Scales begin to fall

I....was blinded.

Here I was this August day
19
Living with my Dad
Innocent
Ready for an adventure

I joined a church filled with happy people.  People who took interest in me.  Guided me.  Fed me.  Entertained me.  Liked me.

At that moment I had rose colored glasses on.  A thin layer of shiny scales covered my eyes, my brain, my heart.  I had made a safe place for myself. 

I was safe from growing up.  Safe from going off into the world without a net.  This church...these people...would become my net.  I allowed myself to wander off in a crowd of righteous people.  They would guide me, place me on a path I needed to go....even if it ment jostling me about.

I was....safe.

Oh how beautiful those shiny scales made my life look.  How lovely the people.  How clean their lives.  Everything....rose hue.



A week after my baptism I drove to Great America with some friends & their parents.  I sat in the back of the steamy van as I listen to my friends Dad babble on about sports, weather & other mindless things I had no interest in.  It was so nice of this family take me out & about.  Adding me...the convert, so easily to their plans.  I was starting to feel like a baby bird that had been scooped of the ground & carried to a new nest.  Strange but safe. 

That day we ate lunch at our van.  We decided to spend the evening at the park to avoid the heat.  I still remember the ham sandwiches my friends Mom made us.  Yummy & soft.  Ahh, this is the life!

After all tidy & clean, off we walked, through the parking lot...heading towards a night filled with fun.  Up ahead of me I spot them.  2 young men...wandering through the parking lot after spending the day at the park.  They were tall. As they got closer, they become very cute.  Cute.....CuteRrrr...well Hello boys!  Dressed in t shirts & plaid long shorts.  Clean cut.  Tall....boyzzZzzz.

The moment before they pass me they smile & say Hello.  Were they looking at me?  Did my hair look ok?  I throw back a Hi & I ours eyes lock.  Boyzzzz.

Left foot......glance
Right foot....... "Ya know whats the problem with the world today?" My friends father loudly asks his walking brood.

Left foot....."No...whats' that Brother Ay?"

Right foot.....boyz pass me... I can smell their sweaty cologne...swoon.

Left foot.....  "What will mess up this world? 

Those

Damn

N****RS"







BAM!


My feet stop cold.  I feel like I have been punched so hard in the chest I can't breath.

"Damn n****rs" Brother Ay repeats as he marches ahead of me, shacking his head in disgust.

I had seen the boys heads whip toward me...righttt as they pass.  Brother Ay made sure those boys heard him.

I felt the ground slip beneath me.  I watched Brother Ay walk ahead.  He held a "high" calling in my new church.  He held the priesthood.  He had raised a nice family. 

He called those strapping, handsome boys...that..word.

I'm confused & bewildered.  I force my feet to march on the hot pavement. 

"Clink"....behind me....a scale had slipped off my eyes.

I march on to spend the day with my head spinning.  I don't enjoy my night at the park.  I feel hollow & weak.  I'm angry & disgusted.

I hear nothing but those hateful words.

I see nothing but the mask of pain on the young men's faces as they catch my eye....as my fellow member of my church calls them

unthinkable.

"clink"

Why I decided to become found

I was a good egg growing up.  I never got in trouble at school.  Well...ok...I did get detention ONCE in 6th grade for not turning in...get this....a paper for gym class.  I had a good excuse...I was in the process of packing my house & moving to a new town.  So one day, my last week of going to that little country school...I sat in detention.  Turned into more of a going away party for me.  My gym teachers thought it was hilarious.

Me....as the good egg.  And to the chagrin of my friends...very proper.

Smoking...was gross.  Watching...more like... smelling my parents smoke was enough to make me gag at the sight of ciggies.
Drinking....as a kid I went to lot of parties....I stopped drinking at age 6.  So I guess I did drink...yeah...another story for another time.  People who drank acted weird.  Besides...I knew it was bad for me...because in 5th grade I learned all about the dangers of drinking.  (This killed my Dad!  He couldn't have his customary after work drink w/o me being in his face giving all the facts of the hazards of drinking.)
Sex....I have no idea where I got the notion sex was special & reserved for married couples.  My parents never taught me.  School never taught me.  Church never taught me.....because I went to church only on the major holidays.  I just knew from a very early age that sex was special...weird...I know.

Maybe it was because my parents were older.
Maybe is was because I was raised in a barn
or because I saw Frank Sinatra in concert
or because I took ballet for 6 years.

I don't know why I never rebelled.
I guess I was born this way baby.

My rebellion came in the form of joining a religion.

I know...RIGHT?!  Who's does that?

This nutter....that's who!

Luckily I didn't have to leave a religion to join one.  But still my Dad was mighty pissed.   I don't blame him.  My religion can be perceived as wacky sometimes....well lets face it...all religions are wack!

I joined the church because as a 19 year old watching all my friends "grow up" & leave me behind...I was lost.

I joined because I loved the clean life style that was stressed.

I joined because I liked being in a community of people that did good things, & thought happy thoughts & helped people.

I joined because the guys...were really, really hot!

Needless to say... I joined for all the wrong reasons.  Come on people...I was freak'n 19!  I was barely out of diapers!

I studied the religion for about 9 months.  I went through 3 sets of missionaries.  I was stubborn.  I refused to join until I knew everything about it.

But soon...I just wanted to be apart of something good. I wanted to be ...a.....part.  A part of a family.  A part of a great work.  A part of a church community.

One day I sought out  my Bishop after church. (The Bishop is considered the "Daddy" of the group in that area.  That's the best way I can put it)  Bishop was wicked smart.  He never rolled his eyes at me all the times I dropped by his house to talk to him & his wife....which I did a lot.  Because I was kind of a stalker...& because I was a curious savage that couldn't get enough information crammed into my minuscule brain.  Well one day I asked him if it was bad to join a church just because I wanted to?  Just because it felt good at the moment?

 Could I join if I didn't have my own blazing testimony of the gospel.

His answer was  "You can borrow my testimony for a bit if you like.  But you must one day, find one for your self.  And that's not something I can give you.  Every single day you must work on finding your testimony.  And if you do find that you KNOW it's true...you STILL have to work to keep that testimony alive & healthy.  For you...gaining a testimony may take years.  It's not something that is just handed to a person.  That is very rare.  How real life works is, that after all the trials, tears, heartaches & joys...after all is said & done, then you see God's hand.  You will then know it's true.  But until then it can be a struggle.  And for you....it will be a long road....but it will be worth it."

I just sat there.  Trying desperately trying to soak up all his words.  Was I ready to be baptized into a religion that is all actuality, I knew nothing about.  I mean.....shouldn't I have gone to seminary or college to study up on this stuff?  Did I really have the ability to make such a huge decision...the biggest decision that I have ever had to make in my life?

The words "Faith is a hope in things not seen that are real." floated through my head.  I wanted Faith & Hope & hot guys in suits & community & friends & clean living & tithing & cheese casseroles.

I wanted these things.  I wanted things I didn't understand.  I wanted to take a leap of faith.

So I asked my Bishop...."I know I have no idea what I am doing.  I have been studying for 9 months & I feel I will never be ready.  All I know is I feel good & happy when I come here.  I feel safe here.....Can I be baptised even if I don't know for sure if this is the true & only church?"

My dear Bishop said "If you want, I will baptise you.  But do know...this journey will be hard...but it will be worth it.  If you have faith & feel you can work hard, then yes...you can get baptised.  You have to work every single day to be close to God.  If you agree...then it would be my honor to baptise you."

Little 19 year old girl who thought she knew everything...JUMPED at the chance.  I told him...I get baptised...today.  He was very cute.  Clapped his hands together & said "Tonight then...in 3 hours.  This is COOL!  This will be the first time I put a baptizum together is 3 hours!  Usually we have days to plan!  This is FUN!" 

So three hours later on a hot August night...I was baptised by my friend Lee Donaldson.

Here I go....feet first into the unknown.

Let me just say....I don't miss that stupid, naive as hell little girl....she is long gone!  For reality bit me in the butt the moment my hair dried!

Paranoid Ramblings...don't mind me

Well...I've gone & done it.  My family has jumped on the Dave Ramsey love fest.  We are working on the Total $ Makeover.  Woot.

So excited.

Can't wait...........to FAIL!

We have pinged ponged back & forth on debt reduction crap for most of our married life.  For the most part we have done well.  We have done well because my husband knows how to cook the books...wait...that didn't come out right.  We have done well because I take after my mother.  My father use to say "She could squeeze the poop out of a Buffalo coin."

I can squeeze the poopie out of a Buffalo coin....just like my mother before me!

I also am very paranoid about my financial security.

Paranoia has a place.  A nice place sitting on the fluffy chair in my mind.  Let's face it.....my husband owns & keeps me.  I...rely on his income.  I always have relied on others for survival.  First my parents.  Then my father.  And now...my poor husband.  Not only does he have the responsibility to keep me fed & clothed...but he has to keep 4 kids alive!  And a dog!

Some days he rocks in a corner.

and I point & laugh...SUCKER!

Then I take his place in the corner & rock.  Because relying on others...scares the poopie out of me.

Since I need a man to support me...I do my best to support him back.  Like not spending all his money on German chocolate, making him tasty meals, popping out 4 of his kiddos & well....lots of other thing that are not legal to discus.

Heck...I even went out & got myself a job!  A real job where I clock in & wear a uniform & attend meetings!  My tiny pay check is handed over to pay off something or another. 

That silly little pay check helps me feel....not so helpless.

Dang...I hate that feeling of being helpless. I think many women feel that way.  Women "trapped" in their home raising their children...watching their husbands work at a job he hates, day in & day out....giving up his dream (being a toy tester...yeah......dreams...successfully slaughtered!) all because he adores & loves his family more then that dream....of...testing..... toys.

Then I think of all those other women, who just like me feel helpless.

Women who's husbands...just walk away.
Women who's husbands care more about their dreams then the love of their family & refuse to provide
Women's who's husbands slouch over...dead.
Women's who's husbands bodies get ravaged by disease or accident.
Women who never had the pleasure of their man loving them enough to marry them.
Women's who's husband struggle w/ addiction.
Women's who husbands torture & beat them.

As a woman......I feel...powerless sometimes.  As an UNeducated woman I feel helpless.
What if my husband dies, leaves me, hates me, gets sick, get laid off, gets fired, gets jailed, gets drunk...on & on.

What if?

Damn you paranoia!

Oh well...I guess I will use my paranoia to get crack'n on Dave's debt beater-upper.....since I have nothing better to do then to rock in the

corner.

with my husband.











Being a toy tester would have been fun.

Night time habits

My lovely house I lived in had 2 bedrooms.  One upstairs that belonged to my parents. One down stairs..that was mine.  It had 2, deep windows & blue flower wall paper.  I don't remember being scared to be alone at the other end of the house.  But I was uneasy about my room.  It was always freezing cold despite the fact that the wall was...kid you not....3 feet thick.  It always had a breeze swirling though it & the light didn't seem right. And...I hated the blue wallpaper cause if you stared at it long enough you could see faces in it!

My bedroom was later converted to a very small dining room once the upper level was complete.  We used the room 3 times out of the year.  Thanksgiving, Christmas & Easter.  Other then that, we hated being in there.  Can you see the deep set window...yeah....3 feet thick walls...awesome! Note the haircut....why mother, WHYYY????

One night, during the winter as I was fast sleep snug in my bed....my blanket was tugged. 
Tug, tug. 
Tug, tug.
 I remember being really angry that my parents were waking me up.  Soon I was woken up by the freezing cold.  My blanket had been completely removed from my bed....and I couldn't find it.  All I remember was being so angry.  Years later my parents told me that in the dead of night, they were awoken to their little 6 year old standing at the end of their bed yelling at them.  "Where's my blanket?!  I'm cold!  Why did you wake me!"

My Mom thinking I was sleep walking...trotted me back down the dark stairs, walked down the long hallway to my room & plopped into bed.  Apparently I cried & spit 6 year old venom at my haggard mother.  "I want my blanket!"  Once I was in bed....my mother started to get mad at me....my blanket was no where to be found.  She turned on my lights to find it.  It wasn't under my bed or in my closet.  She become steamed thinking I was messing w/ her.  Up the stairs she went to grab my Dad to talk some sense into me.  Fumbling down the the dark stairs my father grumbled.  No blanket = hysterical brat.  My Dad was now on the hunt for my cozy blanket.  He looked in the bathroom, in the den, kitchen then finally he clicked on the light in the living room.

There was my queen sized thick yummy blanket, laid out perfectly in the middle of the living room floor.




Sorry for the bad copy.  Here is part of the living room.  There are the stairs in the background, THEE closet door under the stairs & the hallway entry behind us.  The floor in front of my friend & I is where blankie ended up.Do you like my sexy fine perm?



At first my parents were mad at me...then...they thought about it.  Did I truly drag my blanket out into the living room, dragging it over the huge yellow couch only to splay it neatly on the floor...then to wind up screaming at my parents in my shrill little voice in the dead of night?

That night after they brought me upstairs to sleep on their floor my mother & father decided they would work on the upstairs bedrooms the next day so they could move me out of that room as fast as they could....of course it would take them about 2 more years to make it sleep able.

And for 2 years....it become custom every now & again for me to wake up in the dead of the night & feel that tug..then sliddddd of my blanket.  It become my cue to get up, go potty then hunt for my wandering blanket.  It would hide in the den, kitchen, crumpled on the yellow couch, laid out in the living room or hallway.

This is another picture of that great yellow couch of 70's sassiness!  I just can't get enough of it!  I wish I had it today...it's just breath taking!  carry on...

I would drag it back down the hallway & plop back into bed.  I would grumble a little thinking it was my Dad playing a joke on me.  Then I would complain to him the next day about his blanket joke & how it bugged me....I never caught the panicked look in his eye...only the nervous laugh of him lying to me..."sorry kiddo...I just can't help it." 

My room with a hazy presence.

Childs play

"I really need you to stop it.  I'm having a long day.  No one can play with me, Moms shopping, my Dad is working in the yard, my brother is a jerk & I'm bored."

"No really...you need to stop scaring me, that's not nice.  I'm going to be mad at you if you don't stop."

I often found myself having conversations like this in my house off Pleasant Grove Rd.  One day I was just...not having it.  Life was unfair!  I couldn't play with my friend, my stupid brother was visiting & I was stuck...at home...AGGGHH!  So hard to be a child!

I stormed down stairs after my doofus brother kicked me out of the bathroom.  Hey, it had good acoustics & I needed to perfect Barbara Streisand's Queen Bee...just...because!  Whatever fart face!  Stomp, stomp, stomp...down the stairs.  Flinging myself down onto the yellow couch I seethed & pouted & lamented.

"Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeek."  The closet door behind me slowly opened a crack.  It never took much to have it creeeeek.  You turn the knob...creeeeeek.  A slight pull....... creeeeeek.  The sound of the door was horrible.  No matter how much my Dad WD40-ed it....it would always creeeeek! The door was a heavy solid wood door with an old glass knob.  It was to a closet that was tucked under the stairs.  Pretty cool hiding place.

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek open...creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek close. 
"creeeeeeeeeeek"            Stop it!
'Creeeeeeeeeeek"            I said STOP!
"Creeeeeeeeeek"            FRED!  AGGGHHHH!

I started to joke to my Dad about the ghost in the house.  He'd laugh & never take me seriously.  He told me as he ruffled my permed hair "Oh...it's just Old Fred.  Just say Hi & he'll leave you alone.  He's just lonely."    He did a fine job about teasing me...but I knew he was just messing around like Dad's do.  Little did I know...the poor guy was doing his best not to tell his daughter "yeah kid....seriously, this house is jacked up! He's watching you.  Run kid RUNNN!"

"Creeeeeeeeek"  ALRIGHT!  I'll play with you but the door has got to stop!

I heard my smelly brother stomping around upstairs yelling for me.  Something about his toothbrush...that I may or may not have rubbed on top of his nasty B.O. stick.

Sensing my own doom at the hands of my cracked out bro I dove into the closet.  The closet went all the way back under the stairs.  The space above my head just got smaller & smaller as I crawled under my Moms fur coats.  I finally wedged myself deep in the bowels of my cave.  As my brother pounded down the stairs grumbling, I watched the light fade as Fred closed the door.  "creeeeeeeeeeeeeek."

"Hey brat...you think I'm stupid!  I could hear the damn door all the way upstairs!  I know you are in there!  Come out or I'll go in after you!"

Gah!  I hate my brother!  I covered my self w/ winter shoes & scarves stored for the winter season & waited.  Doing my best not to laugh & cry.

"Fine!  I'm coming in!"

Try as he might....my brother could not open the door.  I could here him struggle & hit the door w/ his fist.  The old 50 lb door didn't budge.

"Hey twerp, the doors stuck.  You'll be in there all day by yourself!  Dad's out side & he'll never hear you scream. Have fun punk, I'm out of here!"

Exit poop head brother.

I laid under the shoes, in the pitch black slightly panicked.  All I could think about was how was I going to pee?  I had no problem hanging out in the closet, but to pee?  yeah...this would be a problem!

No sooner had I thought that...the door clicked and

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek

A little sliver of sunlight peeped in through the door.

I crawled out from under the tangle of hanging coats & out through the door.

My brother no where to be seen, my 9 year old life spared.

"Thanks Fred!  That was fun! I'll see you later!"

Out of the house I ran, to play with my ducks.

And somewhere in the house, I knew Fred would be waiting for me to come back & play. 

Things that go bump in the night

I was 6 when my mom happened to drive by an old barn in a little town & fell in love with it.

She drove home & told my Dad to buy it.

And so he did, because he loved her.

We left our custom built house down a winding lane a few hop, skips & jumps from a river and moved to

"Podunkville"

Population: 4,000

The house was built in the 1860.  First as a barn that housed pigs.  Then it was converted to a cheese shop in the 1880's, then converted into a house early 1900.  There was a bigger barn for cows that was razed.  That became a beautiful sunken garden.

When we bought the house in the 80's it was falling apart.  It had only 2 bedrooms.  One bedroom (mine) was on the first floor.  My parents bedroom was the only room upstairs.  You walked up the stairs & to the right was their bedroom.  To the left was a locked door to...well....the upper half of the barn.

This what was behind door #2!  A very large, open, dusty unfinished room.  My Dad eventually built a laundry room, bathroom (with a lovely sunken tub) small office & a large master bedroom.  The roof was so high he even was able to install a pull down latter that led up to more storage.


My Dad worked on the house making it, at first safe & livable.  Then finally he made it perfect.  We then after living there for 7 years moved... after all that hard work.

I loved the house.  It had about an acre or 2 of land.  It had an old horse barn for a garage.  I could play in a little forest, climb apple trees, catch frogs in the creek or pick flowers in the prairie section.  I had a rabbit, ducks, a dog & gerbil.There was always something to do.

I grew up with just my parents.  It was nice, just me, my mom & Dad.....and

something..or someone.......else.

When we bought the house....it wasn't empty.  It came with peeling wallpaper, a deadly furnace, leaking roof, rotting carpet & a ghost.

My parents never, EVER said anything to me.  But I found out years later we were not alone.  They had experienced things too.  My mom said the first night we slept in the house she felt it.  The haunting.  I remember it too...but I was so young...it must have been all in my head........

The house was cold that night.  The furnace didn't work.  Our furniture hadn't arrived, so we slept on the living room floor in sleeping bags.  The house was infested with mice so I got a kick watching them scurry around the baseboards.  My Mom...not so much.  Between the whimpers of my scared dog & the sound of the old barn moaning, I barely slept that night.  Coyotes cried somewhere in the fields & the shadow that floated on the ceiling fascinated me.  There was a blue hue to the room.  (I remember asking Mom were the light came from.  She said it was a blue moon that night.  Well, let me just say...that moon wasn't blue.  So I don't know what kind of hog wash she was telling me.) The shadow was in a shape of a man.  Sometimes it would hover above us...sometimes he would dart.  I enjoyed watching him....figuring at first, it was my Dad shuffling around.  But my Dad was asleep, snoring on my left, my Mom on my right.  I remember being confused at the man shadow & a bit uncomfortable.  By morning I was fine & happy to explore.  My Mom, I found out later knew...she made a grave mistake buying the house.

The fireplace was massive & was able to heat the rooms upstairs through vents.  My dog Tasha always by my side.  This was the room we slepted in the first night. 

I was never afraid of the house or the barn where my Dad like to tinker.  My dad loved his little garage/barn.  There he placed all his tools.  He was always working on something.  Handing me nails, hammer & wood I would work along side of him making airplanes.  But the garage was also the favorite place for.... Him.  Apparently my Dad was well acquainted with Him...who he named Fred.  (we named everything Fred.  The garter snake's in our garden, Fred.  The wounded birds I would find & feed, Freds.  The brown bunnies dotting our yard, Fred)  Fred was notorious for messing w/ my Dads tools.  My Dad would yell at me because I would move tools as he turned to grab something...but I never moved the tools.  After awhile my Dad realised...it was never me.  He thought he was going mad.  He became more aware of me...being out in the yard & his tools...disappearing right under his nose.  Most of the time they just moved around the table.  He would turn & the tool would be gone...only to find it under a cloth or another tool. (My Dad was scared of losing his mind he even went to a Dr. to see if he has dementia.  He did not)  One day one of his prized tool went missing.  He looked under benches, in his tool box, on the floor.  The tool was gone.  Vanished. 

A few days go by & still no tool.  He couldn't finish a job without it.  He got a hint one day as to where his tool might be.  He heard footsteps above his head.  He heard these steps all the time.  But when you live in the country, raccoons are as big a medium sized dogs.  They were always in our attics...garage & house. My Dad often had to cage or shot these very pissy, nasty things.  This day...he pulled up a chair & listend.  Really listened.  "Stomp, Stomp, Stomp."  His hair on his neck stood straight.  Those were not raccoon feet.  Those were feet w/ boots on.  He yelled up to the ceiling "Hey...I have a gun!  You have a choice, you come down now & I let you walk off the property alive or I go up there & fill you with lead!"

Silence.



"Stomp....Stomp...Stomp"...... Silence.

My Dad got the latter & his hat w/ a light attached to it...& his shotgun.  Up the latter he rose.  He slid off the ceiling panel & climbed up into the dark attic of the old horse barn.  Poor guy was sick & nerves.  He really didn't want a gun in his face & he didn't want a racoon to jump on his face either.  But he was sure a hobo was up there.  As he climbed up...he saw nothing.  No escape route, no hobo, no raccoons.  Nothing.  Just wood beams, barn dust and

His prized tool propped up against the wall.

My Dad flung himself out of the ceiling,  Crashed down the latter & ran  out of the garage.  He thought he was having a heart attack.  He laid down on a patchy piece of grass to calm down.

It had been confirmed in his mind...we...were not alone.

summer of recovery

Did you hear that?

That was the super sonic sound of summer whizzing by.

It's amazing how fast time has gone now that I can walk upright, without digging my fingers into my bum muscle just so it can relax a little to move.
.

My life went horribly slow as I moved my body...left foot step, fingers digging into right butt muscle, push in & up...drag. step...drag, step....drag....on &and on. Worsening week after agonizing week.

All that pain, fear, hopelessness...gone!

Just a slice, trim & scrap of the Dr.s knife...I am healed.

For this I truly praise God....& all the intelligent people who worked on my pathetic spine. What a wonder medical science is!
.

I praise God that I finally pulled my head out of my arse & dropped the tomfoolery nonsense of chiropractic, happy thoughts, bad exercises by people who got their learn'n at "quackery iz us" & herbs. Yeah, yeah....that crap has helped people....but sorry kids....it did not one drop of good for me the 6 months I lived through agony. In fact...I believe it made things worse. And THAT has become my proof that witchery brews are a sham. Glad it works for you...but for me...I learned the hard way.
.

I saw Dr. Sparkles 2 weeks after surgery & when she saw me walking she squawked out "Look at how well you move! Oh sweetie...I wish you could have come to see me sooner. You wouldn't have to have gone through all that pain & heartache."
.

She's right...I could have avoided all that pain. I could have avoided that pain that caused me to question if suicide would be the answer. I could have avoided the pain that made me willing to have nerves slashed, bones broken, muscles torn to become paralysed & placed in a wheelchair...just so I could live a "normal" life. I could have avoided the fear my pain caused my family & friends. I could have avoided the pain that made me take steps back towards Jesus Christ & my Heavenly father.
.

Sure I could have avoided a whole lot of heart ache.
.

But the growth it forced me to endure was pretty neato....and I wouldn't trade that for the world!

DISCLAIMER: I never, NEVER, NeVeR want to have THAT level of pain EVER again in my life. I get ghost pains once in awhile & it sends me into shock. I realise I have PTSS. Great...another thing I have to pretend doesn't exist!
.

Looking back I can see I did survive. My family survived.  I learned some hard lessons in life. I did every thing I could to "fix" myself. ...and in the end...after all that could have been done by myself...I reached out to a pro & got me some much needed pampering....by a surgeon!
.

God lead me kicking & screaming to what needed to happen. I can imagine him gently but firmly dragging me as I arch my back & screech to where I needed to go. Like a good parent that says..."listen, you won't like this, but trust me...I know what I'm doing."
.

And of course, he was right. And for once...it was nice to be the kid instead of the parent!
. 

So goodbye summer! Goodbye pain! Goodbye wee-wee pads! I got a new back... back! My spine, habits, movements are forever altered....but by golly.....I'm BACK BABY!