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.
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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!
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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.
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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."
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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.
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Sure I could have avoided a whole lot of heart ache.
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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!
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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!
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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."
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And of course, he was right. And for once...it was nice to be the kid instead of the parent!
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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!

A sad post of loss & heartache. Families can be together forever.

My heart has been put through the cheese grater. My head pounds & my tummy tumbles. I have a hard time typing because my fingers are jello. Tears threaten to explode from my face at any moment. I feel drained, angry, tired & broken.

These things I feel are all from a little soul that I never knew. At first I felt guilty....almost feel....like I'm barging in on a grief that can't be shared.

When someone dies we are told life goes on. We will see that person in the hereafter. Our souls do not parish at death. But what happens when that person never got to have their first breath? We never get to see their personality. How tall they grow. Never get to see them progress through life. What happens when there can be no comfort because we never got to know who that soul becomes? How does one process that?

Tragedy come faster & faster these days. I blame it on age. The older we get the more things we see. The more people we come to know, the more heartache we share.

A sadness I can not even begin to fathom blanketed a friend today. Her child was born full term, quiet & still. A child that I like to say, took years in the making.

There really are no words. Nothing I say or do will lighten her sorrow. All her friends stand in stunned silence. All we can do is stand behind this invisible line & watch her walk through what will be the most hellish years of her life. Each one of us wish we could take a tiny piece of her sorrow & tuck it safely away in our own hearts. Maybe then, the pain will lessen.

We know, her pain will be all hers. We can grieve, moan, rage, pray & wish. But in the end, she is alone in that piercing, soul drenching pain.

She will sit alone with her wounds...in a silent car...a new car seat will be empty. She will pass a car with laughing teens in it. And her only thought will be

"How can YOUR life go on....when my world has stopped spinning?"

Any women who has children....can picture this vividly in her mind. We are all linked. Whether we push out our babies or they are pulled out or cut out...or even picked up for the first time at an adoption agency...we all can weirdly feel a tiny bit of her agony. This particle we feel...is so deep and black. We feel just a particle...she feels it completely. Lord heal her.

Lord heal her.


The Lord Jesus Christ will be the only one...who can heal her.

We can help. Food will be made & delivered. Her house will be cleaned. Her children will be played with. We will pray with her & hold her hands. We will say to her..."tell me about your son. Was he bald? How much did he weight? What is his name?"

But at night, when all is quite. When her belly aches & her head stuffed with "should haves". The only thing I hope is whispered into her brain are the words.

"Be still and know that I am God."

I hope, in the silence, right before she drifts off to sleep...the Lord speaks to her the words..."He is here, safe & happy. He fell asleep right in the crook of my neck. You did good Momma. Please know I will hold him & rock him & care for him until you come home."

There is joy when the one you loves dies. For they are home...safe & happy after a long day out in the world. It's the ones that get left behind that we grieve for. It's sad, painful, maddening & empty. We don't want to be left behind. We don't want to be left alone...without the ones we love so much. When the black cloud of grief comes, our lungs collapse, are eyes sting & our ears ring.....through the bleakness of it all...... the only words I feel are:

Be still and know I am God.

Reeco Suave

Sitting up on the gurney I look around my room trying to figure out how to get off this thing. I have to go to the bathroom before the surgery...because I do NOT want to float any air biscuits while on the table.....on my stomach...tush in the air!


To make things worse....Mr. Reeco/Dr. Sparkles assistant walks in.


He's...kind of cute...in a really weird, stalker, Jersey Shores kind of way. "Hi, I'm Reeco, Dr Sparkle's assistant...let me mark your back."



Let me paint a picture for you....

Reeco is tall, young, thin..."awwww yeahhhh!"
Olive skin......"aahhhhhh"
He has jet black hair..."talk to me Jen!".....which is perfectly qwaft...."grrrr baby!"...into a shiny,huge back swept tidel wave off his head...."ummm, ok...I can work w/ that, big-ness"

His eyes are, how do I put this...stoned looking..."CHECK PLEASE!"

Then his voice is like a soft, cooing dove.......well more like the coo of a SURFER DUDE...."End scene! Sorry buddy, you lost me at "like.....I'm gonna...... mark,..... like...your back..mkayyyyy?" Dude.....don't say M'KAY...it's creepy!


Mr Reeco smells divine as he hunches over me & pulls aside my gown to place a black mark on my back. And I don't know quite how I feel. I think I'll just go to my safe place....again.


He marks me, then floats out of my room.


My husband asks me..."Ummm did a homeless, stoned man just mark your back w/ a Sharpie? That was weird."


Oh yeah...this just keeps getting better!

And I'm off!

5am. I'm at the surgery center....trying not to shake. Trying to believe this will fix me. Trying to believe this will bring back...me.


I get called back into my room. My husband has to wait while they "get me checked in."

Seriously people...he's my husband. He's seen me more then naked. Why can't he come back? I try not to punch someone...well I can't punch anyone because they are so nice.


I get naked, step into my gown. I realise I have to poop. Awww geez...really?!


They hand me lederhosen to squeeze on my legs. Grrr baby! I can't bend over to put them on or even sit onto the gurney. I start to panic...I can't get onto the BED! They are going to have to operate w/ me standing up!!

I just stand there as the old nurse keeps asking me to get into the bed. Why can't I ask for help? Why now? Oh yeah...because the nurse is like 80 years old & I'm afraid I will break her hip if I use her as an elevater!

Before she starts to believe I am stupid........I finally open my mouth & ask for help. The 80 year old nurse nearly shot-puts me into the bed. I think she actually threw me on her shoulder & hucked me into it...can't quiet remember because I went to my safe place as she did it.


Now time for the Squeezie Mc Squeezes a-lot hosen. "Sweetie, put these on."


Ummm, I can't. I need help.


So 2 nurses pull up my tube socks. The older nurse pats my feet & walks out.


So far so good! I am positioned painfully in bed, wearing a gown that's not mine, socks that look sexy fine...and...I have to POOP!


This is going to be a GREAT DAY!

A goat is less stubborn

I sat on a hot morning in a waiting room. Waiting....for the neurosurgeon to see me. Waiting for over an hour.

I had the conversation I would have w/ her in my head down pat.

Dr. "I suggest we cut you open. Because that's what Dr.s do....we cut. We don't care...we cut. It won't help you at all, but I really need to pay off this 24 carat diamond ring....ya know what I'm say'n?!!"

Me: "Gee thanks Doc. But everyone tells me you are out for $$. And besides...you are right....surgery won't help. How do I know? Well....I Goggled it. So I would just appreciate it if you prescribed me physical therapy. I mean....I'm doing everything right. At this point in my life I know more than PT's do. But I think I could really benefit from PT...because I goggled it....& I'm a recovering crunchy freak."

I soon get called back to a very cold (as in "this place could use a dash of color" cold) very...medical room. And

I

Wait some moreeeeee.

I sit going over my cue cards. "no surgery, no surgery...no think you....just PT please."

Finally, in breezes my new sparkly Dr.....wearing a diamond as big as the largest bruise on my leg (thanks to the chiropractor...just thought I would share that sexy picture w/ you....cuz I CAN!)

She is very nice, but I view her as the "The Man." One not to be trusted. I had years of grooming to view medical people with question. My poor Mom trusted a Dr who pretty much killed her....for his ineffectiveness & his blase' treatment of the growing tumor in her breast. Luckily she found a great, sweet, gifted Dr who was able to prolong her life. But the damage had been done. "Daughter dear, NEVER trust a Dr. Always investigate, get 2nd 3rd, 4th options. Push for proper treatments. Always question. Never lay yourself down on the alter of a Dr." Andddddddd cue neurosis!

Dr. Sparkly poked my foot. Had me counter presser her hand. Tapped my hip.

"That's IT?! You tap my foot & that's it for diagnosis?!!! I don't think I like you much. Scam artist!".........don't worry...I didn't say my thoughts out loud...I wanted too...but I refrained.

Then she had me waddle down to show me the x-rays. She praised my great spine & how "juicy" all my discs looked. But then showed me the "sad" little disc that was collapsed on one side & "oozing" out onto my sciatic nerve. As she sat in a chair opposite of me she asked me to place my good leg on her knee. My leg straightened a little. She said that was normal for the good leg to start to stiffen up. Next was my bad leg. I couldn't even place it on her knee. She had to do it for me. I couldn't even point my knee cap up. My leg just sat crooked on her leg. She tried to gently straighten it. It was totally useless. The pain was so bad I punched her in the face......well...no I didn't....I restrained myself. My stupid leg had atrophied in the bent position.

Then this evil Dr. said...as she rubbed my foot. "Oh you poor thing. This is real bad. You have suffered too long. I'm sorry you hurt so much. But we can fix this. Don't worry!" And she carefully placed my foot down onto the floor & helped me up.

I did my cough & sniff...."stupid allergies routine" to hide my threatening tears as she walked me back to the room. DANG IT....why did she have to be so NICE?!

Of course the first thing out of her mouth was "Sweetie, we can make you pain free in a few days. Just a small, quick SURGERY. We just go in & clean the bulging disc material off the nerve & that's it! You'll be able to get up & walk like you haven't walked for 6 months out of the surgery center. So how about tomorrow?"

And you know what my crunchy little heart said. "Surgery? But everyone...& I say NO!"

And what came out of my mouth. "HELZ YEAH, Do it NOW....NOW"

Lucky I couldn't do it the next day. The nurse talked me out of it because I had to close on our new house that day. Whatever. I was totally for it! Yeah baby! Spine surgery & house closing!

What happened to me?!!! Who was this person? What about a 2nd option?! What would Google think?!

So surgery was scheduled for the next week.

I went back to my friends house & my crunch chastised me. "Stupid GIRL! You caved!"

I questioned what I had done. Maybe I could cancel the evil surgery in a few days. Better yet...have my husband do it for me! Yeah...that's what I would do! I didn't need the surgery. I could work it out myself.

4 days after that, I laid on my belly to do my back exercises and then I froze...up on my forearms...belly on the floor. Cobra pose top be exact.

My body became paralysed with pain. Searing pain ripped through my body. I couldn't go fully on the floor because the wave of agony was shocking. I screamed & screamed for my son to help. But could he hear me? OH NOOOOOOO cuz he was watching tv in the other room!

So I cried once again, in my friends house, on her floor. Just me myself & the devil. I finally got my son to get the bottle of Tramadol (which as my Dr friend said is a "Jr High joke, not a real pain killer"....greattttttt) I popped 2 pills & then rolled the bottle far enough away for me to reach it....cuz I would down the whole bottle.

I was sweating from being stuck. Did I mentioned..I was in THIS POSE?!! DID I?!!!

Finally after an hour, I was able to lower my upper body onto the floor...in a funky weird position. My husband came home & tried to move me. But this pain was NOTHING like the last time. This pain was worse. I begged God to make me go unconscious. I was face down, eating carpet, begging God not to leave me. I saw no way out of the pain. Finally after 3 hours on the floor my husband was able to move me...as I screamed..... onto a futon mattress on the floor. I was in hell, but at least I was on my side on a futon. I stayed laying on my left side....for 14 hours. Every once in a while I would try to move, but I couldn't. Peeing in granny pads had become the norm. But paralysed for 14 hours was not norm!

At 9am the next day I was able to stand after struggling to get up for 20 minutes. As I shuffled to the bathroom is agony....I remembered the conversation I had w/ God telling Him he would need to physically guide me..... blared loudly in my head.

Point....taken.

God had for sure, physically stopped, dropped & rolled me into what I need to do.

"That's IT! Stop this non sense! Get thee to Dr Sparkles & get surgery for the love of Me!"

I would get surgery next week. I would yell & rage at my father on the phone as he said not to get surgery. I would not read anything anymore about spine surgery on the Google. I would gladly pop Vicoden to get me through the week. I would not feel bad about this! I would gladly pay for Dr Sparkles 24 carat diamond ring!

God had spoken & I finally would listened!

Surgery...here I come...pleasepleaseplease work.

Piss and wind

2 weeks ago, my world changed.
2 weeks ago I could not get out of my van without whimpering & burning with pain.
2 weeks ago I walked out of the surgery unit, without pain.

6 months...everyday...pain. Not one day of relief came to me. Sure I had good days, but always with pain. Around 5 months I told God.

"God....I don't do well with "listening to the still small voice." I have a real bad connection down here. It ain't for the lack of trying. It's just me I suppose. So I need you to throw me a bone. I really need you to phycially guide me to what I need to do next. If I need to do Chiropractic treatments everyday for a year I will. Acupuncture? Massage? Drug treatment? Surgery? Standing on my head in a pool? I'll do it. But I can't hear ya down here so just do what you have to do to get me the treatment that will heal me."

I asked this knowing full well the trouble I would be borrowing. I did not ask this lightly. I was ready to accept to be physically taken where I needed to be.

I am shocked I survived.

A day after talking to God, the pain left. And what replaced it was indescribable. White hot burning agony....yeah...that about sums it up.

I could no longer sit, stand or lay w/o extreme constant pain.

A week later I got stuck in my friends bed...my Friend's bed...not even my own. Ohhhh no...I had to be paralyzed...on my friends guest bed.....and I had to pee.

I usually could lay down to relax, but this day was different. I could not move. Not to roll over. Not to sit up. Not even to move my legs. Not to push myself up. I was completely paralyzed. And if I tried to move the pain would shoot through me so bad I wanted to vomit. I started to sweat & moan for God to kill me. I couldn't even touch my skin. My whole leg was on fire. It felt like a charlie horse...through my enter leg...that lasted for 4 hours. There was no letting up on the pain. All I could do was lye on my side, in my friends bed, alone. My husband went shopping 3 hours into this little personal hell. As he left he asked if he should buy me pads. At first I said no...through clenched teeth. Surely this hell would pass. But then I recognized pride & I changed my mind. I would need pee pads.

He left & I cried. He was gone for over an hour. I would try to calm myself & tell myself just to relax. Slowly I would try to sit up. The pain would rip through me & I would stuff a pair of socks in my mouth to stifle the screams.

Soon I couldn't deny it. I had to pee. Not only pee...but piss...a lot. Even if my husband was with me, he would not be able to move me. I needed the pee pads...I needed them NOW! I start to panic. Then I beg. "please, please, pleaseeeeeee, not on my friends bed." Over & over I begged Jesus. After a half an hour of begging.....my bladder began to loosen & give up it's fight. On the small dresser by my head was a bunch of clean socks I never got to put away. (If you are confused as to why I am in my friends guest bed w/ my laundry....be confused no more! We were staying with our friends while we waited to close on our new house. We had sold ours & now had to wait. We were at our friends house for 3 weeks. They are saints!)

I bundled all the socks together to form a pad (see, all my years of being crunchy paid off!) I Then...painfully...jammed them in my pants....stupid leg was so painful to move. I barked out "Throw me a bone here God! If you are not going to help me hold my piss at least help me move this damn leg so I can protect MY FRIENDS BED!" Soon...I began to laugh. Hard. I can't believe...I'm doing this. Between the hysterical fits of laughter....I pissed....on a pad made of socks......in my friends guest bed.

5 minutes later, my husband walks in...with the pads. I don't know whether to be humiliated or angry or relieved. Did God....really just ignore my pee pleads?! It wasn't a crazy request God!

My saint of a husband helps me out. I then relax...& wait.

Finally.... painfully, but steadily, my husband is able to pull me up off the bed. I feel like I have been hit by a bus. Grumbling, I drag my paralyzed leg to the bathroom. Plopping myself down onto my throne..I wait & murmur. I'm still mad at God. Mad, angry, humiliated. I just pee'd on myself. Yeah...thanks for noth'n God!

Then I pee.

& pee.

& pee.

Let me just tell you.....I pee'd like a frat boy after an all night bender. I pee'd so much I could have read the last book in the Harry Potter series. I think I even took a nap while peeing. How the heck it didn't come out while I was laying on the bed is beyond me.

I sat dazed..on the pot. (I really hope you are visualising this.) Maybe God did help me out. Walking back to the bed I was scared of what I would see. My husband said it was dry.

Ummm what? I just empty a pint of piss on that mattress, are you sure?

It's dry as a bone.

I made him smell it. He didn't want to. SMELL IT! Smell it NOW! (he did) Then I smelled it. I almost called my friend down to smell it.....but I didn't...cuz that would be weird.

I'll be damned. The bed was dry. It smelled fine. Some how I managed to pee a lung out, but not have it get on the mattress.

I guess God did hear my prayers.

I later apologised to Him for ragging at Him. Then I recognized I had a serious problem.

God had psychically placed me where I now needed to go. Soon he placed my down on the door step of a neurosurgeon. She would be the one that was an answer to a prayer.

But first...I had to second guess....& again God physically told me were to go.

And this time....would be more hellish then the last.