helped me in the shower, carried everything, and was generally my loving, compassionate, adoring husband through it all.

In the end he only had to take two months off. I wore the wound vac for only one more month after that. Once we figured out how to the dress the wound and get the wound vac to work right, it really started to heal fast. We took extra care with the drape so it touched as little skin as possible. The home health care nurse came by three times a week. Before she would arrive I would take the vac and dressing off, take a shower, use disinfectant soap (given to me to prep for the initial surgery), spray and scrub the area with wound prep, wipe the whole area down with rubbing alcohol to both disinfect and get the old adhesive off, and lay out on my bed with wound draping under me in case there was leaking. I still had issues with infection in any tears or blisters. But the extra care kept it in check so the wound could heal at least.

Turns out I picked up one of those super infections from the hospital. I'll probably carry it for the rest of my life, unfortunately. Course that means I get infection very easy now and the kids are prone as well. It will probably be what kills me in the end.

By mid May I was finally, officially, healed. Well, not healed, healed, but at least the wound was closed. I still had problems with internal pain for another year on occasions of when the kids would get rough or I strained the area over lifting or reaching. Thankfully, it has been almost a year now since I've even had that pain.

The outside remains largely numb, however. I doubt I will ever get feeling back. The scar is wicked, of course. Over 8 inches wide. It looks like a big mouth. I've talked about making it look like a giant zombie mouth with icky teeth and blood for Halloween, but that may be too much for some people. Still, it is a thought.

My poor mother and step dad took a major blow to their retirement for us. This all happened in 2010 so the economy and stock market were still tanked, and they "borrowed" the money from their 401K. The fees and taxes they had to pay in 2011 were astounding! It seems like highway robbery to me. How can they do that to people during a recession who probably need that money to survive? I know Brian's parents took a hit as well for us. Most likely his sister and brother as well. We also got some unexpected help from some of my other relatives as well. I don't think they will ever know ho much that meant to us. We'll never be able to pay them back; although, we will try.

Our friends stepped up as well. Keeping us from going crazy locked up in our apartment and helping out during the first trip to the Hospital the week after Runa was born.

They say you don't know who your real friends and family are until a crisis. We are happy to say everyone passed with flying colors. Thank you all so much! So, so very much!

Nowhere to go but onward

So I left the last post with a bit of a cliffhanger. Brian said it was decidedly anti-climatic. But then that is because the story mostly centered around those several hours in the emergency room. Brian also was a little put out with me for not talking about my feelings with him way back then. I'm pretty sure I did try, though. I don't seem to talk well anymore, however. If I ever did. I think winning debate in high school was a fluke. But I'm pretty sure I did try. I'm actually pretty big on sharing my feelings. It is something I have to keep in check, actually. I am your stereotypical open book, over sharer and TMI type of person.

I also think Brian may have been a little hurt that I did not continue on because he played a large roll in my recovery the next several months. I would have been put out, too. I may have felt worthless and adrift, but I don't think he ever did. If anything, I think he felt more needed than he ever had before and he was completely up to the challenge. Or at least seemed to be. He was, for lack of a better cliche, my rock through the whole thing. Not that we didn't have our stress filled yelling moments, but, for the most part, we came together as husband and wife in exactly the right way.

From this point on, if you have a gentle disposition or stomach, you may wish to have someone else read it and summarize it for you. There is more than a little gruesome detail coming up. Also, I suggest you do not do a browser search for would vac, either. I just did and really wish I had not! You have been warned.

So I was admitted into the hospital for the third time. This was one month after Runa was born and there was very little, if any healing done at this point. Well, I should say the lining of the abdomen and all inside there was good, as far as I know. I was not in any danger of having my innards fall out or anything. But the wound was very deep and wide even so. I have photos, but, again, I won't share in this case, because they are wicked. To give you an idea, you could put both hands into it completely up to the wrist even a month after the surgery.

Ok, I am going to back it up yet again. Sorry. Bear with me.

You see, I am a very large woman. I've been averaging around 333lbs for the last five or six years. One of the main reasons the incision fell open is because of the weight. However, it is also very likely the drain was not put in the right place when they sewed me up. When I had my first c-section with Leel, there was a lot of drainage for several days. This time there was very little. Because of that, I opted to have it removed as quickly as possible, too. A good half a day or more before they would have taken it out normally. See, I got a bad infection in the drain after Leel, so it was kinda a knee jerk reaction on my part to have them pull it as soon as possible. Course, as the doc said who took it out (ok, an intern took it out, but under supervision of a doc), no sense leaving it in if it is not draining. Yeah, the interns. Gotta love teaching hospitals.

So, anyway, even though interns flocked to my room to see the wound both times I was in the hospital, it was actually not considered an uncommon problem in large women who have abdominal surgery. And there you go. So, again, from the beginning, sorta, the fluid built up in the wound and kept it from healing. A week after the c-section (I'd been home three days) they noticed fluid coming out of the incision and realized it was not closing on the left side. They sent me home with packing supplies to deal with it myself. Then I noticed the other side was draining, too, so a week after I was released from the hospital with Runa (about a week and a half after her birth), I was back in. They cut the incision back open (it had healed a bit, sporadically, along the top), then scrubbed the inside down to get circulation going and ordered me a would vac.

Ah, the wound vac. How I loathed that thing. It is a wonderful invention, mark my words. It increases healing time exponentially! But... well, I'll get into that in a bit. So I was eventually sent home three or four days later to await a home health nurse to attach the vac to me. I really liked the woman they sent me. She reminded me of a very serious Tyler Perry. I wanted to tell her that, but was afraid I would offend her. Unfortunately, she was never really able to get that damn vac attached right. She didn't go deep enough with the packing, which was a real issue with my doctors. You have to keep the wound packed from the bottom up so the wound heals from the bottom up. If you don't pack it right, tunnels and pockets can be left behind in the healing which would require the whole thing be reopened again to start from scratch. She did try though. There was some weird thing where the maker of the vac could not demonstrate the machine with the nurse on a patient, so all instruction was by phone.

The biggest issue was with the tape. The tape, or drape, is very important so the vac maintains a seal. What is the point if the thing doesn't hold the wound closed, right? Problem is I am allergic to adhesive and my skin is very thin on my abdomen, so there was tearing, blistering, rashes, etc. It was terrible. The thing had to be redone every other day. Unfortunately, the nurse's solution to the abdomen damage was to add more tape. Oh, the horror stories I could tell about that. Anyway, about two weeks later I got infection in the blisters on my skin. The infection eventually moved into the wound which gave me fevers. So back to the hospital I went, only this time, I had to go through the ER. You know how great that experience can be. So we are basically right back where we ended the last post. Considering, I think I am going to have to leave it here yet again. Sorry about that.

I do want to reiterate, however, that there was very little to no pain in the wound itself. All major pain I suffered during the aftermath and months of healing was all from the tape associated with the wound vac. All of it. When I was shuddering with fever and pain in the ER, it was all the wound vac pulling on me. I couldn't take it off even though the drain bin was full of fluid and puss (sorry for the visual; it kinda looked like strata, though). To this day I have no feeling in the scar or area surrounding except a little spot on the right side. Small blessing, eh?

Well, sometimes small blessings can add up to a whole lot. :)

Hitting Misery's Bottom

I have not as of yet come close to death. But I did have a similar experience. How so you may ask? How can any other experience be close to death? Well, let me explain...
A short bit of history first. By the time I met and married my one and only, we were both on the old side. Late 30s, though not being horribly old, is a little daunting when about to start a family for the first time. And, of course, having kids, planned for and trying not withstanding, happens when it happens. So it took a few years. I was 39 when we had Leel. Unfortunately I lost my job and my freedom when he was born. I started hemorrhaging early and was hospitalized for a month. In the middle of that month Leel was brought out a few months early. He was fine and has grown into a fine boy. I never once doubted I would recover as strong as ever and I did. You can't go through something like that without some lasting effects, but I, for the most part, ignored them and willingly shut myself and my son away for a few months until he was old enough to finally be introduced to the world.
So on to the second child. After two years I figured it was a no go. I had had three miscarriages before Leel, but nothing after him. My monthly cycle was all over the place and I just figured my body was done with making babies. Well, turned out life wasn't done with me quite yet. Now I was worried I would run into the same problems with this pregnancy that I had run into with Leel. Thankfully, the doctor I had was lovely and went above and beyond reassuring me this pregnancy would be absolutely normal. And it was. We did run all the blood tests and gene tests for downs and such anyway. I mean I was 42. But all seemed copacetic. Unfortunately we moved at the end of my sixth month and I lost that great doctor. Getting one to replace her turned out to be near impossible.
Even in a MUCH bigger city, no doctor would touch me with a ten foot pole. I was too old, too fat, too poor, too high risk, too too. And I was fully insured, but still no love from those who need to make a profit. Clinics won't touch anyone with insurance and medicaid didn't help either. I was getting to my wit's end let me tell you! Finally, at the end of my eighth month I found a doctor, a student doctor at a medical school, to deliver the babe. The stress by then was so bad I was starting to get delusional. I was getting PPD. Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to keep myself from taking a knife to my own belly, a date was set to have Runa taken out. Relief! Everything went pretty well. The epi was too low so the pain was a bit intense, but I can take pain. We are old friends. Runa was out and I was home and all was good with the world...
I thought. Then I noticed something weird with my incision... To make a long story somewhat shorter (in my dreams!), my incision fell open and I was immediately hospitalized again. I tried to stay above it. Not think about it. Pretend everything would be normal and that I could handle anything. There was no pain after all, just a gaping wound. No worries... The first problem was my newborn was not allowed in the hospital with me. The newborn was not a patient and there are liability issues if something happens to the child or I can't take care of her and so on. Thankfully, after a tearful night without her, the nurses let me know they would turn a blind eye to her being there. So, that was the first time I was hospitalized.
The second time is where the life changing experience happened. The vacuum used to keep my wound shut tore my skin and I got infection in the tears and blisters that eventually went into the wound itself. I was in such pain and wracked with fever as I laid in the emergency waiting room... waiting. After an hour or so I sent my husband, Leel and Runa home. After they left I wallowed in my pain and fever, and started to evaluate my current condition.
My husband was an over the road trucker. He was home six days a month. My recovery was going to take months. We had borrowed as much money as we could from everyone we knew to keep things together up to that point. I could no longer take care of my children by myself.
I could not take care of my own children.
I had failed. Somehow. Someway. I suddenly saw myself as separate from my family. I was without them and they were without me. I could not cook. I could not clean. I could barely get around. I could not drive. I could not lift my daughter (doctor's orders). What was going to happen to us? Being older parents ourselves means our parents are long retired and in no condition to take care of children (those who are alive anyway). Our siblings lived far away and had families of their own. I felt adrift. And my family felt adrift and out of reach. I felt that my role as a mother and care giver was done and, without that, what was there? My family, my children, needed me, but I could no longer care for them. I was a burden to them now. They would be better off if I were gone.
I had a breakdown of sorts. I hit a bottom of misery so to speak. When they finally got me on a gurney and started getting IVs in me and antibiotics, they gave me some pain killer through the IV that seemed to take me down, down, down to a dark, warm place devoid of worry (now I see what people see in pain killers...). My last thought was, "Yes. It is true. I cannot take care of my children. Face it and continue on." And we did. Runa is two and, except for a wicked scar as a reminder, I am, we are, whole.
PS: If you are the kind to like photos of this kind of stuff, I do have them. They aren't for the fragile of stomach (pun intended). I was going to include a photo with this post, but it only lets me put it at the top. I don't want to gross people out before they even know what the post is about.