This is a tough post to write. [NOTE: this is not the end of this blog]
Due to physical and emotional injuries, I have been unable to hold a regular job for the past decade. I’ve been sustaining myself with a lot of luck these past 12 years, but that luck has finally run out. I’m losing my home within the next few weeks. I’m all alone on this one.
I’ve decided to go on with the minimum amount of “stuff” after accumulating what amounts to 21 years in the same house, raising two kids, and struggling to make ends meet. Character assassination lasts a life-time, so there’s no family or old relatives for me to call on. I have very few people in my life who I can call “close friends”. I pretty much keep to myself, my few clients, and my dogs. I’d rather not have my clients find out, but that will probably be close to impossible.
Continued from Part 2 …
2001 Nov 11, Sun PM
Karan, the super lady who originally drove me to the hospital on the previous Wednesday, was there to pick me up and take me home. After the hour drive, I asked her to stop by the post office, so I could check my mail. When I returned to the car, and just about to get in, Karan screamed.
The back of my shirt and pants were saturated in blood, but when I had gotten out of the car, my back was dry. Apparently the pressure of leaning against the seat back was enough to contain the blood flow until I got up.
Karan immediately demanded to take me back up to the hospital, but I refused. The top surgeon said it was OK for me to go home, so I felt if we made the drive all the way back up, they’d just turn us around and send me home again. She reluctantly obliged and took me home. continue reading…
. . . continued from Part 1
Back Surgery, November 7, 2001, 06:00, Piedmont Hospital.
2001 Nov 7, Wed
Karan, a woman I had met just a few months earlier, had offered to drive me to the hospital. It was not convenient for her in the least, either.
She had to drive an hour to get to my home from her’s, then travel another hour to get to the hospital. When we pulled up, I told Karan she could just drop me off at the entrance.
Her response was a very firm, “No way, I’m walking in with you.”
Karan won that dispute as she drove right to the parking deck and found a convenient spot. As soon as I checked-in, I was told they were ready for me in pre-op, so Karan gave me a hug, and wished me the best.
Within minutes of arriving in pre-op, they had run an IV, and suddenly, I had not one single care in the world. Shortly thereafter, my life was in the hands of an unnamed anesthesiologist. continue reading…
continued from Nine lives of a Child . . .
In late January, I began getting muscle spasms in my left shoulder. Within a week, I could no longer lie down, forcing me to sleep in a chair. The pain in my upper back and shoulders was becoming unbearable.
One evening, I was in my daughter’s room when I tossed her comforter onto the bed. That simple action almost took me out, by a new level of intense, acute nerve pain, unlike anything I had ever felt. continue reading…
Due to the evil perpetuated against me by my sister, Kathy, and and my dad — evil described as physical and emotional abuse — I stayed away from my home as often as I could. This would occasionally bring me into other dangers.
But as an inquisitive child, I got off to an early start …
This has nothing to do with being placed on restriction, as that would be a bit odd for a toddler. This is about that other ground, the ground that electricity always looks for. Based on my size and the layout of the house, this has to be one of my earliest memories … which also could have ended my race before I ever got out of the gate.
I was crawling on the floor in our family room alone, and I happened to squeeze in behind an overstuffed chair and the wall. There, in front of me, were two things that seemed to go together, at least based on my limited-life experience.
On the floor was a metal bobby pin and on the wall was a small, rectangular plastic covering with two slots on top, and two on the bottom. I know my mom stuck things in there. So, I recall seeing no reason, whatsoever, that the two sides of the bobby pin should not go in the two little slots on the wall outlet. continue reading…