The best way to know when to speak or to remain silent,

This speaks to my latest blog…It was time to speak, my intuition.

Purplerays

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The best way to know when to speak or to remain silent,
is by cultivating the art of listening to your intuition.
Holy Spirit, the loving light and sound of God,
speaks to those whose inner ears and eyes are open.

Text & image source: Jean-Pierre Royal Gregoire https://web.facebook.com/lovestruehome

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Hospitialist Doctors

First, I would like to hear your story and/or experience with one of these “new” additions to hospitals. Mine, as a mom, was far from good at Dominican Hospital in Santa Cruz County, CA.

My opinion, is that a Dr. Hannah, expedited my son’s death to get rid of me, therefore I feel not only guilty but also very angry.

One day or the same day when she read my son’s Advanced Directive, he died. The Charge Nurse, Linda, asked me if he had one. I said he did and gave her a copy. In his Advanced Directive he had written in that as long as his brain was alive he was to be kept alive. This was not followed. 

She, Dr. Hannah, called me out to tell me he was dying but I said that there was a team of doctors working on getting him transferred to a facility to bulk him up from his 104 pounds to a reasonable weight so that his liver could be ablated and could get him ready for a multiviseral transplant which had been successfully performed before in Miami. We had waited all week to hear where he would go next. She came in , not up to date on anything, and changed everything, just like all the previous weekend doctors. 

She spoke with him without me in the room so I do not know what she told him.

That morning the RN had tried to give him his medication before going off duty. His esphoghus was constricted so he needed really warm tea to open it as much as possible but I had not been up to get this task done hiwever, all the nurses knew that this was needed. The medication got stuck and he choked until I handed him the suction tool to suck out the object. He never recovered. They brought in the respiratory team to warm the oxygen but this seemed to burn his lungs so even though they changed the level of heat, it was removed. His oxygen level was set at five; this did not seem extremely high to me but when Respiratory left and a nurse started to turn the oxygen level up she, this Dr. Hannah,  shook her head and they stopped.

In my head, all I can hear is him saying over and over, “please help me, please help me” . I did not know what to do; went to find help but no one did anymore for him so I watched him die from waking up at around 7 a.m. until 3 p.m. I knew they were letting him die. I knew they wanted me out because they were afraid of a malpractice suit which was not my intent. I wanted them to give him the best medical treatment to keep him alive. That was the reason for all my verbal rants.

We propped him up in bed. I was not strong enough to hold him up but sat behind him and pushed with all my strength to keep him as straight as possible and felt my heart breaking.

 Cindy, an RN, sat beside him most of the day. I was trying to call family so there were times I was out of the room to call or to cry and then get myself together before going back in.

Sentences he said that day:

Too little, too late

Like Steve Jobs, I over analyzed,

I should have just gotten a job flipping hamburgers.

I want to be buried by Pa Lad.

I love you.

Call…. ask them to pray…..Chris, Tammy……And others. Dennis was calling everyone. I called his Dad and said he could hear and I can tell you what he is saying which was “I love you. I love you, I love you”. I called his sister and my sister and then I put my arm around his shoulders, holding him as gently as possible as he put his head on my left shoulder and died. I held him for a little while but when the fluids escaped from his mouth, I knew his body had released his soul and he was gone from this physical realm.

There is one more thing that happened that day, I knew that I needed to give him permission to go so I said, “God told me his computers were down and he needed you to come home and fix them and to add to his troubles two angels got into a squabble and one walked  off and your voice is the voice he needs. I will be o.k. God needs you. You go and be with God. I promise to move back home so I will be close to you and Daddy,” He did say, “We will be home for dinner” and sort of smiled. His brain was alive. I let him die; that doctor killed him. He said very little to nothing after that,

I should have tried harder; I am angry with the doctor, that hospital, God and the wife who walked off and left him to die alone and emotionally abused him for years.

How do I let all this go? What do I do now? They all deserve to die a horrible death, is my opinion, as do I.

Forgiving them does not take away the anger.

This is only part of the story.

Butterflies

After a hectic morning, achieving little, I opened my mailbox, mind someplace else,  when all of a sudden out flew millions, if not trillions, of butterflies all making this marvelous tinkling sound like a wind chime. The colors were awesome.

I blinked in disbelief as I watched all the colors merging   together, the sound of Mozart’s Fifth Symphony echoing back as everything became invisible behind the dark clouds.

A box sat on top of a few pieces of mail. A plain brown box. I had been told to expect something in the mail but I thought maybe a card would arrive, not a box. A box portends many things these days, but this  one I knew was safe. 

I had not eaten anything today and it was almost 2 p.m. so I thought I would have some Tomato Bisque with pretzels as I enjoyed opening this box. Sissors would be required so I placed them by my chair, brought the food tray and water to the side table and began the process of eating and opening the box. I wanted the process to last. It would be the highlight of my long day.

As I examined the label I discovered it came from Naturesroom but no other clue 
was given. My mind being stressed tends to only vaguely remember everything that I need to remember but I did recall that a virtual friend, Bonnie, had said to expect something in the mail and I had replied I would be back in Huntsville on May 22. Hopefully, this is correct. 

Inside the box, there was brown packing paper 
and yet another box. This box looked at me beckoning me to set it free from the other box. Granting the boxes wish, I removed it and thought that it seemed heavy for such a pretentious box. 

Not having glasses on, I could not read what the outside said so once again the box wanted me to set free the contents. Obeying an inner command, I opened the box to find loads of tissue paper. The top looked domed, and as I picked it up the sound of tinkling wind chimes came again except much clearer than before; the colors of turquoise and black emerged and a long streamer of wrapped objects hung before me.

I carefully unwrapped each one and gently said “hello” to the fine craftsman display of butterflies hanging from a bell like object. 

Putting on my glasses I read that these were the world’s favorite wind chimes called Woodstock Chimes. The information was fascinating. It stated that the art of casting metal has been around for thousands of years. The ancient ones created utility items as well as items of great beauty by heating metal until it reaches a molten state and can be poured into a mold.

Further reading delighted me to find that a musician, Gary Kvistad, in 1979, founded Woodstock Percussion with one single great idea…to make the world’s best sounding windchime. The wind chimes are precision tuned and delight people of all ages worldwide. 

Today I became the owner of such a fine instrument… placing the ladder, I carefully hung the WoodstockButterfly Chime from my kitchen window where the cardinals come to speak to me or the doves wait patiently for the crumbs I place on the ground for them… they will hear and delight in this wonderful sound drifting from the window up through the leaves of the maple tree riding the wind into the heavens for all to hear. 

No greater gift could a dear friend send me at this time.  The sounds touched my bruised soul with the lovely music and softly whispered that life holds many new/old things I have yet to know and living each day will bring these things to me.

Thank you, Bonnie, for this lovely gift.

Never go to bed angry

My son was gifted in so many areas. He could sing; they, he and his wife and son, had a band called Isle of Light. I have a CD with him singing and playing the guitar for a song called “Here Am I” which I think he wrote and composed the music. There are others who disagree with me. Time will tell. His wife played the flute and the son played piano and sax. They seemed very happy back then.

He had his own company, Frednet Software, Inc., that was a multi-million dollar company. That is where they met, I think. He hired her and she married the boss. I think he really loved her and I hope she loved him and not his money. However, this will be discussed in the “angry” post and not here.

They say negative people make positive people sick. Therefore, I must have made him sicker. I hope not, but I am afraid he thought so. Therefore, I regret being a negative person in his perception. For that I am deeply sorry.

Freddie, I will always love you. Please forgive me for my failures as a mom.

Anger

Anger has been a constant companion. I understand that this is an unhealthy state and that I will not be able to move forward until I can give this anger to the Universe to work out for me.

There are so many things I am angry about. So, to start I will talk about my first anger.

The “grieving widow”.

I had surgery last April 11th; I was suppose to take six months to heal but I did not have six months because the “grieving widow” decided to abandon my son three or four days after their wedding anniversary at the end of April 2016. She took a few clothes and left with her girl friend and her daughter and left my son to die alone.

She took their son, who came home in April 2016, to Illinois to see her brother rather than letting him spend some time with his father. I guess she needed to get them all on the same page about her impending departure from the home. She seems, in my opinion, to have an incestuous relationship with this brother. They have to see each other every six months, I think.

Their parents died, I think, in 2015 or 2014 and I understand she is still grieving from that loss; however, her son is about to say an eternal goodbye to his father and she hauls him off to see her brother? Someone please help me understand.

My son wanted to come for my surgery. I think he was strong enough to make the trip, at that time, and he could have seen the doctor who might could have saved his life in New Orleans. He did not come because he said he had to stay home to guard the home front while she was gone because he did not know what she would do next. Maybe this was an excuse because he did not feel well enough to come. I will never know. but as he said: “She just wants me to die.” I believe he was correct in that assessment

She lived “high on the hog” as we would say in the south. She did not want to pay alimony because she could not afford to; however, they could go out and eat at the fancy places and always, always, always  every month she set aside so much money to have her foot massages, hair styled, finger nails done and to purchase endless artwork supplies.

We had never had a good relationship which is not uncommon between mother-in-laws- and daughter-in-laws- however, I became suspicious when she called me one day, way before any of this was going on, to my knowledge, and grilled me about two checks I had sent to Freddie for his use. She wanted to know: “What is the money for?” “Whose money is it?” “Is Freddie suppose to share it?” etc. Finally, I said, “I sent it to my son. It is his to do with as he pleases.” Later, when the checks cleared and I showed them to my son, he said: “That is not my signature and they were deposited into two separate bank accounts, both hers.”

He took her name off his account in AL.

Back to last year. As soon as I learned to talk, write, walk with a cane, I got on a plane to CA. It was a difficult trip but I felt I had to go. No one else in the family could go; and I wanted to be there because I felt she would not cross me, as well as I loved him dearly and wanted to try to save him from the nightmare he was living.

He slowly told me all the things she had done to him. Whether it was the drugs talking or him lucid talking, he believed what he was saying and I believed him.

One of the worst days was the day he found out she had put his cat  to sleep. She had come to pick up the cat to take to the vet and said she would bring him (Spunky) back. Spunky never came back. She had him put to sleep without telling him. He loved that cat and that cat was his only companion. I heard him screaming in the bathroom: “She killed my cat.” Such a heart rending scream from deep inside an already emotionally abused soul from one who had already taken time off from work to go through grief counseling. A former employee of his told me that she ran into this “grieving widow” in Costco and that she was angry that he wanted to keep going places to see if they could help him find a cure because he was dying and he knew it.

I saw her after he died. She evicted me twice from the house….once by email; once by an attorney leaving a voice message or text message, I forget which. I let both of them know I knew the laws and how to evict a person is fairly universal and it is not by email or text or voice messaging. I stated I would leave when I was ready to go.

She called him one night. I was there and heard. She said he would die if he did not make her the executor of his estate. He looked at me and said “What was that all about? I could hear that woman in the background telling her what to say.” He tried to call her back but there was no answer. He had appointed his sister as executor of his estate. I had Medical Power of Attorney.

She had called him the devil and put sage around the house. She sent a swat team to surround the house because he was “playing” with his gun. He was cleaning the gun from when his son had been home and they had gone to the shooting range. I called and verified this with the police. They could not tell me what happened but they said if I told them what happened they could say whether it was true or not. So I told them what he had told me when he called terrified that he would be shot. I was in AL and all I could do was to call them and say: “My son is not crazy and would not harm himself nor his wife because unfortunately he still loves her.” They said she had sent them to their home.

She and her female friend tried to break in by beating on the door lock; (I have a photo somewhere of this door that I will publish)

climbing up a ladder to break in through a window; (a photo of the ladder)

when she was there not holding the vomit basin and helping to eliminate the contents because he might vomit three bins full; not bringing something to wash his mouth out to take away the sour taste; making him wash is dirty clothes out in the shower which was difficult for him.

For those of you who do not know, he had continuous diarrhea and lived his life pretty much in the bathroom, even sleeping on the commode. He would eat and about 20 minutes later it came through. The rest of his life was at dialysis.

I do have some good memories for another day to write about.

All this happened and more before I finally got there on July 19, not knowing that I had a mere 5 months to try to help my son, he said I was not well enough to help him but at least I was there.

Sometimes he did not want me there. He thought I was negative and he told everyone I was negative. I thought I was telling the truth but later I discover from everyone I know that my telling the truth in a less than tactful manner was what I did. Also I have no tact. Even my priest said that this was about 75% true last Wednesday when I met with him.

So all my life I have been tactless and truthful with no common sense. Can I change? do I want to change? I do not know the answer.

This post is far to long even though I have barely begun with anger.

These are my opinions and perceptions. Where was your Christianity? and how convenient your girlfriend assaulted you so you could beg for Freddie’s forgiveness and play the “grieving widow” at the Celebration of  his Life.

Just a note to the “grieving widow”. I know you are trolling my every move on the internet. Welcome to my blog. And welcome to the second wife and her two children who are helping you keep tabs on me.

 

Sixty Steps

Sixty Steps to the microwave in the dining area next to the kitchen. Sixty Steps that I made ever few hours to keep the tea warm enough for my son to be able to swallow. His esophagus had been stretched twice and because of the cancer the doctors would not stretch it again fearing something worse. Therefore, I walked the Sixty Steps as many times as it was necessary so he could swallow his medicine, his food, his snacks, water…

As he became thinner, I became thinner. His day was filled with the T’s….OT, PT….and dialysis. The room was not large enough for my cot to be down during the day and there was not anyplace to sit to be out of the way, therefore, I walked some more. In the two and half months I lived there, I knew every inch of that hospital.

They had a player piano that kept an incessant sound going. As a pianist in the past, I could not discern what the tunes were. It was a mixture of something and nothing my mind comprehended. I spoke with the Patient Care Manager and they thought everyone enjoyed the music there above the overlook where one might could talk on the phone in private had it not been for the overwhelming music. At some point they turned it off at certain times of the day. It seems that a lot of people objected to the music while others loved it. I would like to think that my voicing my opinion in a logical fashion stopped the music playing every minute.

My son apologized that I had to walk so far to warm his mint tea for him. I told him I did not mind, however, what I should have said to him was that I would have walked forever to keep his tea warm if that helped him to live a another day.

I have to stop now. My mind is having a hard time knowing I will never walk another step to help him swallow.

Raggedy Ann Dolls

My Mom was a Mom. She made our clothes, she kept a garden to feed us in cold winter months when nothing grew, she hoed in the fields, she gave us perms (even though mine always frizzed, it looked better than a straight board), she had cookies waiting when we got off the school bus from school, she helped with lessons by lamplight and saved her egg money to give us piano lessons.

I do not remember her saying “I love you” that was a given. I do not remember hugs; I remember being switched  when I misbehaved, which was a whole lot. I had to do chores, i.e. like slop the pigs, bring in the eggs from the chicken boxes, go get the lead cow to bring the cows home, bring in the wood  for the stove, help with the dishes after supper, as we called it back then; no fancy breakfast, lunch and dinner. I am always confused when I come back what meal I am eating.IMG_1378-0

While we were at school she did things like quilt and make dolls. I have one doll that was my only Christmas present when Daddy was in service and we had no money. He made the little red chair she sat in and mother made the doll. My first (above) who is now 74 years old.

She had an eighth grade education until I graduated from college and then she went and took her GED test, passed and enrolled in LPN school becoming a nurse and then a surgical nurse. She worked for 23 years in the same hospital, Durant Community Hospital. She was very proud to be a nurse and we were very proud to see her in that starched white uniform, cap, white stockings and sensible white, very clean, white shoes.

Somewhere in those years she began to make dolls. Her dolls show up in many places and I always know that my mom made those dolls. She never charged much for her dolls and they were so perfectly made just as my clothes were as I was growing up. Mother did not do things half way.

Hopefully I can find the doll pictures and one of my mom…..when I get home I shall hang them up.

DSCF0020 Dolls

Mother made all these dolls. My 74 year old doll is the one in the middle with blue eyes.

Now for one of my Mom. She died in 1995 before her two sons died in 1996. She was lucky to die before them. I hope she is having a lovely dinner with them today in her garden.Mother and Linda1200 dpi