The Strange Benifit to being Sick

I fell down this last week and twisted my leg.  So stuck in bed only willing to face the pain to go to the bathroom I had a lot of time to think,  I wasn't well enough to read and as I lay in bed enduring the pain I thought about the strange advantage to being sick.

 I had a very normal childhood.  It was just weird in the fact that there were no girls around me.  The block they live on is a young child's life and my block only had a 17 years old girl and then a baby girl.  In that way I missed out, but I have come to realize I am an introvert.  I was wondering if it was nurturing that caused me to be that way, but now I believe it is nature.  I do not need people to tell me my worth.  I do not need people to be energized, in fact a group of people seems to suck the life out of me.  I am not an extrovert.  It has taken me a while to figure that out because I do really like the individual.  I like to talk with one person and dig deep into their life.  I can't stand idle chit-chat.

I survived my teen years because I was an introvert or maybe it was so bad because I was an introvert.  If I was an extrovert, maybe I would have been able to deal better with the attacks, but as it was I was rejected every day, multiple times a day when I was a teenager.  Do you know how awful it is to be rejected?  I had to develop a shield.  I had to figure out a way to function.  I had to figure out a way to deal with the constant "No, we don't want you.  Go away".  I've gotten a version of that sentence every single day for my whole 38 years life.  Break that down into the number of rejections.  So, I admit I was harsh and defensive in my youth.

Then in my 20's something very extraordinary happened to me.  I haven't talked about it much because it was so very special to me and when I try to talk about it people have such a flat response it really does amaze me.  As I wrote early on in my posts, I went on a mission and I experienced more kindness then I ever had before, but more importantly I was telling people that they could feel God's love.  That they had the opportunity to expand their world and be happy.  Well, I do not like being a hypocrite and I realized that I better get myself straight with this concept I was spouting to others.  I began some soul searching and I was shocked when I figure out I never turned to God because I believed He would treat me the same as all the people had treated me....badly.  I fixed that thinking and started to explore on my own.  I had some very sweet spiritual experiences, much too important for me to write here, but those experience solidified my belief in a God. 

And then I return home and the rejection started as soon as I step off the plane.  I was super sensitive during this time after shedding my hardened body armor.  It became so devastating for me when the same people that liked me on my mission when we served together began to reject me.  Companions were hard, to swallow, but it destroyed me when Collins did not want to be my friend in the real world.  I was in a tail spin and the depression was so very real.  I didn't know what to do or who to turn to.  Well, with a success born of deep desperation I turned to God.  Through a major spiritual experience I learned that God and Jesus Christ loved me and that I was important to Them.  No rejection could touch me after that.  For years I had the wonderful shield of Their love.  I wanted so much to talk about it, but I learned that nobody wanted to listen to me.  I figure out to keep my mouth shut.  I will answer any question put to me, but I will not volunteer information.  I refuse to "Throw pearls before swine." 

During this time of feeling loved I could do anything, the rejection did not matter.  I put in resume after resume for a job.  I was rejected form everyone.  My family thought I wasn't trying because I never told then of the constant failure.  I could endure the No's, I couldn't talk about them.  I was rejected constantly by men.  They could not get past the way I look and I guess I can't blame them for that, but I had so much to offer.  I wanted to be in the Fashion world, but it seemed to be a choice between that world or God's love and for me the choice was easy.  You see you have to live by certain standards to be close to God and I wasn't going to give Christ up, no way.  He loves me despite the way I look or what I did.  He loves me.  So when I was rejected I could handle it, in fact I wanted to flip the person off and say. "Ha, ha I'm loved, reject me all you want!" But that isn't very Christ like so I did not do it.  The only problem with having God over a husband is the arms.  I always thought that a man would step in and be the proxy for God's arms.  Sometimes I really need a hug.  Sometimes I want very much to be held and comforted and unfortunately that is something that I have found that Christ is unable to do for me in this life.  But that is just a small complaint.

During this time of satisfaction and failure I developed a friendship with a male cousin.  He had been on a mission and he like the way I talked.  I don't do cliches.  I don't give the usual Mormon answers.  I am blunt and frank.  He apparently liked that and we would talk to each other off and on for years.  I was there for his marriage.  I visited his new bride in their apartment and I was devastated when I heard of his divorce.  And then a series of rejections hit at the same time.  First I lost my job.  It did not come as a surprise with all the teachers being fired in California because of the budget crises.  My company had expand quite fast and I was one of the last people hired.  I lost my health insurance along with my job.  My health jumped ship.  Then at the very same time I saw my cousin after a couple of years and he had rejected the Gospel that I loved.  We no longer had anything to talk about and the loss was like a knife cutting into me.  He had grown important to me and this rejection broke something inside of me, something very deep.  I did not know if I ever wanted to care for anyone again.  Not with that deep rejection.  With all of these factor I lost the feeling of God's love.  It has been devastating in a numbing kind of way.  A big chunk of me really doesn't care.  It is really hard to describe when I once felt like Christ was sitting on my shoulder, just like the old cartoon's.

The sickness has hit me hard.  It is very possible to live with type 2 diabetes.  My mother has had it for 20 years I believe and she has problems.  Her feet hurt her and she has to take insulin.  I don't want to diminish her pain, but it is like I zoomed past her and have terrible life threaten problems due to this disease.  So with the shield of God's love gone I now have my disease to protect me.

My sickness allows me to be a hermit.

And I am so grateful for that.  Because of the chronic illness I do not have the stamina for stupid people.  I can't listen to idle chit-chat and luckily I now can beg off because I don't feel well.  Once I stand I have to start walking or I won't make it to where I am going.  It isn't that I don't want to stay and listen to a person talk, its just that I physically can't.  My sickness provides me with a socially nice way of saying no and thank goodness for that.  I don't want to be alone and I feel bad because I am not becoming a better person and I really want to be better, but I really am not physically able to handle the most basic of tasks.

Luckily. my mother in all her nosey nature started my quilt class.  I live for my ebay auctions and for the quilt class.  I am willing to endure any pain for that small time because really the company is so good I do not feel the pain.  I love the class not for the quilting, but for the ability to speak freely.  I care for the women that come into my home and allow me to not only share my talent with them, but more important to share of myself and they share of themselves.  It is a real blessing and I wish more women would do it, so I could get to know them..

It is strange to think that there could be an upside to being chronically ill, but for me as an introvert, I am very grateful to have the shield that being sick provides.  I haven't lost my faith in God and Jesus Christ.  The memory of feeling Their love is still with me.  I know I do not have the ability to feel it any more, but They still love me very much and knowing that is very important to me.

My Fight with the Kidney Doctor

I can get over disappointments pretty well.  They have happen to me frequently and I figured out early that I needed to find a way to work out my feelings and them move on, but I haven't been able to shake the fight I had with the kidney Doctor, Dr P.  I'm not even sure if I can describe the hopelessness and frustration that clung to me after meeting with him.

The kidney Doctor I meet with 2 years ago when I had to go into to hospital said point blank that all my health problems were due to my bad habits and if I did not change I was going to die.  I stomped out of his office.  I concede that he believes that to be true.  All doctors seemed to believe that I am sitting at home eating myself to death when we first start out.    I understand and accept that being the way they always see me, to a certain extent, But Please!  Get all the facts before you start tearing into me.  Or have a bit of compassion when addressing me.  My defenses go up and then I struggle to move forward.

This Kidney Doctor had year old blood tests, which I did not understand since I had been to the heart doctor and my internist before meeting with him, all took blood.  He comes in telling me I am taking too many diuretics and I "Had to get off of those."  I tried to explain to him that I did not take the doses on the bottle unless I needed it.  Those diuretics had brought me back from the brink and now he wanted to take them away with out any information about me.  I had not slept well the night before and he managed to push every single one of my buttons.

Dr. P says to me. "You need to lose weight.  Get your blood Pressure under control and get you blood sugars under control."  Uh, yes, no duh!  I've heard that from every doctor I have ever meet with.  I asked what do you want me to do.? "You need to exercise." How?  I can barely make it into your office.  I can't step out the front door of my house.  What do you want me to do?  "You need to get your sugar down."   How?  I have given up white flour and sugar.  I used to swim 50 laps in my backyard pool.  I did not lose any weight.  Nothing has helped."

"Well, we just have an excuse for everything, don't we."

And that was when something inside of me popped. I was absolutely Gobsmacked as the British like to say.  Every word he heard out of my mouth was an excuse to him.  He lost 75 pounds, so that meant I was a lazy excuse maker.  I looked at my mother exasperated because I did not mean anything I had said as an excuse, but as problems that I have been dealing with  my whole life.  I looked to her to translate.  That is why I let her into the appointment.  Thank goodness another person to help the Dr. understand, but she didn't, instead offering my Poly-Cystic history, which he nodded though with no interest.

Then my mother asked about a transplant.  He said not with out losing weight, getting my blood pressure under control and my blood sugars normal.  I wanted to choke him right then and there.  I have NEVER had my blood pressure under control since I was 10 years old.  I was screaming by the end of the appointment. I want help!  I want someone to get that I am not in the normal percent.  I just keeping fighting and doing the same tests over and over.  I keep trying to do what the Drs. want.  Did you know I was told to go on 3 different diet plans when I left the hospital the first time?
First they had me do the diabetic diet, then they wanted me to do a high protein plan since I was dropping protein in my urine.  But the kidney Dr, said that was ridiculous, but she wanted me to go on a low potassium diet.  All of this within 3 months.  The Doctors don't know what to do and instead of admitting their own fault.  They pin it on me.

Dr. P wants me to take a stress test that I have already done.  He wants to start at the beginning of a disease that I have been suffering through for 3 years now.  I do the test again and again,,,this will be number 3.....with the doctor being just as stumped at the end of it.  I don't know if I can see him again after the flood of bad feelings I have toward him.  I was suppose to go back to him yesterday, but I canceled it. because the appointment for the chemical stress test was canceled on me.  I don't know if I can stand going back to this Kidney Dr, but there are only 2 in this town.  I told Mom I would do dialysis for a year and then we would talk.  What really cut deeply into me was my mother.  I don't normally talk to her about the hurts that happen to me constantly, but that Kidney Doctor really hurt me this time.  But I was reminded why I never talk about the Dr since my mother manged to rip the fire out of me.  When leaving the office I did not want to look at him my anger was so consuming me.  Then my mother apologizes to him! She apologized for my behavior to him!.  Everything went dark inside of me.  If my own mother was ashamed of me or didn't understand why I was fighting then I felt like everything was over.

The next day I got enough nerve to ask her why she had apologized to the Dr. that was being so mean to me.  She came at me hard. "You know I really don't want to be yelled at about the Doctor." "Fine.  I just thought I could talk to you about the way I was feeling, but I guess not."  I got up and walked away crying because that's the real rub isn't it.  Not being able to talk about the way I really feel.  I can't just blurt out my feelings to anyone.  I must feel secure and who would I have a relationship like that with?

I went back to see Dr. Pambid. It has taken 2 years of tests to show him what I have been explaining since the beginning. I asked him 3 times in that appointment. What do you want me to do? I take my meds. I eat one meal most days with a snack. What do you want me to do? He did not answer me.

And that is what has happened all of my life.  I let the doctor do his tests.  I let him yell at me.  I let him see the truth.  And at the end of it all they say I don't know.  I don't want to die.  I don't want to hurt.  I have taken all my medicine I have change my eating habits.  I have done everything asked of me within reason.  So when is enough, enough?  My daily life sucks!  I manage to keep going, but I don't write in here the pain of just existence.  Maybe I am just making excuses.  Maybe I am destroying myself.  I'm overwhelmed with sadness because I can't tell anymore.

The Experience that has Helped Me in my Sickness

I have received some accolades for how brave I am and how strong I am.  First, let me say, Thank you for the kind words that have come my way.  They really do help.  And second I would like to share with you an experience that has helped to heal me emotionally, spiritually and even a bit physically.

As you know I said that I would be sharing what my religion has done to support me in this strange way of life I have found myself in.  I am not physically able to go to church, so that has made it hard for me to get to know the other people who share my beliefs.  I do not have the safety net here in Virginia that I once had in California.  I mean when you see certain people at church every week and then work with them in a church job. (No one is paid in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.) You get to know who you trust and who you like.  I haven't had that opportunity, but I do have very active Home/Visiting Teachers who I have grown to love because of their visits.  (A Home Teacher is male.  The Visiting Teacher is female.  They are other members of the church who are assigned to go to your home and hopefully become your friend.  They are the link to finding out your needs and the major way that the church takes care of its members.)

When my eye blew, my Mother told on me to our Home/Visiting teachers (Ours is a husband and wife team.) and hinted at given me a Priesthood blessing.

(The word Priesthood is used in all different faiths.  The formal definition of Priesthood in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is: The Priesthood is the authority and power that God gives to man to act in all things for the salvation of man.   I have always known the Priesthood to be the authority to act in God's behalf and one of the things we believe can be done with that power is the healing of the sick by the laying on of hands.) 

I felt awful because I said no.  It did not feel right to me and I did not know how to explain it.  I still don't because it makes me sound I am being prideful and unfaithful.  But here's the thing.  Why get a blessing to heal the sick when I am chronically ill?  Yes, I do believe in miracles.  I do believe God can heal me, but he isn't the magical genie in a bottle that we treat Him like.  To every season and right now, my season is to be sick.  I did not see how a blessing that would not "cure" me would help, so I said no.  Then, when I started having so many Doctors appointments my Dad said, "I think Becky should have a blessing."  And again I felt like a complete Jerk saying no in response.

I started seeing a Doctor almost everyday for hours.  I was so tired.  Hefting my weight out of the car, walking down hallways, blood being drawn, test, after test, after test, started to wear me down to the nub.  I didn't cry out "Why me? Lord."  I find that to be a very stupid phrase. Why not you?  What makes you so special?  No.  I wasn't shouting Why me? Instead I was saying something else in my prayers.

"I don't understand why the suffering." 

That is what I have been asking since 2010 and my first eye bleed.  Why am I suffering?  What is the suffering for?  What do I do with all of my suffering?  And then came my breakdown with the nurse.  I haven't ever experienced such a feeling of utter despair.  I sat in that chair looking at my two option.  Either Dr. Vogal was going to do the laser surgery and cause me a skull-splitting amount of pain or I was going to have to drive home, wait, drive back and then he would cause me a skull-splitting amount of pain and I snapped.  The nice nurse asked me what was wrong, but there wasn't anyway that I could tell her about all the Doctor appointments or being blind and having everything slowly being taken away from me.  I couldn't described the truth that I felt like I was going to die and why should Dr. Vogal even bother.  All of it surged over me and all my calmness, practicality and reasoning left me.  The suffering became too much.

Dr. Vogal was very compassionate and got me through the surgery.  You can read about it here in My Recent Health Scare.  Even my Mother saying, "Oh, Poor baby!" After I came out from the surgery helped to soothe me.  She never says stuff like that to me.  I went home and went to bed at 8pm, an unheard of time for me.  I normally go to bed at 2am.  I remember saying again before I fell asleep.

"I don't understand why the suffering."

Since I went to bed so early, it meant I woke up early.  6am to be exact and in the quiet of the dark morning with my eye irritated and feeling like it had something in it, I felt strongly that I needed to get a blessing.  I follow my feelings and the decision was made to ask for help.  After being up for about 5 hours, I fell asleep again and did not wake up until afternoon.  I approached my Father, who is the priesthood holder in my house and said, "Are you feeling happy today because I need a blessing."  He responded positively, but a blessing for the sick requires two priesthood holders and I told him that President James (He is called that because he is the President of our Branch which is equal to being a minister of the congregation.) had offered his services.

After some wrong phone numbers on my Dad's part, I pick up my cell phone and called his wife, who I have been teaching in quilt class and she is also my parents visiting teacher.  She asked me how I was doing.  She knew all about my eye surgery.  I told her the truth.  "Ah, not very well.  I need your husband to come over and give me a blessing." When I called I thought he would still be at work, but instead she answers.  "Do you want him to come now?"  I stumbled for a moment because I was expecting them to come after dinner, but I thought Why not? and said "Sure, come now."

That should tell you A. How much we have come to trust them because we didn't worry about presenting the perfect picture to them.  They were going to see us warts and all. an B. That I knew what was going to happen was too important to put off.  I need to give the James' credit because they could have easily blown me off.  He had spent a hard day at work.  He wanted to eat dinner and relax, not go off and take care of another person's needs.

They arrived and I told them what was going on.  It was the first time I had told anyone the whole story.  We prepared for the blessing and their are two parts, the main reason why you need two people.  The first part is a tiny drop of blessed oil specificly for the healing of the sick is placed on my head and that is when a special prayer is said by one of the presithood holders to "annoint the oil".
(James 5:14 Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord:)
Then the second part is a freeform prayer known as the "sealing of the annointing".  When not done for the sick, but more as a comfort, as in a Father's blessing that we did before the school year; I remember the family gathering around and my father giving us each a blessing one by one, the first part with the oil is left out.  I believe with my whole heart that if I am in the right place and the speaker is in the right place that we can experience something beyond ourselves.  We can touch a higher power.  It is believed that the speaker is trying to translate those feelings from God into words that we can understand.  That is one of the responsibilities of having the priesthood.  I am one of those that have faith that the words spoken in the blessing are being said directly to me by a loving Heavenly Father who is trying to communicate to me through a world filled with a cacaphinay of noises.

What surprised me was my Dad.  I thought he would do the second part because as the priesthood holder in my family he has first pick, but as I was sitting in the chair he asked, "You want President James to give the blessing?"  I was a bit taken aback.  I just assummed Dad would do it, but I stammered out a short. "Yeah, sure."  Everything started.  I was paying attention (blessings are not recorded), but everythings else blew away when President James said these words...

"You will understand why the suffering.  You don't know how many of God's Angels have been supporting you."

He used the exact same words of my prayers! The EXACT same WORDS!  That means something profound to me.  That means to me that I am being listen to by a Higher Power.  In that moment I felt all the cracks and breaks fill up with a kind of spiritual glue.  I felt myself become whole like a ceramic plate that had been droped on the ground, but there were no cracks, I was made whole.  Why?, you ask, because just like I got through the eye surgery because of Dr. Vogals compasion and concern for my well being, so too can I get through the suffering if God is aware of it and cares about me.  I still don't know why the suffering.  I may never know in this mortal life, but knowing that a being greater than me is aware of me out of billons of people on this Earth helps.

Now, I wrestled myself on whether I was going to write this experience down.  So many of you reading this can write this off, but I felt it was too important in the eveloution of who I am to not include it as apart of my story   I want to thank the James' for being willing to help me and to President James for choosing to be in the right frame of mind.  It would not have been the same if he had been grumbling under his breath.  Please if you are a member of The Church of Jesus Chirst of Latter-day Saints, please be a good Home and Visiting Teacher.  Go see if you can make a new friend.  Talk about the Gospel and how you integrate its teachings into your own life.  Don't only pay lip service to it.  I never believed I would find myself on the other side of the fence, but I have.  I never believe that I would look forward to their visits, but now I do.

Am I that Cynical?

Okay, I have been trying to figure out how to write this next post for the past week.  I have tried to introduce you into the way I think and act because of the experiences I have endured.  I have just had an experience that will illustrate for you how I think during a conversation.  The conversation is going to be in Bold print and then I will given you my point of view and what I am thinking after. I hate it when an interaction sticks in my craw because I feel I did it wrong, maybe by the end of this writing I will have some answers, but I doubt it..  So here it goes.

I went to see Dr. Vogal last week for my 2 week check up.  This time my Mother was sick and she didn't want to go, but I convinced her it would be the last time for a while.  It was a late appointment and we started off in plenty of time.  We got stuck by a huge set of trucks painting the lines in the road.  Here there is no alternate route.  You can't get off the road and choose another way.  We were stuck, but things started moving and Mom with her lead foot got us back on track until we hit another set of trucks.  We were both angry and frustrated.  I noticed we would be quite late for my appointment.  We finally got to the office and I found myself to be one of the last patients, so his office was nearly empty.  I was called by the nurse.  She did the prep work and then I sat in the exam room waiting for Dr. Vogal.

The walls between exam rooms are quite thin and I have to admit that I was curious how Dr. Vogal treated his other patients.  I happen to know that the patient next door was another Dr because I heard his name called before me.  They had deep voices and they were speaking Dr. language to one another.  I was kind of surprise at hoe much time Vogal was spending with him.  He had me waiting for much longer than usual, but then he spent more time with me too, so I guess that is a perk of being last.  When Vogal final came into the exam room he said.

"Rebecca Peck, the legend."- Vogal

I was taken aback when he said that to me.  Me, a nickname that wasn't insulting.  It isn't what I am used to.  I didn't know how to take it.  I should have been gracious, but I questioned him instead.  By the way he had said the same flattering words right before the pain of the laser surgery, bu I figured he s saying it to calm me down.  He wasn't really complimenting me.

"Is that what you really think about me?"- Me

That was part blurt and part wanting to know.  I was surprised I felt that comfortable to ask him.  Any other Dr. and I would have passed it off with a small smile of acknowledgment.

"Of course I mean that."- Vogal

I now know after thinking about the conversation for a while that I pushed a button.  The problem is my terrible immaturity that bites me in the butt.  I am in my 30's, but I have had almost no dealings with the male gender.  I am stuck at fourteen when it comes to being appropriate with men and we all know how smart they are.  I often wish I had a person to flick me on the nose when I say something stupid, maybe then I would learn.

"I bet you say that to all your patients."- Me

I had a good reason for saying this.  I pushed Vogal's button again, but he doesn't know what I have gone through with Doctors.  He has know idea my baggage, but you get to read it.

I had one other Doctor I liked before Vogal.  It was my plastic surgeon Dr. C.  He was in a fancy upscale office with snobby nurses & receptionists.  I never believed I would get so sick after my surgery. Dr. C became my only lifeline after I lost my job, insurance and original Dr.  I was seeing Dr. C every couple of weeks so he could drain the fluid from me out of a pocket in my stomach.  I wasn't spending money on my visits because this was a complication of the surgery.  I remembered all of our conversations.  I knew about his son.  I knew about his wife.  I knew birthdays.  I knew all of this because I listen and pay attention more than I speak.  I thought the Dr. knew me and we were more than  acquaintances, but I was so wrong.  I arrived early to my appointment and had to wait longer.  I saw Dr. C interacting with his other patients and it dawned on me.  How the Doctor acts with me is how he acts with everyone.  He knew me because of the chart he got from the nurse every visit.  I knocked myself on the head.  Of course that's the way he acts with everyone.  That is how Dr. C has a successful practice in a highly competitive field.

Now. Whenever I have gone to Dr. Vogal office before this visit, people have been 3 deep in the waiting room.  I know he is busy and his visits to me are quick and professional.  I overheard the receptionist say, "We had 160 patients yesterday, 185 patients today and are expecting 225 tomorrow."  Now that is an office with 10 Doctors in it, so why would Dr. Vogal remember me?  He has such a high turn over.  He has a nurse bringing him the chart with my name on it.  I don't expect him to have any concern or liking of me past being my Doctor.

"Are you really that cynical?"- Vogal

Okay, that question threw me for a loop.  I do not believe that I am cynical.  That word is someone who is bitter and negative, both qualities that I have struggled to overcome.  The word cynical felt very wrong to me.  Unfortunately, I could not come up with the proper word in the short beat you are allowed in a conversation.  I am so slow on the uptake!  It drives me nuts, so I responded with...

"Half cynical and half joking."- Me

Two things you need to understand about me.  These two things I have only recently discovered about myself.

1.  I can not lie.  It has taken me so long to realize that I am physically unable to lie.  It is like being a live version of Pinocchio, except he lied and you saw the effect on him.  I am unable to lie.  It is a struggle for me to know what to say to the simple question, "How are you?"  Most people say "Fine."  But for me as I got sicker I would answer "Awful."  It wasn't to get attention or to have people ask about my troubles.  It was the simple truth.  I've learned that a good portion of the people I am acquainted with don't want to know the truth and so that means I don't talk very much, unless I feel comfortable with the person I am in a conversation with.  The thing is I will tell you anything if you ask me a question and that's how Dr. Vogal got me.  He turned to me and asked a direct question.  I was going to do my very best to answer him.  I felt tentative about being this honest to Dr. Vogal, but I am well aware that I can't help it.

2.  I am a realist.  I am so grateful to have finally figure this one out.  All through life people would say, " I'm an optimist.  I see the glass as half full, while you are a pessimist.  You see the glass half empty."  My parents are that way,  Dad can be a pessimist and Mom the optimist.  The more I watch the interaction the more I did not feel like I belonged in either category.  It wasn't until I heard a TV host talking and he called his guest an optimist.  The guest turned it around and ask what he was and the host said, "I'm a realist, Man."  What an A-Ha! explosion in my brain.  I am a realist.  I look at the tools, the time and the people and I formulate my game plan.  I come off critical and bossy even though that is not my intention.  I want others to be successful and I have the talent to see the upcoming pitfalls.

"Listen, I like you.  If I didn't like you, trust me, you would know."- Vogal

I understand that Vogal likes me, but how does that change anything,  Liking a person is actually quite traumatic for me because I have no idea what that means or what to do with the emotions.  Liking someone denotes to me a certain responsibility, an acquaintance can be passed off.  Dr. Vogal has become apart of my everyday life.  I have been seeing him every 2 weeks and now that we are stretching to 2 months, I admit I am going to miss our witty back and forth.


"I know you like me.  Its just that the Doctors before you have treated me like a little white lab rat.  I have a hard time."- Me

He laughed at the lab rat comment and the lighter mood return.  He told me my left eye was better.  I didn't believe him, but he has instruments.  I have noticed the blood has broken up.  When I wake up in the morning, I like to look at the white wall and see how the blood has changed.  There isn't anything else he can do for now.  If I don't get better it will be surgery in the hospital and I do not want that.

So I have been chewing on this piece of cud conversation wondering if all my thinking equals any progress.  I don't think so. If we were to have the conversation again.  I would say the same thing.  I really, really wish I was faster on the uptake.  Does that come with experience?

My Recent Health Scare

I guess I am back from Death's door.

Maybe that is a bit over dramatic, but I haven't been able too write because of my health and that has really hurt me.  I have come to rely on the cathartic effects of writing.  I need to express myself and I am not able to do it vocally and have it sooth my soul.  It just feels like complaining..  I find I have to mull over my ideas and emotions and I can't do that when speaking.  The writings in this blog equal months, even years of thinking.  I am fortunate to have found a way to get rid of my obsessing.  If a thought is bothering me I have learned to write it down, that is how I get it out of me and it stops hurting.  I work through my feelings and emerge from the other side a little bit wiser I hope.  Well, I haven't been able to write because I had another eye bleed that is still blocking my vision.  This eye bleed started a domino effect that then turned into an epic saga.  I feel that my sickness is a private matter, but since others seem to want to know what is going on and who isn't curious about another's misery, I will recount the events of the past month.  So, here we go.

I woke up Thursday afternoon ready to start helping a friend with her quilt when I noticed a smudge of dark red in my eye.  I knew it was blood.  I told my mother and she had me call Dr.Vogal, who of course wanted me to come in.  I really did not want to because I have been suffering.  Since the beginning of the New Year I have felt sicker and sicker.  I kept thinking I would feel better, but now I was just unable to pull my bulk around  I need a cane as a support because I feel like I am going to fall all the time.

It is an arduous drive to Lynchberg.  They seem to forget all the time that it takes us an hour to an hour and fifteen minutes for the ride. There are very few freeways here.  I am used to lanes of traffic and getting to go fast and straight, Not Here!  We have to travel on a small two lane road where people are slowing down to turn off into their driveways!  It is awful and it sucks if you get stuck behind a truck.  We go through the middle of towns and the road twists and turns.  I hate it so much because I have become very sensitive and end up car sick.  The other problem is the lack of bathrooms.  My mother and I have the places we can get gas and go to the bathroom memorized because there are long stretches of nothing....nothing but grass and homes, again I hate it.  It is all what you are used to and all what you grow up with.  I am sick and I do not have any tolerance for the beauty.

So I make it to Dr. Vogal's building, but I had a very hard time getting into his office because of the extra weight I was carrying.  Dr. Vogal looks in my eye and said, "Yes, It is full of blood.  Here is the problem.  I think you maybe in congestive heart failure and the shot I need to give you in your eye is not good for that condition."  He then went on to tell me I needed to see a Dr. right away because he couldn't help me until I was better.  Well, when Dr. Vogal tells me I am in serious trouble I listen.  I did not see what could be done, but I wasn't going to be stubborn. 

I refused to go to the ER and try to explain my condition to another Dr.  It is too hard to explain and I know I am very confusing,  I realize this fact.  My mother wanted me in the hospital and I was willing to go if my Dr. said that was needed.  So I call the fancy Halifax Primary Care and leave a message with the nurse recounting my story and saying I need an emergency appointment wit Dr, Pambid.  She calls me back and says he is filled the next couple of days and that I should go to the ER.  I hung up and resolved to see the clinic Dr.  He is my last choice because I have to pay cash for him, but I had seen him before when I did not have insurance, so he at least knew my situation.  Out of the blue I thought I should make a formal appointment with Dr. Pambid to get him updated with my condition.  I called thinking I would not get into see him for a month, but the appointment lady said he had an opening on Weds.  I snatched it up.  It was Monday,  So here day by day is what happened over the next month.

Friday: Dr Vogal sees blood in my eye.

Weds:  I see Dr. Pembid.  He makes me get Blood tests.  Wants me to see a Heart Dr. & Kidney Dr.  Gives me a shot to make me get rid of the extra fluid.  Wait over 3 hours at the office end up closing it down.

Friday: Go back for another shot to get rid of the fluid.  Find I gaind 3 pounds IN TWO DAYS!  All of it fluid.  Go to the heart doctor.  He sets me up for a chemical stress test which I said no too, but nobody listened to me.  I already had a stress test and I couldn't lay down without choking, so I ended up canceling.  I did the echocardiogram (ultrasound) of my heart.  He took more blood.

Monday: Go back to Dr. Pembid, find I have gain another 4 pounds IN 2 DAYS! So 7 pounds of fluid in 4 days.  I was so glad the Dr. saw that.  It is impossible to gain 7 pounds in 4 days from eating.  The body can not convert that fast.  We sat together talking and by the end he said, "I don't know.  I don't know what to do?"  My answer, " I know.  I don't know what to do either."  How do you take that?  How do you explain that to other people?

 

I found a pic of Dr. Vogal, so I thought I should find one of Dr. Pembid, but only found this blank spot.  Dr. Pembid is an older gentleman of Asian decent.  Who is trying his best with my care.
So, He told me to go see a kidney Dr. and I said I would.  He then told me I may have to go on Dialysis to get the fluid off.  The last Dr. who talked of me about Dialysis said that if I started going on a machine that I would become dependent on the machine and I really do not want to live that way.  I watched my grandmother dealing with going to dialysis 3 days a week.  I would stay over and a bus would come to pick up my grandmother and she would be gone for hours and come back angry and exhausted.  It was the amount of time she spent doing the process that distressed me.  She would be gone for over 4 hours every other day.  She was dependent on a piece of mechanics and that was awful to me.  She finally asked to stop Dialysis and died of kidney failure.  I wasn't there for her death, but my mother was and I often think of dying the way my mother described.  I have a chip on my shoulder about dialysis.  But Dr. Pembid said he thought I could go off it and it became a new possibility to help get the fluid off.  At the end of the appointment we decide to double my diuretic medication and since my echo cardiogram looked good hr thought I should get a chest X-ray to see if I was in Congestive Heart Failure for sure, since he thought I would have been better by then with the shots.  So off to the hospital so they would have the X-ray in time to see if I could get the shot in my eye on Thursday.

Tuesday:  Call from the nurse to say I was clear for the shot.

Thursday:Drove to Lynchberg  to have Dr. Vogal stick a large needle into my left eye.  The medicine shrinks the blood vessels to prevent them from bleeding.  We then had to wait 2 weeks for the blood to clear up enough that he could see the back of my eye, so he could use the laser.

Thursday 2 weeks later:  Mom and I set out on the drive with a few things working against me.  I could not sleep at all the night before.  I took a sleeping pill and everything.  I felt like my brain refused to click off.  I describe it like a car always in neutral.  I may not be in drive. moving, but it never downshifted and turned off.  When that happens my blood sugars go crazy because I don't know when to eat.  So I felt crabby, sick to my stomach and I was traveling to have a man hurt me with a high power laser.  Not a good start.  I asked my Mom to stop for snacks and that helped me feel better.  I was making a mental effort to be nice and talk about nice things when right in the middle of my sentence I saw a huge black worm block my vision and slowly dissipate.  I sat in the front seat silently crying.  It was too much for me to handle.  We were half way to Dr. Vogal, no turning back and I knew the worm was another eye bleed.  If there was too much blood then Dr. Vogal would not be able to do the surgery.

I was beyond exhausted when we finally made it too his office.  I don't remembering being pushed so close to the end of my mental endurance.  I have a very high threshold for pain, but I was so beyond my capacity that I went numb to survive.  Thank goodness my mother was there to deal with the stupid people.

I get called back for the nurse to start the exam and to dilate my eye.  I told her of the blood in my eye and she said she didn't know what to do.  I guess those words were a trigger because I started to sob.  I don't cry in public.  I do not think it is proper and I can name maybe 3 times I have cry out loud since turning 16.  This time, I could not control it.  I felt the muscles in my mouth contracting giving my sobs away.  The nurse was really sweet.  She asked me what was wrong.  I couldn't answer for a moment.  She had no idea of what I had gone through to be there and now it was possible that Dr. Vogal couldn't do his work and I would still be blind, but on the flip side, if he did do the surgery he was going to cause me a great amount of pain.  I didn't know what to hope for.

Here is a pic of Dr. Vogal.  My torture!  And he takes his job seriously.

She got D. Vogal in and he cleared me for surgery and I felt like crying again.  I almost fell asleep waiting for my eye to dilate and stumbled into the back room with the laser when my name was called.  I had been through it twice before, but it doesn't make it any easier.  I kept stalling putting my head into the contraption and asked what exactly he was doing.  Getting information out of Dr. Vogal is worse than the CIA trying to crack a Russian KGB spy.  He said my body was making bad blood vessels in my eye that would then pop and bleed.  He was attempting to destroy the bad vessels.  I said, "I know what's coming." He answered, "I know and I hope you don't hate me because of the pain I will be causing you."  I have never had a Dr. be concerned with the way I feel.  Most of the time I feel as important as a little white lab rat.  Someone to work there medical knowledge on, but not a person.  I was very surprised to hear myself answer, "I like you.  I just don't like what you have to do to me."  I felt shy after I said I liked him, since that has been such an offending thing for me to vocalize to a male since childhood, but he seem to accept my honesty without a second thought and I placed my head into the steel trap.

One of the most awful experiences of my life.  Each pinprick of light feels like red hot ice picks being jabbed into my brain.  They force your eye open with a lens, strap your head in so you can't jerk back and have the nurse place all her body weight on your head for good measure.  The pain would build and build.  Worse there was one spot in the middle of my eye that felt like he was poking an open wound each time he hit it.  I kept thinking it was almost over.  I can endure because it is almost over, but it kept going and going.  I finally asked him to stop, but it didn't help because it kept echoing inside my skull.  I was surprised when he asked if I was going to have a psychological break, I guess since I had been crying with the nurse a short time earilier, he had a right to be worried, but I think his sincere expressed concern for me instead of the usual patronizing Dr.'s normally give me manged to really helped.  I felt mentally fine.  It helped because I knew he meant his concern.  He had put his wallet where his mouth was and saved my sight before at his own cost.

It was finally over and I asked what would happen next.  He said, "I don't know."  I was getting used to that phrase.  He did not know if the blood vessels would return or what would be the best next step.  I left his office feeling like I had been punched multiple times in the eye.  The pain echoed across my face and I felt an intense aching in my sinuses and cheekbones.

As far as I can tell my eye has not improve.  The blood is still blocking my vision and now I am getting a throbbing pain in my right temple.  I have another appointment with him this next Tuesday.    I have to meet with the Kidney Dr.  the 26th and then with Dr. Pembid the !st.

The diuretics have worked.  I am not carrying around as much fluid.  I think back in November I complained of suffering diarrhea and other maladies from my diuretic, so he lowered my dosages and the fluid slowly crept on.  I really thought I would get better, but I didn't have enough medicine to get the fluid off, so I never felt better.  With the extra I can now adjust the dosage for my needs, but I didn't know that was the problem.

I say to everyone what the Dr.'s keep saying to me. "I don't know."

Suck a Duck!

I went through some of the stories I have on my my hard drive.  If I took the time to type something up, then I am going to keep it.   I found some old school papers and this one.  It managed to survive the transfer over from my last computer and I found it tucked away in a forgotten folder.  I have some writings on my personal history from a woman's organization (Relief Society) class.  It was only meant to be a short class, but we enjoyed meeting with one another so much and learning about the lives of the women in the class that we begged to have it continue  The leader of our meeting was taking a "How to write your Personal History" class in a formal college.  She would then come to our meeting  and pass around the class handouts she had received the day before and we would do the writing assignment. 

This entry that I found was one of her formal assignments, but when we ran out of subjects from her formal class, we, as a group decided on the subjects we wanted to write about, plus we were able to personalize them, for example we were all apart of the same church and one subject we settled on was how we had decided to be members.  This was one of the best ideas that the women leaders in my church came up with.  I have a book filled with the writings during that period of time.  It was because we had a safe, fun forum to share our writings and that made the class work.

At the weekly meetings we would read what we wrote to the other members.  People would comment and ask questions.  One of our members talked about being a child in Russia and having to live through the Chernobyl melt down.  Another member of the group had been in Germany during World War II and because she was a child of German parents born in America she was forced to be a radio personality spreading propaganda.  Everyone, because of their writing style, had stories that were amazing, even if it was a simple tale of how a woman met her husband.  They were all touching and beautiful.  And as a side effort our writing got better because we were given the chance to hear the words spoken aloud, each woman could then hear if the sentence wasn't structured correctly.  It helped to then make our next stories even better.

Assignment: Tell the Story behind a Picture

 

Written 2007    Pic taken 1999

Suck a Duck

Can you figure out the story behind this picture?

It all started in Dillon, Montana when I was on my mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  The Montana Billings mission covered a large terrain, from the top of Montana at the Canada border all the way down to Lander, Wyoming near Cody.  I was usually placed in areas where we were the only missionaries for a 50 mile radius.  In Dillon, it was different I had to deal with one set of Elders while the rest of our district was over an hour away.  After an emergency transfer, we finally had 4 people who could work together in the same small town, sharing the same car. 

 

It was a fateful preparation day(our day off to do laundry and write home) that brought about this shocking picture.  One of the Elders was trying to overcome his habit of swearing.  Playing a friendly game of basketball with some of the church member's young men revealed the extent of his problem.  Finally so frustrated at missing another basket he exploded with, “Suck a Duck!!”  Everyone paused for a brief second looking at one another then we fell to the floor laughing.  Tears falling from my eyes in response to the most ridicules substitute for a swear word that I had ever heard.  From that moment it was our saying.  They four of us used it all the time.

 

The ward members who took care of us in Dillon were the Thurman’s.  They had a son out on a mission at the time and loved the Elders in their home, plus they were trying to hook up their oldest daughter of 18 with any missionary coming to town.  Elder Collins was the target while I was there.  It was so much fun to tease him about it.  We played games with the Thurman’s, had Family Home evening and read the Book of Mormon with them.  The Thurman’s heard us say the infamous phrase once or twice.

 

Imagine our surprise when the four of us came back to the car after sharing a meal with a ward family, to find a plastic bag with a note saying,” Suck this.  Love The Thurman’s” We open it up to find two freshly killed ducks.  This is hunting area.  I don’t know who had the idea, but the Elders wanted to send the Thurman’s a picture of them doing just what the note said.  We went back to the Elders trailer to figure out how to “Suck these Ducks”  Elder Collins managed to cover the ducks head with a plastic bag and shove the whole thing into his mouth, as you can see from the picture, how happy he was about it.  Elder Losse, who comes from a hunting background, decided to cut the head off and bite down on the stub to make it look like it was in his mouth.  We were excited to send the film off to be developed.  The Elders picked the best shot and sent it as a postcard to the Thurman’s. 
 

The interesting thing is I still use “Suck a Duck to this day.  I used it all through my time at design school, where people picked it up from me.  My friend in class started to copy me.  I understood that, she hung out with me, but then it began to spread, I would be in the Fashion work room to hear the phrase coming from students in different semesters.  I was amazed at how far reaching my funny phrase had become when I was walking to class and heard a complete stranger in the graphic design program shout “Suck a Duck!!”, in his frustration at his computer.  Who knows how far this funny little phrase has traveled, most of the students came from different states across the nation.  Someone in Minnesota could be saying, “Suck a Duck don’t cha know.”

 

So, a cute little antedote from my life, but the "Suck a Duck" phrase came back to me when I started working with children.  I try to never swear.  I do not like the black cloud of spiritual pollution I hear come from those words.  To me they aren't bad because society says they are bad.  Those words are bad because of the feelings they provoke, so when I started working with children in the 6th grade and children with behaviour problems the "Suck a Duck" phrase came back to me as a substitute phrase for them.  Oh, the kids loved it when I shouted out "Suck a Duck!"  with a real dose of frustration behind it.  They loved all the people, adults mainly, who turned their heads in surprise.  For them it gave the same thrill as a bad word.  I was happy to do it for those kids.  I wanted to show them that they didn't have to act a certain way because that was the only way they knew how to act.   Those kids in my 6th grade class ran with the phrase.  I was laughing when I sat down at lunch and heard some seniors I didn't know using "Suck a Duck!" in the middle of the lunch area.

 

I know for many a person swearing doesn't mean much, but I don't want to be exposed to those words.  I shrivel up inside and I have the same reaction as though I burned my fingers.  I do not want to be around that person.  To me it is a black spot on their soul.  That is one of my hates about Netflix.  Movies and Comedians that I see on TV are no longer bleeped out and I get so uncomfortably that I have to turn the show off.  I understand that the meaning of these bad words have become the only way to describe certain situations.  I get that  I understand it being used once or twice in a show.  That is fine.  It is using the f-word as an adjective that drives me crazy.  Look at the effing car.  Look at the effing bird.  Look at my effing mother.  Please!!!  Have a bit more class than that.  People sound like subhuman neanderthals with no education.  It is just one of my personal dislikes and a major pet peeve.  I have no wish to have that is my life, so if I am able to cut even one kid off at the curve than I hope my shouting "Suck a Duck" will always work.

Overcoming Stereotypes

Do you know what a stereotype really is?

The word has come to mean something different with time, but it originally was used in printing.  In the beginning of the printing process a person has to set every letter in place.  Then they would print the page and move on, but if they wanted that page printed again, someone would have to set all the letters again.  Someone figured out how to streamline the effort by making a papier-mâché mold over the finished page and then making a metal stereotype plate from the paper mold.  That is a stereotype.  A piece of metal that holds a copy of a page, so everything printed from that plate would be exactly the same.

That word has come to mean something else for us and I find it is flung about in our society quite a bit.  It has now become the simplify and standardize concepts that we use to judge people.  In many ways using stereotypes is fine.  In movies we know who the hero and the Villain is by the color of their hats.  We have attached positives and negative traits to our social groups.  I do not know what it is like to battle over the color of my skin.  I do not know what it is like to battle over my culture.  I have not had to deal with that awful clash of being stuck between two worlds.

But I have had to deal with the stereotype of being fat.  What do we attach to that way off being.  I can't think of very many positive traits, but I have a whole list of negitive. Do you think that person has no will power?  Do you think of them as slothful?  Or Do you think they are disgusting?  Isn't gluttony one of the 7 deadly sins?  Well, you know what?  I think the same thing.  I have never thought of myself as a fat person.  Is that how other chubby people feel in their bodies? I do know other "fuffly" people who understood that their eating was out of control, but they just couldn't stop eating because food had become an addition for them.

I never felt like I fit in with the overeater thinking.  As I wrote in a prior post I have been apart of some kind of support group since I was about 8 years old.  It started with "Diet Center".  I did the eating plan with my mother, she had lost over 40 pounds at the time.  I remember crying when I was put on the scale and I didn't lose anything.  Now do you think at 8 years of age that I cheated?  Do you think I lied or made up excuses?  I was 8 and I was not sophisticated enough to sabotage myself and yet I did not lose a single pound after a month on their food plan.

I continued to gain weight.  It became so embarrassing to go to the doctor because the regular scale didn't go high enough for me.  I had to walk to the "special" scale.  I was over 300 pounds, but I really do not remember eating to get that size.  I watched a documentary "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead" recently.  He had a gut on him and he was chronicling his choice to juice to lose weight.  What was interesting to me was the beginning when he talked about eating whole pizza's and binging on hotdog after hotdog.  He talked about all the foods he would miss eating.  I became quite sad and angry when he explained his eating habits because I have never eaten like that in all my life.  How come I am so fat?  The frustration is beyond belief.

As I ballooned in size my parents wished to help.  My mother had success with a support group called "Over-eaters Anonymous".  It works under the same principles as "Alcoholics Anonymous".  OA uses the same blue book as a guide with the 12 step program.  You would go to a meeting and try to find a sponsor and work the different steps to overcome your addiction.  OA recommends(at the time, things could have changed) eating only three meals a day.  I agreed with that, but again it did not make a difference.  After some years trying OA my Mother then tried a stricter group call C-How.  The have a diet plan that forbades sugar, white flour and carbohydrates of ny kind for the first 30 days, it is a very strict eating plan for the first month.  I followed that plan and again lost nothing, while everyone around me were getting results.  The thing was even as a teenager, I did not feel I belonged with the think of the people in the group.  I do not feel like I am addicted to food.  I like good, well prepared food, but I do not feel that I use food to help with my emotions.  The people in OA were talking about eating a whole pie when they were depressed or eating a whole cake when they were happy.  That behaviour has never been apart of my life.  So why am I so fat?

I have stopped trying to fight the stereotype of an overweight person.  When I say I do not eat uncontrollably people (and Doctors) think I am in denial.  One Doctor had me write a journal of everything I ate in a month.  I felt like it was proof of my eating habits, but it was never looked at by the Doctor who asked for it.  I enter a Doctors office and the stereotype cloak is heavy.

I walked into one Doctors office and before he even talked to me or examined me he blurted out I needed a gastric by-pass from just looking at me when he walked in the room..  Now that may have been true, but the audacity of assuming that surgery was the best thing for me on a look, got me so angry I actually yelled at the Doctor.  I was furious that he did not look past the stereotype and see what I needed.  I stomped out of his office shaking from another injustice.   I have been unable to break the view others have of me and I am suffering because I do not fit in the stereotype.  The thing is I know that a stereotype is there for a reason.  It is just those of us who don't fit in the common groups get the shaft.  I would love to be a stereotype.  I would love for the euphony to hit and for me to change my behaviour and the results happen.  I would love to turn to salads, fresh fruits and vegetable and the pounds shed from my body.(Which I have by the way, but no sheding of lbs.)  I wish so badly that giving up food would make a difference.  Unfortunately, that has not been the case for me.

In many ways I like stereotypes.  I like having a bases to shift through people.  It maybe unfair.  I try not to do it based on skin color or cultural background.  I use other factors like the persons attitude and yes, I have to admit a big factor is income.  I tend to like people in my social class, just because we have stuff to talk about.   But I try very hard to be welcoming to anyone wanting to take my class in quilting.  I try very hard to look past the stereotype and see the person in front of me when I am dealing with an individual.  That is what we need to do as humans because when we judge an individual based on a stereotype that is when things go wrong.  Because we are not exact copies.

And that is something that I feel is sorely lacking, looking past the stereotype you see that comes with my fat body and find the person underneath.  I fought so hard for that recognition in my youth.  I had an unwavering belief that when others got to know me that I would be loved.  I labored under that belief and I was quite surprised when it did not seem to work.  I recoiled.  I believed that other were cruel.  With age I don't know if people were that bad, but it doesn't matter the scars were left behind.  It has affected everything for me.  And with age and experience I have learned to not care what others think.  It doesn't matter to me, but that attitude has hindered my working life.  I have not really been able to get a steady job that I love.

I guess my point is for you to try and look beyond your preconceived idea of a person and try to see the real person underneath.  That is what I try to do.  I understand that there are some people we click with and there are some we can't stand.  It is just the nature of life, but it is the discounting that has made it very hard for me to trust anyone.  I think. "Why would they care about what I am doing or What I have to say?", so I don't talk.  This blog has been the most anyone has heard from me.  I'm not sure if it is a bad or good thing yet.  I guess we will see.
 

I was Blind (literaly), but now I See

I am having a terrible time writing this story down. I guess because I let this life altering situation be pushed down as far into the recesses of my brain as possible.  The thing is I really want to praise the Doctor.  I can not say that about very many in the medical field, but this Doctor deserves the praise.

For a month in 2010...
I was completely blind.

It started in California.  I did not know a side affect of my kidney's failing is having too much liquid build up inside.  I have since figured out that when I lie down the fluid overtakes my lungs and would cause a horrible cough that would then lead to throwing up a clear liquid.  I would tell the Doctors and they would say I ate something wrong, but I would plead with them that it wasn't coming from my stomach.  I even threw up in front of them at an appointment and they just passed it off.  I can't tell you how angry I have become with the Doctor's lack of treatment. 

But I tell you about the cough because that is what I was doing when I opened my eyes and the right eye was dark.  I freaked and called my Doctor who then refereed me to her cousin or something.  I was not impress with him.  He got me in aand took a look at my eye.  I couldn't see because it was blocked by blood caused by my diabetes.  I needed laser eye surgery.  I had to give him $2,000 right on the spot and he scheduled me an appointment.  I had to learn to do my every day life with one eye.  It was weird, but I adapted.  I tried not to drive very far.  I couldn't find new places because I could not see the writing on the street signs, white on green may work at night, but I could not see it during the day.  I don't know how I found the Doctors office at all.

So I had the surgery in the office.  It hurt so bad!  It was like he was poking a red hot screwdriver point into a sore blood vessel.  It was so bad the assistant was trying to hold my head in the laser eye contraception because every time he did a blast my head would jerk back in reaction to the pain.  Finally he gave me a heavy duty pain killer that numbed up the side of my face.

He finished and said proudly to me.  "I did over 11 hundred blasts to fix the problem."  'Is that a lot?" "Normally I only do 500."  I left his office, not feeling any better and not seeing any better.  I don't think he did a thing because it never got better.  I just got used to having one eye.

So in the midst of this I moved to Virginia.  I really was willing to accept my fate.  I was in debt up past my eyeballs from my hospital stays and I moved to live with my parents because I had no job, no money, no home and no insurance.  I don't see any way of getting out of here.

So while here in Virginia I woke up to a coughing fit and as I coughed I saw something in my other eye break and a flood of black liquid poofed over my vision.  After 2 months in Virginia I was blind.

You couldn't tell because I wouldn't ask for help.  My incredible memory kicked in and I could manage because I remembered where everything in my house was.  I also had a tiny strip of vision in one eye.  It was like looking under a closed door.  It really wasn't much, but I could fit the fleeting shapes into the context of my memory and figure out what I wanted to know, but I had to rely on my mother for everything.  I couldn't take care of any mail.  I couldn't call the numbers on the papers because I couldn't see them.  I couldn't cook or really get myself any food.  I wondered more than once how I would survive going blind permanently.  My parents are getting bad in the sight and hearing area because of older age.  Sometime it feels like my conversations with my mother are a surreal comedy routine, only nobody is laughing. 

You know the worst part about being blind?  It was so boring!  Everything I do to entertain myself requires sight.  There was no way I could sew or do any kind of quilting.  I could not see the computer at all, so anything I did on the Internet was out, not to mention playing games.  Forget about reading.  That is one of my loves and since going blind I just can't be bothered.  Even with my vision back(sort of) it is so painful to read that the story needs to be very good for me to try to tackle it.  I finally found a knitting kit that I could do by feel.  I would sit in a chair listening to the TV while working on a scarf. 

How do the blind do it?  People are so mean!  I would get yelled at about being slow.  I would get yelled at for being stupid.  People need to learn how to be patient.  If they made me really mad I would turn around and yell at them, "I'm Blind!'  Oh, and then they would be nice.  I wanted a white cane just so people would leave me alone.

So,  my mother asked around at church for a good eye Doctor.  Now I don't know if it was luck or the intervening of angels, but it just so happen that a women in our ward(congregation) had her retinas come loose and she praise her Doctor for saving her sight.  I wasn't going to argue about going to the Doctor.  I thought it was hopeless since I didn't have any money or insurance, but I was willing to try.  I didn't like being blind.  So we made the hour long drive to Lynchberg, Va to meet with the retina specialist Dr. Vogel.

I do not click very well with people, but we were laughing and talking in that first appointment.  By the end after he laid every out for me and I laid everything out for him,  he said. "I am not going to let a girl in her thirty's lose her sight over money, not when I can do something to prevent it.  I will do my work for free."  I can't express in words what that was like to hear.  Doctors have been so heartless and cruel to me all my life.  I did not expect Dr. Vogel to be any different, but here he was willing to give me my sight back.  He should be praised and thanked.

He had to do major work on my right eye, the one that went bad in California.  I think that other Doctor made things worse.  It turned out that my retinas tore.  He said it was a common occurrence for the shape of my eyes.  This problem had nothing to do with my diabetes.  I went into the hospital for the 3rd time.  When he was done with the procedures.  I could see these perfect round dots in my vision.  It looked like a quilt.  I thought, "Oh, No!  I wouldn't be able to live like this." But my eye adapted and I feel like I see fine.  He worked on the other eye in the office and I would have to drive up for my treatments, but we had so much fun at each visit that I looked forward to the appointments.  Now that is shocking.

My vision is still poor compared to others, but I really have learned how to live with it.  I have a large screen computer monitor and I have to take off my glasses to read small print, but my parents still ask me what things say when written in small print.  I haven't tried to drive.  I have a hard time with depth perception.  I don't live a normal 9 to 5 life, so I don't feel where I am lacking.

I love Dr. Vogel for saving my precious sight.  I got a bill from his office.  I was freaking out because I didn't have any money, but I was going to do everything I could to pay him.  I open the envelope to find the list of procedures and there costs.  I almost had a heart attack when I saw the total was over $10,000.  What would I do?  Then I came to what I owe him and it was $8.  I put that money in the mail so fast, it would make your head spin.  I even joked with him that I had to use a stamp to send him that money and he took the price of the stamp off my next bill!

We need more great men like that.  I am so grateful that Dr. Vogel, just a recommendation from an acquaintance, could change my life so dramatically.  I made this quilt to say thank you.  It is from Beatle fabric.  I had it professionally quilted with peace signs.  I keep trying to send it to Dr. Vogel, but my mother likes it so much she doesn't want to give it up.  I guess I will have to give it to him at an appointment.

Thank you Dr Vogel!  You are the best!

My Fashion Design Runway Show

This is the back of one of my final project garments.  'The Peacock'.  I entered the avaunt guard category and made my theme birds, just I could make this dress.  All of the dresses feature hand-dyed silk velvet that started white.  It took me a lot of the semester getting the fabric ready.  This piece features a train of peacock feathers with a peacock feather collar.  It looks amazing when the model walks.  I had the feather masks made custom for my designs from the place I purchase all the feathers.

I returned home from my mission not certain of what I was going to do next.  I really didn't like school.  I loved the learning, but the social part of it was so hard for me.  I know that I am a freak, but I do not need to be reminded of it for 4 hours in a day.  That was too much for me, so the thought of more college turned me off.  I had not been successful in the work sector.  I guess I am a complicated person.  I do not do well in a group environment, unless the people like me or whether they know how to take advantage of my talents and that doesn't happen very often.  My future looked uncertain. 

This is the front of the peacock dress.  I made all the trains removable and on this dress the long sleeves can be unlaced.  The bottom of the sleeve features an embroidered peacock, you can see it in the top pic.

And then I went to the mall.  I never go to the mall.  Nothing fits me there, so it is not often a place I want to go.  But the Thousand Oak mall used to have a food kiosk that specialized in wraps.  They basically put a salad in a tortilla, but I was taken with the dressing and quality of ingredients.  So I decided to go to the mall for a Tacone wrap.

I just happened to bring a crazy quilt purse I had recently made.  It wasn't very sophisticated, since it was only meant to be an experiment into how I could bring quilting out into another form.  But I hate purses and carrying my stuff so I grabbed my attempt at art to take the sting out of it. 

This is the actually purse I had made.  I was able to find it and take a pic.

I am not into shopping.  I have spent too much time in dressing rooms crying in frustration and despair.  Why couldn't I have cute ruffles on my skirts or fun fabrics?  Why am I reduced to wearing the clothes of a deranged housebound grandmother because I was big?  It felt like a personal attack and my mother and I fought about my clothing constantly.  It was hard enough to be fat, but add frumpy and I had no chance.  I had some very hard feelings against the Fashion "Industry".  I love the art of making clothing, but the business end is beyond ruthless.  Clothing is so cheap now, it is more costly in supplies and time to make yourself something.  That is why I gravitate towards putting the effort into costumes. It is impossible for me to get a good quality costume off the rack.

A grouping of tables were set up near me as I ate my lunch.  I spotted that it was Brooks college of Fashion Design.  I sat at my table working myself up into a lather for all the injustices "they" have made me suffer.    There was a lull in the traffic at the tables and I took that opportunity to complain to the woman manning the booth.  It wasn't her fault.  I just needed the outlet.  To my surprise she didn't get mad, but instead turn the discussion back on me.
        "Well, Why don't you do something about it?"  That question took me back.  "We can teach you to do something about it?"  I happened to have the purse I had made on my person and was able to show her some of my work.  She asked if I would like to go to Fashion college and I baulked.  I hated school.  I didn't know if I could suffer the humiliation again.  I said no, but she asked if she could meet me in my home and see my other projects.  She appealed to my vanity.  No one seemed to really care about my work, so I was excited.

This poor garment does not look good on film.  It started out as white silk velvet and I layered in blues and green into the black to match the feathers.    This piece is 'The raven' and I did a process called devore to burn the word 'nevermore' into the fabric.

She was a scout.  I didn't know anything about that, but she came to my home and I wanted to present myself the best I could.  I had tons of quilts and I showed her some of the dresses I had designed for myself.  My mother had an amazing seamstress working for her making doll clothing.  For my birthday my mother would pay her to sew a dress for me.  I picked out the fabrics from downtown LA and we would go to the fabric store to pick out the patterns.  I never wanted the pattern as it was shown in the picture.  I would want a sleeve from another design and the style of skirt from another.  It was during this time my mother showed me how to look beyond the fabric they used and see the shape and if I liked the style of the seams.  It was a huge amount of work and quite a cost to get that dress to fit me.  I would go for fittings.  And I would learn a lot about the process of making it bigger and the trials my mother and the seamstress would get into.  I would have to beg for that dress every year, but it helped me so much.  I had something beautiful that I wanted for once.

I was concerned with the sewing part of the fashion design school.  I did not want to sew.  I had tried through out my childhood to sew, but my mother and I think very differently when we create and her style of sewing confused me.  I once sewed and picked out a sleeve seam 6 times because my brain could not see how to attach it properly.  My mother compares sewing like putting together a 3D puzzle.  I told her I hate puzzles and gave up in frustration.  I cried many times trying to sew in my childhood.  That was why I did not want to do quilting.  And then my mind opened up to quilting because it in only a 2D puzzle.  The pieces go together to form a flat object and my mind could understand that.
I made this cloak to fit me, a size 24 or a tiny model, a size 8.  The fabric is gorgeous in person. The feathers are removable from the bottom hem.

So I was scared to go to Fashion design school.  It was the fear that held me back, even as the school started to offer me scholarships and other perks like deciding my classes.  I had to have Friday off to go home and while my classmates had a class I was given special permission to take the class with another major. 

This is 'The Parrot'.  If you look at the skirt you will see parrot heads devored(burned) into the fabric.  I did slashed of red, blue & yellow to mimic the colors of the tail or train which can be removed.  The sleeve is scalloped with a beaded waterfall detail.

So why did I end up going?  Two reasons: First my mother said to me while we were driving back from my interview.  "I would kill to be able to go to this school."  That statement pierced through the fear and started me thinking.  The second was being invited to the Annual fashion show for all the graduating students.  For the finale project we are asked to create a collection of 6 designs and then they are walked down the runway.  A lot of my family went to my Runway show and supported me, including 3 Aunts from out of town and a couple of cousins and all my brothers.  I do not ask people to come to my events, but I am very grateful that we shared that evening together.  My sister-in-law talked to the judges and found out that they were having trouble deciding between me and the girl they did decide to win.  I was quite angry because they did not realize that I had dyed all of my fabric and then put the patterns into the velvet.  They thought I had purchase the fabric, unlike the other girl, who you could tell made the designs on the fabric because they were pictures of herself.  It hurt so much until my father gave me this advice.  "Sometimes others need to win."  I thought about that and it soothed my soul.  I liked my work.  I liked my choices and I could live without the plaque. But before all of this, before I went to the school I was invited to see the Runway show and that was the smartest thing the school did to get me.  As I watched the show I could see in my minds eye my work walking down that stage.  I saw the peacock dress in my head while watching that show and I held onto the design for 2 years until I saw it walk down the runway in the flesh.  I cried it was so beautiful and meaningful to me and me alone.

I had a very interesting time at school.  They kind of taught me to sew, but I was so advance compared to the other students it amazed me.  It was working with the models and learn how to drape a garment and then take it off the form and have the pattern in front of me.  I began to see the 3 D puzzle.  It was mind-boggling to both my mother and I when I started sewing costumes.  I can see the shape of a person and knew how to sew the seam on an outfit to fit them.  I do not understand how.  I can just see it in my minds eye.  I can see the puzzle now.  I won a lot of awards.  But they don't mean anything to me.  The thrill passes.  It is the recognition of my work that makes a difference to me.  It is others seeing & understanding the time and effort that was put into my creation and that is a very rare thing to find versus the popularity. 

'The Flamingo' is my finale piece.  As a collection these garments not only follow the same theme, but I used the same fabric in different colors and the same use of a train.  This train with tons of ruffles came out so cute.  the pink bubble on top is made of a sheer pink with the black feathers inside.  I love the free form sleeves flowing with ruffles, black lace and feathers.  Again I layered the black and pink dye colors on the skirt and burned in flamingos with a chemical process.  I made a mistake and actually burned the fabric causing holes.  I could not redo the fabric, so I hand beaded all the flamingos, so there is a bit of sparkle.

I graduated with honers with another Associates degree, so do two Associates equal a Bachelors?

I am so grateful that I asked Laura Huse(Peacock & Parrot) & Jessica Jones(Raven & Flamingo) (their names at the time) to do me a favor and model my dresses for a professional camera studio to go into my portfolio.  If I had not done that then I would not have a record of these pieces.  They are too small for anyone in my family to wear, so they just hang in the closet.