My 29th birthday was August 9th, 1985. It has always been a day of great meaning for me.
Michael Brown's birthday was May 20th, 1996. He won't be alive to see his 19th birthday.
The last 10 years of my life since high school have gone too fast and he was just on the cusp of the most exciting time of life.
The year I got my driver's license I was pulled over a handful of times. The first time I was driving through a speed trap at 5mph over the speed limit. The gentleman I had sitting beside me was very cool. I took off my seatbelt to get my purse from the backseat. The cop didn't care and whether you'd like to consider it a favor or not, gave me a seatbelt ticket which is a lot cheaper than a speeding ticket. And based on the goth look of myself, my car, and my long haired compatriot we could have easily been harassed or handed a stack of tickets.
I was almost arrested once. My friends and I were called "mall rats" when the mall closed at 9:30-12pm depending on the holiday season we would leave the mall and some of us would go to the woods to do drugs. Others of us who didn't do those things would go and eat copious amounts of junk food from IHOP in the middle of the night. I was called "the good one" by my mall friends. I was the goth chick nicknamed "death" at my high school. Contrasting perspectives.
One night after I had gotten my first car, a 1982 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme that my parents had painted black for my birthday and I had affixed 32 bumper stickers to, basically begging to be pulled over. I offered to drive a group of 4 people to the hotel they were staying at that night. One 20 plus man, 2 teenage boys, a 16 year old girl, and me a 17 year old girl driving. I had never tried smoking pot at this point in my life. I actually thought at a younger age that cannabis was a drug on par with heroin and cocaine, thanks The War On Drugs. So this night the people I was with were not people I knew before that evening. I usually tend to stick to people I know for a reason.
I was young and I hadn't driven a lot in my town yet. I made a wrong turn on the way to the hotel and turned around in a dead end street. Then I was given poor advice by one of the men in my car to turn into a cemetery road while we discussed where I should go. I then turned off my lights and turned them back on to leave.
It was then that I finally noticed the cop car that had been following us the entire time. The kids in my car were preparing to smoke everyone's favorite bong, Bob. The only weed and paraphernalia was in one backpack that belonged to one 17 year old boy. They put him in the SUV cop car out of the 3 that showed up. They badgered me with questions while I had what was one of the many notable panic attacks of my life. They sat me and my friends on actual graves while they berated me. They checked every single inch of my car. Trunk, glove-box, whatever. I gave them permission because at the time I didn't know better and I literally had nothing to hide, no weapons, I had never even Tried drugs. My attitude was for all I cared they could take me in and test me. I was mainly worried about being late for curfew now and what I was going to tell my parents.
NJ had passed a law the year I got my license that 17 year olds couldn't have more than one passenger in the car. They wound up giving me a ticket for too many passengers and a ticket for reckless driving, a 4 point ticket with a huge fine, but it wasn't jail for the night, and it wasn't a possession charge that could ruin my life and really upset my parents. I had lied and said I was with closer friends, in another town. I couldn't even tell my mom the truth because of how stupid I felt for my poor decisions. Driving decisions and who I chose to keep company with that night.
I told my dad the whole truth. For some reason at the time he seemed the easier parent to talk to. The Graduated Driver's License violation accompanied the threat of jail time in the language. I went to go see a lawyer through my dad's Union contract and he could only represent me if there was a threat of jail time. And there was.
The day of court I felt sick. My dad and the lawyer were with me. I had on my best Catholic School attire. The lawyer met with the prosecutor and I was completely off the hook. This blond haired, blue eyed kid, who had never been in trouble in her life, who was in fact terrified of ever being in trouble, was going to get away with what other kids would be shot in the street for.
Screaming and crying at a police officer would have gotten me at the very least an arrest record, if not hog tied or shot in cold blood if I was someone else.
The police officer had made the choice to come to court.
His words, "I already let her off the hook." And in reality he had. Had I been someone else or he been someone else my life could be entirely different now.
Or over.
They could have said the drugs were mine. They could have not released my friend and taken his bong and weed without writing it up in the report. Cops stole drugs from me and my friends and "let us go". It happened to me.
Let's fast forward to 10 years later. I am 27. Suffering from massive depression and my family and friends have stopped calling unless they need to.
My little cousin, 7 years my junior calls me.
Weird.
No one calls. Everyone texts. Maybe it's an emergency. Try to answer and miss the call.
She calls again. My heart is pounding. It's late morning and this is a 20 year old college student. I answer and know something is wrong. Everyone starts with "can you do me a huge favor?" when something is wrong. I know this because I cherish the fact that I am the friend you call when you need someone. When you need someone to actively help you. Many people have asked me, "can you do me a huge favor?" I always say yes.
I'm wide awake now and throwing clothes on. She's at the State Trooper Station off the Garden State Parkway. Only 15-20 minutes away. Her boyfriend is in holding still for questioning.
They are 21 and 20 years old. He is a ballroom dance instructor, a tri-athlete, and he has a glucose monitor for his diabetes.
She's in community college, becoming a yoga instructor, works full time running a deli, and has traveled to both Africa and Guatemala to help those less fortunate than herself. She also has a panic disorder like me, it seems to run in families.
He was selling small amounts of marijuana for cash amongst friends they knew. On the morning in question his father was away for the weekend. Something I'd consider a community service considering the alcohol and violence related domestic violence epidemic this country has. They were mostly naked and sleeping soundly when their door was opened at 6am by a swarm of police officers.
Two morally innocent twenty somethings were woken up at gun point by a swat team. In a house with no other drugs, and no weapons. Not even the nerdy Ren Faire sword kind.
One of the men who had a rifle pointed in their naked frightened faces was another cousin of mine.
From my other side of the family. We all grew up together until our families started fighting about money around our adolescence. We had family parties every summer at my Great Aunt's house because she had a pool and cabana put in, in the 1970s when not having kids meant disposable income. That house became my own when my mother saved it from foreclosure in 1995. My Great Aunt even worked at a bank her entire life's career of working and still had a predatory bank loan and massive debt in her 60's. One of the family holiday's we celebrated was my birthday, August 9th.
The last time I had seen my officer cousin in a social setting he had just left the police academy. It was a strange family party, the family made many lame attempts at behaving in social situations for my Grandma Jackie before she died.
He was skinny. We were always two chubby cheeked red faced Irish kids and he looked hard and tired. And the only story I caught of their life that day was of him and his father, my uncle, getting into a drunken fist fight in a baseball stadium recently.
I had only seen him one another time in my teenage years. I went with another cousin, who travels from Florida to visit, up to the college of my cousin who was studying criminal justice at the time. All my cousins on that side of the family were finally reunited since the feud in our adolescence and they were excited but I didn't feel that way.
There was a lot of drinking going on, and I only had a little here and there by 18. I also hadn't experimented with any prescription drugs.
I know now that there is no point in snorting Xanax. It makes your nose burn and your snot taste awful. But scientifically you get the same or better high from absorbing it through your stomach into your blood stream. They were all snorting Xany bars which is all I knew of them as and I was trying to figure out how to get out of the situation when my best friend called and asked me to come get her because she was kicked out of her house and homeless again.
The first time she was 17 and moved in with our friend's parents, the second time she was 18. They ridiculed me for being the kind of friend who would drop everything while I was supposed to be partying to go help someone.
All young people have poor impulse control. We all make mistakes. That's how we learn. Older generations should teach and protect not magnify the adolescent decisions we'd otherwise be ashamed of. The life consequences we suffer are based on our social classes.
The white male child of a police officer, lawyer, or judge when stopped over a minor violation will be released with no consequence and learn that the world bends to their will.
Sometimes Appearance Really Is Everything.
Be My Friend
8/30/14
Keeping Up Appearances
This one's been a long time coming.
I really don't know where the start is with this one because it stems from my entire existence.
I was raised to be very aware of how things appear. And to fix them. I was raised in a hair salon. My mother is not overly put together but always had earrings in and a little make-up on and work clothes. But I have come to find out a lot more effects you in life than your mother. Mothers take a lot of the blame for things not appearing the way they should. For children not raised properly. But every single person a child comes in contact with has an impact on them. And there is only so much a mother could do to fix certain things.
In learning deeply about my anxiety disorder I let my house get a little messier to be more well rested. I tried desperately to unlearn caring how things appear.
I stopped wearing make up. In order to face the monster that is me picking at supposed imperfections in my face. I needed to see the damage I was doing all the time to want to stop.
I still haven't.
I think all the years of a large variety of toxic make-ups have forever altered my skin. And sometimes when I want to feel the most confident I still wear it. I can still pretend there is nothing wrong entirely.
Whenever my cousin went to work at the restaurant where she worked without make-up on people asked if she was tired or sick. It is such a rude thing to say. Almost, "you look worse than usual."
What if you have an invisible illness like cancer, diabetes, or depression?
I hear things like this all day long. I grew up most days of the year, most of the years of my life until now, in a hair salon.
I don't know if anything really sums up the culture of worshiping appearances better than a salon dedicated to masking people's personal flaws with good hair shapes and colors. It's not something I'm against by any means.
I'm an artist at heart and all artists art their hair and clothing. Everyone has a style. Hair has no biological necessity other than adornment. We are meant to express ourselves through the hair on our head.
Cultures throughout the ages have used makeup to signify soldiers. It's not called war-paint by coincidence. As long as we've had art and the use of crushed flowers and berries and minerals to make it we've been applying it to ourselves.
In a way women did fight a war over the freedom to wear make-up. It's an answer to society's unrealistic expectations of us. There was a time only "whores" wore make-up.
I wear my appearance like a shield or a costume and I have for a long time. I choose to have brightly colored, different looking hair. I chose to have piercings. And I choose to not shave sometimes and not always wear things society would deem appropriate for a lady. I am a lady, therefore whatever I Do is lady-like.
It's not easy to feel comfortable and rarely wear a bra.
At first.
It's not easy to dress comfortable for the heat and get unwelcome stares and cat calls all day.
But I've stopped caring. And most of us should.
We only shave religiously because of a Gillette marketing campaign 100 years ago to sell more razors.
Men also face great pressure to keep a trim appearance and no facial hair. Especially as they climb the social ladder. No one becomes business elite without conforming to the daily shave routine. My husband gets a lot of questions and comments about his beard but here is my appearance story about beards.
I look out for stories about appearance and how people have been discriminated against for some aspect of their appearance they either like, or can not help. Most legal protections for companies uniform and appearance policies are deeply rooted in racism and keeping the Right people in the job.
I have a friend who teachers surf lessons as a career. He grew up by the beach and lives for the surf. That's not to say he doesn't have the brilliant mind of a scientist and is one of the kindest most well rounded gentleman I know.
One summer one of his students mom's went to his boss and asked for a new instructor.
This is odd, seeing as how my friend is a very good surfer and a kind and patient instructor. The mother of the student didn't want her son taking lessons "from a Muslim".
This came as a shock to my friend who is of Italian Catholic decent. His beard just grows big and thick and black. And his skin is a depth of tan from years of worshiping the sun and surf. He was offended for Muslims. But how much more hurt would his feelings have been if this woman really was assuming terrible things about his own belief system? What if this was something that happened to him repeatedly throughout his life?
He wasn't what he appeared to be and many things aren't.
I've been made to wear an ace bandage to hide my tattoo of a rose on my left forearm. When too many customers asked how I hurt my arm or what the tattoo was of, I was told to wear a long sleeve shirt under my short sleeve. In the middle of summer. All so that my rose does not offend someone's delicate business sensibilities.
That is not to say I can compare the discrimination I face for my chosen body art to people who's appearance will never fit what society has deemed Acceptable. What if you can't choose to hide?
To Be Continued...
Be My Friend
To Be Continued...
Be My Friend
5/29/14
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5/20/14
My Best Friend's Dad
I had the most amazing day yesterday. I spent the day at my best friend's dad's house cleaning it out for the last time. Maybe most people would think that is a morbid thing to have been an amazing day. But to me sometimes the most amazing days aren't necessarily about all happy things. Sometimes the hard memorable things become the amazing things as well. And we spent most of the day laughing and reminiscing and finding treasure.
Exactly 10 years ago we were in college and my best friend's dad moved down to the very edge of New Jersey. Right near the bridge into Delaware because he knew he'd need to be in and out of the Delaware Veterans Hospital pretty much for the rest of his life. We would skip math class in college to go visit her dad in the VA hospital and wait outside in the hallway riding IV stands up and down while he got angry with the nurse for waiting so long to come clean him up. He was completely mentally with it. With his internal organs on strike! Having some sort of a riot inside of him. Nothing is sadder than seeing a strong proud man suffer. And there is No Way In Hell he'd let teenage me and his daughter do the dirty work of nurses for him like my mom often did for my grandmother when she was sick.
The economy was good and we were in the middle of the housing bubble so at 240k the house was a deal, 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms. A den, a living room. 2 attics, a fireplace. Been there forever lots of land around and a cute little community. Possibly somewhere for my friend to go after he's gone. And then maybe rent it and have income or just keep it for herself after he was gone. But seven years of medical bills later and an economy that crashed after he had passed away the house was underwater. As a majority of Americans houses had become.
But my best friend made good money. She has always had multiple jobs since we were 17 years old and the state would allow it. She keeps her home space a modest size since she has no kids yet. So for a year and 5 months she paid the underwater mortgage to keep her dad's house. Until one day a year ago. Ten years after we helped her dad move from Union New Jersey down to the border of New Jersey and Delaware. A tree fell on her dad's house.
I remember the day we moved him down. We had to take route 9 down past where the Birch Hill night club had just become The Birch Hill Retirement Community. The place we spent our formative years was gone and we were driving by on the same road for another reason. Some things were ending but others were beginning.
Luckily the neighbor next door was living at his mom's house because she had passed away and called my best friend right away to tell her the tree fell on the house. And he cut it up for her. She patched up the hole but there was still mold in a house not worth as much as was owed on it. So there was nothing to do but stop paying for it and let the bank take it over.
No one will live there. There is no money to fix things that are broken in this economy. There is an abandoned factory in town and warehouses. Buildings. Homes. And half full strip malls.
Our mom's and pop's shops are barely hanging on. I was 1.5 hours away from the densely populated city I live in. Still within the confines of Jersey and the country looked like a run down post apocalypse movie set.
Doesn't anyone else realize the zombie end of times trend is a metaphor? We have a society that doesn't accurately remember the mistakes of the past and that doesn't invest any time or energy into our children's futures. Some people do or would want to if we had a choice of where our tax money was spent. Most people would rather spend our hard earned dollars, paid to government for services, on infrastructure instead of military. Ruining more young boys with war.
I have a few new books and a Super Nintendo to get fixing. The History of The World War publishing date 1920. The books are slightly musty and need to be aired out. We donated most of the medical books except for the female anatomy book from 1972! Can't wait to read that!
Not mint so not worth more than the information printed within them. But special to me. We're not what we owned when we were alive. But we are what we read. What we knew. What we experienced and taught other people.
We found a VHS tape labeled Sightings...
I had to take it. I was hoping alien abductions or some other weird home movie. But it turned out to be television clips of Vietnam.
Vietnam was all over tv when it was happening and I guess whenever he taped this home video off of cable. We forget now because war is hidden on special channels geared to military minded people. But he was must have been sighting himself, his brother, and their friends. Now it is too late to ask which of the thousands of boys in the footage are him and his friends.
His brother suffers from mental illness and health complications from being a Marine and has a hard time getting the money for the help he needs. The waiting list for veterans health benefits is long. You have to prove you're a danger to yourself or others before your mental illness deserves government funding. Bullshit. They should all have access to any counseling they need for the rest o their live. War doesn't ever leave you.
My best friend's dad died of cancer caused by agent orange or one of the other many toxic deforestation chemicals used in Vietnam. So did my mom's best friend in 2010. So did my dad's best friend in 2014. Many men I know have died of lower body internal cancers that spread in the last few years. Men just barely breaching 60 years old. Mentally all there with bodies rotting from wars they fought as boys.
They didn't even have a choice back then.
We found my best friend's dad's draft card from 1969. The pocket change from other countries he traveled too like Germany and the Netherlands while he was in the service. Coins dated from the 1970's in a treasure chest with his initials on the lid with all his cufflinks and a silver dollar in a heart shaped box.
The house was also a time capsule of our teenage years together. Teen magazines in drawers from the start of the new millennium.
My best friend lived in Lavallette where my Gram is from and where I grew up when Hurricane Sandy hit. The building she lived in caved in. On her apartment. Now she will have some important treasures and history of where she came from to travel with her as she moves to the other side of the country.
Finally!
We've been talking about moving to California since we were 14 years old. One of us had to do it eventually. It was a bitter sweet day. In my opinion the best kind. The end of something old and the beginning of something new at the same time. The days you remember in life aren't the simple happy days. They are the challenging days. The days that teach you something.
Rest in eternal peace James Ryan. If you leave nothing else to this world, teaching one child unconditional love is enough. And you loved two.
I've seen love letters from their mom now and seen that sometimes traumas from our maturation come back to haunt us no matter how we run and hide and change.
No amount of preparation or knowledge can fix a broken adult sometimes. We need to start taking better care of and loving unconditionally our children. And not letting another single one go to war for our transgressions. And not letting a single one live through the mental stress of poverty.
Sometimes you can't fix people. You can only learn from their story how to keep more people from suffering. And that is enough. That is all that life is.
5/1/14
Once Upon A Time I Carried A Dead Baby
Once upon a time I was pregnant and carrying a dead baby. I've been stuck on what to write about here lately and I think it's time I tell this story.
I was working at the bank 50 to 60 hours a week. When I wasn't getting yelled at for taking too much overtime. Even though when I came in earlier or stayed later they had to ask. Kyle was a stay at home dad with Zack and Zack was 15 months old. I wasn't eating well. As in nothing all day at work. Occasionally a cheese pretzel from Wawa. And 1 sugar-free Red bull or 2 every day. The epitome of health I was not. I was losing weight but not for health reasons. I was stressed and being verbally emotionally abused at work. Which I even started to participate in which only made my stress and anxiety level higher.
We found out we were pregnant again at 4 weeks and I became violently ill all the time. It's surprising we didn't tell our family at around 5 or 6 weeks at Thanksgiving but my cousin was having her baby that day so Thanksgiving dinner was canceled. At around 8 weeks I actually thought I had a stomach virus on top of being pregnant I was so sick. This was a couple weeks before Christmas.
I wouldn't have told anyone where I work or in my family until after I was 12 weeks because it was my second pregnancy & a couple girls at the bank had recently had miscarriages so I knew how common they were. But everyone at my job knew because I was constantly physically ill throughout the day. At around 10 or 11 weeks I went for a routine ultrasound to make sure I was really pregnant to check on the size of the embryo and see how pregnant I was and if I was right about the time line.
An important part of the story is that I had had an ultrasound when Zack was 9 weeks in utero. I saw his heartbeat and from that point on Kyle and I called him the gummy bear. The fact that we decide to become parents even though we were only 21 years old became real.
Anyone who's ever had an ultrasound go poorly has experienced this moment. The technician puts on the goo and it's cold. As she massages the plastic wand back and forth you watch what looks like a poor quality television screen with her. If you've ever seen an embryo on one before you'll know even a small embryo if the technician is pointing in the right direction will give all the faintest womp womp, womp womp.
This time when the technician waved the magic wand, pressing deep into my belly back and forth, there was nothing but a sac.
There was nothing but a circle.
A placenta if you will.
You see the look on the technicians face as it goes dark behind her eyes because she knows what happens next is she has to tell you the truth.
She turns the monitor back and tries to hide from you the truth but, if you're smart as I am and you've seen this before, you know the heartbeat is missing. You remember how excited the technician was when she found Zack even though you hadn't planned on being pregnant and you weren't all that excited before that moment about the thought of being parents.
You start to cry uncontrollably. Right away, no matter how much you didn't want to be pregnant, no matter how much it was a bad time to have another baby, no matter how much it was really a blessing that you weren't responsible for raising another life you start to cry uncontrollably. Like you lost a great possibility.
The technician talks but you don't really hear anything that she says. You already know what she has to tell you. She tells you that you have to go meet with the doctor in the office. They bring you into the comfortable office the one with the nice chairs and all the fancy documentation and awards: not the office with the implements. So you know that something unpleasant is going to be talked about.
The doctor tells you that your pregnancy appears to be about 12 weeks along and you may stay pregnant for another week or two and miscarry naturally up to 14 weeks. You risk the possibility of carrying the placenta to term and having a stillbirth if you cross the legal abortion date. But we had plenty of time to decide.
No one ever said the word abortion. I wasn't killing a baby. Even the embryo inside me wasn't alive. I don't know if they say abortion when it is legal and you're in a doctor's office. The technical term is a DNC. In my experience they didn't. But I'm sure somewhere they do. Abortion has a connotation of guilt. DNC does not. In another state I would have had to go to a separate facility and be verbally and emotionally abused by protesters on the way in.
The doctor told me I had a choice but I didn't have to make it right that moment, that I could go home and think about it and if I chose to have surgery she would call them immediately whenever I decided I had been pregnant for long enough. We hadn't even driven all the way home before I said to my husband I don't want to be pregnant anymore. I was still violently nauseous at every moment. Knowing it was all for nothing only made it worse.
I went to the local hospital in the morning and was one of the first surgeries. My aunt is a very experienced and talented O.R. nurse at the hospital I was in. My cousin, her daughter, who is the same age I am came to sit and wait with me. Kyle was home with our son.
This surgery despite the fact that it was outpatient and supposedly less bodily traumatizing was a lot worse than my c-section. For my c-section I was conscious and I could move from the waist up. My husband was there to hold my hand and the doctors treated me with compassion.
When I had my abortion the room they made me wait in beforehand was icy and cold and I was unconscious during the procedure. I woke up feeling like I had been used while I was asleep. It was an awful feeling. As I came to and my pain medicine started to wear off I was in excruciating pain in my legs in abdomen. I had the best possible scenario. My aunt heard me moaning and told them to give me more Demerol.
The doctor who had done the surgery I had only met 5 minutes prior. She came to the bedside after I woke up and told me that they had removed embryonic material. Basically it wasn't just a empty placenta. It was a confirmed dead baby. That's what you need to hear when you're in pain physically, alone, and high as fuck on pain medications.
I can barely remember leaving the hospital. I'm assuming kyle pick me up but I don't really remember. My cousin may have driven me home. I slept off the rest of the painkiller that was in my the system and when I woke up I couldn't walk. My legs felt like while I was unconscious someone had swung them around like Barbie doll legs.
The doctors had given me a prescription for 600 milligram ibuprofen to relieve the pain. I could pop 3 regular strength ibuprofen because I had cramps when I was a teenager and PMS and barely notice the difference. Ibuprofen wasn't gonna cut it. I could have called my doctor and asked for a prescription for some sort of "cet" drug. Acetaminophen with oxycodone in it.But my cousin had had her baby like I said on Thanksgiving and afterwards she almost died from loss of blood and had to have a transfusion. She's not much for pain medication so she still had pain killers. She's a pharmacist so she knew the correct dose to give me so I took percocet for two days so that I could walk to and from the bathroom.
I only got 3 paid days off from work, and then the weekend unpaid. 5 days total to recover. I had been a full time worker up until that that week but I was changing back after the surgery because my husband finally got a full time job. So I was losing my 20 paid days off and using the 4 I was going to get as a part timer in the first week. 1 of which I had used on January 2nd because my doctor's office called to confirm my appointment for the ultrasound I had on January 3nd. It's illegal that they did because I had signed for them not to call my house about appointments and personal matters just for emergencies. It doesn't matter though because the person I lived with didn't want my husband and I having another baby in their house so they told us to leave.
The day I found out I was violently ill carrying a dead baby was the day after I found out I was homeless. I had only told my cousins and their mom the day before because I showed up on their doorstep with nowhere to live with my son and husband.
It was a blessing that I had to tell them the day before because I would not have been able to utter the words, that I had been pregnant. At least this way they knew I went to the doctors appointment so when I came home and something was wrong they knew what it was without me having to use as many words.
We were kicked out for being irresponsible and accidentally getting pregnant with another baby. I honestly think it was the time we used the sponge. I am skeptical of spermicides ever since and don't use contraception that relies on them.
My aunt took us in and thought that a new baby was a blessing no matter how much money you have or where you live. I'm glad that I was with my cousins who are like my sister's who took care of me like no one else could when I found out and after the surgery. It was physically and emotionally draining.
While going through something that was more awful than I could have imagined. I realized that 2/3's of women will experience miscarriage or abortion in their lifetime and my only experience with it was best case scenario. It wasn't great.
I don't regret the hard things that my husband I have gone through since choosing to have my son at 21. Each one has taught us something important. The experience of thinking we were having another baby, coming to terms with it, accepting it, being happy about it and then losing it, brought us closer together 2 years into our relationship. before that we had started to drift apart. We had to comfort each other in our loss even if in a lot of ways it was a relief. Our son is still a perfectly happy only child. If there was a permanent solution that was safe and we could afford, my husband and I would keep it that way for certain at this point.
Miscarriage is very common. Chances are you know women who have had one or more. It may be your mother, or your grandmother, or your sister, or your cousin, or your best friend but women are conditioned not to talk about these things in polite company. Just because women don't have children doesn't mean the trials of periods and pregnancy woes haven't effected them.
There is a judgment if not having children is your choice and there is a judgment if having no children is out of your control.
We don't have the luxury of pretending these things don't exist behind closed doors. We bring up these stories to comfort one another when someone we know is going through what we have been through. These experiences, we are taught, must be silent foundations of our existence. I think if more women spoke up about how hard pregnancy impacts the life of the average working age woman whether she is trying to not get pregnant or trying to have children we would all be better off.
We have more options for old men to continue having erections and shooting out their sperm than we know what to do with. Can we please find some options that make women's lives a little easier from month to month? So that we can be happy and healthy and pregnancy free if we so choose. For less than $10,000 and major surgery? There is a better way out there than hormones that cause weight gain, mood swings, blood clots, and heart attacks or major surgery. We just haven't found it yet.
If you really wanna stop women from having so many abortions and miscarriages find a better way to keep them from getting pregnant. Educate them to be the scientists who solve the worlds contraception problems and liberate all women. Make more than one 100 percent effective birth control method to choose from for women then we will see less abortions.
Be My Fucking Friend
P.S.- These women aren't impregnating themselves and you were all were born of a mother. This issue affects all of us.
I was working at the bank 50 to 60 hours a week. When I wasn't getting yelled at for taking too much overtime. Even though when I came in earlier or stayed later they had to ask. Kyle was a stay at home dad with Zack and Zack was 15 months old. I wasn't eating well. As in nothing all day at work. Occasionally a cheese pretzel from Wawa. And 1 sugar-free Red bull or 2 every day. The epitome of health I was not. I was losing weight but not for health reasons. I was stressed and being verbally emotionally abused at work. Which I even started to participate in which only made my stress and anxiety level higher.
We found out we were pregnant again at 4 weeks and I became violently ill all the time. It's surprising we didn't tell our family at around 5 or 6 weeks at Thanksgiving but my cousin was having her baby that day so Thanksgiving dinner was canceled. At around 8 weeks I actually thought I had a stomach virus on top of being pregnant I was so sick. This was a couple weeks before Christmas.
I wouldn't have told anyone where I work or in my family until after I was 12 weeks because it was my second pregnancy & a couple girls at the bank had recently had miscarriages so I knew how common they were. But everyone at my job knew because I was constantly physically ill throughout the day. At around 10 or 11 weeks I went for a routine ultrasound to make sure I was really pregnant to check on the size of the embryo and see how pregnant I was and if I was right about the time line.
An important part of the story is that I had had an ultrasound when Zack was 9 weeks in utero. I saw his heartbeat and from that point on Kyle and I called him the gummy bear. The fact that we decide to become parents even though we were only 21 years old became real.
Anyone who's ever had an ultrasound go poorly has experienced this moment. The technician puts on the goo and it's cold. As she massages the plastic wand back and forth you watch what looks like a poor quality television screen with her. If you've ever seen an embryo on one before you'll know even a small embryo if the technician is pointing in the right direction will give all the faintest womp womp, womp womp.
This time when the technician waved the magic wand, pressing deep into my belly back and forth, there was nothing but a sac.
There was nothing but a circle.
A placenta if you will.
You see the look on the technicians face as it goes dark behind her eyes because she knows what happens next is she has to tell you the truth.
She turns the monitor back and tries to hide from you the truth but, if you're smart as I am and you've seen this before, you know the heartbeat is missing. You remember how excited the technician was when she found Zack even though you hadn't planned on being pregnant and you weren't all that excited before that moment about the thought of being parents.
You start to cry uncontrollably. Right away, no matter how much you didn't want to be pregnant, no matter how much it was a bad time to have another baby, no matter how much it was really a blessing that you weren't responsible for raising another life you start to cry uncontrollably. Like you lost a great possibility.
The technician talks but you don't really hear anything that she says. You already know what she has to tell you. She tells you that you have to go meet with the doctor in the office. They bring you into the comfortable office the one with the nice chairs and all the fancy documentation and awards: not the office with the implements. So you know that something unpleasant is going to be talked about.
The doctor tells you that your pregnancy appears to be about 12 weeks along and you may stay pregnant for another week or two and miscarry naturally up to 14 weeks. You risk the possibility of carrying the placenta to term and having a stillbirth if you cross the legal abortion date. But we had plenty of time to decide.
No one ever said the word abortion. I wasn't killing a baby. Even the embryo inside me wasn't alive. I don't know if they say abortion when it is legal and you're in a doctor's office. The technical term is a DNC. In my experience they didn't. But I'm sure somewhere they do. Abortion has a connotation of guilt. DNC does not. In another state I would have had to go to a separate facility and be verbally and emotionally abused by protesters on the way in.
The doctor told me I had a choice but I didn't have to make it right that moment, that I could go home and think about it and if I chose to have surgery she would call them immediately whenever I decided I had been pregnant for long enough. We hadn't even driven all the way home before I said to my husband I don't want to be pregnant anymore. I was still violently nauseous at every moment. Knowing it was all for nothing only made it worse.
I went to the local hospital in the morning and was one of the first surgeries. My aunt is a very experienced and talented O.R. nurse at the hospital I was in. My cousin, her daughter, who is the same age I am came to sit and wait with me. Kyle was home with our son.
This surgery despite the fact that it was outpatient and supposedly less bodily traumatizing was a lot worse than my c-section. For my c-section I was conscious and I could move from the waist up. My husband was there to hold my hand and the doctors treated me with compassion.
When I had my abortion the room they made me wait in beforehand was icy and cold and I was unconscious during the procedure. I woke up feeling like I had been used while I was asleep. It was an awful feeling. As I came to and my pain medicine started to wear off I was in excruciating pain in my legs in abdomen. I had the best possible scenario. My aunt heard me moaning and told them to give me more Demerol.
The doctor who had done the surgery I had only met 5 minutes prior. She came to the bedside after I woke up and told me that they had removed embryonic material. Basically it wasn't just a empty placenta. It was a confirmed dead baby. That's what you need to hear when you're in pain physically, alone, and high as fuck on pain medications.
I can barely remember leaving the hospital. I'm assuming kyle pick me up but I don't really remember. My cousin may have driven me home. I slept off the rest of the painkiller that was in my the system and when I woke up I couldn't walk. My legs felt like while I was unconscious someone had swung them around like Barbie doll legs.
The doctors had given me a prescription for 600 milligram ibuprofen to relieve the pain. I could pop 3 regular strength ibuprofen because I had cramps when I was a teenager and PMS and barely notice the difference. Ibuprofen wasn't gonna cut it. I could have called my doctor and asked for a prescription for some sort of "cet" drug. Acetaminophen with oxycodone in it.But my cousin had had her baby like I said on Thanksgiving and afterwards she almost died from loss of blood and had to have a transfusion. She's not much for pain medication so she still had pain killers. She's a pharmacist so she knew the correct dose to give me so I took percocet for two days so that I could walk to and from the bathroom.
I only got 3 paid days off from work, and then the weekend unpaid. 5 days total to recover. I had been a full time worker up until that that week but I was changing back after the surgery because my husband finally got a full time job. So I was losing my 20 paid days off and using the 4 I was going to get as a part timer in the first week. 1 of which I had used on January 2nd because my doctor's office called to confirm my appointment for the ultrasound I had on January 3nd. It's illegal that they did because I had signed for them not to call my house about appointments and personal matters just for emergencies. It doesn't matter though because the person I lived with didn't want my husband and I having another baby in their house so they told us to leave.
The day I found out I was violently ill carrying a dead baby was the day after I found out I was homeless. I had only told my cousins and their mom the day before because I showed up on their doorstep with nowhere to live with my son and husband.
It was a blessing that I had to tell them the day before because I would not have been able to utter the words, that I had been pregnant. At least this way they knew I went to the doctors appointment so when I came home and something was wrong they knew what it was without me having to use as many words.
We were kicked out for being irresponsible and accidentally getting pregnant with another baby. I honestly think it was the time we used the sponge. I am skeptical of spermicides ever since and don't use contraception that relies on them.
My aunt took us in and thought that a new baby was a blessing no matter how much money you have or where you live. I'm glad that I was with my cousins who are like my sister's who took care of me like no one else could when I found out and after the surgery. It was physically and emotionally draining.
While going through something that was more awful than I could have imagined. I realized that 2/3's of women will experience miscarriage or abortion in their lifetime and my only experience with it was best case scenario. It wasn't great.
I don't regret the hard things that my husband I have gone through since choosing to have my son at 21. Each one has taught us something important. The experience of thinking we were having another baby, coming to terms with it, accepting it, being happy about it and then losing it, brought us closer together 2 years into our relationship. before that we had started to drift apart. We had to comfort each other in our loss even if in a lot of ways it was a relief. Our son is still a perfectly happy only child. If there was a permanent solution that was safe and we could afford, my husband and I would keep it that way for certain at this point.
Miscarriage is very common. Chances are you know women who have had one or more. It may be your mother, or your grandmother, or your sister, or your cousin, or your best friend but women are conditioned not to talk about these things in polite company. Just because women don't have children doesn't mean the trials of periods and pregnancy woes haven't effected them.
There is a judgment if not having children is your choice and there is a judgment if having no children is out of your control.
We don't have the luxury of pretending these things don't exist behind closed doors. We bring up these stories to comfort one another when someone we know is going through what we have been through. These experiences, we are taught, must be silent foundations of our existence. I think if more women spoke up about how hard pregnancy impacts the life of the average working age woman whether she is trying to not get pregnant or trying to have children we would all be better off.
We have more options for old men to continue having erections and shooting out their sperm than we know what to do with. Can we please find some options that make women's lives a little easier from month to month? So that we can be happy and healthy and pregnancy free if we so choose. For less than $10,000 and major surgery? There is a better way out there than hormones that cause weight gain, mood swings, blood clots, and heart attacks or major surgery. We just haven't found it yet.
If you really wanna stop women from having so many abortions and miscarriages find a better way to keep them from getting pregnant. Educate them to be the scientists who solve the worlds contraception problems and liberate all women. Make more than one 100 percent effective birth control method to choose from for women then we will see less abortions.
Be My Fucking Friend
P.S.- These women aren't impregnating themselves and you were all were born of a mother. This issue affects all of us.
4/7/14
Thou Art As Wise As Thou Art Beautiful
BOTTOM
I see their knavery: this is to make an ass of me, to fright me if they could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I will walk up and down here and I will sing, that they shall hear I am not afraid.
The ouzel cock, so black of hue
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill—
TITANIA
What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
BOTTOM
The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plainsong cuckoo gray,
Whose note full many a man doth mark
And dares not answer “Nay”—
For indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird?
Who would give a bird the lie, though he cry “cuckoo” never so?
TITANIA
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
Mine ear is much enamored of thy note.
So is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape.
And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.
BOTTOM
Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that.
And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays. The more the pity that some honest neighbors will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.
TITANIA
Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
BOTTOM
Not so, neither. But if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.
TITANIA
Out of this wood do not desire to go.
Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate.
The summer still doth tend upon my state.
And I do love thee. Therefore go with me.
I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee.
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing while thou on pressèd flowers dost sleep.
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
3/18/14
Update On Venezuela
A Short 20 Minute Documentary Update That Includes Everything Going On In Venezuela
They asked CNN to leave Venezuela. Maduro danced on TV during the funeral of Geraldine who was shot in the eye by the National Guard, under the command of democratically elected President Maduro. Who was previously appointed by Hugo Chavez before death. She died the next day. 20 other student protesters younger than me. Motivated by insanely high unemployment, faced with starvation, after a sham of a democratic election have been murdered since the protesting began on February 12th.
They asked CNN to leave Venezuela. Maduro danced on TV during the funeral of Geraldine who was shot in the eye by the National Guard, under the command of democratically elected President Maduro. Who was previously appointed by Hugo Chavez before death. She died the next day. 20 other student protesters younger than me. Motivated by insanely high unemployment, faced with starvation, after a sham of a democratic election have been murdered since the protesting began on February 12th.
Social media is keeping this movement alive through I'm your voice as well and SOS than a fella so many Venezuelans have left because they feared for their lives with the lives of their children that they are scattered about the globe they speak with truth and passion about the beautiful wealthy countries they love so much these kids look just like us they sound like my best friend but many of them speak enough English to communicate which most Americans with four years of high school Spanish can't say they are so smart their bravery is a sounding the police didn't even bother with us in New York City but what if it was every day or for longer than 2 hours we have lives to keep living what if everyone protested something every Sunday would realize we all care about something we all know how it feels to love we all believe in peace and freedom how many human rights abuses will continue to be suffered before the lower classes of the world unite and say enough.
Leopoldo Lopez turned himself on February 18th after being charged with inciting violence at the protest held on February 12th. On February 18th hundreds of thousands of Venezuelan students and workers showed up wearing white while he turned himself in, as a symbol of peace.
The final Facebook status of a Venezuelan student who was the first to lose his life on February 12 has become a message to the Venezuelan people fighting in this movement. "Well people, this person here is going to march tomorrow. Without fear of anything. Hoping to find a better future." Bassil De Costa was 23 years old.
This is a modern democratic country just like ours. The scene should seem familiar, we've seen this before. Tear gas and rubber bullets used on our own citizens to quell protest and keep lower classes from having any say in the governing of our society. How would America have reacted to 20 20 to 30 something college students shot dead by out national guard and hundreds more missing and being tortured.
400 people were arrested for holding hands in front of the White House to stop the Keystone XL pipeline on March 9th 2014 in this country. We are all fighting different battles of the same war. We still have many freedoms not left in other places. I can post this message to you all from my home in New Jersey and speak for Venezuela even when they can not speak for themselves because their internet and televised news channels have been taken down.
#SOSvenezuela #sosvenezuelaNY
3/16/14
What Do We Do?
Start buying second hand. Any penny you can keep out of their hands is a win. But I figured out Friday that alone we can do nothing. For instance my mom owns two businesses. She even sells coffee. But when she's at work, she likes McDonald's coffee. But even if she bought one every day (Which is a gross over exaggeration) and stopped, she'd only be taking $365 dollars out of the hands of McDonald's. That's not even penny's to them. That isn't a noticeable percentage. So there is a sort of myth about what kind of power there remains to boycott.
What is really important is the farm Bill. Most of American commerce is in service and most of it food. Every paper pusher or commuter has to eat fast food once if not twice a day. Even if you are a great planner who brings lunch and breakfast to save money or for health reasons. Some days you are going to forget. Can't make a 10 hour work on an empty stomach. This economy goes 'round on the backs of the people who serve our fuel. Aka calories.
We need to remove all federal subsidies to corporation's. No more tax breaks for banks, agriculture companies, oil companies, etc. Do away with any subsidy that isn't paying for food, education, and shelter for the poor and there would be a lot of money to spare for all the things we need to fix. There should be a maximum wage difference between CEO and employee at this point. And there should be a max amount of energy a person or corporation can use per year unless they prove to the rest of us they need it. No more using valuable oil and coal to heat and light mansions unless you can prove your mansion is contributing to its local economy back the same amount it uses.
Solar panels would mean Everyone collects from the grid and contributes to the grid. There are a lot of ideas. We just don't have any revenues to implement them because the "people" making all the profits (But nothing of tangible value) legally stopped paying taxes a long time ago.
Damn, well said. This, to me, is a lost battle in America unless everyone changes together. Is their anyway it is not a lost battle?
I hear people say words and phrases every day that 2 or 3 years ago they had never heard of. Popular culture and awareness can change now at the speed of internet.
In moments on Twitter instead of decades of news print. We're winning. There are more of us than their are of them.
The only problem is that so much wealth is concentrated in the hands of so few. if they decide go throw a temper tantrum as the myth of infinite growth pops they could take us all down with them. But not if we're prepared.
Nerds put the internet back up on Cairo. in less than 24 hours.
No one is taking knowledge away from anyone. Some people are trying to prevent knowledge expansion. As religions and wealthy have always done but the poor in America have smart phones.
There are 300 million of us. We have power. "We" just don't know it. I hope we can all pay more attention and right the ship before we sink entirely.
Grander civilizations have crumbled. The Egyptians. The Mayans. The Romans. And so many others. But the satellites aren't coming down any time soon. I think everything is fixable.
No fate is set. All decisions are made in the now.
This is an amazing speech to go unheard, except by me and a few others who read it.
"I'll put it in my blog"
3/12/14
Why the Fuck Should I Care About Venezuela?
My best friend is the first testimony and her father and sister are further into the video. Don't trust the media, trust the opinions of people you know.
A girl named Geraldine was murdered by the brutal military police response when she was hit in the face with a rubber bullet. "Non-lethal" violence is still violence.
We Are All Scott Olsen
Feel the Connectivity. We are not alone.
There is so much violence in Venezuela right now. Every 20 minutes someone is murdered. They are without necessities like rice, toilet paper, sugar, and flour and yet Maduro is dancing on television while students are being beaten by his thugs in the streets. I no longer trust any news source. On the television or otherwise. The internet is just as full of corrupt corporate government propaganda as the television. All your dot coms are belong to us.
Another Bloggers In Person Account of the Violence and Why She Left the Country
On Sunday March 9th I went to a protest in Times Square to show support for the students standing up against the riot police in Venezuela.
Here Is My Best Friend Protesting On the Streets of NYC
This is the English Translation of her Speech:
"I'm here at this moment representing all of the students who are fighting for a better country and all of the mothers who've lost their children. I'm the international representative for the movement Resitencia Venezuela and I want to make a world wide calling and report the political persecution from which our students are victims. Simply for thinking differently and for wanting a better country. Our young people are being threatened. Their lives are in danger in this very moment for talking. For sharing their ideas. For wanting a free and democratic country. The movement of Venezuelan Resistance want me to make a report and this is a message to the ONU (United Nations) and the OEA (Organization of American States). WE SAY NO to the Cuban intelligence. We demand the immediate expulsion of the military and police troupes of the occupation and all of the members of the department of intelligence G-2 MINFAR (The Cuban Revolutionary Armed Forces.) Resistencia Venezuela denounce the crimes that violate human rights. Torture and persecution caused by the institutions of the Venezuelan country that for 15 years have functioned and work as political appendages of the PSUV (United Socialist Party of Venezuela.) Especially fiscal general Luisa Ortega Diaz, Public Defender Gabriela Rodriguez, and President of the TSJ Supreme Court Justice Gladys Gutierrez. It is not fair that our people and our students have to go through this. WE WANT A DEMOCRACY! WE DON'T WANT A DICTATORSHIP! WE DON'T WANT TO LIVE THE WAY THEY LIVE IN CUBA!"
I had no idea how powerful the words she was saying where while I was filming them. I had some idea. I had heard all of these thoughts and ideas throughout the day. This is the best speech about what is going on you will see. We need to remember what people like us look like. We need to remember that we aren't the upper classes being sold to on television and in the media. Do you live paycheck to paycheck despite investing much of your money into payroll taxes every year?
Obama can appear on Funny or Die to promote the Affordable Care Act which is making the insurance companies billions of dollars because there is no public option and now we all have to enroll. I think we all deserve healthcare but this is not a poverty issue, it's a middle class issue. Good on Zach Galifianakis for making a quip about Drone Strikes to the Actual President of the United States in a real life interview. But where were the jokes to bring light to people in THIS country who are food insecure and just lost their food stamps due to the cuts that millionaires in congress approved of and President Obama signed?
Stop trusting propaganda with excellent production value and sponsors and start sharing things that were made by artists you know. Or artists who your friends know.
There is so much more depth to the history of Shock and Awe psychological operations on civilians in South America and around the globe but you're going to have to do your own reading on that. I suggest you start with The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Cline.
Tell Me: Do These Kids Look Threatening Or Just Like You And Me?
A rough translation of the text, "We were hiding in the common room, from the police and their armed escorts."
My Best Friend's Speech In Spanish In Time Square
Este video fue grabado el 09 de Marzo de 2014 a las 2:30 PM en Times Square, NY, U.S.A. con el soporte y certificación del Movimiento Pacifista Venezolano Resistencia Venezuela 58.
Cuenta Oficial de Twitter de Resistencia Venezuela 58
@ResistenciaV58
Cuentas certificadas por regiones:
Lara @resvenezuela11
Monagas @ResVenezuela10
Mérida @ResistenciaVM
Zulia @ResVenezuela4
Carabobo @ResVenezuela
Barinas @ResVenezuela7
Mérida @ResistenciaVM
New York U.S.A. @ResistenciaVeNY
Lots of Imagery Set To Music. We Need More Art With Language We Can All Understand
There is testimony from masked protestors about why they are part of the resistance.
Find more information on Twitter #sosvenezuela #sosvenezuelaNYC
Use Your Privilege
That brave little girl front and center doesn't have to be afraid to protest because she is in America now. But she is fighting for her brothers and sisters.
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