Panic

Panic knows no reason.  Night or day doesn't matter to it.  Panic is a lot like pain.  It comes unbidden and unbridled.  Like a raging prairie fire across what little shred of sanity I have left.  It sucks air into my chest and holds it there until I'm way past dizzy.

I've been panicked a lot lately.  I panic when I wake up in the night and hurt so intensely that I am sure I'm dying.  Then I reach out with my foot and find my sweet's leg and I press my foot there, against that certain warmth.  I will my breath to move so that I may know I'm alive.

When I hear the wind coming, I panic.  I can hear it before it arrives at my front door.  Sometimes the wind makes the mountains roar.  Then it comes, the wind and the panic, rattling the windows, drawing the warmth away, covering the craggy peaks that are my solace with clouds that carry biting snow.

Two days a week I force myself to get the mail.  It's bills.  Always bills.  I am afraid to open them.  I find them confusing.  I feel ashamed that I can't figure them out.  I feel guilty that I haven't paid them.  Again, I've been sent to collections.  I know this isn't responsible.  I can't see a way through it.  And I panic.  There is never enough money.  I'm too damn expensive - always have been.  Stupid panic.  Concentrate on making my body move air.  Into my lungs and then out.  Don't stop in one place and forget to breathe.

I can't talk about the headaches without crying usually.  Because I am so afraid.  I am scared that I will die before I find somebody to help me figure out what's causing them.  Pain, nonstop crazy pain makes my mind do things I don't understand.  I panic about it.  What if I die this way?  What if I die and I can't find the craggy peaks to fix my eyes upon?  What if I die and I can't find my little boy's soft grubby sticky sweaty hand to touch?  Panic makes me crazy.  And pain terrifies me.

When I talk to a doctor or health care provider about the headaches, I don't know how to make them understand how long it's been.  I don't know any longer how long it's been since I really truly haven't had a headache.  I'm not sure I would know anymore what that feels like - to not have a headache.  Doctors want me to tell them when the headaches started.  I can't.  From where I am now, I can't see the beginning of them.  I know I had headaches as a child.  I know I had headaches in high school.  I'd come squinting up the sidewalk from the Ad Building to the dorm and plead to be able to crawl into bed.  I've been crawling into beds in darkened rooms to hide from a headache for longer than I can remember.  Pain has made me desperate.  I do not want pain to rule my world, but, right now, it does.

Right now, my curtains are drawn against what I imagine is soft evening light.  I don't know if there are clouds of mist or snow covering my craggy peaks.  When I finish this post, I will roll onto my side and close my eyes and wrap my head in a dark purple pillow case to keep out the fading light that pushes in around the edges of my bedroom windows.  This is not life.  This is desperation.  Pain filled panic.  This is not living.

hbk

Help the Fiddler (that's me)

So, the headaches . . .

I'm starting a new diet to try to help my body heal from years and years of migraines and pharmaceuticals to try and fix the migraines.  Today is day 2.  And it sucks.  The diet allows absolutely no sugar.  No caffeine.  No grains.  Nothing processed.  Period.

The caffeine withdrawal sucks!  I had a migraine to start with.  And not giving my body the caffeine it's so accustomed to makes the headache so much worse.  Nothing helps the headache.  I can't even see straight.  Not seeing double, I'm seeing tripple.  I don't even know how that's possible.

Oh!  And the sugar withdrawal.  Brutal!  If you think that I'm nuts in saying that sugar withdrawal is brutal, you try it.  I'm serious.  Give it a go.  And lemme know how you feel 2 days in.

I hope this helps.  Because right now it completely sucks butt.

I know that it's not a good idea to self-diagnose.  But when you're as desperate as I am for something that helps, you're gonna look around at other possible causes and solutions.  One of the things I've found recently is lots of new info on Chiari Malformation.  The criteria for dx is that the brain be protruding at least 5mm from where it should be.  More recent studies suggest that this 5mm criteria is random and that any protrusion, if it causes symptoms, warrants treatment.  So I'm in the process of tracking down my latest MRI.  I will send it to another doc for a second opinion.

Hope you are all enjoying your weekend.  It's blustery and windy here.

hbk

Dragons

Dragons in the dark are scary.  We can't see them.  We don't know where they are.  We can't tell if they're friend or foe.

But dragons in the light - well, those dragons are REALLY scary.  Those we spend more than our energy to outrun, to hide from, to fence up.  And it never works, at least not for very long.

Dragons make us fear them.  And they they pull our fear and twist it around twisting, snarling, reaching out with tentacles that freeze us into some crazy grotesque shape that gives no hint of who we might have been prior to the dragon.  Then we are forced to stay there, frozen in the fear, and stare the dragon in the face.  It's like a game of chicken and the dragon always wins.  Each time you can bear to face it no longer, your twisted grotesque form cracks and you try to turn away, to run, you close your eyes, you jam your fingers into your ears.

And you realize, with panic, that it's too late.  Somehow you've become part of this damn dragon you've been running so hard from.  You feel tricked.  Bravery and courage feel hollow.

Your only choice is to stay and look at it.  Look into the eyes of that dragon.  Gather all that courage, hollow or not, wrap up the panic and channel it into some movement - any movement.  In the tiniest of movements, in hidden eeked out moments stolen from the night, you slowly come to realize that this is a life and death fight.

You don't know why, but you know you must fight to survive.  So you do.  Over and over again.  And it feels like razors cutting at your soul and you're afraid because it feels like you're going insane.  None of it makes sense but you hold on because that's where the ride is taking you.

It's a hard ride.  Some people run from their dragons their entire lives.  I'm not one of those people.  I plant my feet firmly.  I gather the panic and focus it and it helps me move in a direction.  A tiny movement maybe but it's something.  I will look. I will be twisted.  I will not shy away or hide my eyes.

So, Dragon,  you've been warned.  You'e better bring your A game because I'm tired of running from you and you are going down!

hbk

CPST

This has been a crazy busy week for me.  I've helped teach 2 different CPST classes.

The first class was an 8 hour class (12 hour day) on Monday.  It was a Renewal class, for techs who's certification had been expired for up to 2 years.  We had 5 students and everybody passed.

Then, starting Tuesday bright and early, We started a brand new class of 12 CPST candidates.  So far, after 3 very long days of teaching, they've all passed all 3 written exams and all 3 skills tests.  Tomorrow they will complete the class by participating in a Child Passenger Safety seat check event.  The event will be hosted by Missoula Rural Fire and held at their Station one in Missoula.  It promises to be a full event with live media present.  Looks like we're gonna have a nice day for it.  Woot!

I absolutely love teaching.  Adults.  I enjoy teaching adults.  If I could figure out how to make a regular job or career of teaching adults, I would.  It's been a really fun week!

hbk

Hope

So, I pretty much ran out of hope yesterday.  It hurt.

Woke up to a new day today.  It still hurts.  But I have a tiny shred of hope.  Maybe a new spring shoot.  Tiny plants are sprouting now in the springtime.  Perhaps it's that way with hope.

Some good things happened today.
     - I got an appointment with a doctor from California who has a reputation for successfully helping people with complex medical problems.
     - My phone died.  So I drove to town and the AT&T people were awesome.  They set me up with a new phone.  They helped me troubleshoot coverage issues.  They transferred all my contacts from my old phone to my new one.   They were very kind.
     - I got a haircut!
     - I called the vet to ask for more meds for my hospice kitty.  They offered to deliver the medication to my home.  Sweet!
     - Somebody offered to pay for me to see their Chiropractor.  I looked him up and my insurance covers him (sort of).  I called and made an appointment for tomorrow!
     - Somebody stopped by my house while I was gone this morning and left a bag of gifts on my front porch!
     - The sun is shining.

So, yes, I still have a headache.  But it's easier to bear when I also have a little bit of hope.

hbk

There Goes the Bus

I am 9 years, 10, 11, 12 years old and school has just let out for the day.  It could be Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday.  The bus comes in 45 minutes.  I have the timing of the bus figured out.  I can hear it before I can see it.  If I start down the long sidewalk when I first hear the bus, I'll be at the bus stop by the time the bus arrives.  After I hear the bus, it comes into site.  The brakes squeak and it turns the corner and comes bumping over the railroad tracks and grinds to a stop at the end of the long sidewalk in front of my school.  On a good day, I'm there waiting with the rest of the few kids who ride the city bus.  We climb on and get out tickets punched and plop down into our seats.  We're on our way home.

But on many days, I don't make the bus.  I am "teacher's pet".  That means I got to help with "special jobs" after school.  Sometimes these jobs are fun - put stickers on student papers, color letters for a poster, plan a bulletin board.  And sometimes, the job means "helping" my teacher feel better.  He gets sad and too many days it is my job to make him happy.  For him, this means sex.  For me, it means torture.  Through it, I listen for the bus.  I pray that the bus driver will stop the bus and come help me.  Please, somebody, help me.  I am desperate.

If I hear the bus coming, hear the brakes squeal, hear it lumber over the tracks, hear it pass, and look out the window in time to see the rear of the bus disappear in a black cloud of diesel smoke, then I know that nobody will help me.

****************************************

I am on the fire department in my town.  This means that sometimes I respond to horrible vehicle accidents.  When somebody is trapped inside their vehicle, I'm often the person who crawls into the wreckage around them, wedges myself into the back seat behind them and takes up the job of C-spine mobilization.  This means I place a hand on each side of the person's head or neck and do my best to imobilize the spine while the other firefighters work to extricate the victim and provide medical care.  When I'm in there, sometimes with their blood running down my face I'm so close, I talk to them.  I put my face right up close to their ear.  I tell them to breathe.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  That's all you need to do right now.  Breathe with me.  In. . . Out. . . In. . . Out.  And I tell them what's happening.  I tell them that the person who's touching your arm, he's a great EMT.  He's going to start an IV so you can have some pain medicine.  And that guy over hear next to your shoulder, he's the best person I know to help get somebody out of a car.  He knows exactly what to do.  It's going to be loud.  You're going to hear popping sounds.  The glass will break.  Ok, close your eyes.  That woman is putting a banket over your face to keep the glass from cutting you.  See, there.  Now we're both under the blanket.  It's okay.  All you have to do is breathe.  In . . . Out . . . In . . . Out.

As I do this, I can often tell whether the person I'm with will live or die.  I'm not highly medically trained.  But something about the way that I feel them with my hands tells me.  I'm usually right and I hate it.

**************************************

I have had chronic near constant severe migraines for months.  For years.  My head has hurt since I don't know when.  I can't remember the last time when my head did not hurt at all, when there was no burning searing pressure stabbing pain inside or around my skull.  Yes, once in awhile, the pain is less.  Sometimes it's just this dull constant pressure that won't go away.  Those are the good days.

I've sought help from many many different professionals for the migraines.  I've seen neurologists, taken medications, done yoga, exercises, changed my diet over and over again, done neuro feedback, psychotherapy, physical therapy, acupuncture, chiropractic, and other things I don't even remember to try to make the headaches better.  I've endured tests, MRI's, poking and prodding.  I've answered question after question and tried drug after drug.  Nothing has helped.  And I am desperate.

Some days, the pain is so intense that I am afraid I'm dying.  When that happens, I curl in my bed and breathe.  And I crawl behind myself, in a tiny cramped crumpled space and I place my hands on each side of my head.  I lean close to myself and I talk.  All you have to do right now is to breathe.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  In . . . Out . . . In . . . Out.  And, since I don't know what's happening, I make up a story.  Like the people I help who are trapped inside the wreckage of their vehicle, I sometimes thing I can tell if I will live or die.  Sometimes, crouched behind myself, hands on my neck, bent close, I feel that the patient will die.  And this terrifies me.

I am 9 years old.  And 10 and 11 and 12.  And the bus doesn't stop.  It turns the corner and disappears into its cloud of black smoke.  I am desperate for help and nobody comes.  I am 40 years old and I hurt so bad that all I can do is breathe, in and out, in and out.  And the bus doesn't stop.  It turns the corner and is gone.  And I am left to choke on it's black smoke.  Nobody can help.  The migraine keeps on and on and on . . .

hbk

Train Wreck

It feels like my life is a train wreck.

The stress at my house seems out of control.  

My dear old cat, Anika, is ill.  I took her to the emergency vet yesterday because she was so obviously in pain.  She has a urinary tract infection and probably a tumor in her bladder.  We're treating her for the infection and providing comfort cares (pain meds and fluids).  I don't want her to hurt.  Once we got the pain under control, she seems happy and content.  She knows that she's free to leave, no strings attached, whenever she's ready.  She's a cat.  Cats are pretty good at death. 

I'm broke.  Not broken, quite, but out of money.  Quite.  I got my entire month's worth of funds on Friday.  It's not even Monday yet and the money is already gone.  I paid our household's monthly bills, bought a few groceries, put gas in my car, and took the cat to the vet.  Done.  Until mid May.  This sucks!  

My house is a mess.  I can't get on top of it.  I try to narrow my focus to one small area or task.  It doesn't help.  I'm stuck in overwhelm and it's getting me nowhere. 

I've had a migraine since Monday.  Yup, you read that right.  I've had this headache for a week now.  Friday night, Saturday and Saturday night were particularly bad.  Today has been a struggle but it's not been as bad as yesterday was.  I'm STILL waiting on the results of the food allergy test.  I feel like I'm out of options.  All my doctors can do now is toss drugs at the pain.  That helps, some. But only for a coupla hours.  This is NOT what I signed up for!

It's spring!  I should be happy.  I'm not.  I'm tired and crabby and I hurt.  My family is stressed.  Nothing seems to be going right.  I need a break.  Yup, it feels like a train wreck. 

hbk

Reality Check

There are days when I think that my son isn't affected by Autism.  Nope.  He's not autistic.  He's just a little quirky.  But it's not Autism.

And then reality comes giggling in through the front door with the little neighbor boy.

G is exactly a year younger than Luken is.  G came over this morning to play trains.  Watching the 2 little boys play together was quite telling.  G kept trying to engage Luken in play.  Luken, meanwhile, played his own game with the trains, at 100 miles an hour and maximum volume, whirling around G, squealing and screeching at the top of his lungs.  At one point, G looked up at me with a confused look on his face and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "Hey, I'm trying here but I don't know what to do."

Yup, my kid is different.  And I love him no matter what.

hbk

Going Back

I went back, last week, to the place where I was raped probably hundreds of times as a child.  I went back to my grade school.

I asked a good friend to be with me there so I wouldn't have to go alone.  The support she offered was comforting.  I was afraid.  I was afraid that being there would trigger flashbacks or a cascade of unstoppable horrifying memories.  It didn't.

The school has changed.  Or rather, the people have changed the school.  The classrooms part of the school has been completely gutted and re-worked.  It has a different layout and an addition.  There are windows from the outside into all the rooms that children are using.  And windows from the inside into all the rooms (except the bathrooms and furnace room).  There are lots of doors.

The copy room and textbook storage room are no longer closed locked dark places of torture and rape.  They're open cheery spaces off the main entry lobby.  The classrooms are open and bright.  It has a good vibe.  It felt like a place where children could be safe, be happy, grow and learn.  I am glad.

And I'm proud.  I'm proud that the people of the church involved believed me.  I'm glad that they didn't simply let things stay the same.  I'm glad they thought hard and worked hard to change their school.  I'm glad they've had long and serious conversations about how they can and will never allow such a thing to happen there ever again.  I'm glad they haven't forgotten.  I'm glad that my experience, telling it, reliving it for the courts, surviving it, has made a difference.  To me, it feels like these folks have really stepped up in the wake of something terrible.  They've taken a stand never to allow such things to occur under their watch.  And they are watching.  It makes me feel like it wasn't all for naught.

At the same time, going back there made me deeply sad.  Sad for the little girl who learned that her teacher could rape her, smile at her, and send her home knowing that if she told anybody, there'd be hell to pay.  Sad for the other kids whom I know endured similar abuses at the hands of this man.  Sad for the broken lives and torn families.

People sometimes say that time heals all wounds.  No, it doesn't.  For some kinds of hurts, it's as if time doesn't exist sometimes.  There are moments when the memory of it or the feeling of it is as present day as your coffee in the morning.  Time, for me, about this, has given me space.  Space to learn to live with what happened there.  Space to choose to heal.  And space to work on it.  But, last week, stepping into that school as a grown woman, over 30 years after the first rape there, I felt as small and scared as the 9 year old girl I used to be.

It was a strange mix of emotions.  Being happy for the change.  Being sad.  Feeling small and afraid.  And it's taken me a week or so to sort it out enough to write something that even remotely makes sense.

I hope, that by looking and going back to the places of the stories of my past, I can begin to put to rest some of the grief I've carried with me for so long.  Maybe, one day, I'll be light enough to not have a constant migraine.  I hope.

hbk

its a mess

someone i know and love just stopped by the house to say hi.  awesome, right?

you'd think so.

but i live in a stye.  no, really.  my house is a pit.  it's a mess.  and i hate it.

oh, i don't hate my house.  i hate that it's such an effing mess!  i'm ashamed that it's a mess.

and i try to keep it clean.  but the mess gets away from me.  i run the dishwasher at least once a day.  i try to remember to put in laundry.  i see that the floor needs to be swept but i don't sweep it because i know that less than 10 minutes after i sweep it, it will look just as bad as it does now.

i am so frustrated.  and ashamed.  who can't keep their house clean?  well, i can't.

hbk

lots to say

It's been a busy week or so and I have LOTS of things need saying.  I kind of don't know where to start.  Lots of things brewing.

PSA of the day:  Wear your seat belt!  No excuses.  Buckle up.  Everybody.  Every time.

hbk

a few hours

Today, for the first time in weeks, I had a few blessed hours of no migraine.  I woke up clear headed and not in pain.  I had a good morning outside playing with Easter eggs and little kids.  I didn't start getting a headache until after noon.

Then, it started.  The first searing jab of pain splitting the hemispheres of my brain gave me warning about what was coming.  I continued on with my day.  Now, it's late.  And I hurt.  I can quite fairly say that yes, I have another migraine.

But, for a few sweet hours earlier today, I didn't have a migraine.  Thank you for the gift.

hbk

sometimes, when i hurt so bad, like right now, i need something that offers hope.

 Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me

Text: Edward Hopper, 1816-1888
Music: John E. Gould, 1822-1875
Tune: PILOT, Meter: 77.77.77

---

1. Jesus, Savior, pilot me
 over life's tempestuous sea;
 unknown waves before me roll,
 hiding rock and treacherous shoal.
 Chart and compass come from thee;
 Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

2. As a mother stills her child,
 thou canst hush the ocean wild;
 boisterous waves obey thy will,
 when thou sayest to them, "Be still!"
 Wondrous sovreign of the sea,
 Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

3. When at last I near the shore,
 and the fearful breakers roar
 'twixt me and the peaceful rest,
 then, while leaning on thy breast,
 may I hear thee say to me,
 "Fear not, I will pilot thee."

Naked

It's Holy Week for Christians.  

If you know me, you know that I struggle with Christianity.  Right now, it's a life giving struggle.  Maybe like birth.  I don't know. . .

During this week, Christians reflect on the days and hours leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.

Tonight, I went to church and the service was about Christ's mandate or new commandment to us to "Love one another as I have loved you."  This is a tall order.  Think about it.  God loves you (me, all of us) to death.  If you're a Christian, that's your reality.  It can be both a heavy reality or a freeing reality.  Maybe it's both.

At the end of the service tonight, the Altar was stripped.  It was laid naked.  In preparation to remember Christ's death, where God, in Jesus, laid naked before us.

As American society, we shy away from naked.  We find shame in our own nakedness.  We taunt other's nakedness.  What does it mean to you to be naked?  You were born naked.  Your innocence was naked.  There is a curiosity about being naked.  Sometimes, we dare to take the cover off and peek underneath.  Yet, most of the time, when we see nakedness, ours or another's, we seek to cover it.  We turn our eyes down.  We look away.  And, when we find ourselves naked, we hide.

Do you dare to be naked?  Before your own eyes?  Before God?  Naked has no secrets, does it?  Naked is all out there, in the open, nothing left to hide.  What do you hide?  What keeps you from being naked, free?

hbk

I don't know . . .

Tonight I am very discouraged.  I've had migraine 25 out of the past 30 days.  That's insane!

I'm unable to do the things I need to do, let alone the things I want to do.  I can't keep up on the kitchen or the laundry.  I'm not being a good parent to my son.  I miss fire calls because of migraines.  I miss church and appointments because of migraines.  This weekend, I missed a much anticipated concert because of a migraine.

I've tried everything I know to try.  I worked with the best migraine doctor Missoula had to offer me.  In the past year, we've gone through every single one of her options.  And done.  No help.

I'm complaining.  Because it's not fair.  If I had, say, breast cancer, I think it'd be different.  People would bring us food sometimes.  Maybe someone would come clean our house.  Maybe people would be more willing to take Luken for a coupla hours.  When people asked how I was feeling, I could be honest.  Now, when people ask how I'm feeling, I shrink away from the question.  I have a migraine.  I hurt.  I can see out of only one eye right now.  Could you not talk so loud, please?  Could you not bump into my body because it makes me so dizzy that I am afraid I'll fall down.  I'm afraid that people think, "Oh, she has a migraine.  She wants narcotics.  Drug seeker."  I feel like there's a stigma that comes with migraine headaches.

I'm complaining, because I don't know what else to do.  I'm losing the things in my life that are important to me.  I am unable to keep up my duties on the fire department.  I feel like I should leave on a good note.  If I did have breast cancer, would I be thinking the same thing?  Or would they rally behind me, pull together, and help me get it done?  I don't know but I have to wonder.

No, I don't have breast cancer.  I'm lucky.  I have chronic and severe migraines, for which no prevention or cure (for me) has yet been found.  I am discouraged frustrated and depressed.  Some days, I really just feel like giving up.  I don't know what else to do.

hbk

Again with the damn migraines

Here I am, sitting in the dark.  With a migraine.  Again. 

Had a puking migraine yesterday. 

Today was mostly okay, just kind of fuzzy around the edges. 

Took the little boys bowling where all the lights flickered just a tiny bit.  Ran 2 errands on the way home.  

Got home and immediately started a nose bleed.  Then, 2 minutes later, huge migraine hit.  Deployed shot and took drugs.  They helped.  For a coupla hours.  

Did another shot and more drugs.  Got another nosebleed and headache got terrible again.  I dont' know if the nosebleeds cause the migraines or the other way around.  Either way, it sucks!

I went and had allergy testing done a week ago.  The Dr's office called yesterday and said that the lab has asked for more blood.  So, more waiting.  I go in on Monday to give more blood for the tests.  I just want answers.  Being gluten free hasn't seemed to make much of a difference.  Being egg free hasn't made a dent either.  There are way too many variables to control for.  If this doc can't find the cause, I don't know what I'll do.  I've exhausted all the solutions and possibilities of the best migraine doc in town. And nothing helped. 

It's so hard not to get discouraged.  Hard not to give up.  I need my life back. 

hbk

Running to stand still

This song describes how I'm feeling today.  

I'm pissed. 

And so much more.  

I'm sure you'll hear more about it later.  

For now, this song is what I got. 

And so she woke up
Woke up from where she was
Lying still
Said I gotta do something 
About where we're going

Step on a steam train
Step out of the driving rain, maybe
Run from the darkness in the night
Singing ha, ah la la la de day
Ah la la la de day
Ah la la de day

Sweet the sin
Bitter taste in my mouth
I see seven towers
But I only see one way out

You got to cry without weeping
Talk without speaking
Scream without raising your voice

You know I took the poison
From the poison stream
Then I floated out of here
Singing...ha la la la de day
Ha la la la de day
Ha la la de day

She runs through the streets
With her eyes painted red
Under black belly of cloud in the rain
In through a doorway she brings me
White gold and pearls stolen from the sea
She is raging
She is raging
And the storm blows up in her eyes
She will...

Suffer the needle chill
She's running to stand...

Still.

Songwriters: HEWSON, EVANS, MULLEN, CLAYTON

So tired.

that

is

all.

hbk

swollen heart

***warning***

heavy content

by a heartsore mom

please, be kind

and don't judge

today was hard.  very hard.  and i feel completely defeated.  like all the air has gone out of my sails.  

today, like many days, my son (age four and a half) had a tantrum over i don't even remember what.  i'd asked him to do something and he refused.  i wouldn't engage him in his play until he acquiesced.  he had a tantrum.  this happens daily.  today it lasted for a long time.  and i lost my temper.  i spanked him (which i dont' usually do).  i was mad.  really mad.  i let him get under my skin and he knew it.  

i had help.  his other mama spelled me off and on during her lunch break.  all told, the tantrum probably lasted an hour.  

it stopped.  abruptly.  when he hit me in the face and my nose started gushing blood.  i froze.  i've been hit before but never square straight on.  it hurt.  like hell.  his other mama took over.  at this point, i couldn't interact with him.  i was just trying to breathe. 

what started as a regular stupid tantrum that over-ran it's course ended up with me hurt and my child scared to death that he'd killed me.  

my son is 4.  still young.  this is SO not okay.  i don't know how we got here.  i am scared.  not scared of him.  but scared for him.  i love him so much!  i fought to get pregnant.  i fought to maintain the pregnancy.  i fought to survive his birth.  i fought to survive coupla times since.  i fight for him.  tooth and nail i fight for him.  i cannot immagine life without him.  and, for a moment today, i couldn't imagine life with him. 

this hurts.  in lots of ways.  physically, i'm pretty sure the bleed in my nose is posterior.  it was very hard to stop and has bled off and on heavily since.  my sinuses are quite swollen and my entire face is throbbing.  emotionally, my heart is breaking.  i want so much for him.  and right now, it feels like a terrible responsibility to raise him.  yet my heart melts for him.  

if you haven't been a mom, you won't understand.  i know my child has "special needs".  blah blah blah.  i don't think his needs are all that special.  or maybe they are.  maybe i'm blinded by love (and pain).  i don't know.  i'm overwhelmed.  i wish somebody would tell me what to do and how to do it and i'd know that it was the right thing.  i wish that his other mama and i had more help.  sometimes it feels like we're 2 people alone trying to raise a tornado child.  

people tell me that i'm good for it.  they say that i've been given this child because i can handle it.  i'm not so sure.  don't get me wrong.  he is a gift.  he is a precious gift.  but would i change him?  i think, yes.  i'd have him be happy.  i'd have him not need to rage against me, writhing, screaming, choking and sweating, because he doesn't know what else to do.  i'd have him know peace more often.  i'd have him be comfortable in his body, feeling the world around him with his senses and not being hurt by "normal" everyday things like the seam in his shirt or the air from an open window.  i don't need a "normal" or typical kid.  i dearly love the one i have.  and i hope that someday he can know how to live in a world that accepts him for who he is.  i hope that i can know how to parent him, to help him be all that he is.  

and right now, i'm so done that my eyes are burning.  i don't know how to go on.  all i know is that tomorrow has to be a better day, doesn't it?

hbk

Doubt

Tonight, whilst driving home, I was listening to the radio in my car.  I "hear" the radio in my car often but don't very often get a chance to "listen" to it.  Anyway, I was listening to a show called On Being with Krista Tippett.  I was paying attention to driving and so I'm not quite sure if I heard this right.  I thought I heard someone say, "There is freedom in doubt."

There is freedom in doubt. 

Think about it. 

Is there?  At first, I thought, yes!  Yes, there is freedom in doubt.  For a fleeting moment, it made crystal clear sense to me.  And then I doubted. 

What do you think?  Is there freedom in doubt?  

I think, that in doubt, there is room for learning.  And in learning, there may be freedom.  

Or maybe, the freedom of doubt is the freedom from being made to "believe" certain things and the freedom comes with the risk one takes to suspend belief. 

For me, this brings the question of doubt vs. belief.  Now what?

Is there room for doubt in your belief?  I know, that for me, there is often doubt in my belief.  

I'm tired.  And it's been a long day.  But I want to know, what do you think?  Leave me a comment, eh?  I won't harsh on you.  Let's have a conversation. 

hbk

Hard

Today has been a hard day.  I have another migraine.  It has to end, sometime, doesn't it?  I am doing everything I know how to do to prevent these terrible headaches.  Preventing them is best.  Because effective treatment options for me are limited.  This headache started yesterday.  The bright light and slant shadows across the road in the early morning started kicking it off as I drove to church.  I was able to breathe it calm.  But it came back again, full force, in the afternoon.  And all night.  And this morning.  The pain increased throughout the day until I had tears running down my face for no other reason than the pain.  You know the pain scale?  0 being no pain, 10 being worst pain ever?  Tonight I'd say it's a solid 8.  That's pretty harsh.  Pain like this scares me.  I feel like I have no control over it.  When the pain is less, I can often breathe it away.  With pain like this, though, I can't.  I've taken all the meds available to me and still not getting much relief.  It's hard not to panic.  

I go in tomorrow for extensive allergy testing.  I hope I get some information I can use.  

I am so done.  I feel defeated.  At the end of my rope.  I feel like my options are being taken away from me.  My personhood is being whittled down from a competent creative mother to a pathetic woman with migraines all the time.  This is NOT who I am!  It has to change, doesn't it?  I hope so. 

I need encouragement.  I'm trying so hard and nothing is working.  I'm asking for your help and support.  Tell me it will get better.  Please.

hbk

39

That's tonight's crazy stupid low blood sugar level.  Seriously, what the fuck?  39?  How can I get that low and not know it?  Yes, I feel quite like crap, and will continue to feel quite like crap even as the level rises.  Am I so used to feeling quite like crap that I don't notice it anymore.  When it's low like that, nothing feels real to me and that's the biggest thing that I notice.  But when it's low, I can't seem to put the "nothing feels real" experience together with the "crazy low blood sugar" fact.  Brain offline.  

Food with long lasting carbs, fat and protein.  Then bed. 

Hey, what's up with this time change?  It sucks!  Arizona, Huterites  and cows are on to something.  Maybe I shoulda been a cow. 

hbk

I wish . . . for my church to stick its neck out for me

I am so lucky.

I attend a really neat church.

They say that all are welcome there. 

And really,

all are. 

And, at the same time,

there is reserve.

There is a certain 

vibe

or effort

to not 

"rock the boat".

I feel at home there. 

The people love me.

And I wish for more.

I wish they would take a stand.

Brave.

A risk.

I think, that, not too far back,

they did. 

And I think that it tore them apart. 

They are still healing. 

I am a lesbian. 

And I yearn for my family to be

accepted fully,

just as other families

are accepted.

The church I attend

really is supportive.

And sometimes

I don't think it's fair

to ask for more. 

But I want more. 

Sometimes, during the church service,

a pop song 

that is relavent to the topic

of the day

is shared. 

I want them to

one day

be brave,

take a risk,

and share this song

during church.

hbk

Defeat

What does defeat look like for you?

Does it look like falling off the wagon and taking a drink?

Does it look like the crumbs at the bottom of an empty bag of chips or the last lone oreo staring you in the face?

Does defeat look like the miles and miles you run each day to make up for the cookies and ice cream you ate yesterday?

Or maybe defeat looks like the fist you have clenched in anger, shaking so hard to keep from letting it fly.

Is defeat finally giving up after working day after day, week after week, for a boss who really doesn't care, earning never enough money to cover the bills that just won't stop?

Does defeat find you, at the end of the day, exhausted in your bed with nothing to show for your entire day.

Or the pain that gets in your way, slows you down, curls your hands, swells your joints, is that what defeats you?

Maybe it's your past, rearing it's head, wave after wave of memories you can't stop, memories you don't want - but they're yours.  Is that defeat?

Is your defeat the day you decide you can't get out of bed and face another day?

For me, right now, my defeat is a migraine.  A stupid headache.  A headache that I got almost 2 weeks ago on a Sunday.  I've used every tool available to me.  I've gone to the clinic 3 times.  They've done everything they could for me.  I have tried so hard.  SO damn HARD to not give the migraines a reason to stick around.  I've taken eggs and gluten out of my diet.  It's been what? about 5 or 6 weeks.  Maybe 4.  I'd been having less headaches.  Finally!  Fewer headaches.  Than I've had in YEARS.  I dared to hope.  Stupid me.  Dared to fucking hope.  My friend Luci was right.  Hope is a trick.  And I am defeated.  I was at the clinic yesterday.  Saw a very sweet doctor who cared very much about me.  She gave me a shot of demerol/phenergan and a steroid shot.  I went home and relaxed.

I woke up this morning with NO headache!  I dared to hope.  And, as the day went along, I felt it.  It started with stabbing pain on the right side of my head.  Intermittent.  But there.  And it spread.  I know where it goes.  I know what it is.  It's a migraine.  My old fucking friend, the migraine.  And it defeats me.  It keeps me from being the mother I want to be, the mother my son deserves.  It keeps me from being a good wife to my sweetest forever friend.  It keeps me from taking care of myself, from cooking healthy meals, from exercising, from being creative.  Migraines rob me of everything I want and have worked so hard for.  Migraines defeat me and it's not fucking fair!

The 12 steps have taught me to accept the things I can't change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Step one, I admit that I am powerless over migraines.
Step two, came to believe that a power greater than myself can restore me to sanity.
Step 3, made a decision to turn my life and my will over to the care of God as I understand God.
Step four, made a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself.
Step 5, Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
Step six,  Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
Step seven,  Humbly asked God to remove my shortcomings.
Step 8.  Made a list of all persons I have harmed and became willing to make amends to them all.
Step 9.  Made direct amends to such people whenever possible, except when to do so would infere them or others.
Step 10.  Continued to take personal inventory and when I am wrong, promptly admit it.
Step 11.  Sought through prayer and meditation to improve my conscious contact with God as I understand God, praying only for knowledge of God's will for me and the power to carry that out.
Step 12.  Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, I try to carry this message to others who still suffer and to practice these principles in all my affairs.

Ok, Migraine, you win.  I accept this thing I cannot seem to change.  I try like hell to change the things I can to make it better.  And as for wisdom, I fear I am sorely lacking in that.  I am at the end of my rope.  I am out of options.  I need help that doesn't seem to exist.  I am terrified that I will always have these debilitating headaches.  I am losing everything that I've worked so hard for.  I am defeated.

How can I string up a white flag.  Who will see?  I surrender.  I am defeated.  I surrender.

hbk

Sensory day

Yesterday Luken decided he was too sick to go to school.  He has lots of snot and his ears hurt.  I gave it to him.  

But, if he was going to be home all day, I wasn't going to let it be a dead wasted day.  So I got creative. 

After some tv time, I decided he needed a bath to help decongest his chest.  So I made bath paints.  A good friend, Tams, posted a neat recipe on her facebook page. 

I used a mini muffin tin for the colors. 

Luken used a large soft craft brush.

He experimented with mixing colors.

I set the paints on a stool next to the tub

and let him get to work.

Luken must have had a blast

because here's what

I came back to.

All the colors mix to make a greenish color. 

Who knew?

Mommy, this feels tickley.

My Green Monster!

Cleanup from this project was easy.  Since the paints were made out of baby shampoo, corn starch, water and food color, it all just sprayed off with the shower.  

It was an awesome way to get my sick kid in a hot bath to steam some gunk out of his chest and give him a fun and creative sensory experience at the same time. 

Later, we decided to make a different kind of goo. 

This goo is corn starch and shampoo with a little bit of elmer's glue in it. 

Here we made a monster.

You can see it's 2 wings, it's head with nostrils and eyes, its short forelegs, it's spiny body and long spiny tail. 

Luken was very proud (as well he should have been). 

He wants to dry it.  I think it's gonna crumble into dusty green corn starch but we'll see. 

And on a totally different topic:

This freaky dude showed up in my coffee cupboard this morning. 

Who needs a creepy "Elf on the Shelf" when you have freaky Buzz Lightyear and a snake?  Cripes!

Well, I hope you've all had a great day.  

hbk

Words from a friend

Today, I want to take the opportunity to feature another blog here.  Enjoy.

My friend, Lisa, is mom to 7 kids.  One of them, Finn, is Luken's age.  Finn has Down syndrome.

Lisa writes a blog.  I thought this was a post worth sharing. 

Please, think about what you say before you say it.

hbk

Rape. Is there ever Justice?

If you live in Missoula, you are likely aware that a young man was very recently tried for the crime of sexual intercourse without consent, or rape.  I'm not going to link news stories to my blog.  You can go find them yourself if you want to read them.  

Coupla things stand out for me.  

The accused is (was) a college athlete.  He was star on the UM football team until the "alleged" victim reported the crime.  UM athletes have been having a difficult time staying on the right side of the law lately.  There have been accusations of drug use, violent crimes, DUI with fatality, sexual crimes, etc.  I used to cheer whole heartedly for "my" Griz, but nope, not anymore.  Not until they as a whole clean up their act.  

The woman who courageously stepped forward and reported the "alleged" rape is a student at UM.  She's remained anonymous.  The press has treated her with dignity but the blogosphere has been downright brutal toward her.

I have a HUGE problem with all the "alleged" this and "alleged" that.  A woman was forced to have sex against her will (according to the woman).  I'll say it.  She was raped.  Saying that she was "allegedly raped" is like saying, "Well, I know you said you were raped, but I don't believe you."  She was raped.  Nobody knows that more than she does.  Call it straight up straight forward rape.  It doesn't matter that the two were acquaintances.  She was raped.  It doesn't matter that at first, she was okay with what was happening and then said stop.  She was raped.  It didn't matter that she didn't completely freak out afterward.  She was raped.  It shouldn't matter that she didn't respond as a rape victim "should" respond.  She was raped.  

I do not know who this woman is.  But I am so proud of her.  I know from my own experience, that stepping forward to report something so terrible is an excruciatingly difficult thing to do.  I know that the investigative process is nightmarish for the victim.  Yet this young woman stuck with it.  I know that even getting as far as going to court is exhausting.  And she kept at it.  And then the trial, where lawyers rip to shreds her dignity, her story, and make aim for her soul - I know that is barely survivable.  Yet she kept going.  To this young woman, thank you.  You have set a beautiful example for other women.  You didn't get justice.  Jordan Johnson was found not guilty.  It's not fair.  It never will be fair.  Our legal system isn't set up for fair.  And I'm sorry.  I know how hard it is.  While I haven't walked in your shoes, I do know more than many about the feel and flavor of what you went through.  Dear woman, dear anonymous brave courageous woman, please, do not give up.  Keep asking for help.  Don't doubt your experience.  I believe you.  

I know that justice is hard to find.  As a woman who herself has been raped and who has had experience with cases in court systems, I know that justice is elusive.  Many years have passed in my story.  In those years, I'm come to know that justice is not what comes out of our courts.  I've learned to find justice in other ways.  For me, some days just daring to get out of bed is a win for me.  Every day that I want to cut and don't is a win for me.  Every day that I put my feed down onto the earth and hold my head high brings justice to me.  Every time a woman is believed, there is a little sliver of justice.  

Justice works in mysterious ways.  I was gang raped in Missoula.  It happened at the Clark Fork Inn on the corner of West Broadway and Scott Street.  I think it was part of a bachelor party or something.  One after another, the men took their turn with me while others held me down.  It was terrifying in every way.  I wanted to die.  They weren't kind enough to kill me.  After several hours, they let me go. I got in my car and drove to a friends' house.  They told me they couldn't deal with my "drama" so I went home.  I showered until all the hot water was gone then showered some more.  I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed.  I went to bed, curled in a ball and stayed there until it dawned on me that I might have gotten pregnant.  So I drug myself out of bed and drove to my doctor's office.  I asked to see her.  When she came in to the exam room, I screamed when she touched me.  She was very gentle. No exam.  I'd scrubbed any evidence away in the shower.  She gave me the morning after pill and sent me home.  The pill made me sick.  I was too afraid to go to work for weeks.  When I finally did sum up the courage to tell my friends, I cried and screamed so hard I thought I might never stop.  I did stop.  And, somehow, I kept on.  Several months later, I was at an NA meeting.  The meeting had started already when a young man walked in.  I spotted him immediately and recognized him.  He'd already sat down before he spotted me.  When he did, he panicked.  I was panicked too but tried really hard not to show it.  All he said was, "I done something really really bad" over and over again.  It was like he couldn't look at me but he couldn't not look at me either.  At the end of the meeting, I bolted.  I've never been back to that meeting.  Years pass.  Life happens.  I marry and move to a new house in a different town.  I join the fire department.  And then, one day, my pager goes off, "respond to so and so, such and such lane for a vehicle on fire."  I suit up and hop on the engine with the other firefighters.  We arrive on scene to find a car burning and a man staggering away from the burning mess.  The men on my truck and on the truck behind us go to work fighting the fire.  I grab a medical bag and radio and walk toward the man who we saw staggering away from the fire.  I find him lying on the ground, gasping for air.  As I kneel beside him, I recognize him.  I first flash with rage and think I'll kill him.  Then I see that he's suffered smoke inhalation.  I radio our medic for permission to begin to treat him.  As I am putting the oxygen mask over his face, he recognizes me.  He's too weak to stand up and run.  He sees that I am the one in power.  The medical truck arrives and helps me with patient care.  Since there was an initial explosion, the man was thrown.  So we procede with full spinal precautions.  We strap and tape him to a backboard.  All through this, he's crying like a baby.  His tears making streaks on his soot covered face.  He keeps saying, "I'm sorry.  I'm so so sorry."  The other people treating him have no idea and think he's just upset about the fire.  I know.  I saw the fear in his eyes.  I reached out my hand and held his.  Yes, we both knew.  He had been one of the men who raped me that night.  We both knew that I could have probably killed him that day.  I got to make my own justice happen by being present to his fear.  I held his hand our of kindness.  And when the ambulance took him away, I sat down and cried.  For me, that day, justice had been served.  

If you're waiting for the courts to bring you justice, you'll never find it.  But, if you choose to live your life with your head held high, then one day, justice might find you.  Will you be open and ready when it does?  By living your life, one day at a time, keeping alive, move beyond surviving each moment, learn to find joy, learn to love your beautiful self, then you earn back justice.  No, you can never again have what was stolen from you.  Mourn that loss.  Be sad.  Be angry, rage and scream.  And continue to live.  It's by living every day that we bring ourselves justice. 

So, dear strong anonymous woman, kudos to you.  You are my hero.  I believe you.  And I am so, so proud of you.

hbk

Cows

For me, watching cows

is relaxing.

It's like listening to Mozart.

Or sitting next to a burbling stream.

Cows are slow and methodical.

They are predictable. 

They like same-ness.

They like to be fed at the same time each day

by the same people

in the same truck

wearing the same coat.

And if, you're different

or in a different truck

with a different coat,

cows are not sure of you. 

Certainly not sure

of a little boy

who is never quiet

and never still.

He sure is cute though, 

isn't he?

Cows don't like hands.

Maybe they're on to something. 

I visit the cows up the road from us at least once a day. 

I'd like to think that they know me by now,

that I'm part of their "regular".

They're sure part of my "regular".

I park my car in the same spot.

I sit in the same spot on the new spring grass.

And I watch.

And, slowly, I relax. 

hbk

Toilet Paper Theory

My brilliant young son . . .  Oy . . .  He's come up with a theory.

It's understood that toilet paper ends up in the toilet, is it not?  Of course!

So, why not bypass the messy job of wiping one's butt with toilet paper and simply put the toilet paper into the toilet?

The entire roll.

Why?

"Because, Mommy, it's easier that way and I don't get poop on my hands."

Well, who am I to argue with such sound theory?

Blarg.

hbk