Colton.

Before you read my post, please read my daughter's. She explains, in touching detail, Colton''s condition .

 I witnessed the most heartwarming thing I've ever seen, yesterday. In our community is a little boy who has some serious medical issues. His name is Colton and he's a bitty one. Colton has something called Biliary atresia, which basically means that his liver is in danger, his body can't absorb nutrients from food and he is at a high risk. Just as we were afraid would happen, baby Colton is now in need of a liver transplant. His friends and family arranged a benefit to help cover the high medical costs. His test results showed that his bilirubin levels had doubled, and he was scheduled for yet another surgery on September 13th. During that surgery they were to look for scar tissue from the last surgeries, to see if that may be causing a blockage. If not, then a liver transplant would be the next step. A liver transplant in a baby so small. It's scary! On September 21st we were told that Colton had been admitted to Texas Children's Hospital with an infection. Another frightening setback. Both his bilirubin and white sell counts were elevated. He was to see a liver specialist that morning, and fully expected him to be put on the transplant list. This is an edited update that we got later that same day:

" From what I understand he is basically not getting any nutrients from his food. His liver is absorbing all the nutrients and they are not going into the intestine to be used properly. His other organs rely on these nutrients to help him grow or become healthy. He is too skinny in his arms and legs which is an indication of being malnourished for lack of a better word. He is fed, he poops and he gains a little weight but his little body is not getting what it needs. His bilirubin count is at 6 which is very high and they will be using IV antibiotics to bring the count down. They are beginning an aggressive health program on him to help him become healthy and gain more weight. The do not want to do a liver transplant until he is deemed healthy. They will let him come home next week BUT they may send him home with a feeding tube. Regardless he will be home for his benefit even if they send him home for the day. The drs. , and there was a team of about 12, say he will have a liver transplant before he turns one. But he has to be healthy first. A lot can happen in 8 months."  Thankfully, Colton was allowed to come to his fundraiser! YAY! 

Yesterday was his fundraiser. It was held at Wild Peach Community Church, which had plenty of room...we thought! No one was expecting the turnout that we got. It was mind blowing! Most of us, around here, are broke folk. My husband and I wracked our brains trying to come up with an idea to help. We didn't have any money to donate, and it would take me too long to make anything fit for either the silent or the live auction. I was at a loss. Then it hit me! I has bunnies! My doe (Mocha) had a litter of kits three months ago. I had three kits at home that could very easily bring in at least a little something. All I had to do was make sure a live animal could be auctioned. As it turned out, there was a tortoise being auctioned too! Well, THAT worked out ;) That turtle went for $125 in the live auction! CRAZY! Anyway, we got there fairly early, and even then it was pretty obvious that parking was going to become a problem. Not that there was a teeny parking lot or anything. There was plenty of room, under normal circumstances. This was anything BUT normal! By one p.m. there were people hopelessly blocked in! It's a good thing there were TWO Officers directing traffic! 

Directing traffic

This was EARLY in the day. One of the 15 rows of cars!

Heavenly smell!

The smell hit me as soon as I got out of the car. Bar-BQue....smoky, delicious, mouthwatering BBQ. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. That smell was unbearable. I was so happy we already had our plate tickets! My daughter and granddaughter went straight for the food, of course! I saw three giant BBQ pits, right off the bat. I think there were actually four of them set up, right up front. That had to have been a strategic move. You know that smell was going to hit people before they ever made it to the building. Talk about a good way to promote food sales. LOL. 

Silent auction items

The hallway in the church made a horseshoe. Along every wall was a line of tables neatly arranged with goods, each good with a paper taped to the table in front of it. This was the silent auction. I was amazed at the number of items that had been donated. I mean, seriously, it took the entire horseshoe to hold them all! Every single item had a bid on it. It was a beautiful sight! All of those donations meant more money to help this precious baby get better! There were so many things that I would have loved to bid on. Especially the Harley Davidson thermos set. But, like I said, I is broke folk! 

I carried my Nilla (bunny) into the sanctuary to add to the other live auction items while everyone else in our group went straight for the food. That was another amazing site. There were still tons of items left to bring in, and yet, the room was already packed. It was so great to see. My little Nilla was added to the piles of hope. I could only imagine how she was going to freak out once the P.A. was turned on and Poppy (the pastor) started the auction. Turns out, I was right about that. Poor girl. 

Wandering around the church, we saw people really enjoying themselves for the sake of this beautiful baby boy. They set up a face painting booth for the little ones. My Sister-In-Law spent her day painting chubby cheeks and loving every minute of it! There was also a game room and craft booth. We took my grand-baby in and let her play the duck pond game and go fishing with a magnetic pole! Of course, the little snot scored big every time. I still think her favorite part of the day was plowing through her plate of food. It was mine too! We watched the people pay to have their friends and family thrown in "jail", then watched the "inmates" beg passersby to "bail" them out. It was AWESOME! There was plenty of good music, laughter, activities, camaraderie and best of all, COLTON! We were all so happy to see his smiling face there, enjoying his day with us. <3 

The Palmer family watch the magic happen from above the crowd.

The day was beginning to wind down. It was AUCTION TIME. Most everyone gathered in the sanctuary, chose a pew and started chatting. We could see Colton and his family watching from the window above us. They had a great view! I have never seen an auction like this one in my entire life. It was insane! Poppy was hilarious as an auctioneer. He kept us cracking up through it all. As for the items, I don't think anyone was thinking about cost at all! These items were all selling for hundreds of dollars! It was amazing! My daughter bought a bicycle for my grand-baby. A pretty one, too! My Nilla bean went for $60. I was right about her being scared. She clawed a deep scratch on my arm while I was carrying her around so that the crowd could see her. I'll miss my pretty baby, but, she did something wonderful and doesn't even know it.  

This was an amazing turn out, and they raised a good deal of money on Colton's behalf. However, if you've ever had so much as a sprained ankle, you know what a single medical bill can look like. Now, imagine what it must look like for the Palmer family. They can use every little bit of help that we can provide. The benefit may be over, but there are still ways of helping. An account has been set up for donations to Colton and his family at Lone Star bank. There are still people out there who are touched by this small life and want to help. If you are one of them, and I really hope you are, donations can be made to: 
Colton Palmer
LONE STAR BANK
P.O. BOX 8
Brazoria, Texas 77422
Just tell the bank that it's for Colton and they'll take care of the rest!  

Here's the thing. This little boy? He's a baby. He's also a survivor. He's strength where there should, by all rights, be weakness. He's hope in a hopeless situation. He's a bright shining light in a dark world. This poor little guy has been through more in his short little life than many of us will EVER go through. His parents and grandparents suffer the fear of "what will happen next?" on a daily basis, and still, they keep their faith. They hold their hope. This family, above all others, deserves the best. Am I surprised at yesterdays results? Yes and no. No, because of who they are, their attitudes, their steadfast belief that things will be just fine and because of that adorable little face that keeps them going. Colton is a lesson to us all. He is a baby and has the strength of a county behind him. We should all learn to be the people who other people want to be there for. Just like him. Before long, his medical issues will have been taken care of, and all that will be left is that brilliant smile that melts your heart and wakes your hope.

In the mean time. Donate. I did. 

Look at My Rash! Look at it, look, look, did you look? You didn't look. Look!

Yesterday was one of those dreaded doctor days. Now, with this particular Dr I'm usually not there for more than an hour. Two on a bad day. Yesterday was a nearly FOUR HOURS of wait time. Why do I hate this more than any other wait at any other office? Because of the level of freak that comes in to wait with me. Oh...my...GAWD! My appointment was at 7:00. I think this is a good thing. I think that I may be first in line. I think I must be ab idiot for thinking. I was third. Still, this is ok, right? Right? ...wroooong.

Patient number for was of the escaped lunatic variety. This guy looked like he ate crack for every meal and snacks in between. He comes in, targets me and comes to sit right next to me. This is a big ass room full of empty chairs, why me?? The second his ass hits the chair he started in on me. "I think I must have gotten a rash. Look. Do you see it? What do you think it is? Look at my rash. How did I get it? Can you see it? You're not looking. Look at my rash." Are you kidding me? Really? For one, you're in a doctors office. Show the doctor, not ME! For two, what the hell makes you think some random stranger wants to see your funky ass rash? Are you that much of an idiot? For three, if you're flirting, you're failing miserably. I suddenly found something so interesting out the window that the rest of the world ceased to exist. After about ten minutes of being ignored he gave up on me and moved on to the only other guy in the room. That poor guy.

AHHH AHHH AHHH CHOOO  PPPTHHHHH

Then comes the sneezer. I feel for the poor lady, but, seriously, use a tissue! Did she? Nooooooo. She sneezed in her hand and wiped it on her chair. When her chair was sufficiently slimed up she moved on to my chair. I moved. Quickly.

Now the room is getting full. The only remaining seats are in the back, past me. Directly past me. The pathway isn't all that narrow, but, it was too narrow for the three chair ass that walked in next. I'm so not kidding. This girl couldn't get by without bumping me with her butt cheek. As if that didn't suck bad enough, she wanted the chair next to me. I wish I could say that I was exaggerating when I say that the crack of her ass was the only thing that fit in the chair, but I'm not. She quite literally needed the three chairs behind me, but nooooo...she squeezed into the ONE right beside me. Then she proceeds to make three trips to the bathroom during the wait, all of which making me wonder when she was bringing in the forklift to help her up. This may sound mean, but right now I don't care. The only thing about her that was overweight was her ass.  I thought about moving again, but rash boy and the sneezer were back there.

Through it all I'm doing my best to remain invisible. The rash and another patient started talking, loudly, and I start wondering if I should just go ahead and kill myself. The rash was, as suspected, a junkie. He had come to the doctor hoping he could get drugs, and he wasn't shy about it. This moron was asking every single patient there if she prescribed narcotics and how hard it was to get them from her. Then he starts asking where the best pharmacy is and how much they cost. From there he moves on to HIS prices. He told everyone in the room how much he sold his meds for, per pill, and how fast he could unload them. Then came the litany of drugs he was currently on. As in, had taken just before coming to the doctor's office. If that wasn't stupid enough, he starts bragging about how many of the Houston pill mills he had been at when they were busted, and how he ended up on TV when Dateline busted one of them while he was there. I was out of there before the doctor saw him, but I'm really hoping he never made it out of the office. At least, not without a pretty new pair of bracelets. I doubt my doctor put up with him. She was in a foul mood.

As it turned out, she was late because she was scheduled to have surgery yesterday afternoon. So I'm surprised she came in at all.

There are always those weirdos in the waiting room, no matter who your doctor is. It's getting to the point that I want a Hazmat suit just for the wait. There's the random talker, the nose picker, the braggart, the twenty questions noob, the barely concealed anger man/woman, the sneezer, the cough-er, the junkie, the freak-show, the sit on you(er), and so on and so forth. Oh, let's not forget the unattended child. You know, the nosy one? The one who stays in your face, pick at your stuff, stares at you, kicks your chair, pesters non stop and just generally annoys. The one who, by all rights, shouldn't be unattended since it's parent is RIGHT FRIGGIN THERE, ignoring the kid.

What's the weirdest thing you've seen in your docs waiting room?

Annoying!

Very little in this world annoys me as badly as the sound of someone trying to suck the walls down his throat while he sleeps. Especially if that someone happens to be laying next to me. For nearly seven years I have thanked my lucky stars that the Hub was a silent sleeper. I've been down the date a snore-aholic rout and I didn't care for the scenery. Unless that scenery happened to be me shoving a giant anaconda down the loud mouthed gullet, or vice versa. Somewhere during this last year my lucky star burned out.

I don't know why. I don't know what changed. All I know is that my once silently sleeping Hub has suddenly started to sound like he's boiling water in the back of his throat. It started about eight months ago. As soon as I make the mistake of thinking that it's gonna be a silent night the gurgling starts.  Seriously??!! I mean, C-MON! He's hard enough to sleep next to. See, the Hub has always been a violent sleeper. I'm used to getting the shit kicked out of me all night long. I've been punched, elbowed, kneed, shoved out of bed, rolled over on top of and clawed every night for a long time. I'm almost used to it. I said almost.  I haven't quite reached the OK with getting my ass kicked on a nightly basis thing yet. I'm also not quite used to having to be grave still for fear of starting another bout of extreme sleeping championships. But, I'm getting there. Then...THIS happened. To make matters worse, in the last month he's added to whistle to the snore. He's getting louder, too. I might just be a widow before long, if this keeps up. I guess I should go ahead and get life insurance on him now. Hey, I could justify it. A jury full of housewives and I'm all good!

When I was six years old we went to Houston for my Grandpa's funeral. While we were there I got stuck sleeping in a room between my Uncle and Daddy. I say sleeping. What I mean by sleeping is desperately praying I'd suddenly go deaf. It was a lot like being lodged between a fog horn and an air raid siren...only louder. I think they literally cracked a wall. I think that might have been the night that I decided never to marry a snorer. Any time I've dated a person like that, I've honestly considered a breakup for no other reason than a peaceful nights sleep.   

The only time I've been okay with snoring was when it was my little brother making his trademark coffee percolator, half choke, half cackle ruckus. If he stopped snoring I couldn't sleep. There was good reason, though. My brother had Muscular Dystrophy. If he stopped snoring it meant there was a problem, so the sound of his trying to suck the stripes off the sheets was comforting. He got away with it. Lesson here? Unless you have a medical excuse for your snoring, a LIFE THREATENING excuse, your snoring will threaten your life.

 Actually, I will.
 Because of your snoring. 
I'm tired of being tired.

What else annoys the piss out of me? The complete and total annihilation of the English language. Seriously, people. If you grew up in America, with English as your first language, then this shouldn't be THIS much of a damn problem. Granted, our school system is lacking, but not THAT lacking.
 It's a glove compartment. COMpartment. Not DEpartment.
Please don't tell me to be more Pacific. I couldn't be more of an ocean if I tried with all my fuzzy little might. Unless I try in my dreams. Then, I might come close. I have been quite specific on this one, I think.
 No, you may NOT axe me a question. My life sucks, but, I want to live. If you ask me if you can, I might just have to axe you. I think I'd quite enjoy that.
What are you posed to do? I don't know. I didn't know we were supposed to vogue. You have fun with that.
Manilla  envelope. MANilla. Not VANILLA. 
And, please, for the love of all that's good and holy, don't tell me what people "be all like"! That nerves me to no end. "They be like that. They be all like.."  Dude, shut up. Just...shut up.
Oh, one of my favorites, doh! Who are you? Homer Simpson? "For real, doh." Again, shut it before I shove a doughnut in your uneducated head hole.
 Or, "You so silly!" "You so crazy" etc. You're, folks. You're! As in YOU frelling ARE! Ebonics is NOT a language!
 And the number one killer of my sanity...there is only ONE U in nuclear! It's not nucular. That is not a damned word. It's not! I promise! I'm fully prepared to launch a mushroom cloud at the next person I hear add too effing many U's.

I have this weird little pet peeve for tags sticking out of the backs of shirts. It's annoying, but, nothing to go nucular over. Cigarette butts in plates of food is, however.  So is dirty mop water, food in the sink, trash one foot away from the trash can, on the floor next to the can, overflowing trash cans, toilet paper and paper towels set down next to the holder instead of ON the damn thing, gangta rap, death metal, wind in my face, my own hair, spitters, rude people, yappy dogs, stupidity, unruly children...wait, this one deserves further exploration.

By unruly children, I do NOT mean kids whose parents are actually trying to control them. Nor do I mean toddlers or just past toddling age children who are going ballistic over something they want in the grocery store while an exasperated mom or dad struggles to maintain composure and not just throttle the little shit stain right then and there. I'm talking about those children who chose Dudley Dursley as a role model. Those little fucktards. The ones who have parents who should be sterilized immediately, before they have the chance to create more little monstrosities. These parents either give the little brats everything, absolutely EVERYTHING the little assholes scream that they want, or they spend so much time hiding from or tuning out their little beast because parenting them is "just too hard" that the brats have learned that they ARE God. Every little kid goes through an asshole phase. It's life. It happens. These kids don't go through the phase. They're taught to be that way. THOSE are the bratty ass kids that annoy me. Their idiot parents annoy me even more. 

Actually, I seem to have a lot of pet peeves. This must be why I stay away from people....

Daddy Issues PT2: You ARE the Father

Ok, If you read part one, you know that I grew up knowing that Daddy wasn't my biological father, even though he was passed off as such until I was fourteen. At such a young age my search was pretty limited. There's not a lot a tween could do to locate someone in the 80's. Especially not even knowing his name. I had a few minor details, and, this is going to sound really odd, I had the things I could just feel. Turns out those feelings were dead on. I resorted to snooping quite a lot, but that got me nowhere. Every once in a while my Mother would spill a detail here or there, and I'd soak it up. She was careful not to mention names, though. After she and Daddy split that all changed. She talked about my biological father more and more often, and always after a few too many drinks. One night she spilled it. His name. I finally had it.

My oldest two kids had already been born at that point. Oh, man, the phone bill I ran up! I searched everywhere I could think of. I knew he was a tattoo artist, and a damn good one! So, I called every parlor in Texas. Quite a few artists knew who he was, but not where he was. It seemed he had dropped off the grid. I had even read article written about him in Skin and Ink magazine. Still, no luck. Time was running out and I was beginning to lose hope. I actually DID hope for the best while expecting the worst. From what my Mother had finally told me about him, my Dad was a bit of a rat. He wasn't, according to her, the kind of person I would ever want to meet. I heard story after story about the bad things he had done to her, and to me when I was a newborn. Now, I'm not an idiot. If you tell me something happened when I was such and such age I can work the dates out for myself. After I did find him, I realized that some of those things I had been told couldn't be true. I knew I had at least one sister, and that her name was Gabi. But, just like Dad, that's really all i knew.

My Dad, Fyke Russel Akers. Pic is from an article about his tat work. :)

Years go by, two more kids are born, and I get married to the biggest jerk off whack job on the planet, and I move to Oklahoma. On one trip from Texas to OKC we passed through Denton. My then husband wanted to stop at a tattoo parlor. He liked spending my money on his crap. He tells me to stay in the truck. I told him to kiss my lilly white ass and I jumped out and ran in. I just had a feeling about this place. I go inside and start scoping the people. A young guy was in the middle of a tattoo, no, he wasn't right. An older woman, obviously in the business for a while, was flipping through paperwork. Her name, as it turned out, was Corky, and she owned the place. No, not quite the one either. Then, a big, burly biker, wearing coveralls with no shirt underneath, long grey hair with a long grey beard to match and covered in ink comes around the corner. YOU! You're the one I want!  I walked over to him and said hi, then told him I was looking for an artist. He said "Oh, we have some great artists." "No," I said "I'm looking for a specific artist." He gives the the curious look and asks who. "Fyke Russel Akers." I tell him. "Oh, yeah! I know Russ!" I think I must have come very close to losing it then. He was all grins until he saw my reaction. That man, Walls, is a sharp one. He figured it out instantly. "Oh...you're not...you are. You're his kid! You look just like him! Hang on, honey. I'm gonna go make a phone call." I stood there crying, watching him call my Dad. Dad wasn't there, but Walls left him a message and had his wife, Corky, send him an email.

Dammit! I'm crying just trying to type this....

We get back to Oklahoma City later that night, and I go to bed with a new hope. It's November, which means it's friggin cold as hell, Christmas is right around the corner, and I have a new hope in my heart. See, Walls is my Dad's best friend. Some of the equipment in their shop belonged to my Dad! The next morning, six a.m., the jackass comes barelling down the stairs and wakes me up with the phone in his hand. "You're gonna want to take this." I try to shake off the sleep haze and say hello. I hear the most chipper, squeaky southern man's voice say "HI! I'm your Dad!"  Can you say tears? We talked and cried for hours! I had been waiting for that call my whole life. And, here it was. Here HE was. My Dad. He didn't argue or want proof or paternity. He didn't act hesitant or ashamed, afraid or mean. He was nervous, of course. So was I! We talked and talked and talked, every morning and every night for months. My Dad was a musician, a gunslinger/quick draw artist, tattoo artist, biker, old hippie, all of which I had always known. These are the things I just felt. He was in North Carolina, had remarried, stopped tattooing anyone but family fourteen years earlier.  Right around the time my little brother was born. Brother...I have a little brother? AWESOME!!!! Oh, no...TWO little brothers, a little sister and my big sister, Gabi.

Nov '04. The first phone call! 

Dad knew where Gabi was, she had contacted him sixteen years earlier. She had better luck than I did! My little brother, Mark Russel, lived with Dad, so that was easy. Crystal and Jimmy were in the wind, though. Ok, next person search! I made up my mind that I would find them come hell or high water. But first, to meet my Dad face to face. I was working in the Federal Building in OKC, for AOL. That meant perks. I put those perks to use and booked a trip to Cozumel. My Dad took my step mom, Susan, and my little brother to Cozumel every June. I would be there too. I wanted to take all of the kids, but I was limited to one. We took the oldest, JessiKa, with a plan to take them all on the next trip.I wish I had known that there would be no next one. Then again, maybe it's better that I didn't.

June rolls around and it's time to go. Thankfully, the jackass is bringing one of his friends and they have interest in nothing but diving, which meant he'd stay out of my way. We make the drive to Houston, pick up Jess and hit the airport. I've never been so grateful for in flight drinks in my life! I was a ball of nerves! When we got to Mexico and the plane started it's decent, I got a good look at the landing strip and really wished I hadn't! Holy crap! It looked like a one lane dirt road that ended in the ocean! We're jostled and jolted and finally on the ground. The little stairs are pulled out for us to climb out of the plane onto the tarmac, so off we go. My only thought is of getting into the airport so I can clear customs and go find my Dad. Of course the idiot gets flagged by customs. I didn't even wait. As security is pulling him off to the side I was telling him "Good luck with that!" and running for the front doors. He was standing outside, in front of the entrance. All I could see was a camera with a beard hanging from it. That's him. I knew that was him. I couldn't see his face, but I knew. I push though the doors and we all but tackle each other. After a few minutes of hugging and crying I notice flashes. I'm wondering who is taking pictures, so I opened my eyes. Holy mother of God, what fresh hell is this?? It looked like the paparazzi had descended! There was a circle of people around us, all of them snapping one pic after another..OF US! Dad said that he had gotten to the airport two hours early. After pacing around for a while people started to wonder about him and ask if he needed help. Dad told them the story of how we met, and it spread like wildfire. People were waiting for me! Some of them had landed an hour or more before I did, but they stayed to see us meet for the first time. The consensus was that they couldn't have watched a better story in a movie. They were so right! I can honestly say that i couldn't have hoped for a better reunion.

Cozumel was a dream. My little brother stayed by my side so often that Susan started telling him to back up a little before he smothered me, but, I liked it! He, Jess and his friend Kel swam themselves to death. We snorkeled in the coldest water I've ever felt, dove from cliffs, toured the island and drank drank drank. That was where I learned that my Dad had an obsession with mudslides and Corona. Nice! When i say we bonded...words will never be able to describe it. We met, really met, in Mexico. He was nothing like I'd been told. And for that I am forever thrilled! I became a Daddy's girl.That trip was also where I learned that my Dad did an amazing, unintentional Jeff Foxworthy impression. While we were snorkeling on day he was bitten by a fish. Dad comes splashing up out of the water, sounding just like Jeff Foxworthy describing a nipple biting beaver. "IT BIT ME!"  he yells. Without even thinking about it, I said "O. F. F. OFF!" What we didn't know was that we had an audience until we heard a family laughing. They were standing on the cliff directly above us, and apparently recognized the joke. Susan was driving this little bitty rental car around the island, the island that takes, in her words "I know, I know. Five minutes." to get anywhere. She got really  tired of people saying five minutes when they meant two hours. Anyway, we're packed like sardines in this little car and one of us, I can't remember which one, started humming Inspector Gadget. It was probably me. Before long, Dad, Mark and myself were all mimicking a different instrument and singing the whole damn song. We cracked up when we finished and Susan said "You know, that was really good!"  We spent a day lounging at Bob Marley's, and I'm so glad we did. Hurricane Katrina wiped it off the map. We climbed pyramids, jungle trekked and ate till we thought we would pop. Susan had some weird obsession with photographing every iguana she saw! We had a blast!

Years passed, Dad and I stayed close, I divorced and moved back to Texas and was dating the Hub. We had a tiny little rat trap apartment in West Columbia. One rainy day there was a knock at my door. From the bathroom, the Hub heard me scream. It was my Dad. He decided to surprise me. He and Chris (The Hub) hit it off right away. As did he and Chris's best friend (Dopy aka Jarred). Dad and Dopy got attached easy! He got to spend time with the kids, his grandchildren, and tool around Texas for a little while. I was in hog heaven. Chris got to see exactly how much of a Daddy's little girl I really was!  Before Chris and I got our apartment together, I had located a Crystal and Jimmy Akers, living in Pasadena. As it turned out, it was the wrong Crystal and Jimmy, but that lead was scary close. They actually were in Pasadena, and the lead had taken my Dad straight to them. So now, I had all of my brothers and sisters! YES! I was complete..almost.

Chris and I were walking one night when he tells me that he had talked to my Dad that day. He tentatively told me that he had called to get his permission to ask me to marry him.  O.O  So, wedding planning began. Another year later, July 2008, I have my Dad in Texas again. Along with my Aunt, my brothers, my sister, a house full of friends and family. It's wedding time! My Dad gave me away. It was, again, like a dream. He came to visit a few more times over the next year. Christmas was the hardest. The Thanksgiving before he called to tell me that he had liver cancer and was going in for surgery. The surgery was a success, so we thought. But, a year later, it was pretty clear that something was really wrong. It was clear that he was visiting because he knew he was getting close to the end and wanted one last Christmas with his family. It was so hard to see him like that. We spent a day in Houston with my sister, Crystal and my rockin' little nephew, Fabian (aka Fizzle). It was nice. But, we could all tell that the day was wearing on Dad. Even worn out, he made sure he enjoyed the trip. He even, or maybe especially, enjoyed the turkey fiasco. My oven kept catching on fire while I was cooking the turkey! I'd blow the fire out and keep on cooking. That turkey had been teriyaki injected. There was no way I was giving up! It turned out to be the juiciest turkey any of us have ever had. There's something to be said for perseverance! That was the same year Dad sent us to a Matchbox Twenty concert for Christmas. He found out that I'd been chasing the tickets for ten years, and was on the phone at least three times a day trying to win them. See? Daddy's girl!

In January, 2009, I got a call from Susan. She said that Dad was in the hospital, and that I needed to get there as fast as possible. Chris's parents loaded up the car and we took off. We took my sister, Crystal with us. We made it to the hospital in North Carolina on January 16th at nearly 3a.m. Susan met us in the parking lot and said to forget our bags, just run. So, we ran. When we got to his room, Dad opened his eyes. They said it was the first time he had opened them in three days. We could tell that he was fighting for us. The harder we cried, the harder he tried. I did the only thing that I could think to do. I told him that we loved him, that we were a family because of him, that I had brothers and sisters because of him, that he had given is grandchildren memories, walked me down the isle and been everything I hoped he would be. I thanked him for that and told him that he could let go. He could rest now. I told my Dad that it was okay to go. He looked in my eyes, smiled, and went.

That was the hardest thing I've ever done. I love my Dad, and I miss him every day. But, I meant what I said to him that morning. We are a family because of him. My life will never be the same.

I hate that I had to meet my Uncle Buzz that way. He and I had been talking through email, video chat and phone calls since the day I found Dad. But, we never got to meet face to face. After Dad passed, we went straight to the nursing home to see him. We woke him up. He looked over and saw me and recognized me immediately. I got the biggest hug from that little man. He lit up even more when I said "Uncle Buzz, look."  and pointed at my sister, Crystal. Over the years he had told me how much he missed her, and there she was. He wanted to be happy, but he was so sad. We all were. We lost Uncle Buzz last year. I keep hair from both of them in an urn, together. Dad was buried in North Carolina. But, Uncle Buzz was brought home to Texas. This is my way of keeping them together.

I am a very lucky person. I was always taught that my Dad was a cad who wanted me dead. But he was the exact opposite. I spent years thinking I would never find him, but, I did. I never expected that he'd come equipped with such awesome siblings, but, he did! I grew up with a Daddy who took care of me and is still in my life. Then I found a Dad who spent the few years we had trying to make up for all of the years we didn't. He didn't have to. Just being him was enough. I'm proud of them both. I love them both. I'm lucky.

The very definition of the 60's. Dad, my sister, Gabi & her mom.

Daddy Issues PT1: You Are NOT The Father

Daddy and my little sister, Brandy, all grown up!

When I was little I lived the first few years of my life with my grandparents, but, that's a blog of it's own. I moved in with my Mother after my Grandpa got too sick to care for me. I remember a lot of things about my childhood. The move isn't one of them. What I do remember is the first time I met my Daddy. He scared the pure shit out of me. Seriously! I was barely three years old. There's a knock at the door, so of course my curious toddler ass has to be the one to answer. There before me was this grizzly, burly, mountain man looking redneck. Now, when I say redneck, I mean his neck was actually red. Daddy was (is) a welder/bounty hunter/Marine and looked the part. Too many of my friends from school wanted to spend the night at my house just to gawk at Daddy. That's not just a little traumatic.

So, anyway, I remember the day he knocked on the door of our mobile home and sent me, screaming down the hallway, terrified out of my mind.  I also remember an argument between myself and my Mother just before Christmas that same year. Daddy was washing his baby, a Firebird, I forget what year model. Mother and I were watching from the kitchen window, fighting over the color of the car. One of us said yellow, the other said white. Neither was right. It was actually that weird cream that almost looks like someone peed in the snow then stirred it up. Mother asked "When are you gonna start calling him Daddy?" I shrugged and said "I don't know. After Christmas." No, I don't remember when I did start calling him Daddy. But, I do remember something about Mother wearing an orange jumpsuit or pantsuit the day they got married. Insert random jail jokes here.
All of these memories are why I spent years confused as to why everyone insisted that he was my biological father. Well, almost everyone. My older (step) sister really enjoyed playing the adopted card. I guess no one expected me to remember things that happened so far back. I mean, I was a toddler! But, I do remember, and that threw a major monkey wrench into their game-plan.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't so miserable with my paternal unit that I HOPED he wasn't my real Dad. He had some major parenting faults, but he was a good Dad, all things considered. I just knew he wasn't the one. I felt it. I remembered it.

Those faults, OH, those faults. Daddy came with two sisters for me. Where those sisters were concerned is where his biggest fault showed it's ugly head. See, he made a tragic but common parenting mistake. He picked a favorite. That favorite was the youngest. The baby. The NOT ME. Brandy is three years younger than I am, Shannon is three years older. Brandy, being the baby, got away with pretty much any and every thing. Oh my GAWD it was frustration to the max! Example: I was about 5 or 6 years old, Brandy was 2 or 3. In our yard was a water well. The kind that look like a propane tank stood up on it's end, with a spigot on the bottom. I caught Brandy turning it on at one point in the day and made her turn it off. Later, she did it again. Only this time, no one noticed. When Daddy got home, later that afternoon, the yard was all but flooded. So, here's how he dealt with it. He spanked me. Yup, ME. Then he asked me who did it. I said Brandy. So he goes to Brandy and asks her who did it. She said Shannon. So he spanked Shannon, then asked her who did it. She said Brandy. Again, he asks Brandy, who blamed it on me! So, guess what? I got spanked, again. And asked, again. What did I say? BRANDY. This rotation went on for a little while, Daddy spanking me and Shannon, both of us saying it was Brandy, Brandy constantly changing her blame target, and Daddy always believing her. Did you notice something here? Brandy never got spanked. Little turd! That was our childhood, summed up. Yes, we actually do get along! That's what sisters do. :D

He also had a fair amount of fear to dish out. Daddy was intimidating as hell. Every time I get nervous I start remembering any time I had to bring home a bad report card. Getting in trouble in my house was a bad, bad, bad thing. I used to hang out in the top of the tree at the end of the driveway when it came time for him to get off of work, just so that I could scope the situation from a distance. I wanted to know what kind of mood he was in before I made an appearance. Football season was the choice time for trouble making. If he was watching a game when I got my ass in the sling, He'd say "Go wait in your room. I'll be in there in a minute." So, I'd go wait, fully expecting to get the business end of a belt at any minute. I'd wait...and wait, and wait, and wait and fall asleep. He was always so wrapped up in his game that he's forget all about me! Yay for football! That did stick with me, though. To this day, if I get that feeling like I did when I was waiting for his belt, I get sleepy as all get out. Stress makes me tired.

He was a practical joker to the extreme degree. Getting into trouble was nothing compared to Daddy in mischievous mode! He had the Chinese finger traps, whoopee cushions, jalapeno bubble gum,black die bubble gum, finger trap bubble gum, fly in the middle ice cubes, pink elephant ice cubes, invisible ink, dog whistles that blow water in your face, trick handcuffs, REAL handcuffs, joy buzzers etc. etc. And, he used his jokes on a regular basis! The most memorable of Daddy's pranks was handcuffing Shannon's writs to the headboard (UNDER the bed), my wrist to Shannon's ankle, my ankle to Brandy's wrist and Brandy's ankle to the foot-board. He strung us, diagonally, under the bed, laughed like a loon and left us there. Yup, that was Daddy.

It's not like he didn't pull his fair share of bonehead moves, though. Like the go kart he got us for Christmas. We lived in a beach house with an enclosed downstairs. Daddy assembled the go kart while we were asleep Christmas eve. The next morning we followed a trail of clues that led us downstairs, to our prize. Of course we wanted to crank it up and ride it right away. There was just one problem. It was INSIDE and the doorway was too narrow to drive it out. Tip it on it's side. Easy. Nope. he had already filled it with gas. *Facepalm.* Good one, Daddy. Oh, how about the day he set a pan full of grease on fire. Did he smother it? You bet he did. In the river! He grabs the flaming pan, runs out onto the porch and slings it into the canal. Wow. Daddy didn't pull too many facepalm worthy moments, but when he did, he did it right!

There were plenty of ups and downs, growing up with an ex Marine. He had flashbacks in his sleep, which meant yelling and occasionally not breathing. Everything they taught him in the military stuck with him. He had a footlocker full of his things from Vietnam. Daddy was full of stories, some of which I wish I'd never heard. Being a Marine meant he was strict. I'm still not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Even now I think some of his habits went a little too far. But, that's ok. We survived. He taught me to weld, too. Oh, how that came in handy once I hit shop class! Now that I think of it, the things Daddy taught me are proof that he really wanted a boy. Maybe that's why I've never been a really girly girl. He even took us with him when he went to collect on bounties. Now that was an experience to remember! Especially seeing Daddy face plant in the grass after a group of kids set off a string of black cats in the middle of the street. He was in commando mode, sneaking up to the house where the guy he was supposed to arrest lived. The next thing we know it's sounding like WWIII in the street and Daddy is diving for cover. Nice!

Daddy did the best he could for me. Even though I wasn't his kid. I still have issues with some of the things that happened when I was a kid, disagreements with the way he did some things, and I always will. But even during the bad, there was good. He was my father from the time I was three years old, and he did his best to act as such. That didn't stop me from wondering, though. I had this secret mission to find my biological father for as long as i can remember. It drove my mother insane. I never let on to Daddy that I knew. I just...well, lived.

Then it happened. My mouth over-road my ass.

I was in a no holds barred argument with my Mother over something or other and it was getting ugly. Daddy is the type of person that no matter how mad he is at someone, he won't let you talk down to them. Even during their divorce, which was a down and dirty mess, he was telling me to mind my Mother, and he had nothing but good things to say to me about her. The day of that argument was no different. I came storming through the room and Daddy stopped me to fuss at me for the way I was talking to her. I was fourteen. Before I could stop myself, I blurted it out. "I know you're not my real dad!" The look on his face was painful. I regretted those words. Mother started floundering on the subject, saying that yes he was, and so on. Daddy didn't. He looked sad. He simply said "I knew this day would come." ...I wonder if he ever knew how much it meant to me that he didn't lie to me then. We sat down, later on, and he told me how he felt, and that was enough for me. He was honest about it. That matters. The subject never came up between us again. It didn't need to. We'd said what we needed to, the air was clear, the truth was out and there was no need to beat the dead horse. We just carried on, business as usual.

I haven't seen Daddy in many years, but we do talk. He raised me. How could I just drop that from my mind? Whatever happened in their marriage was between them. But, in that wreck, I lost too. I wont let their present change my past, I can't. So, Daddy is Daddy and that's that. I hope I'll get to see him again soon. I'm not banking on it, but I'm hoping. I talk to his new family (new, lol, right. They've been together for years!) and I just consider them an extension of my already dysfunctional family. Why not? Life goes on. Years go by. But the memories never fade. That was my childhood. My life. It won't go away, and I wouldn't want it to. Daddy played a big part in molding my personality. So, Daddy is Daddy.

Daddy and his wife, Chris on their wedding day, more than twenty years ago! 

End of story.

Happy Weird Day to Me

Yesterday was one of those weird beyond weird days. I was already floating in a sleepy fog, since the Hub decided that two hours of sleep was all I needed. He did it again last night, only this time he opted for letting me have a thirty minute nap, instead of the whole two hours. Rough sleepers SUCK! Anyway, I got a couple of happy birthday surprises a day early. The first one wasn't so happy.

My body hates me. I got a gift a day early for my birthday, but a week early from it's scheduled delivery. The day before yesterday was the day that we discovered that moving slowly in the In-Laws hallway is a good thing.It's a good thing she put her hands up when she did! I plowed into the Mommy-in-Law while running full tilt down a windowless hall, first thing in the morning, trying to get to the bathroom. Ouch? We both survived unscathed, but now for phase two of my dilemma. I'm unprepared. GAH! Two hours and three pants washes later, I am now prepared and fully unhappy. Tomorrow is my birthday and my body has decided to make sure I spend it on my butt. How uncool.

So, I'm planted in the only place safe, a black vinyl chair, trying to find anything at all to occupy my time, when I get 2 birthday cards. The first was from the the Hubs parents. Very cute. The second threw me for a loop. Marlboro? Really? Complete with coupons. O.o Well, alrighty then. Weird.

Skip to an hour later. The Daddy-in-law is asking me where the paperwork on the busted ass Navigator is, which I'm clueless. He says "We'll need to roll it over there." gesturing from the Nav to the empty side of the driveway. From my vantage point, I can't see anything. "Where?" I ask, thinking he's saying we need to move the Nav out of the driveway. "To that." he answers. Now I'm really confused. I lift a little, so I can see better. There's a green vehicle in the drive. "Who's that?" He chuckles and says "That's yours." O.O ...."Huh?...Wait...What? From where? Since when? WHAT?" Now both of the Hubs parents are laughing at me. I was completely speechless after that. We now have a green, 1997 Ford Explorer.

I think I'm still in shock!

Pointless blog

I've been away from the computer for a few days due the the massive suck level of my health. To be honest, I don't really feel up to being on this thing now. But, ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Right? To be even more honest, I'm playing hell finding a topic that won't drive people away. No one is interested in a long, whiny, cry baby sob saga about how stressful my last few days have been. Downer much? When I woke up in a clammy sweat this morning and realized that I could think straight, I was almost happy. I thought "Cool. My ads have gone live, my fever is broken, I can think in straight lines and nearly see. Cool. I might, just might, be able to write today." I'm an idiot.As it turns out, life wasn't done with this latest round of stress dump. So, I get the phone call that successfully starts another day of downhill slide that I can do NOTHING about, and think "Dammit." Yeah, that's the PC version of what I actually thought. It was more like a long string of vulgarities with no break in between. Ok, ok, screw it. I'm still gonna write. I need the distraction. But, what to write about? *insert cricket chirp here* Let the net search begin. That's about as helpful as a lit match on a hemorrhoid. It could be helpful, if I were a rich, world traveling, videographer/photographer doing a story on Panda sexual abuse in the Arctic.

The search for a decent topic hasn't really come to anything yet. I'm currently getting cussed by my down's syndrome brother-in-law for....I don't know what for. I just know he's mad. Welcome to the club, kiddo. It's a bit distracting , though. Even from the fruitless search.

Ok, when I find my broken funny bone, get up the oomph to actually put my brain cells to work, and beat my stress into submission, you'll be the first to know. This was a long way of saying that I'm not forgetting my blog. Pointless, yes?

Riverdancing Kamikaze Ninja Goat Mutant Troll Gnomes

That just LOOKS evil

There are 4 pains in this world that turn me into mega wimp. Pains that send me to my knees and turn me into the kind of bitch you avoid in dark alleys. Yeah, THOSE kinds of pains. I've handled bruises, breaks and cuts with minor complaining, compared to these pains. My alien takes the top of the list. When he starts chewing on my insides I'm nothing but a snotty, slobbery, squalling mess. The rest are at a tie. I don't do burns, earaches or TOOTHACHES very well at all. I get pissy with a capital P. Bet you can guess which one I currently have, can't you?

For the past few days there's been a slow throb building in the left, upper corner (back molar) that grew to a head splitting throb in the night. I had the typical injury filled night for me. Meaning that during my last (yeah right, last) trip to the bathroom before bed, I was startled by a flash of light, spun around and cracked my shin on the toilet. The Hub heard it from across the house. I now have a goosegg with a big bruise on my shin. He (the Hub), in his sleep, drove his knee into my back, so the muscle there has yet to stop with the spasms and feels a lot like a major kidney infection. Those little hurts should have been enough alone. But, ohhhhh no. I forgot all about them thanks to throb o'matic in my mouth. I'm a cranky little cuss. You wouldn't like me. But, c'mon, are you really any different? Don't tell me any of you enjoy tooth pain? If that were true no dentist would earn a dime. I'm kind of liking that thought. Wouldn't that be nice? I'd love to see just one telethon aimed at saving starving dentists all over the world! *Evil Laugh*  But, alas! I'm gonna have to go see one of those greedy tooth thieves sooner than I'd like.  

Poor ninja goat doesn't know what he did wrong

The last time I had a rear molar blow out like this one has, I drove the poor Hub insane. I begged him to pull it for me. When he got the pliers, just to call my bluff, of course, it backfired on him. That was the moment he knew I was serious. I see that awful tool in his hand and, instead of freaking out, I leaned back and opened my mouth. You should have seen the look of shock on his face. I Was. Not. Playing. Get this riverdancing kamikaze Ninja goat mutant troll gnome out of my mouth!  Next stop? The evil tooth-pulling horror movie villain in disguise. The dentist. My old nemesis. I've had some really bad experiences with teeth yankers. I'm not a fan.

For many years I was at war with my lower right wisdom tooth. When I say war, I mean red, throbbing, can't push through so it's permanently in a state of abscess, world war two hundred and ten happening in my head, can't stop bawling and haven't slept for days at a time WAR. My mother takes out a loan to get me into the dentist. A loan. Yes, we had to get a loan. That's pretty bad. Damn thing was expensive! So, anyway, I get into a local dentist and that's when we learned that for one thing, I'd have to find another dentist to do it. Complete boney. For those terrible tooth novices (lucky a*holes with perfect teeth who I envy and would like to drive a sledge hammer into your grill, people), a complete boney means that the root is driven so deeply into your jaw bone that surgery will be required to extract the damn thing. Extract. A polite way of saying "ripped from your head". So we start making calls to locate a dentist to do the work. After many, many, MANY calls, we find one in Houston. That's when the need for a loan came up. This was gonna cost thousands! *sigh* I get there and am almost immediately dragged into the back. The dentist comes in and says he's going to give me Novocaine, the sweet nectar of tooth pain survival. I'm all for that. The needle hurts like hell, but even through that pain I did register that he only gave me ONE shot. Then he says he needs to just take a quick peek. I open wide. He picks up what I can only describe as a cross between a metal severed parrots beak and gardening sheers, shoves them into my mouth (where, by the way, it did NOT fit) and yells for help. Why did he yell for help? Why, because I realized right away that he was about to do something universally stupid, and I protested. Wildly. Several bruised nurses and a jaw punched dentist moments later, he's holding my tooth. My tooth that was as wide as my thumb is, from tip to first knuckle, with roots over an inch long. Yes, I kicked the nurses. A lot. And in the face when the opportunity presented itself, which it did more than once. And, yes, I punched his stupid ass. He made my jaw hurt. Fair is fair. Oh, but, not only did he make my jaw hurt, he BROKE IT! IN TWO FRIGGIN' PLACES!!! ASS...HOLE! It was supposed to be surgery. No, no, no he didn't feel like taking that kind of time, so this eff wit, RIPS the roots right out of the bone. O.O  Did they lower the cost because of this snafu? Did they offer medical care for the breaks? Noooooooooo. They were paid in advance. So, why should they. I'm sweaty, bloody, pissed off, snotty and crying now, and just want the hell out of there. On the plus side, since not one dentist in this revolving door for dentists building is paying a bit of attention, I did manage to walk out of there with 3 prescriptions for pain. Which, by the way, is the first stop I demand we make. Oh blessed pharmacy, how I loved thee on that day. My ride said he could hear me screaming from the lobby. Ya think? Now, we get home, I sit down on the couch, and Spawn number 3 (aka Ashley) sits in front of me. At this point in her development she had a new favorite game. Slam herself backwards, hard, against who or whatever was behind her. You can see where this is going, can't you? Mmmmhm. She slammed her little melon head into my freshly broken jaw. I handed her to my mother, as carefully as I could (since all I really wanted to do was throw her into a wall) and drooled/mumbled/slobbered/said "I'm going to work."  My boss thought I was nuts for coming in, until he read the note I had written to him, explaining that I was there for the safety of my face and that of my child's face. He just shook his head and walked away.

I won't give the name of the place dumb enough to empl

oy the jaw breaker.

Here I am, a few years later, with the bottom wisdom tooth on the other side acting a fool. Back to the dentist I go. This one was good. He even took what I said to heart, when I warned him that I throw punches at people who cause my teeth to hurt worse. As he started pulling I couldn't actually feel it, but, I could hear that horrific popping, crunching, ripping sound. *Shudder*  It was just a knee jerk reaction. That man was on point! Fully prepared, moving much faster than I though a man of his age could, he caught my fist and smiled at me. My eyes were wide! I tried to apologize past the mouth full of dental tools. He just laughed and said I wasn't his first hitter, then thanked me for warning him. It got impacted. Of course it did. That's my luck, right? If you've never experienced dry socket, pray you never do. That's a pain that would put a sumo wrestler on his knees. Screw that noise! This dentist was so awesome, though. He had me come into his office three times a day to change out the packing and shoot me full of Novocaine. Again, that blessed, life saving injection that leaves you slobbering all over yourself for hours.

Fastfarward a couple of years. Both top wisdom teeth are trying to come in. I knew this would happen eventually, but hoped it never would. My top teeth were in my sinus cavities. Not much of a "happy happy joy joy" situation with those bad boys started crawling down. Holy shit, my face hurt! Again, dental surgery. This time it was a dental surgeon in Oklahoma City. He actually put me under. I was really, really hoping there wouldn't be any complications. The final arrangement was to cut through the roof of my mouth, as opposed to cutting through my face. However, one complication too many, and, BOOM, my face gets sliced and diced. There were complications. Again, it's me we're talking about, here. But, thankfully, none of them resulted in a change of incision. I kept waking up from the anesthesia, for one. They had to give me more to knock me back out three times. After it was all said and done, the dentist said that people waking up from anesthetic during any kind of surgery was normal and "quite common." Exfraggincuse me?? No, it's very much NOT. The other complication was something that was always in the realm of possibility. A tunnel. I have a tunnel in my mouth. If my sinus cavities get too congested it will drain into my mouth through the tunnel left from the extraction. If I try to pull too hard off of a straw, whatever I am drinking will end up going from my mouth into my sinuses. Good times, man, good times. The aftermath of that left me in pure hell. My face was so swollen that I looked like a purple Voldemort. I ended up in the hospital from after surgery complications more than once, and during one visit was overdosed on morphine. Would anyone like some used luck? I'm done with mine. I don't want it anymore.

Since the four-ply wisdom tooth fun I've had a rear molar and my bottom 2 front teeth pulled after breaking them. Every time has been enjoyable experience. And if you buy that, I've got an awesome bridge up for sale.

So here I am, once again, with a tooth in pieces, hating life, wishing I had a friend with a Novocaine stockpile and dreading what comes next. What does come next? With any luck someone will just shoot the damn Ninja goat. He's gone from Riverdancing in my mouth to tap dancing on my face. Or maybe that's a zombie troll. There's a vampire gnome playing bongos on top of my head, I'm sure of it. The herd of wild buffalo hasn't stopped their death metal guitar lessons from being hosted on my eardrums yet, but I'm doing my best to evict them.

Toothaches suck.

What the Hell is Wrong With Me? or Life Under the Invisible Umbrella

Medical coverage means everything!

Some years ago, I think it was 2004 or so, I had great insurance, since I worked for AOL. I was in retention, which is a high stress job as it is. Add to that, we were located in the Federal Building in Oklahoma City. That meant that we were surrounded by Homeland Security on a daily basis. Mega paranoia! There were ambulances in and out of there on a weekly basis. All for heart related issues. Yes, I was one of those hauled out on a gurney. So embarrassing. I had prayed that I would never be the one, but, no such luck. Give your AOL call center reps some credit, guys. Go easy on them. You have no idea the level of stress they work under. Fear of being bombed, again, bosses hovering over your shoulders and chewing your ass for every little thing, people calling you just to scream at you and your job is to calm them down and talk them out of canceling a service they hate, death threats, inside competition, and more. But, I digress. I had good insurance. I was seeing a Dr on a regular basis, and he was good at what he did. He was very thorough. Dr Williams asked questions I had never been asked before, and some of them hit home. He listened to me, and was intrigued  by what I told him. He looked at me in a way I had never been looked at. And, by that I mean that he very, very closely examined my skin, my eyes, my hair, my teeth, fingernails, fingers and toes. Then he ordered an insane battery of tests, some of them quite humiliating and annoying. None as humiliating as a PAP, which he overlooked, as did every doctor since the birth of my youngest female spawn. That was a BIG mistake, but that's another story. As it turns out, Dr Williams specialized in rare disorders. Unlike every family practitioner, Gastroenterologist, Chiropractor, Bone specialist, so forth and so on, he recognized the symptoms I was describing. That was a nice change. So, after this insane battery of tests, he ordered another, and then another. I felt like a pin cushion and was very tired of having one jug of urine in a cooler and another on the back of the toilet. Those collects got tiring. But I didn't mind as much when I remembered that he was actually DOING something.

So here it was, diagnosis number one. RTA or Renal Tubular Acidosis, Type 1 (Distal), aka dRTA. What the hell is that? Well, it means that my kidneys are idiots, in a nutshell. The can't absorb the good stuff and release it into my blood stream. They can absorb plenty off the bad stuff, though. They can't neutralize the acids in them, acid naturally produced by the body, and they end up releasing those acids into my blood. Under normal circumstances, they would send the excess acid into the urine. Like I said, my kidneys are idiots. Ok, so what does this mean? Well, it means that things like potassium can't be sent into the blood stream. This leads to hypokalemia. That, by itself, is a whole new tangle of mess.

Your muscles depend on potassium to function, and, what is your heart? That's right. It's a muscle. Over the counter potassium pills aren't enough for sever hypoglycemics. All they do is shred your stomach. Prescription VK, or potassium, Comes in the gigantic horse pills that choke you on the way down. No fun at all. Let's add the worst of the lot, liquid potassium. Oh HELL NO! In an I.V. it's normally diluted because of the burn. But, even then it hurts like hell. Most of the time they will dope you up when they're giving you a potassium push. I've had a straight, undiluted push before. Even through morphine and Demerol I was screaming bloody murder. It actually burned my veins to the point that you could see the blisters through my skin. It looked like my arm was glowing in the dark. Much massive suckage! But, it had to be done.

So, what else does RTA mean? Icky ass drugs. Specifically, sodium bicarbonates. Those are SO much fun. Holy ICK!  I actually had a nurse try to O.D. me on it once. Citra-2 is a very stout liquid and is meant to be diluted. Heavily diluted. The nurse brings me this giant syringe filled with a clear liquid, so I thought she had done it right. I reach for it and she yanks it back. Says I'm not allowed to touch it. O.o  Excuse me? Whatever. So she tells me to open my mouth and proceeds to squirt this acidic crap straight into the back of my throat. O.O  NO! It removed skin. Instead of 3 tsp Citra-2 to 4oz of water, she gave me 4oz straight Citra-2. I couldn't talk for the rest of the day. The she acted like it was MY fault. Are you effing kidding me? This is just SOME of the bullshit we have to put up with.  Anyway, it also comes with a little thing I like to call Asshole bladder. That's because my bladder acts like a royal asshole. The Hub says I have a child's bladder. I get no warning. When it decides it's full, it says "NOW! GO PEE NOW OR I'LL EXPLODE! NOW! THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING!" Fun stuff, man. It hurts like a mad bastard, too. Is it actually full? Usually not. And if it is, I'll never know because the damn thing refuses to empty. No one should have to strain to pee.  I feel like an old man with an enlarged prostate. It sucks.

Here's a list of symptoms from Medline Plus:
"Confusion or decreased alertness
Fatigue
Impaired growth
Increased breathing rate
Kidney stones
Nephrocalcinosis
Osteomalacia
Rickets
Muscle weakness
Other symptoms can include:
Bone pain
Decreased urine output
Increased heart rate or irregular heartbeat
Muscle cramps
Pain in the back, flank, or abdomen
Skeletal abnormalities"

Yeah, really fun stuff. But wait! There's more! Next diagnosis? Ehlers Danlos! Also known as EDS.  Type 3, subtype unknown. Ok, ok, what the heck is THAT? Well, it means I have no glue. Collagen is basically the glue that holds us together. It's not just the stuff that makes you look young. It means being double jointed, having forearm skin that feels like velvet, bruising easy, constant sprains and break, weakness, fatigue, swan neck fingers, bone spurs, Stretchy ligaments and tendons, Stretchy/fragile skin and a really long list of other side effects. Since it's what holds me together that's missing it means that everything on the inside is at risk. Yay me! Next up to bat? Fibromyalgia!

Oh what fresh hell is this? The best theory that they've come up with so far is " a central nervous system disorder, is described as a 'central sensitization syndrome' caused by neurobiological abnormalities which act to produce physiological pain and cognitive impairments as well as neuro-psychological symptomatology".  Lovely. Basically this means you hurt. You hurt all friggin' over. Head to toe, ow, leave me the hell alone or I will wound you, all over. Oh, welcome to the wonderful world of fibro. A world where sleep is scarce, upset tummy's are common, aches and pains are constant and a chunk of the medical community thinks you're a big fat fakey faker face. I hit on all of that in a past blog, You Can't See Me. It's all about the fun we go thru when people start their crap about how we must be lazy asses making excuses, because they can't see anything wrong with us. GAH! You try not being able to eat, or being afraid to eat because you know your stomach is going to turn into an explosive mess once the food hits it. You try going days on end without sleep because, no matter how hard you try, you just can't  sleep. More to the point, you try living with head to toe, crippling pain. Yeah, that's fun.

OOOOOOOOOOOOW!

 

Each of these illnesses has been linked into 2 to 3 websites that give information on them. Look at the symptoms of each one. Look at how many overlap. Each one comes with pain, depression, pain, headaches, pain, IBS and PAIN. That's a friggin' triple threat! No fair! And worse? It doesn't stop there. I have a new one I'm not ready to talk about, but comes with some of the same symptoms as the others. Seriously, look into these symptoms. Look at your friends and family. Do you know anyone with RTA, Ehlers, Fibro or any other chronic pain or invisible illness? If you do, research. Even if you don't. Arm yourself with knowledge. Believe me, these people have enough frustration in their lives than to have to deal with their friends and family doubting them too, simply out of ignorance of the facts. Learn. Be kind. Be understanding and be supportive.

Reread this, asking yourself all the while, do you want my life? Do you want your body to have to deal with what mine does? Why not? Guess what? Your "why not" answer is exactly why you shouldn't dismiss those with illnesses you can't see.