About JillinoisRN

A disabled RN who is still trying to find ways to help people. I've got a lot of interests, and a lot of things I'd like to convey to people.... whether they want to 'hear' them remains to be seen :)

Opiates Are Safe When Used as Prescribed…

… it’s the people who use them incorrectly AND DON’T FOLLOW THE RULES,  take more than is directed, and use them for emotional issues that get into trouble.    Those of us with chronic pain use them to do normal tasks (laundry, cook, housework, etc).  They can be a very safe and effective way to manage chronic pain when used as prescribed.  I’ve never heard of someone who takes something as prescribed who becomes an addict.  I worked drug and alcohol rehab as a detox RN- and every last one of the drug addicts used drugs inappropriately, and generally illegally- and forfeited normal life and relationships to get more of the drugs.   Those who use them as prescribed don’t do that.

https://www.webmd.com/pain-management/tc/safe-use-of-long-acting-opiates-topic-overview#1

Those who do not use opiates as prescribed are making a choice ( at least initially) to use them for non-medical issues (emotional).   They make a decision that makes them more vulnerable to addiction (not to be confused with tolerance or dependence).   Addiction involves emotional symptoms like cravings, and behavioral issues such as doing anything to get more, not maintaining relationships (personal, work, legal, etc), and in general disregards anything in their  life in order to maintain drug use, eventually violating the law to maintain/obtain  drug supply, or type of drugs used (heroin is cheaper and easier to get than many prescriptions due to changes in availability and MD’s willingness to prescribe them).

What are the differences between addiction, tolerance, and dependence?  A LOT of people become tolerant or dependent on various types of meds but aren’t necessarily addicted.   Tolerance is the body’s getting used to a dosage, and then needing more to get the same effect- but that isn’t the same as addiction.  Dependence is the body getting used to a medication in their body, and when that medication is discontinued, they need to do so gradually to avoid withdrawal symptoms- there aren’t  emotional ‘needs’ to keep getting the med, and it’s not the same as addiction.    Addiction ALWAYS includes emotional and behavioral components.

https://teens.drugabuse.gov/blog/post/tolerance-dependence-addiction-whats-difference

For those of us who live in chronic pain, all of the talk about the ‘opiate epidemic’ is terrifying.  We need the meds to have a normal life (to some degree).  There is no emotional or behavioral need for the pain killers- JUST the need to ease pain that has been verified by diagnostic testing.   For the government to tell physicians how to treat patients is bizarre.   For a personal physician to be limited in how to treat a patient he/she actually knows is cruel in many cases.  There are entire physician groups here where I live (associated with one of the local hospitals ) that are not allowed to prescribe opiates if they are general practitioners, or primary care docs.  How is that rational?   If there is a known cause for pain, why does someone have to see another doctor (specialist) to get pain relief- waiting weeks at times to get an appointment or test done?

I have a pain management doctor.   With degenerative joint disease, degenerative disc disease, carpal tunnel syndrome, TMJ, a knee that can’t be replaced because of a history of pulmonary emboli (blood clots in my lungs)- so I will NEVER surgical pain relief), fibromyalgia, renal insufficiency (so can’t take NSAIDs like ibuprofen), etc, opiates give me some relief and “enough” quality of life to live independently, and not wish I was dead.  I still have days when the opiate I take (as prescribed) isn’t enough.   I get spine and knee injections many times per year.  My pain doc has rules in order to be his patient.  He doesn’t changes doses over the phone.  No early refills.   Have to go to the office to get a paper prescription because of the type of meds he prescribes.   They do random urine tests to check for other meds. I like that he has rules- he’s not a pill mill or “Dr. Feelgood”.   He’s board certified in pain management.

Consider the population that is involved in the “opiate crisis”… they are rule breakers that have high risk consequences for high risk behaviors.  Addiction isn’t their fault, but getting treatment is their responsibility.   Restricting those who DO follow the rules is mean… and the suicide rate will increase among chronic pain patients who can’t get relief, even when they’re the ones who follow the rules.

Deal with the addicts- not “punish”  those who take pain meds as prescribed.  Those with chronic pain didn’t choose their physical conditions….addicts (in the beginning) choose to not follow the prescription instructions, and use meds for non-medical uses.   That’s not the problem of those who DO follow the instructions.

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People. Who needs ’em?

I grew up as an only child- nothing special there.  Makes it hard to learn conflict resolution or the value of close relationships, but whatever.    I spent 17 years in Texas (my choice), with some great quality time with biological relatives, but more than half of that time, I was “exposed” to co-workers, and that was it.  I was (and still am) so thankful for those ‘friendly co-workers’.  They are still treasured.

I moved back to my hometown in late 2002 to help my dad take care of my  mom- again, my choice.  She died after a sudden illness (sepsis).   I worked for 16 months before becoming totally disabled, and apparently that was too shameful to tell other people about, as my dad couldn’t seem to acknowledge that my body crapped out, and I was essentially homebound.   He’d tell me that people at church (who had known me since birth for the most part) asked about me and he didn’t know what to tell them.  The truth maybe?   I’m not sure what was wrong with that.   Not a single one of them ever called to just chat, tell me what they were up to, or WHATEVER.   For the one or two that I’d happen to see at the grocery store, or whatnot, not ONE ever followed up on the “we’ll have to get together”.    Did I ever contact them?  Yeah, initially I did contact a few people.  Crickets.   For co-workers, they never returned calls, here in friendly fucked up Rockford, IL…. out of sight, out of mind.   Message received- loud and clear.

My body does. Not. Work.   I was forced into social isolation.  In the beginning, it was not a choice.  It was not some form of being a hermit, or antisocial.   To leave home is a logistical nightmare.   I’m not dependable because of physical symptoms.  I cancel things away from home a LOT if it’s something I can reschedule- including MD appointments.   I know this is a HUGE problem for meeting people…. but I can always answer the phone.  It’s pretty quiet.  Except for MD and DDS appointment reminders.

But, ya know ?   I’m lucky.   I’m independent, and can figure out how to take care of things.  With so many divisions in the world (political, religious, etc), I really have no interest in dealing with humans.    As far as the people I actually know, I can keep up on Facebook.  There’s no need to make any plans.  That includes what family I have left.  No more visitors  staying at the house, or even dropping by to visit.  The doors are closed.   If I’ve seen people more since dad died than when he was alive, I’m not interested.   There’s nothing here to see.

If I, or my life were of any interest to “friends” or “family”, they were around before dad died.   There was some sort of contact- whether it be phone or Facebook- and thank you for that.   Not being in the same room for an hour at Christmas, or some forced ‘gathering’ among my mom’s asshole siblings, who just wanted me out of the way (whether the reasons they gave were true or not- and they were NOT) – whether we spoke much or not.    It’s kind of been like watching my own funeral while I’m alive.  I’m not relevant to those who claim to be concerned.    Is this a pity party or tantrum?  Nope. It’s a line in the sand.  I’ve drawn it.   And I’m done.

Why…?

For quite a while, I’ve felt like I really don’t have a group of people that I can really call a core  ‘community’.   Yes, I’m a Christian, but   I am tolerant of others’ choices for their own lives, even if I don’t understand them, or in some situations have any interest in hearing about them ( I don’t want to hear about anybody’s sexual interests… not. my. business.).  I refuse to shun the person.   Why do I have to believe the same as some other human?  Just because they’re a pastor or Bible teacher doesn’t mean they got it right (just watch late night TV preachers… they cast a shadow of doubt on a LOT of Bible teachers, no matter what level.)   I do believe that many are good pastors… but I won’t support any preacher who cherry picks which people are worth their compassion and attempts to understand.  I won’t support any preacher who promotes intolerance.  God made us all.  Period.  And we’re all flawed. Period.  Not one of us is better than the other.  Why do Christians tolerate intolerance?  I don’t have to agree with someone to understand that the choices based on the free will GOD gave them is their prerogative- and it doesn’t have to be mine.  I don’t have to shun them.   I feel like  an outcast most of the time.  I feel shunned by the ‘shunners’.    Add to that that the country is going down the tubes, and I really don’t like most people.     Why do people insist on continuing to prove that they are best avoided?   Or simply say they’re  one thing, and then never back it up?

I haven’t been a regular church goer for a long time (work hours when I was working, then  medical issues that make being away from home for more than a brief time logistically difficult).   Now the folks who went to the church I grew up in will take THAT statement as the reason for all of my frustrations… but my personal faith in God/Jesus is  stronger than ever.  God is the only constant and hope I have.     I KNOW what it was like growing up in a  subculture of evangelicalism- and as a kid I loved going to church.  It was a great experience in the youth groups, choirs, and babysitting in the church nursery.  I truly loved it.  Since it was essentially my only source of social contact, there were no conflicts.  I was still ‘one of them’.  We all believed the same. For the most part.  My folks enjoyed a glass of wine now and then, and dad might have a beer (one) once in a while, where as many were convinced that even one drink was a sin (drunkeness is a sin… a social drink is not, imho).  But the ‘big stuff’ was all part of the church teaching.  Without any personal thought involved. Back then, it was just how things were.   I’m very thankful for a solid church upbringing (and the vast majority of my core beliefs are the same);  it was a consistent environment.  It just didn’t allow for exposure to the actual world as a whole.   I had no idea that things could even BE all that different among other people.

As a kid, it really didn’t matter to me what or who was out ‘in the real world’, since school and (figure) skating were my pretty much my only exposure to people who didn’t go to that church (there was the trip to Europe in the summer of 1977, where I first saw men openly holding hands while walking down the streets of Amsterdam, and hookers had storefront windows with literal red lights that glowed if they were ‘busy’).  It was a time period where society wasn’t as cruel as it is now, and the anonymity of the internet wasn’t even on the radar- so any criticizing, mocking, and name-calling was done in person, and ONLY among  very close friends- unless it was overt cruelty towards strangers.   I was a kid, so not really expected to know any different.  People were simply more decent.  The ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ philosophy had little to do with anything related to sexual orientation in my world,  but included politics, money,  and religion when being amongst folks whose views weren’t already known.   Why did people find it OK to reject others as ‘the enemy’, when they don’t even know them, most of the time based on assumptions from one comment?

Well, then I grew up.  After nursing school, I moved 1200 miles away on my own to start out my life out from under the shadow of being “the principal’s kid”.  I was not only in a different state and overall culture, but was in a city that had  a huge variety of people whose demographic groups I’d never encountered.  The first cross-dresser I ever saw was at a Walgreen’s checkout.  He was buying the make-up for himself, which I hadn’t even thought happened ,   until he turned around and smiled politely at me with full face make-up (foundation, mascara, eyeliner, blush, lipstick).  I was gobsmacked !  Where in the world had I landed? Why does the church exclude simply informing the youth growing up about the various types of people in the world, and how best to show kindness?  Why don’t they teach about using one’s brain to determine if a situation is safe- and not just a blanket “help your neighbor”?   Though now, I’d guess that there is some exclusion clause to avoid anybody gay, who’s had an abortion, or is on food stamps.  Those issues seem to earn rejection without regard to the person who is struggling because of them.

I was also a young nurse during the early years of the AIDS crisis.  I’d never known anybody who was gay (that I knew of at the time- later on I found out differently).   Even church hadn’t really mentioned homosexuality much.  It was a ‘given’ that men loved women, and women loved men.   Women wore makeup, men shaved their faces, and things were supposed to be all “Leave It To Beaver”.  I knew the terms- polite and otherwise – for homosexuality and what it meant- but that was it.   I had no clue that even in my own family, that there were those who were ‘different’ (neither of the two I knew back then were ‘out’ at that time, then two more became known when I was much older).   I wouldn’t trade them for anything.  All four (known) are/were (one is no longer alive) stand-up folks, and simply a joy to be around.  Why shun an entire demographic group?  Were they not also created by God?

I have no idea how many gay men I took care of who had full-blown AIDS (“HIV positive” really didn’t happen without already being very ill… the disease wasn’t identified until various symptoms of full-blown AIDS had already developed; now, antiretroviral meds enable those with HIV to live much longer, and with a decent quality of life).  In the early years, HIV was an automatic death sentence.  There was no hope at all, like there is today.  Most of their families back then, and even their partners, had kicked them to the curb.  Families were ashamed, and partners were terrified to be associated with someone who had “it”.  But what I learned was that these human beings were going through horrific, long deaths, that left them just alive enough to realize they were never going to be OK, and that they’d been abandoned.  Why  shun those who need compassion?   I also learned about the dangers of stereotyping when an entire heterosexual family died from AIDS after the wife gave birth to the son, but needed a blood transfusion- with blood that wasn’t tested for the virus- then breastfed her son, and had normal sex with her husband.  All three died.  Nothing they did had them ‘in the closet’, or on anybody’s ‘judgement’ list.   I was beginning to understand that things weren’t always ‘this or that’, ‘black or white’, or even ‘because of’ assumptions.   All of these people had names and stories, and there simply wasn’t time or desire to judge or hate.  They needed compassion.  Why not just reach out to anybody who is hurting, without judging?

Why the contempt for those who need help?   There is an assumption that the majority of those on welfare are just bums. Why  choose to believe the worst?   It takes a LOT of hassles to get help !  And even then, it’s a sub-poverty existence.  I’ve been on disability since 2004, and until I was eligible for Medicare 2 YEARS after getting Social Security Disability (not the same as the private employer-based disability insurance I paid for when I was working), I  would have had to spend $2000 per MONTH before I was eligible for Medicaid benefits. Each month.  That would have meant no apartment, utilities, medications, food, etc…  So the government sets the income cut-offs for getting help  to exclude the majority of people who need help.    How does it make sense for someone who is medically disabled to not have access to medical care, including medications?    Why are only some people worth taking care of?   Would Christ look at someone who  is sick, hungry, naked, and/or homeless and kick them to the curb?   Not the Lord I learned about !  Remember the sheep and the goats?    There is some belief that people in this country are taken care of no matter what.  That is false !   People die here daily because they can’t afford medications or treatments.   And it’s not just cancer.   Why is that OK?

Why can’t we just disagree, and not be told “Oh, it’s no big deal” (well, to me it might be !), or “get over it” (why should I, when the person who told me this is still bitching about Obama, and called Mrs. Obama the ‘n’ word repeatedly- from her holy evangelical tower?).   Why can’t we just understand that everybody views things in different ways EVEN when we all believe in God (for those who do) ?    There isn’t just one ‘flavor’ of Christian !!  It’s a little like the four gospels- each author had a different viewpoint, but that doesn’t make any of them wrong !    Matthew was a tax collector.  Mark never actually heard Jesus, but followed Peter, and interpreted for him when needed.  Luke was a doctor.  There is no consensus as to who specifically  wrote the Gospel of John- as well as 1 John, 2 John, 3 John, and Revelations.   But all four loved the Lord.  Why is it so hard for Christians to understand – and tolerate- that the belief in Christ is so much more important than the specific  issues that are argued about?

Why has it all ended up like this?   And why does it seem like people would rather be nasty, or not understand that it’s OK not to agree on everything, even if we believe in the same God?   That one baffles me.   I’m just glad that God knows my heart- and those who judge me are really judging themselves.   I might not tow the evangelical rope any longer (I prefer ‘non-denominational’)  but I still believe in the same God of my childhood… and miss those who were part of it, but now seem to prefer to push people away.    Why is that so ‘bad’?   Why has it become so much more preferable to simply avoid humans?   Even (and sometimes especially) those who had been church ‘family’….  it all hurts my heart.  Mostly because they’re so unaware of how much it hurts to suddenly not be ‘good enough’ because I don’t mirror all of their rigid beliefs.

 

The Divisiveness is Breaking My Heart…

I’m just blowing off steam.  I can’t remember a time when I felt so hopeless about the vast majority of  humanity.   No matter who says what, there are legions of people who are at the ready to deliberately be cruel and completely disinterested in the “idea” that those who believe as they do are just as passionate- and free to do so- as I am with my beliefs.  There is absolutely no reason or justification for name calling, belittlement, shaming, or anything else that just makes them sound  ‘holier than thou’ and pathetic  (whether or not they believe an God- or anything higher than themselves).   And yeah, I’m guilty.   I’m writing this from a place of pain- sometimes that comes across as anger – but mostly it just hurts.   The people I grew up with, especially from church, are no longer people I relate with in many areas, and that saddens me deeply.  I know that God knows my heart, and that I’d never opt to go against His will. I do question what humans have done to make Christianity so legalistic.

There is also  hypocrisy about many of  the ‘hot button’ issues.  In this post, I’m focusing on abortion- and being a Christian.  I can’t stand the idea of terminating a pregnancy.   BUT,  I understand why a woman would consider it, after being pregnant as a result of being raped in 1987.  I was very naive for a 23 year old and nearly immobilized by the options I had, for the situation I was in.  I couldn’t go the abortion route.  I just couldn’t do it, because my own values.     I never told  my mom about the pregnancy- the first question my mom asked me after I called to tell them about the rape was “Are you pregnant?”… like 6 hours after getting out of the ER, and 2 hours after leaving the police department, where I talked with the Sex Crimes detectives, in a hospital gown and gnarly raincoat from the hospital lost and found box.   Later, the dementia made it inappropriate to discuss it with my mom.  It would have confused her.   She had already told people I was moving back to my home to be a truck driver, because all she remembered about my moving back was that I was driving a U-Haul truck.

Adoption was a touchy subject as a viable option (though probably would have been the outcome had things not turned out as they did).    I’m an adoptee, and while I landed in a great home, there were always the questions about ‘why’ (I had some idea- young mom, couldn’t keep me… my birth mom and I  have a great relationship now), and the sense of “something” missing.  And what would I tell a kid later on in life, should he/she come looking for me, about the circumstances of their conception?  There is no way to make it sound like they were nothing more than a horrific, felonious mistake.  How does someone bring that into the world?   I realize that God can do a lot to help someone get through things (believe me, I prayed a LOT during the rape, and it was a huge source of comfort).  But what if the kid was not a person of faith, and had no belief system to get through something like that?  I would have done all I could to ease the blow- but I would not have lied.   Lies don’t ultimately soothe catastrophic pain.

I certainly didn’t want the kid, because of the ‘how do I explain the conception?’ issue, “who is my father?”,  and never wanting to have a negative bias towards the child in how I raised and treated it.  I didn’t want the reminders of that disgusting day every time I saw the kid’s face, though the child was never at fault.  I was frozen in terms of making decisions, but mercifully, God took care of it one morning, with some nasty cramping, and an unceremonious expulsion into the toilet.  I saw the placental side, freaked, and hit the flush handle.   I was about 12 weeks along.   When I told my dad about the pregnancy after I moved back to my hometown (16 years after the rape), he told me he would have sent me the money for an abortion… and he was a member of an evangelical church for about 60 years.   He understood the torment of that decision.  

I find using abortion as birth control out of laziness or not wanting to be inconvenienced by a child appalling and inexcusable (call that judgement if you want to- I call trivially expelling a pregnancy out of simple personal convenience horribly irresponsible).   There are plenty of good sources of birth control- the most reliable requiring a prescription (which makes Panned Parenthood a good source of medical care EXcluding abortions; they have doctors who will see a woman to do a physical  exam, do a PAP and screen for STDs,  take her medical history, and recommend the safest options to prevent pregnancy- you know… ‘planned’ ).   There are inexpensive prescription birth control pills out there, but they require a physician.  For those without a family doc, PP is a very good option.   I doubt that many right wing Christians will ever believe that (including family and longtime friends) and that’s fine.  Maybe some of them will open their homes and pay the medical bills for a woman facing an unplanned /unwanted pregnancy, and help place her child for adoption-  maybe keep it until the adoption agency and adoptive parents are sorted out.  That’d be great.  Unless someone will step up when they remove options, and offer their own solution on an active, personal level, I don’t think that they should have much say in what someone else does.

Condoms are good for a lot of ‘safe sex’ reasons… but they’re not %100 for birth control… still better than nothing- and anybody who has ‘frivolous sex’ with either multiple partners, or one with a known STD, is irresponsible if they don’t  keep a stash of more than they think they’ll ever need… At.  All. Times.   They are very good at preventing  many STDs (sexually transmitted diseases- some of which can be fatal, in a prolonged and nasty death, i.e. syphilis is easily treated early on, but can lead to dementia after decades with the  untreated disease).

The “morning after pill” is often misunderstood –  sometimes for deliberate political purposes,  to stoke the fires of misinformation.  The morning after pill DOES NOT TERMINATE pregnancy.  It prevents implantation.  There is no pregnancy without implantation.  There is no life without implantation.  Many women “miscarry” these unattached zygotes throughout their life, and never know that fertilization ever happened.  A fertilized zygote (with the potential to become a baby) is essentially nothing without implantation.

Bottom line:  Women are responsible for what goes on in/with/to their bodies when it comes to sexual activity and pregnancy.   Don’t do the “well, he should have brought the rubbers”.  Nonsense !!  If you’re having sex, you are the one who needs to be responsible for the consequences.   

About late term abortions…  I think this is often misunderstood as well.  There are times when ‘pre-term delivery’ (what it is called medically) to end the pregnancy is the only way to save the mother.  With neonatal intensive care being what it is now, there are  maximum efforts to resuscitate the baby and care for it with the hope that it will survive, and hopefully thrive.  Babies as early as 23 weeks are successfully cared for in NICUs. (I’ve heard of a few at 22 weeks, and seen 24 weekers with my own eyes)  That’s before the third trimester !  Pre-term deliveries are ONLY for medical emergencies.  They are not abortions.  (Could there be heinous individuals out there that do them?   Yeah- there are heinous individuals who do just about anything… but pre-term deliveries aren’t the same as abortions. Period.).   Look at the Duggars and their little Josie… they’re about as conservative as folks come- and they “got it” about the reasons for doing the pre-term delivery because of Mrs. Duggar having eclampsia, which is fatal if the pregnancy is not ended. Pre-term delivery IS the cure.  There was never any thought of Josie not getting care.    But the ‘far right’ loves to use inflammatory terms to garner support for candidates.  Unfortunately, inaccuracies abound, and that just fans the fire. Those that say that the mother dying is “God’s will”,  when there is a way to save, her baffle me… to me that is deliberately letting the mother die.  God doesn’t give us ways to take care of emergencies and then not expect/allow us to use them. Why lose two lives when you can save one pretty much for sure (nothing is every %100 in medicine), and probably both?

But bottom line about abortion, in my eyes?   It’s not my decision to make for someone else.  Legislating morality is muddling the religion and state line.  We are not a “Christian” country.  Many of the founding fathers did have a Christian background, but they were very careful to design our country to separate church and state to avoid legislating morality.   We are a country of freedom OF religion.  Once we impose Christian values into law, we open the doors to have parts of Sharia law, or Buddhist values, or whatever, into laws for everybody.   Laws don’t stop abortion.  And just because something is legal doesn’t mean I have to participate!   The government isn’t responsible for determining my decisions.  I have to answer for my own choices- NOBODY else’s.     Again- I don’t like the idea of termination a pregnancy at all.   But I’m not going to focus on people  I can’t control at the expense of ignoring things that could make a positive difference for more people (cue the “but the baby is a person” folks… yeah, I do believe that there is a blooming human in the uterus- and that’s why I wouldn’t choose to have an abortion myself). What is the benefit of being  judgmental over an issue that is between the woman,  HER conscience, and God?   I can’t live her life. But,  I’m also going to extend to her an ear to listen to her fears and conflicts- and gently talk to her about other options, helping in ways that I can.  And prayer is always going to be heard… God can direct the outcome.

So where do I find hypocrisy?  The same folks who are furiously self-righteous about being pro-life couldn’t care less about the health care availability for the “post-born”.    Jesus was ‘into’ taking care of folks medical issues.  You know- that whole “Great Physician” term?   He didn’t ask if people had a good job with adequate coverage to reimburse Him.   He didn’t ask if they were  purposely out of work just so they could stay home with bills piling up and no hope of a better life.  He didn’t ask if their medical needs were the reason they couldn’t find suitable work.  He didn’t deny ‘medicine’ because someone’s prescription drug plan didn’t cover His ‘medicine’.   He just healed them out of compassion.  Everybody remember that?   I know.  It’s not talked about much anymore.  Compassion isn’t a great political word, so it gets lost.

Matthew 25: 41-46   41“Then He will also say to those on His left, ‘Depart from Me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels; 42for I was hungry, and you gave Me nothing to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me nothing to drink; 43I was a stranger, and you did not invite Me in; naked, and you did not clothe Me; sick, and in prison, and you did not visit Me.’ 44“Then they themselves also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not take care of You?’ 45“Then He will answer them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.’ 46“These will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

Yes- those verses talk about visiting the sick, and not healing…  check this out:
Ezekiel 34: 11-16.    11“ ‘For this is what the Sovereign Lord says: I myself will search for my sheep and look after them. 12As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and darkness. 13I will bring them out from the nations and gather them from the countries, and I will bring them into their own land. I will pasture them on the mountains of Israel, in the ravines and in all the settlements in the land. 14I will tend them in a good pasture, and the mountain heights of Israel will be their grazing land. There they will lie down in good grazing land, and there they will feed in a rich pasture on the mountains of Israel. 15I myself will tend my sheep and have them lie down, declares the Sovereign Lord. 16I will search for the lost and bring back the strays. I will bind up the injured and strengthen the weak, but the sleek and the strong I will destroy. I will shepherd the flock with justice.”       It’s all about care, compassion, and bringing the ‘sheep’ together.  This is talking specifically about Israel- but I can’t imaging God not wanting those who love His Son to be treated differently.  And He will strengthen the weak !  He’ll help the injured.  Because of love for His people.  In the Old Testament that was directed at the Jewish people.  In the New Testament, and after someone makes the choice to believe that Jesus is their Lord and Savior, He extends that to us as Christians as well.

There are SO many other things that are saddening me these days- but this is one of the things that separates me from the people I grew up with.  That’s hard, but I’m not going to simply follow the herd when I have strong feelings and thoughts of my own, based in compassion.  I became a nurse to help people.  I miss that.   It’s hard to feel like an outcast- and I don’t anticipate anybody being willing to have a discussion – not to change minds, but simply be heard and maybe even understand a little of where I’m coming from.  But I know God does.  People who aren’t part of the community I grew up with (at church) understand… but within that church group, I feel like something they’d just as soon throw out with the trash. And that hurts.  Lots of talk.  No action.

But, whatever.  I’m rapidly losing interest with humans in general.  It’s “safer” to write here, or just keep the front door locked, and screen calls.   But I won’t lie.  I’d love to hear someone with the same spiritual background tell me that they ‘get it’.   That they understand.  And that I’m not “bad”.    I realize that in the grand scheme of things, the opinion of a human is pretty meaningless.  But it would still be nice to be understood.  I do find intense comfort in knowing that God hears my cries, and knows my heart.   ❤

 

It’s Been Almost a Year Since Dad Died…

I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t remembered that horrible last day, and yet the month leading up to that was kind of a trial run for what  Dad would deal with if he ended up in a nursing home… I’d never wish that on him.  There are a lot of nice nursing homes (I’ve worked in a few), and I have nothing against the nice ones at all… and can be a huge positive move when someone is mentally ready to make the decision.  But Dad had always been SO active.  Just six weeks before he died, he drove home from Florida in two days, ‘outrunning’ an ice storm.  He did all of the driving, though he had a friend with him for company . The second day, he drove from S. Georgia to home (near the IL/WI border) all in that second day. He never drove that far in one day when I was a kid, going to FL for Christmas vacations, when he felt OK.   He’d call me when he stopped for gas that second day, and ask me to look at the radar to see where the ‘ice line’ was… and he made it home by about 9 p.m.  He had been feeling bad, and wanted to get home to see his doctors (regular guy for the current stuff,  and oncologist  for routine follow ups after successful thyroid cancer treatment).   He felt bad.   He’d been in the hospital near Palm Beach for a couple of days, and it scared him.

The week before he died (when that wasn’t even on the radar), and after every other visitor had left, he asked me “what are you going to do with me?”   He’d been in rehab for about a week, after 3 weeks in the hospital.  I asked “What do you mean, what am I going to DO with you?”.   He asked about options if he couldn’t come home.   I had been making a lot of phone calls to various facilities that I knew were nice places with good reputations,  in the event dad couldn’t transfer with one assist (which he couldn’t at that time).  The one-person assist transfer was what would determine any real options.  I’d been getting quotes about hourly rates for Certified Nursing Assistants for 12-hour days; I would have stayed  during p.m. (and overnight hours)  after the CNA got him more or less tucked in for the night, and his friend would have taken the morning/day ‘shift’ so Dad was never alone with a stranger. We figured out how long we could swing that financially (it wasn’t that much extra to keep him in his own house vs. a private room in a nursing home, estimating the costs for medications, doctor visits, etc– but nursing homes are EXPENSIVE.  The daily rate only includes room and board- no meds, therapies, doctor visits, etc).  But it all depended on him being able to transfer with one assist.   At that time, he didn’t even know if he was actually standing up straight during therapy, and was totally unable to transfer without two people AND equipment (for safety).   It wasn’t looking good for going home, but I was willing to arrange things  if he got well enough to really have choices.  He totally understood the one-person transfer requirement,.  He knew  that was the only reason he was able to care for mom at home, as well as travel with her in those later dementia years, was because she was an easy transfer.  He understood.

Dad wasn’t a guy who would do well being subjected to other people’s schedules, the noise of call lights, having to wait to get something he asked for, confused patients wandering into his room, etc.    He would have been miserable in an institutional setting.  He would have missed his friends, church, and estate sales (though I’m sure his friends would have visited- still a huge emotional hurdle for someone who had been SO independent for so long).  This was a man who was always on the go.   Being stuck in a wheelchair, dependent for basic mobility/personal needs, and the noise would have been intolerable to him.  He was already having trouble hanging in there with the hospital “routine”.   He didn’t understand the process of what happens when a doctor writes an order for a new pain med (or anything else).  He hurt and didn’t see why it took so long for the doc to write the order, the unit clerk to send the order to the pharmacy, the pharmacy tech to fill it, the pharmacist to check it and call the doc if there were any issues – which meant the doc had to return the call, sending it back to the floor Dad was on, the nurse checking the medication, and then dealing with the thing that was like a medication vending machine, requiring scanning Dad’s arm band,  scanning the medication, and then marking that it had been given ( and being only one of 5-6 patients his nurse was keeping up with).  On a good day, that could take over an hour… standard hospital operations.  In a nursing home, a new prescription would likely arrive late at night with the routine pharmacy deliveries, though nursing homes are required per state regulations to keep initial doses of some of the more common meds to hold someone over until the deliveries came.   There are reasons things take so long, but that is of little help  to someone who just wants to feel better.

There was also the issue of  a private room – something Dad would panic about because of his uber sensitive hearing- misophonia- where ‘routine noises’ like snoring roommates, gum chewing, chattering visitors for the roommate, chatting in the room with his friends,  etc were actually way more than annoying to him .   They almost caused a panic reaction, and more than once his blood pressure went very high just because someone was chewing/snapping gum close enough that he could hear it.  He couldn’t help it.   He didn’t have any control over the reactions, which could be rather angry and cause physical symptoms.  So a private room in the hospital or any facility was “mandatory” to him.   He’d literally beg me to “promise I get a private room”  when he was in the ER, and I told him I’d do what I could, and then I’d beg the admitting doc to write the order for a private room, explaining the situation.   They were always accommodating, but hospitals and nursing homes MUST  save some private rooms open for infectious patients – or  like  in my case with the leukemia, minimizing exposure to ‘outside’ people  who may have had  a minor cold, or a sick kid at home.   Fortunately, he got private rooms- and I had to explain many times, to whoever I was talking to that it wasn’t a ‘snob’ thing, or that he was the sort to isolate… it was actually a painful situation to hear certain noises.

I think dad knew that he wasn’t ever  going to  come home.  In those quiet early evenings alone with him in the hospital or rehab hospital, he’d give me lists of some of his possessions that he wanted specific people to have.  We had  always had a very open relationship about ‘end of life’  decisions, other health topics, or whatever,  so I didn’t think it was that odd.  And  fear can be expressed in ‘final wishes’, even if someone is expected to recover.  It didn’t strike me as odd.   I just kept making notes.   I’m so glad I did.

Backtracking a bit, that first night in the hospital (March 3, 2016), he was terrified.  He asked me to look at his feet, and I said I’d be happy to, but wondered what I was looking for.  He asked if his feet looked like my mom’s did during her final 30 hours.  Hers had been mottled with the coloring I’d seen many, many times in people who were very close to death.   I told him that his feet looked fine, and were warm,  had good general color, had good capillary refill (how fast it takes for the color to return to normal, after  enough gentle pressure  to make the skin turn very pale), etc.  He was so terrified.  I made a promise to him that night that no matter what,  I’d be honest with him about what was going on, and if my nursing experience wasn’t enough to know the answer, I’d find out and tell him.    He told me that I helped ‘calm him’.  I wasn’t able to be up at the hospital as much as I wanted to (mobility issues, heat intolerance, needing the wheelchair, increasing pain the more consecutive days I went up there, etc), though we talked daily.  I talked to his nurses (which he wasn’t that thrilled about if they were in the room, as the “racket” of discussing his care/condition annoyed him- or, my favorite- “don’t bother them”… he never quite got comfortable with the idea of telling them he needed or wanted something, unless it was for pain- and Dad didn’t even own Tylenol… he had little frame of reference with pain,and generally waited too long to ask for something). I had phone calls from the social worker working on discharge planning, and other behind the scenes stuff- getting rid of the ancient food in his fridge (and replacing it as promised), getting stuff he wanted from home, and checking in to things as he requested.

One late afternoon, he told me he needed the urinal, so I got it for him and told him I’d be in the hall by the door so he could let me know when he was done.  He told me that all dignity he had was shot, and didn’t care if I stayed… but he was my DAD ❤  I wasn’t going to not give him privacy.  He had the sheet covering him, but still…  His only complaint was that I hadn’t let the leg part of the bed down… “Can you fix this so I’m not peeing uphill?”…. Yep, Dad,  I can do that.  🙂  He hated having   to  ask for any sort of assistance for basic daily needs.  I could tell that it was wearing down.    He felt helpless, and that just wasn’t  Dad.

ALL of these things help in a way for my grief process (I don’t mean that to sound selfish)… Dad would have been miserable in a nursing home IF he’d been able to survive any type of surgery.  He likely would have ended up with a colostomy, and whatever was going on with his spine wouldn’t have gotten better.  We never did know what the lesions pressing on his spinal cord were…. he’d had biopsies of all sorts of things, MRIs (that’s a whole other story), bloodwork,  ultrasounds, and whatnot.   It wasn’t for lack of trying that the cause of those spine lesions wasn’t found.   As much as I miss Dad, I know that being in “the home” would have broken his heart.  He would have put up a socially acceptable front, at least for a while.  He was such a great social person.

I knew something was changing the summer before when he was offered the chance to be on a private 160 foot yacht, going around Sicily, with his friend and her family (son-in-law was way up there in the top %1).  He loved to travel, but didn’t want to go.  First he said he thought he might get seasick.  He had been in the NAVY… not for long (knee issue), but seriously?  He’d also co-owned a sailboat, and loved sailing with his cousin in Milwaukee when he and his wife lived there.  Seasickness wasn’t going to fly with me.  I pressed him, and he said he was just too tired- he didn’t want to be a dud guest with keeping up with conversation (something dad had always been really good at).  That made more sense.  I got his OK to talk to his oncologist (same one I’d had for a while) so that on his next visit they could do any additional lab work at the same time they did the routine stuff.  Turned out that his thyroid meds needed tweeking.   But for him to turn down a trip?  That scared me.   In some ways, the early twinges of grief had already started when he was still very much alive and active.  His health was becoming an issue- which was very new.

On that last horrible day, it also helped that the ER docs were so amazing in how they tried everything they could to make sure that nothing was overlooked when he was admitted that last time.   They called four  specialists (urology, infections disease, surgeon, and gastroenterologist).  They pulled me out of the room, and were SO kind in helping me make the decision that was really already made by the disease process.  They made sure I knew what was going on, though when I saw the lab work and  heard that the infection from the ruptured diverticula  had gotten to his blood, and many other places... I knew.  I let them know I was an RN since 1985 (disabled, but keep my license active).  I understood the ‘head’ stuff.  My ‘heart’ was a mess… but Dad and I had talked about what he wanted, and I promised him I’d do whatever that was.  I did.  Signing the Do Not Resuscitate form was excruciating… but I’d promised him.

His docs during the hospital stay prior to rehab were also amazing, from his regular oncologist to the rotating hospitalists and specialists.  He got good care in the hospital .  One of the nurses went above and beyond when he found out Dad liked Heath bars… he’d seen some of the mini ones in a bowl at the nurses station, and snagged some for dad.
I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s something that goes through my head a lot (along with the initial delirium, when the mentally intact man I’d talked to less than 10 hours earlier was incapable of making decisions).  I was pulled out of the ER room so the docs could tell me what the CT showed.   Dad was resting quietly at the time (after a wild time getting the IV in so they could give him pain meds), but I went back in and told him that the docs knew what was going on but they couldn’t fix him.  HIs eyes were closed, but he nodded when I asked if we were still on board to get through this with as much comfort as possible.  He nodded when I asked if he was ready to see Mom.  And I promised I wouldn’t leave him.

Those last few hours  were (and still are)  so precious.  A couple of Dad’s very close friends, and his cousin had been up to see him.   I just watched, talked  to him a little, held his hand, kept his lips moistened, and whatnot.  Some say that being there when someone dies is’t really for the dying person;  it’s for who is left behind.   I’m not sure i agree with that completely, but it is true that I would have been devastated if I hadn’t been there for him, if he had died alone.    Whether or not he heard me didn’t matter nearly as much as  it did for me to know that he wasn’t alone.   He was showing some signs of abnormal brain activity (snout reflex when I used the swabs to clean his mouth).   The toxins were taking him.

I miss him so much, and yet I’m thankful that he didn’t end up in a nursing home.  He would have felt  so defeated.   He wanted a quick death (who doesn’t ?).  While the back pain had been around for months, the infection that killed him didn’t get to the point of  him being really sick until those last couple of  days.   He had time to give me more instructions, and spend time with close friends and family.   He didn’t “linger” which is what he wanted.   The Palliative Care team at Swede’s was fantastic.   They included me in nearly every decision.  That helped me feel like I was an active part of   dad’s final  wishes.   So yeah, I guess that being close is more for those left behind- but at the same time, you never know how much hearing remains, or what senses are ‘enough’ for the patient to know that they’re not alone.   And I had to keep my promise.

*** please pardon any typos… my eyes are ‘swimming’ as I’m ready for bed.  I’ll fix them tomorrow 😉

The Disaster That Was 2016

I’m not in a good mood.  This year has sucked rocks.  I won’t go through the myriad of shootings, public riots, celebrity deaths, cop shootings,  “unarmed” shootings, local crime rate, racial tension,   blah, blah, blah.  All that does is make me dislike humans more intensely (and with the racial stuff, it’s usually the arrogant white folks that piss me off the most).   Since my dad died in April of 2016, I have had few interactions that I really cared to be a part of.   They were ‘mandatory’ or required to be just social ‘enough’.   If I tried to escape  I’d turn on the TV  just to hear about how horrifically humans were treating each other, and it just made me grieve for civilization.   Thank God there were enough interactions with a  few people that at least kept my head above water enough to breathe.   I’m very grateful for them.

The presidential election process further lowered my respect for humans in general (a few exceptions helped me not lose all hope).  One relationship ended because of the rabid and incessant postings of negativity about Obama…. get the hell over it- he was elected nearly eight years ago… MOVE ON.  I can’t stand the constant and so ‘wing-nut right’ rants.     I didn’t much like any of the candidates this year, but the options in the end were  almost unbearably bleak… one much more  than the other (imho), and that’s who we’re stuck with now.  It does warm my heart that he didn’t win the popular vote.  There’s a glimmer of sunshine there. Doesn’t matter who specifically won the popular vote, as long as it wasn’t the sociopath.   I’m grateful for that bit of hope.

Back to my dad.   He died on April 4th at 12:50 a.m.  He wasn’t ‘expected’ to die during that period of illness, and like my mom, he had been blown off when he complained about pain/had symptoms.  Don’t go to rehab hospitals where they have such narrow focus.  They try to fit all symptoms into the disorder they are treating.  Dad’s former (very sweet) lady friend of eight years went to the same place, and she called me to ask what she should do since they weren’t dealing with the fluid accumulation in her abdomen (she had cancer).  I told her to ask to go to the ER for an evaluation.  She did, and ended up having to have multiple ‘drainings’ of the fluid. But the facility didn’t come up with the idea to send her in for evaluation on their own- she had to ask.    I wish I’d been more astute with dad’s pain.  He wasn’t great at describing pain, but I feel bad that I didn’t see more.  I am extremely relieved that I was with him during those last 19 hours.  To have missed that would have killed me.  I made sure he knew I wasn’t leaving him before he went into a coma.  I promised not to leave him, and I didn’t .    But as an RN since 1985 (regardless of being disabled, I keep my license), I have constant ‘brain drain’ about what I should have done to help him more.  He was a great dad.  He didn’t deserve that much pain.  He deserved to be listened to and believed by the people who were supposed to be caring for him.

There was another ‘lady friend’ ( “B”) that dad hung out with socially for about a year before he died, and who was around  like flies at a picnic during the last month of his life. She encouraged him to be dependent, and robbed him of whatever independent activities he could do… which weren’t many.   She turned into more of a nightmare after he died.  She obviously had some intense delusions about the type of relationship she had with dad.  Dad truly  liked the companionship (and her billionaire son in law fascinated him- only thing he mentioned if someone asked if he was seeing someone- never mentioned her by name).  She liked “possession” of him (and had a total hissy fit when I told another one of dad’s lady friends she could put photos on the photo table at the visitation; it was a pathological reaction- they were. not. married.  I included as many of his special lady friends as I could find photos of) .  She also hurt me intensely after the funeral, complaining that she wasn’t mentioned by name ‘enough’ during HIS funeral.  She said her church friends all noticed it and that the pastor who did the service had it in for her since she wasn’t a member of dad’s church… that pastor hadn’t even worked at that church for a while… “B” was clueless and so friggin’ insecure and paranoid.  She wanted to know why I hadn’t consulted her about financial matters (like it’s her business- she was fishing for info, imho).  She also told me (dad’s daughter) that SHE would miss dad the most.  Seriously?   He was my DAD.   She was a 1.2% part of his life. That’s it.  Barely existed (would you miss 1.2 cents from a buck?)  She told me that dad didn’t like the one  lady friend (with photos, who he’d known since high school), and I knew that wasn’t true.  That’s when I started to see “B”  more clearly.  She fabricated things to make her feel like his lifelong love… well, she missed that train when mom married him, and then the wonderful lady he saw for eight years after mom died.  I’d lost my dad, and she was ragging on about all sorts of stuff.  Sure, I knew she’d miss him.  But her degree of histrionics was exhausting and painful.  “B” was creepy- saying that she saw him looking back at her when she put his glasses on her kitchen table (she had a mild conniption at the visitation about when dad’s glasses were going to be taken off… I told her to take them just to shut her up).  I do hope she’s well ( and well away from me).  I pray that her macular degeneration is stable, and not getting worse.  And I want nothing to do with her.  I had to have the garage door opener codes changed because she refused to give me back the one she was last known to have.  I added keyless deadbolts.   When I think of her now, I wonder about her DSM-V diagnoses.   And I still wish her well.

I’ve been contacted via greeting cards by two of my deceased mom’s siblings who made sure I was excluded as ‘family’ while they manipulated and dismantled my late grandmother’s trust (grandma was spineless when it came to standing up for what was fair… she got bullied and she folded) . It was mangled after my mom died, and the surviving siblings kept ensuring they profited off of their dead siblings each time one of them died.   Once someone writes me off, it’s over.   I don’t want to  be reminded of their existence with hypocritical cards.   Either I’m part of the family, or not.  Can’t have both.  They deleted me based on lies they KNEW were lies.  That’s what gets me the most.  Screw the money.  I’d settle for truth – but that bunch is incapable.  Leifheit Logic in that generation has been sketchy at best for decades.    My mom was in that generation, and her biggest ‘flaw’ in regards to logic was keeping her marriage vows and having strong faith… maybe they resented her for that… ?  .    Hard to tell with narcissists. I do know that I want nothing to do with them.   They ‘cancelled’ my family ‘membership’ – and that’s just fine.  But be done with it already.   GO AWAY, even via mail.   I am thankful that the six cousins I have from the other ‘discarded’ sibling understand that we’re worth nothing to the greed-mongers.  I didn’t even tell mom’s surviving siblings  when dad died; they found out on Facebook…  never occurred to me to consider them part of the family to notify.  They dumped me about 5 months earlier.  It wasn’t even an issue in my mind/life.

I’m going in to 2017 with a questionable mass on my neck.  I have a CT scan scheduled for a week from tomorrow.  The hope is that it’s just a lipoma (nothing major), but with my crazy medical history, including a LOT of chemo for leukemia, there is always a  question about more cancer.  Chemo can cause cancer (isn’t that special?) .    It has no doubt contributed to the increase in peripheral neuropathy (including the dysautonomia/POTS).  But without it, I would have been dead in 2010.  Pain is more intense now, including the degenerative disc and joint disease.   I see a new chiropractor next week to hopefully put my neck ‘back in place’.  But, I’m alive.  That is still worth it.

I know I have a lot to be thankful for.  That isn’t lost on me by a long shot.  But like anybody I still have my bad days, and today is a really lousy one.   Next year, I MUST lose weight.  I need to do all I can to avoid future joint replacements and minimize joint and disc pain.   I have to get more focused on keeping track of carbohydrates and insulin requirements.   Right now, my blood sugars are very unstable.  Stress isn’t helping that.   But I’ve got my dog.  She is always happy to be around me, and I’m so thankful for her.

Mostly, I’m thankful for God.  That is my ‘Constant’ and my Hope.  I don’t generally find organized religion to be satisfying, but I do love the Lord.  Call it what you want if you don’t believe… for me , my faith is the only thing that keeps me going.   I know that this life is temporary, and that after this earth, it’s all good.   I don’t like the politics of Christians.   I aim to be more compassionate than the judging and ‘dismissing’ of entire groups of people – and I’m not unaware that my feelings about that are also judging and dismissing (I’m working on that).  And, I still love God more than any human I’ve ever met.  Fortunately, I had a  great earthly father to show me a small example of what a Heavenly Father feels for His children.   When this earth and its people depress me, I remember God.  He has this all in control.   I don’t have to worry about any of the mess going on… in the end, good wins.   I don’t have to worry about what others do, or use them as political pawns.  I only answer for what I do.  When there’s nobody to talk to, God is always there.   No matter what, God is my refuge and joy.  He is what makes tolerating this earth bearable.   I know it’s all going to be OK one day.  Maybe not soon, or maybe tomorrow. It doesn’t matter when.    He wins every time.    And I know that HE  alone can help me see things in a way that is less painful.  HE can remind me of the good that is already here.   I don’t think I’d be able to function if I didn’t have that hope and assurance.

Furnishing a House And Keeping My Parents Living There With Me Through Memories and Decorative Items

The past few weeks since dad died have been the days I’ve been most dreading for quite a while (starting in earnest last summer when he was too tired to go on a private yacht for a week.  He claimed seasickness- that didn’t fly as he’d been in the navy and had a sailboat with two other couples.  Then it was too much fatigue- which was a huge change; this guy ran around ALL the time.   He was changing, and his mortality slapped me upside the head.  With both parents gone, I feel like I’m about 12 years old some days (and younger on other days, for bits of time) when nothing seems like it’s going to be OK, even though I know eventually the pain dulls, and the memories of good times will again get brighter.  Right now, it’s just a rat maze going through the paperwork things, keeping up with two ‘abodes’, and working to get the decisions made for what I want changed in the house without removing either of my folks from it.   I miss my daddy… haven’t called him that since about first grade.   Tonight I asked my uncle Russ if here was still a pair of shoes (or something ) that I could put with mom’s on a Welcome Mat inside the door.  I’ve got a pair of mom’s (with San Diego animal park shoelaces) that will work well- and Russ has a pair at the house in mind for dad’s.  ❤

My dad designed that house with his cousin (who is an amazing architect), and put a lot of time into it. I want to keep those special touches that remind me of him.  There are bricks from the streets of Chicago from the time of the Great Fire that make up the living room fireplace – 14 feet tall on one half of the ‘Great Room’ (remember Mrs.  O’Leary’s agitated cow?), a custom stained glass window in the gable of the vaulted ceiling in the kitchen, and an acre in the back of the house, with partially wild grass and trees- very private, and beautiful during seasonal changes- snow is gorgeous back there.  There are a lot of birds, squirrels, sometimes deer, wild turkeys, and other critters, which I love.

It was all put together by a family friend who is a great contractor (still in business), which has been HUGE in helping me get through the various updates I want to get done- the guy who built it has been out measuring, and his son and project manager have been walking me through all of it; they’ve been wonderful.  What they don’t do, they know someone who does that works with them often.   The carpet is the original stuff from 1976.  It’s gotta go- it’s got green tints where there were no drapes (on purpose).  Window treatments must be changed- the drapes are ‘nice’, and in good condition, but not my thing- I MUST have something that directs light away from me because of the dysautonomia and temperature regulation in my body.  The windows face east-west on either side of the house, so sauna material if I’m not careful.  The bathroom wallpaper is “disco era”, with foil.  It’s in outstanding condition, so for now, it stays.  I can live with that.

Dad and I had talked about things I liked and others I’d probably change long before he died.  His taste was “House Beautiful” (with antiques and high end collectibles- that  are  now at an auction house)… I’m more “House Standing”, with comfortable furniture and a casual vibe that I hope is inviting, as well as a place I’ll stay in as long as I’m still breathing air.  There were a couple of things that I hadn’t anticipated (isn’t that how it always goes?) that ate about a third of my original ‘goal’ budget… but I want to get it all done right, so it seemed like a no-brainer.  I found an alternate for a pantry that will work well, and saved me a few thousand bucks.

After getting a check from the first auction of dad’s belongings that I didn’t keep, I set off to a local mom and pop furniture store that has been in town for  a LONG time.  They’re having their grand opening of a store closer to me, which I hadn’t realized was still going on, so that was a nice surprise to know I’d get %20 off (roughly).   I’d set out for 2 green recliners  (only) that felt like sitting in a cloud, but had to swivel to either talk with guests or watch show falling/thunderstorms from the windows in the living room. If I can get the gas fireplace going, that’s another form of live entertainment.  Anyway, the chairs will be made to my preferences.   I hadn’t expected to be able to get a couch in a custom fabric for what I could afford, a beautiful Amish (simple design, well made) BED- the whole thing, headboard, frame, and foot board, and a great  buffet – all in my taste.  Very simple designs, sturdy, and fit into a contemporary house in the main part, with the Amish bed working with my quilt and a bit more retro/mild country vibe in there.  The kitchen will be a bit of an eclectic bouquet- but still keep the colors dad worked so hard to pick out for the counter overlay and bigger items.  There are a few cosmetic cabinet things that I need to get done – but all in due time.

This might not sound like an earth shattering event to a lot of people, but it’s the first  time I’ve been able to pick out everything I like !  I’m not refurnishing the whole place- I still have some nice pieces here, as well as some things I’m keeping at the house that dad had.  When dad found out that the reason I didn’t have much furniture in Texas (and nothing new) because of financial constraints, he sent me money if I’d find a second hand item in good condition.  He did buy me a new dinette set (was eating at a card table for over 20 years), as well as a group of end tables and coffee table, and a 32 inch TV when my 13 inch set that I got  in late high school  had lost so much horizontal hold that I got audio and about an inch of the “picture”, but it had lasted for about  20 years ! .   The ‘new’ TV even made it back to my hometown when I moved 1250 miles back to help take care of my mom (she died in 2003, which was unexpected), and was then graduated to the flat screen.   Now, I have at least 4 other TVs (dad had one in his bedroom, my old bedroom (his self-proclaimed den),  living room, and kitchen… I forget if one was in the downstairs living area  or not- it’s designed for visitors for the most part).

The dining room table was made for the house, and is a big, solid piece of table, covered in formica- doesn’t sound that exciting, but in the “Great Room”, it works very well.  Chairs from an old opera house from somewhere around here surround it.  Those stay.  🙂   Living in apartments for  30 years has been great in a lot of ways; I’ve moved a lot, maintenance was a phone call or e-mail away, etc.  But white walls (I will have those at the house  mostly,  except for the  wood paneling walls that are painted a shade of almond, and the disco wallpaper, which is fine- outstanding installation), the less expensive carpet in apartments, dinky refrigerators, some seriously funky linoleum over the years, and NO ‘right’ to do my own thing has been annoying.  Then there are the views.  One takes what one wants if the price, neighborhood, and location work.   For the last 13 years, I’ve had a nice apartment, but my view is of a parking lot and a tree. My second apartment in Austin,TX overlooked a relic car part lot… never saw so many Corsairs in various stages of decomposition.    I do have nice neighbors here at the apartment now- and I will miss them.  I spent time growing up at the “new” neighborhood, but don’t recognize the vast majority of the folks there.

It is fun to pick out new things, but it’s also really important to me to keep my parents’ presence in that house.  They are what made it a home.  The scuff marks at the top of the stairs from dad’s shoes will stay.  Mom’s wheelchair marks on the bedroom door will also be untouched.  There are some things that nobody but me will appreciate, and that’s fine. Dad left me a wonderful home and “yard” (more than an acre, WITH his lawn guy staying on for the weekly trims).  It gets harder to know he won’t be coming back.. it’s only been  a month and a half since he died (time gets so warped).  I was pretty sick with bronchitis for a couple of weeks after going gangbusters with “getting it done” (I’d ‘house sat’ for dad whenever he was out of town, so knew what as in the house, and what I didn’t want to keep).    I’ve slowed down a bit, but still moving forward.

But I really miss him.  Fifty-two years, I was blessed enough to call that man my dad. ❤