A concussion is a common form of head and brain injury, and can be caused by a direct or indirect hit to the head or body (for example, a car crash, fall or sport injury). This causes a change in brain function, which results in a variety of symptoms . With a concussion there is no visible injury to the structure of the brain, meaning that tests like MRI or CT scans usually appear normal.

* What actually happens during Concussion *

When a person suffers a concussion, the brain suddenly shifts or shakes inside the skull and can knock against the skull’s bony surface. A hard hit to the body can result in an acceleration- deceleration injury when the brain brushes against bony protuberances inside the skull. Such forces can also result in a rotational injury in which the brain twists, potentially causing shearing of the brain nerve fibres. It is not yet known exactly what happens to brain cells in a concussion, but the mechanism appears to involve a change in chemical function.

In the minutes to days following a concussion, brain cells remain in a vulnerable state. New research emphasizes that the problem may not be the structure of the brain tissue itself, but how the brain is working. The exact length of this change is unclear. During this time period, the brain does not function normally on a temporary basis, and is more vulnerable to a second head injury.

* How do concussions occur * 

Most concussions occur as a result of a collision with another object while the object or person is moving at a high rate of speed. Forces such as these (and others) can result in deceleration and rotational concussive injuries.

* Who to tell *

It is extremely important to seek medical advice as soon as possible after any blow to the head or body after which you suffer signs and symptoms of a concussion. Often, concussions can go untreated (and even unnoticed by others) because few symptoms are visible to casual observers. Many times, the symptoms of a concussion may not be identified until the person recovers to the point where increased exertion causes symptoms to worsen. In fact, 4 out of 5 professional athletes do not even know that they have been concussed.

Although symptoms may not be immediately apparent, it is important to be aware of possible physical, cognitive and emotional changes. You can never be too careful! Symptoms may actually be worse later the same day of the injury or even the next day. Without proper management, a concussion can result in permanent problems and seriously affect one’s quality of life.

It is important to tell a family member, friend, co-worker, teammate, employer, trainer or coach if you think you have had a concussion. Memory loss or amnesia associated with the trauma is one hallmark of a concussion and some people may forget that they were injured until after the diagnosis is established. However if the person is aware of the signs of concussion, informing someone will help assure proper medical care. If you think you have had a concussion, you should immediately remove yourself from the current activity whether it is sports, work or school.

First post,
what should it be about?

How about me? Yes… Feeding of the ego. Always a pleasure.

centimeter, that’s moi! (my initials are C and M, put them together and you get…? Good job.)

What else?
Creative, cute, scary, rock’n'roll, socially awkward (on bad days, straight up dysfunctional), student, mother, lover, sleepless, mess.

That’s a quick overview for y’all!

Thought I’ll fire up a blog so I have a place to share all the exciting things in my life, and by exciting I mean average…or just below average, actually.
Anyway… I’m only writing this right now because I don’t wanna go to bed, but I should. So I will…
“…dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before”

Good night!

“The first device that Satan uses to keep souls in a sad, doubting, and questioning condition—and so making their life a living hell—is by causing them to be constantly poring and musing upon their sin.”

Satan opens up our sin to us, pointing it out, reminding us of it, whispering about it to our conscience, in order to seize our eyes. Maybe you don’t want to believe in Satan and this is all a little too much for you. That’s fine, you don’t necessarily have to believe in Satan to be convinced of what I am saying. You can still recognize that we often get fixated on our failures. And the more we look, the more we melt.

It’s a devious trap, too. Because we need to recognize our shortcomings. That is essential to spiritual health; we need to be honest with ourselves and own up to our faults. However, we must not fixate on them. There comes a point when we need to say, “Enough is enough!” and look to something else.

We must learn not to focus on our sins, but on our Savior. Christians are those courageous people who have learned to look more to their Savior than to their sins. “Yeah, Satan, I know I’ve blown it again; I know that I deserve punishment and death. But what of it? I look at Jesus and I see that he’s been punished for my sins already. And his love is stronger than your hate.”

Christians are no better than anyone else. Neither are they just a bunch of chumps. They merely know where to look for a solution to the same problem that everyone shares. Christian or not, everyone is trying to find a way to escape their conscience and justify their existence. Some do it by trying to be better “next time.” Thus, their gaze goes straight to their problems. Others do it by trying to escape reality through some sort of pleasure or pursuit. “Maybe if I live it up, then I’ll forget about my faults.” Again, their focus is deadlocked on the problem rather than a solution.

And there are some things you can’t get rid of by focusing on them. In fact, the more you look, the more you’ll be consumed. Maybe what you need right now is to get your eyes off of the thing that’s killing you and to look at the One who can give you life. Look to your Savior, for as Scripture says, “whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart” (1 John 3:20).

© Samuel Kee, 2013

The only childhood memories I have of my Dad are from pictures, other than two occasions that stand out in my mind for some reason.  The first one takes place in a mall parking lot, I’m about 4 years old and playing with a Play-dough set…stuffing Play-dough into a little person watching her hair grow long of red Play-dough while my Dad leaned on the open driver door of his old Ford pick up smoking a cigarette.  That is how the story starts and ends, that is it and that is all.  The next event takes place when I’m about fourteen years old, (oh and I’m, now 32) I was going through a rough time as I think a lot of teenagers do and was really wondering why my Dad left when I was two and never seemed to turn back.  I wanted answers and to know the whys and ifs of it all…why this? why that? if this and if that?!  I was blessed to have remained close with my Baba (my Dads Mom) and Uncle (my Dads brother) my entire life.  My Baba just passed away about two and a half years ago, five days before my first son was born.  That ripped my heart right out of my chest and I miss her dearly until this day.  My Uncle and I still chat on a fairly regular basis and keep in good touch, he gives the best hugs and has the heart of an angel.  So back to fourteen and a mess, I wanted to see my Dad so talked to my Baba and Uncle and they helped arrange and make this happen.  The day came and I had many mixed emotions but couldn’t wait to just even see him, to see what he looked like and maybe even hear his voice, I wasn’t sure what I wanted or needed from this but I was going.  We drove just over an hour to a suburb outside of my hometown to arrive at a large and private property surrounded by endless trees.  On the property was a good size two story home, a shop off to the side that he worked out of as a mechanic and lots of pick ups and cars around.  I remember being greeted by some barking dogs who were being yelled at to be quiet.  The door opened and there stood just as I pictured, a tattooed, stocky, bearded man.  He was pleasant and greeted my Baba and I with hugs and kisses and my Uncle with a handshake.  We went in and started our visit, we had plans to stay there for dinner making in a lengthy stay which I was sort of looking forward to.  My Dad went out to his shop to finish up some work, my Baba got started on dinner preps in the kitchen and my Uncle made sure I was settled and then headed out to see my Dad in the shop.  I moved from the living room to kitchen and sat there for maybe about ten seconds as my mind and legs were very curious….I was chatting with my Baba and then told her I needed to use the washroom and would be right back.  I took this opportunity to take a quick snoop around the house.  The first corner I went around I found what appeared to be my Dads bedroom which was very tidy and very simple, I remember seeing a blanket at the foot of his bed with flames on it and some jewellery on his dresser.  The next room was a small green bathroom that still until this day stands out in my mind, possibly because that is the room that enabled this day to be so embedded in my mind.  I moved on from the bathroom and found two spare bedrooms down the hallway ending with a large living room where my Uncle left me seated which was separated from the kitchen by the stairs that led to the front door.  I remember standing there, looking and looking pondering what else can I look at? I need to find something more, see something more, I came all the way here and he is out in his shop.  I checked in with my Baba letting her know I was out of the washroom and then spotted a cupboard.  I decided that I was going to open that cupboard door and see what I could see when I spotted a tall stack of pictures, just as I put my fingers on the pile I heard the front door open so grabbed as many as I could, closed the cupboard door quietly and snuck back to the ugly green bathroom.

Earlier I commented that this memory as well as the other stand out in my mind for ‘some’ reason, well this next part will explain why this one does.

The top picture was a photo of my Dad with another guy who looked just as he did and they were holding shot guns, it looked as though they were maybe on a hunting trip.  As I leafed through the photos at a snails pace inspecting every little detail of each and every one, I saw endless pictures of my Dad snorting what looked like drugs off of a table with groups of friends, naked girls sitting on his lap, more drugs, more naked girls, pictures of motorcycles, more drugs, more naked girls, bikes, drugs, girls, bikes, drugs, girls….I was flipping through quicker and quicker in a feeling of panic and all I wanted to do was run out that front door so fast.  I couldn’t believe my eyes and was not able to digest what just happened, how could this be? Am I safe here? I want to leave now!

How was I going to get these pictures back in the cupboard, I sat there listening to the three of them in the kitchen in hopes of hearing them go outside again.  While waiting I decided that I was going to keep a few of these pictures as I didn’t have any of my Dad, I took about ten of them and stuffed them in my pant pocket.  After quite awhile it was finally quiet so I snuck back to that cupboard and put the large stack if pictures back right where I found them and finished my visit with the largest not in my stomach worrying that my Dad must have known I had stolen his pictures.

I left there with a real idea of what I had been ‘missing’…I was only fourteen but knew that this would not have been a good life for me and things made much more sense without asking any questions.

House Bill 2326, sponsored by state Representative Eddie Farnsworth (R-12), restricts the ability of any political subdivision from requiring or retaining a record in any form, whether permanent or temporary, of any identifying information of a person who owns, possesses, purchases, sells or transfers a firearm.

In other parts of the country, anti-gun media outlets have abused their privileges under the Freedom of Information Act and have jeopardized the safety of law-abiding citizens by publishing the names and addresses of registered gun owners. Contrary to their claims, these media elites have not increased public safety and have instead simply provided a roadmap for criminals to use for their next burglary and firearm theft. HB 2326 will prevent this from happening in Arizona.

I don’t always agree with our Governor’s actions, but on this and the previous bill enacted, I applaud.  Good Job!

h/t NRA-ILA

I was talking to a friend recently who was telling me about a job opportunity she was interested in.  It sounded like a great job that would be a perfect fit for her.  After spending about 15 minutes or so talking about how much she wanted the job and hoped that the process would go well, she said, “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”  I just nodded.  I knew what she meant; after all, it is a common enough saying.  It is usually understood to mean that she didn’t want to be disappointed in the event that things didn’t work out.  The raised expectations would make the disappointment even worse.  Thus, if my friend did not literally raise her hopes too high, then if the outcome was unfavorable, she’d have less far to fall in terms of disappointment.  I know a lot of people think this way.  I know I do.  It represents a defensive instinct within us.  We think that we can prospectively protect ourselves by steeling against future misfortune.

Really?  Does it actually work that way?  Do we really not get disappointed in the end?  For that matter, do we even ever succeed in not getting our hopes up?  Thinking about this statement and the thought process behind it, it seems the opposite is true.  Decoding the language, saying “I don’t want to get my hopes up” is tantamount to saying, “my hopes are already up and I really want it to work out.”  The words are actually the opposite what what we really think and feel.  Then why not just say what we think and feel?  It’s more honest and it’s true.

Could it be the idea that if we say what we really want and reveal how much we want it, we will jinx it?  This is what we call in the therapy trade magical thinking.  Its the idea that what I think in my mind effects the outcome of unrelated events.  The classic example is wearing your lucky shirt on game day so the Patriots don’t lose.  It’s a nice illusion of control in which many fans (especially of the Patriot variety) participate.  But that doesn’t make it so.  The reality here is that not getting your hopes up does not increase the likelihood of a positive outcome.  In fact, the opposite may be true in a very real and verifiable way.  For instance, if my friend doesn’t get her hopes up and therefore acts blasé about the interview and fails to prepare as well as she might otherwise, then she could actually be hurting her chances of success.  Why would she do that?

The other thing this brings to mind is a bit of a Puritan ideology of delaying gratification.  (We are constantly running from what the Puritans taught us around here.)  If we enjoy less now, then when hell and damnation come calling, it will feel less bad because we expected it and prepared for it.  If we are good and get to heaven, then good for us for being good by suffering and expecting the worst!  Sorry, but I don’t buy it.  Hell and damnation are always bad.  So is disappointment.  Under no circumstances does it feel good, whether you expected it or not.  There is no savings of pain in the future.

We might say, well we didn’t really think it was going to happen anyway, but the truth remains, we hoped it would.  If it doesn’t we are in fact disappointed.  Now that is something we can control.  We can learn how to deal with disappointment.  We can learn how to create opportunity out of adversity.  We can learn to live more fulfilling lives based on hope and optimism.  And anyway why undercut the present hope if we don’t have to?  Seems like needless suffering and a waste of emotional energy to me.  Don’t we want more hope and optimism, not less?   Maybe that is what ends up giving us the enthusiasm that the interviewer perceives and sways the decision in our favor.

So, go ahead.  Be positive and hopeful.  Be true to yourself and what you want.  If it doesn’t work out, that’s life.  You can deal with that.  But what if it does work out?  Then you can say, I knew it all along.  Go ahead.  Get your hopes up and see what happens.

Andrew D. Kang, JD, LICSW, is a former attorney turned licensed psychotherapist.  His practice, Boston Professionals Counseling, LLC, focuses on helping attorneys and professionals with the issues they face and is located in Boston, Massachusetts.  Contact him at andy@bostonprofessionalscounseling.com or visit his website at http://www.bostonprofessionalscounseling.com

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It “doesn’t require longanimous administration, a differentiated environment and equipment, or a doctor who has been drilled in endoscopy, ” says like author Gary Tearney, a academician of Pathology at Harvard Aesculapian Education and a Research Individual at MGH.
The Affordable Work Event has yet to have a evidential impact on yearly nationalistic eudaimonia defrayal, but actuaries acquire perceived the personalty of several initial ACA viands that were implemented in 2010 or 2011, CMS said. For instance, clannish welfare protection defrayal and body accrued afterwards insurers were needful to compensate dependents capable era 26 on their parents’ eudaemonia plans. An estimated 2.7 gazillion dependents obtained reporting by 2011 and helped aim the archetypical advance in private wellbeing policy entering since 2007.

Cristina Garcia Moreno, who worked on the project with Arizona Land Lincoln, explained that 13 of the 25 skulls institute in the Hispanic graveyard had these deformed heads.
Not expanding (10 states): Alabama, Georgia, Idaho, Louisiana, Maine, Mississippi, Southbound Carolina, Southbound Dakota, Oklahoma and Texas

Digit classes of uninsured?
The camera, which is active the size of a astronomical vitamin lozenge, uses optic lasers to affirm careful, atomic images of the esophageal paries.
Start in 2014, the flooded personalty of the ACA instrument be felt in the healthcare manufacture. Medicaid enrolment module expand in many states, and individuals instrument act buying eudaimonia plans on federal- or state-run shelter exchanges, umteen with federal improve. Patients gaining indemnity instrument take more health care services because reporting leave be many low-cost, the examination aforementioned.
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“Amusive patients from the almost competent, branded communication alternative could be prefab more bankable if the savings were directed to added HIV-related inevitably. For example, fewer than half the state-funded AIDS Take Help Programs let the effectual protease-inhibitor-based handling for hepatitis C virus (HCV), which infects up to 25 proportion of HIV-infected individuals. We calculated that, for every 15 patients switched to the generic-based programme, digit who is likewise putrid with HCV could be activated and potentially recovered of that transmission. “
“Cranial deformation has been utilized by antithetic societies in the earth as a ritual drill, or for differentiation of state within a grouping or to qualify between gregarious groups, ” Moreno told ABC Programme. “The think reason these individuals at El Cementerio deformed their skulls is ease unmapped. ”
“Nearly each parents agree that fashioning trusty children are financially educated is an alpha strain — yet digit that they hawthorn undergo ill-equipped to implement, ” Grinstein-Weiss says. “But parents don’t demand specific cognition or skills to read their kids for business achiever. Number folk chronicle is wealthy with opportunities to instruct them the ins and outs of money matters. ”

It “doesn’t say enduring administration, a specialized environment and equipment, or a physician who has been housebroken in endoscopy, ” says like author Gary Tearney, a academic of Pathology at Harvard Medical Schoolhouse and a Investigate Scholar at MGH.
The Low-priced Care Behave has yet to feature a earthshaking tempt on reference nationalist welfare spending, but actuaries have perceived the personalty of both initial ACA viands that were implemented in 2010 or 2011, CMS aforementioned. E. G., clubby wellbeing insurance defrayment and entering increased aft insurers were mandatory to bedclothes dependents up to geezerhood 26 on their parents’ wellbeing plans. An estimated 2.7 gazillion dependents obtained sum by 2011 and helped drive the first win in private health insurance enrollment since 2007.

Cristina Garcia Moreno, who worked on the project with Arizona Country Lincoln, explained that 13 of the 25 skulls constitute in the Hispanic cemetery had these distorted heads.
Not expanding (10 states): Alabama, Georgia, Idaho, Louisiana, Maine, Mississippi, Southerly Carolina, Southerly Dakota, Oklahoma and Texas

Figure classes of uninsured?
The camera, which is about the sizing of a astronomic vitamin pill, uses visual lasers to verify careful, microscopical images of the esophageal palisade.
Starting in 2014, the flooded personalty of the ACA faculty be change in the healthcare industry. Medicaid entering give expand in galore states, and individuals instrument act buying wellbeing plans on federal- or state-run shelter exchanges, many with federal improve. Patients gaining insurance give have more health care services because coverage instrument be much cheap, the interrogation said.
Anticipated to the appressed connectedness between nucleus formation and accumulation, constraining the former activity allowed Ryerson and colleagues from the from the Universite Pierre et Marie Curie (UPMC) and the Institut de Habitus du World de Paris (IPGP) to bounds the range of materials that biform the Earth, likewise as learn whether or not they denaturised throughout the period.
This is substantially inferior instance than it takes to do an endoscopic examination of the gorge: typically this bathroom avow near an hr and a half all.
“Diverting patients from the almost trenchant, branded discourse secondary could be prefab more satisfactory if the savings were directed to different HIV-related needs. E. G., less than one-half the state-funded AIDS Take Help Programs include the effective protease-inhibitor-based discourse for hepatitis C virus (HCV), which infects capable 25 percent of HIV-infected individuals. We premeditated that, for every 15 patients switched to the generic-based regime, digit who is also infected with HCV could be aerated and potentially well of that contagion. “
“Cranial harm has been old by different societies in the experience as a custom drill, or for secernment of status within a group or to differentiate betwixt cultural groups, ” Moreno told ABC Intelligence. “The think reason these individuals at El Cementerio ill-shapen their skulls is soothe uncharted. ”
“Nearly every parents concord that devising reliable children are financially literary is an essential job — still single that they may undergo ill-equipped to fulfil, ” Grinstein-Weiss says. “But parents don’t need especial knowledge or skills to prepare their kids for business achiever. Routine kinsfolk chronicle is loaded with opportunities to instruct them the ins and outs of money matters. ”

Here’s an analysis of how this is really just an attempted boast (more than a true complaint about the site):

>>>Picture “Dis”

POF is all about your pics. Men never read what you write.

While there is a lot of truth about how critical the visual aspect is for men in deciding whether or not to look further, it does not mean “men never read profiles”.

Like most people, guys looking for romance online are not likely to spend time reading details, if the first filter (as in the visual appeal) is not met.  However, they can and will read the profile, if they like what they see.  What was that?  So visual appeal counts?  I can here short-haters all over the internet feeling some affirmation.

Lol.  They shouldn’t.

Remember, liking aesthetics doesn’t automatically include aesthetics based on irrationality or affinity based on personal insecurity (which is what wanting to be seen ONLY with a trophy is all about).  If the trait is one that actually betrays lifestyle challenges or personal choice, then there might be some similarity.

Anyways, back to the point.

Men DO often read the profiles.  They just didn’t read your’s and you know the reason why.

>>>Grade School of Fish

But it’s a mean site. I can only speak from my experience, being a BBW I’ve been treated like shit, worse than shxt. God forbid I even say hi to someone. That’s then an excuse to act like 7th grader towards me. Meanwhile, I’ve been told “no one wants you on here”, nice.

The site is a “mean” as in it’s full of nasty people?  Well, there is some truth to that, but what this plaintiff is talking about does not address the typical haughty attitude that pervades the female fish in Plenty-of-Attitude.

Firstly, the person or persons that coined the term “BBW” should be publicly flogged.  The first “B”, “Big” is a relative term, but it can be reasonably put that big would be big to most of the population.  The last letter, “W” is for women, and that is essentially truthful (at least in a physiological sense) so there is no argument there.

However, the middle initial stands for “Beautiful”.  How does one decide that one is AUTOMATICALLY beautiful just for being big and a women?  Why is the term not “BW” or “BBYDIIABW” (Big-but-you-decide-if-I-am-beautiful-Women).  This  presumption of automatic beauty is there to play into the typical arrogance that denial feeds.

It’s Plenty-of-Princess women that usually act like grade school children.  This is especially so when they encounter men who don’t happen to be the “triple six” (six foot, six pack, six figure income).  Generally, men base their assessment of women on things that women HAVE control of.  That basically includes good maintenance of mind, physical shape and spiritual well-being.  Contrary to the MYTHOLOGY that man-bashers like to promote, men aren’t exclusively after blond barbie doll vixens with big boobies.  It’s a myth that they like to push out in order to promote their juvenile ideas.  Get over it.

Would you like it if someone who didn’t bring the same effort to the table as you (as in maintenance of mind, body and soul) presumed they were your equal?   No.  You wouldn’t be impressed with what they are essentially seeing as “equal”.  If it’s really a disparity, chances are you would be offended.

I don’t advocate seventh-grade behavior when offended, but nonetheless, it has to be realized that they may be offended by this unspoken statement of “equality”.

>>>The Nature of Freaks

All the men are sex freaks looking for an easy lay. They’ve even tried to come up to my apt. on the first meeting or try and get me to give them a blow job within the first 5 minutes.

This is beyond belief.  While the online method would attract those with lasciviousness intent, this speaks more to an inability to predict this attitude with some consistent success.  Most people would be looking for a free lunch, a deal on a vacation package, a seat with a better view at a game, etc.  That’s human nature.  But, to label ALL men, or even most men, “sex freaks” is pure sensationalism.

If you are going to make things up, at least make it plausible.  Can I get a BJ now?  LOL.

>>>Body Shop

If you’re not stunning with a hot body, forgot it. And ladies, please don’t do the chat thing, it’s just an excuse for them to skype and jerk off in front of you. Old profiles and pics on there, some guy had a pic on there with the Twin Tower’s behind him; really???

No.  Women don’t have to be “stunning with a hot body”.  This is just the usual lie women who are FAR from stunning and FAR from having a well-maintained physique tell themselves to make them feel better.  It just CAN’T be that men are looking for people who take reasonable care of themselves can it?  Lol.  No.  Women who use euphemisms like “BBW” to describe themselves are likely to resort to this kind of blame-game.

Chatting is a conversation.  If you don’t like the way it is going, you can always hang up.  How hard was that?

Old profiles and pics?  That’s what a lot of women do on Plenty-of-Phonies.  It is getting pretty apparent that it is infested with “BBW” types that are thinking that they will meet some hot male model.

>>>Later or Sooner

I’m only on till August, then I’ve had enough. You certainly get what you pay for-nothing.

Right.  The disingenuous nature of this comment is quite obvious.  If you are so disgusted with the site, why would you stay on for an additional four months, AND, predict that that’s when you will have had enough?  The truth is that you will continue to troll the site with the hopes of netting at least a couple of replies.  If no replies are forthcoming, you will merely close one account and open another with a better fake picture and profile.

That’s what Plenty-of-Princesses is full of and why men shouldn’t bother with it.  Online dating WAS a good concept, but sites like Plenty-of-Pigs don’t make any effort into reducing the abuse by clearly delusional women that have little to offer.

Your Evolved Fish,

Mr. Left

Today’s special Blog Link:  http://plentyoffishblog.wordpress.com/

Toxic-parenting purge [Part 2]

Resolving emotional pain can be serious stuff. If you have personal issues from your early years, you may find it exhausting – not to mention expensive – to address them effectively. And if you’ve suffered abuse in your upbringing, it may be depressingly difficult to break free from the frustration, anger and shame of the past.

To continue in the vein of emotional spring-cleaning of my previous blog (Part 1), here’s another spin on taking charge of your own healing, while giving yourself permission to have fun with it and thereby reduce its grip on your life. If you have suffered emotional, physical or psychological abuse in your life, the suggestion of using humour is not meant to trivialize your experience; it is, however, intended to lighten your load, while encouraging your subconscious to take a less serious view of what happened, thereby transmitting more positive messages to your body-mind as well as to the outside world. Since our self-worth is determined by our perception of who and what we are (which has been largely shaped by others), we can reduce any negative perceptions by focusing on light-hearted self-acceptance. When we laugh, we lift our spirit – and we also reduce the weighty ‘charge’ around the emotional pain in our hearts, which can cause us to attract more of the same.

Choosing to have fun with some former painful, damaging experience is a powerful statement of self-determination. It’s an active refusal to allow that pain to further dictate the quality of your existence. And if you’ve already done a lot of personal growth work, having outrageous fun may be the only thing you haven’t tried.

So let’s take that abuse to pieces. Let’s break it down so that it no longer runs your life or makes you reactive. Let’s see what it really stands for, and how you can read something better into this highly-charged word, transmuting it into a higher expression of who you really are, with humour, creativity and self-acceptance:

A is for ab-use – the creative and energetic use of your abs to exorcize your inner demons and free yourself from emotional angst, while making a nice tidy little six-pack of your tummy. Work those abs and pump that solar plexus, where most of your heavy-duty negative programming is lodged, but from where it can be ousted, with a little huff-n-puff and dogged determination. (You can double the benefit by doing this while watching a really funny movie, although you may end up doubled over.)

B is for brave-blogging – a brazen blog on something totally tedious that happened to you, written with all the weighty seriousness associated with a major world crisis. Like when you lost your earring down the plug hole and had to resort to all kinds of contortions and pointy contraptions to fish it out; or when you stepped on a massive mushy slug – in your bare feet! – and the luscious sound and texture of it, as it slithered silkily along the skin of your sole, where all 72,000 nerve endings instantly related the gristly nature of this encounter to every squeamish cell in your bod… or that time you had a really bad hairday and ended up looking (and feeling) like an angry buffalo in need of a parting just a little more to the left or maybe the right, if only your hair were not in a state of electrified anarchy… Be brave. Write unflinchingly. And send your message out to the universe. Speaking of which…

U is for universe – your very own private playground, with endless resources to nourish you and your dreams. Know that the entire universe is there to serve you – to enable you to discover, heal and empower yourself, not to mention having a laugh at all its cosmic ironies. Everything around you exists to somehow make your life better, richer and more meaningful – and it’s meant to make you laugh. The universe is working entirely on your behalf (even if it doesn’t always seem to), and it’s dedicated to bringing a smile to your face, every single day (which can be really hard work when we take ourselves seriously). Look for the humour, especially in the pain, for every single molecule thrives on the vibrations of your laughter. Own it; make the universe yours; and see what wonderful mischievous magic you can co-create together when you see the universe as the cosmic comedian that it is.

S is for scrumptious, sinful, soulful sustenance – the kind your body needs to support you in living your best-ever life. Focus on eating power-packed foods for one whole week and see what happens when you nourish yourself fully, without resorting to the comfort foods that the battered body so often yearns for. Think: brain food, superfood smoothies, maca-flavoured munchies, sprouted nutty nuggets, raw-cacao brownies, veg-n-fruit bars, raw chocolate – all the yummy, nourishing, potent stuff that you can find or fabricate yourself. By eating delicious foods that boost your brain power and your mood, you’ll gain a new understanding of the feel-good factor – and you’ll want to chuck the dreaded comfort foods that only mask your pain and stress your already-addled adrenals. Feed your body lovingly, and you’ll attract more of that loving quality into your life.

E is for everything – what you are made of, what you were created to do, and what you stand to gain by liberating yourself from the pain of your past. You have it all – the resources and the recipes; the faculties and the funnies; the smarts and the sexiness; the ideas and the insights; the wealth and the worthiness; and the power and the purpose, not to mention a host of heavenly hormones and huge hugability.

So put your own fresh, sassy spin on that tired old record that keeps replaying itself inside you. Hopefully, the abuse you suffered is a thing of the past; when you find creative ways to let it go, you give us all the gift of your presence by sharing the real, unabridged, uninhibited you.

I look forward to reading your brazen brave-blog.

To wit:

Judicial Watch, the Washington watchdog which is known for tracking down and trying to stamp out government corruption, has issued a report revealing that the U.S. Department of Agriculture is working with the Mexican government to promote the U.S. food stamp program to illegal aliens.

The report said the program, called Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, features a Spanish-language flyer supplied to the Mexican Embassy by the USDA “with a statement advising Mexicans in the U.S. that they do not need to declare their immigration status in order to receive financial assistance.”
Read more at http://www.wnd.com/2013/04/feds-caught-promoting-welfare-to-foreigners/#ZgQm63wMS5677xss.99

As if we don’t already have enough trouble with illegal immigration and the ‘budget’ federal spending!

The report continues…

… that taxpayer money was used to run Spanish-language television ads “encouraging illegal immigrants to apply for government-financed food stamps. The Mexican Consul in Santa Ana, Calif., at the time even starred in some of the U.S. government-financed television commercials, which explained the program and provided a phone number to apply. In the widely viewed commercial the consul assured that receiving food stamps ‘won’t affect your immigration status.’”
Read more at http://www.wnd.com/2013/04/feds-caught-promoting-welfare-to-foreigners/#ZgQm63wMS5677xss.99

We’re already broke.  WTF?

h/t  Plan of the Day

It is times like this that I find comfort in God. I am beginning to practice meditation to spend some quiet quality time with him each day. I know that’s I sound silly to many but it helps me. I find myself discovering strength I didn’t know I had. I find myself with a stronger desire to live.

Yesterday I started the morning in Vancouver, BC and flew to Oakland, California, drove to Fresno then flew to Las Vegas. I went from cool and rainy to dealer dry and very hot. I hate Las Vegas but it is where my family lives and I am here to see my dad who is in the hospital and in very bad health. He is in congestive heart failure and battling pneumonia. All of which is exacerbated by his poorly managed diabetes. I don’t know how much longer he has to live and I need to spend time with him. The timing sucks because I am so busy at work and I am trying to prep for my finals in school in two weeks.

My family is dysfunctional. I used to think we were a normal American family but distance and perspective have led me to believe we are all pretty effed up. I knew my bipolar was a mess but this is really a disaster. My oldest sister suffers from major depression and diabetes. My other sister has OCD. One of my nephews is addicted to steroids and the other has bipolar and has destroyed his liver and kidneys with drugs and alcohol. My brother in law has an eating disorder and is about forty pounds under weight. I am the only one seeking any kind of treatment. I really had no idea this family was so bad.

I have a new perspective on how I can pray for and help my family. I have been diligent to pray for my wife and children and sometimes my dad but I have ignored the rest of my family. One more regret to pile on the huge amount of regret I am carrying from this life already.

How, dear reader, do you deal with and overcome regret? I can’t bring myself to forgive myself for all the wrongs I have done. I hate that I have hurt so many people. I want to reach out to them to apologize and seek forgiveness but that would only open up old wounds and my wife doesn’t want me to do that. Too many past temptations that caused us both a lot of pain.

I need to draw closer to God and let the Holy Spirit work on me. I know I have been forgiven by God. Why can’t I forgive myself?

********************************************************************

You are rotten to the core. Intentionally cruel to people or rather me…………why I don’t know. But I don’t need to deal with it. YOU ARE CRUEL!!!! You are cruel to mean. You really are. You don’t even treat me like a friend, you have not in a long time. What am I missing, yeah nothing. Just being abused emotionally and mentally. Psychologically. Whatever.

Adapted from Participatory Medicine

This is kind of a “cheat” post since it’s a compilation of other posts, web pages, message board posts and some original thoughts. I’m writing it to submit to Robin’s Grand Rounds, hosted on her blog.

For all of my early life, I was the good, compliant, patient. I took whatever pills the doctor prescribed, did whatever tests h/she (most always a HE) wrote for. Believed that whatever he said was the absolute truth. He had been to med school. He knew what was wrong with me even though he didn’t live in my body 24/7 and experience what I did.

I know a lot of people are still like this. Their doctor is like a god to them. He can do no wrong – even if they don’t feel any better after treatment, even if they feel worse. “But the doctor said…”

Anyway, I digress.

All this changed for me in 1983.

At first I noticed I’d stopped having my periods and, of course, I thought I was pregnant. I went to my Gynecologist who had no explanation. Lots of women lose their periods for a variety of reasons so no one thought that this was really significant.

Then I got really tired, overly tired. I would take my son to a half hour Choir rehearsal and could not stay awake for the whole time. I would lie down in the back of the van, set an alarm and sleep for the 30 minutes.

A whole raft of other symptoms started appearing – I grew a beard (Hirsuitism), gained weight even though I was on Weight Watchers and working out at the gym nearly every day, lost my period, everything hurt, got what is called a “moon face” and a “buffalo hump” on the back of my neck. I also got stretch marks. I was very depressed but it’s hard to say if that was because of the hormone imbalance or because I felt so bad and no one would listen to me.

I came across a little article in the Ladies Home Journal magazine which said “If you have these symptoms…ask your doctor about Cushing’s”. After that, I started reading everything I could on Cushing’s and asking my doctors. Due to all my reading at the library and medical books I bought, I was sure I had Cushing’s but no one would believe me. Doctors would say that Cushing’s Disease is too rare, that I was making this up and that I couldn’t have it.

I asked doctors for three years – PCP, gynecologist, neurologist, podiatrist – all said the now-famous refrain. It’s too rare. You couldn’t have Cushing’s. I kept persisting in my reading, making copies of library texts even when I didn’t understand them, keeping notes. I just knew that someone, somewhere would “discover” that I had Cushing’s.

My husband was on the doctors’ sides. He was sure it was all in my mind (as opposed to all in my head!) and he told me to just think “happy thoughts” and it would all go away.

A Neurologist gave me Xanax. Since he couldn’t see my tumor with his Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) machine there was “no possibility” that it existed. Boy was he wrong!

Later in 1986 I started bruising incredibly easily. I could touch my skin and get a bruise. On New Year’s Day of 1987 I started bleeding under the skin. My husband made circles around the outside perimeter each hour with a marker, like the rings of a tree. When I went to my Internist the next day he was shocked at the size. He now thought I had a blood disorder so he sent me to a Hematologist/Oncologist.

Fortunately, the Hematologist/Oncologist ran a twenty-four hour urine test and really looked at me. Both he and his partner recognized that I had Cushing’s. Of course, he was sure that he did the diagnosis. No matter that I had been pursuing this with other doctors for 3 years.

It was not yet determined if it was Cushing’s Disease (Pituitary) or Syndrome (Adrenal). However, he couldn’t help me any further so the Hematologist referred me to an Endocrinologist.

The Endocrinologist, of course, didn’t trust the other tests I had had done so I was back to square one. He ran his own multitude of tests. He had to draw blood at certain times like 9 AM. and 5 PM. There was a dexamethasone suppression test where I took a pill at 10 p.m. and gave blood at 9 am the next day. I collected gallons of urine in BIG boxes (Fun in the fridge!). Those were from 6 a.m. to 6 a.m. to be delivered to his office by 9 a.m. same day. I was always worried that I’d be stopped in rush hour and the police would ask about what was in that big container. I think I did those for a week. He also did standard neurological tests and asked lots of questions.

When the endo confirmed that I had Cushing’s in 1987 he sent me to a local hospital where they repeated all those same tests for another week and decided that it was not my adrenal gland (Cushing’s Syndrome) creating the problem. The doctors and nurses had no idea what to do with me, so they put me on the brain cancer ward.

When I left this hospital after a week, we didn’t know any more than we had before.

As luck would have it, NIH (National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, Maryland) was doing a clinical trial of Cushing’s. I live in the same area as NIH so it was not too inconvenient but very scary at first to think of being tested there. At that time I only had a choice of NIH, Mayo Clinic and a place in Quebec to do this then-rare pituitary surgery called a Transsphenoidal Resection. I chose NIH – closest and free. After I was interviewed by the Doctors there, I got a letter that I had been accepted into the clinical trial. The first time I was there was for 6 weeks as an inpatient. More of the same tests.

There were about 12 of us there and it was nice not to be alone with this mystery disease. Many of these Cushies (mostly women) were getting bald, couldn’t walk, having strokes, had diabetes. One was blind, one had a heart attack while I was there. Towards the end of my testing period, I was looking forward to the surgery just to get this whole mess over with. While I was at NIH, I was gaining about a pound a day!

The MRI still showed nothing, so they did a Petrosal Sinus Sampling Test. That scared me more than the prospect of surgery. (This test carries the risk of stroke and uncontrollable bleeding from the incision points.) Catheters were fed from my groin area to my pituitary gland and dye was injected. I could watch the whole procedure on monitors. I could not move during this test or for several hours afterwards to prevent uncontrolable bleeding from a major artery. The test did show where the tumor probably was located. Also done were more sophisticated dexamethasone suppression tests where drugs were administered by IV and blood was drawn every hour (they put a heplock in my arm so they don’t have to keep sticking me). I got to go home for a weekend and then went back for the surgery – the Transsphenoidal Resection. I fully expected to die during surgery (and didn’t care if I did) so I signed my will and wrote last letters to those I wanted to say goodbye to. During the time I was home just before surgery, a college classmate of mine (I didn’t know her) did die at NIH of a Cushing’s-related problem. I’m so glad I didn’t find out until a couple months later!

November 3, 1987, the surgeon, Dr. Ed Oldfield, cut the gum above my front teeth under my upper lip so there is no scar. He used tiny tools and microscopes. My tumor was removed successfully. In some cases (not mine) the surgeon uses a plug of fat from the abdomen to help seal the cut. Afterwards, I was in intensive care overnight and went to a neurology ward for a few days until I could walk without being dizzy. I had some major headaches for a day or two but they gave me drugs (morphine) for those. Also, I had cotton plugs in my nostrils. It was a big day when they came out. I had diabetes insipidus (DI) for a little while, but that went away by itself – thank goodness!

I had to use a foam product called “Toothies” to brush my teeth without hitting the incision. Before they let me go home, I had to learn to give myself an injection in my thigh. They sent me home with a supply of injectible cortisone in case my level ever fell too low (it didn’t). I was weaned gradually off cortisone pills (scary). I now take no medications. I had to get a Medic Alert bracelet. I will always need to tell medical staff when I have any kind of procedure – the effects of my excess cortisone will remain forever.

I went back to the NIH for several follow-up visits of a week each where they did all the blood and urine testing again. After a few years NIH set me free. Now I go to my “outside” endocrinologist every year for the dexamethasone suppression test, 24-hour urine and regular blood testing.

As I get further away from my surgery, I have less and less chance that my tumor will grow back. I have never lost all the weight I gained and I still have the hair on my chin but most of my other symptoms are gone. I am still and always tired and need a nap most days. I do not, however, still need to take whole days off just to sleep.

I consider myself very lucky that I was treated before I got as bad as some of the others on my floor at NIH but think it is crazy that these symptoms are not taken seriously by doctors.

My story goes on and if you’re interested some is on this blog and some is here:

Forbes Magazine | MaryO’s bio | Cushing’s and Cancer Blog | Guest Speakers | Interview Archive 1/3/08 | Cushing’s Awareness Day Testimonial Archive |

Because of this experience in getting a Cushing’s diagnosis – and later, a prescription for growth hormone – I was concerned that there were probably other people not being diagnosed with Cushing’s. When I searched online for Cushing’s, all the sites that came up were for dogs and horses with Cushing’s. Not what I was looking for!

In July of 2000, I was talking with my dear friend Alice, who runs a wonderful menopause site, Power Surge, wondering why there weren’t many support groups online (OR off!) for Cushing’s. This thought percolated through my mind for a few hours and I realized that maybe this was my calling. Maybe I should be the one to start a network of support for other “Cushies” to help them empower themselves.

I wanted to educate others about the awful disease that took doctors years of my life to diagnose and treat – even after I gave them the information to diagnose me. I didn’t want anyone else to suffer for years like I did. I wanted doctors to pay more attention to Cushing’s disease.

The first website (http://www.cushings-help.com) went “live” July 21, 2000. It was just a single page of information. The message boards began September 30, 2000 with a simple message board which then led to a larger one, and a larger. Today, in 2010, we have over 7 thousand members. Some “rare disease”!

The message boards are now very active and we have weekly online text chats, weekly live interviews, local meetings, conferences, email newsletters, a clothing exchange, a Cushing’s Awareness Day Forum, podcasts, phone support and much more. Because I wanted to spread the word to others not on “the boards” we have extended out to social networking sites – twitter groups, facebook groups, twines, friendfeeds, newsletters, websites, chat groups, multiply.com, and much, much more.

People are becoming more empowered and participating in their own diagnoses, testing and treatment. This have changed a lot since 1983!

When I had my Cushing’s over 20 years ago, I never thought that I would meet another Cushing’s patient in real life or online. Back then, I’d never even been aware that there was anything like an “online”. I’m so glad that people struggling with Cushing’s today don’t have to suffer anymore thinking that they’re the only one who deals with this.

Because of my work on the websites – and, believe me it is a ton of work! – I have had the honor of meeting over a hundred other Cushies personally at local meetings, conferences, at NIH (the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, MD where I had my final diagnosis and surgery). It occurred to me once that this is probably more than most endocrinologists will ever see in their entire career. I’ve also talked to countless others on the phone. Amazing for a “rare” disease!

I don’t know what pushed me in 1983, how I got the confidence and self-empowerment to challenge these doctors and their non-diagnoses over the years. I’m glad that I didn’t suffer any longer than I did and I’m glad that I have a role in helping others to find the medical help that they need.

What do *YOU* think? How are you becoming empowered? Comments welcome

• Medicine 2.0 (Toronto, Canada) September 17-18, 2009. Robin Smith (staticnrg), Mary O’Connor (MaryO) and Dr Ted Friedman will be panelists. The topic is “Paying It Forward in the Digital Age: Patient Empowerment 2.0 Using Web 2.0″. Robin submitted this topic. She wrote: Paying it Forward in the Digital Age: Patient Empowerment 2.0 using Web 2.0

An online community is usually defined by one or two things. These come from blogs, websites, forums, newsletters, and more. The emphasis is typically either totally support or education. But sometimes all of these meet. The Cushing’s community, bonded by the lack of education in the medical community and the necessity or self-education has become a community of all of these things.

Mary O’Connor, the founder and owner of the Cushings’ Help website and message boards started with one goal in mind. She wanted to educate others about the awful disease that took doctors years to diagnose and treat in her life. Armed only with information garned from her public library and a magazine article, she self-diagnosed in the days prior to the availability of the internet.

Mary’s hard work and dream have paid off. Others, with the same illness, the same frustrations, and the same non-diagnosis/treatment have been led by MaryO (as she’s lovingly called) to work with her to support, educate, and share.

The Cushing’s Help website soon led to a simple message board which then led to a larger one, and a larger. The site has numerous helpful webpages chock full of information. The members of this community have made a decision to increase awareness of the disease, the research that is ongoing with the disease, the doctors who understand it, and the lack of information about it in the medical field.

From this hub have come multiple Web 2.0 spokes. Many members have blogs, there is a non-profit corporation to continue the programs, a BlogTalkRadio show with shows almost every week, thousands of listeners to podcasts produced from the shows, twitter groups, facebook groups, twines, friendfeeds, newsletters, websites, chat groups and much, much more. The power of Web 2.0 is exponential, and it is making a huge difference in the lives of patients all over the world. It is Empowerment 2.0.

One patient said it well when she said, “Until this all began I was a hairstylist/soccer mom with a high school education. It’s been a learning curve. I am done with doctors who speak to me as if they know all; I know better now.” And she knows better because she’s part of our community. All patients need this type of community.

More info here.

MaryO’s Original Bio

Click on pictures to enarge.

Around 1983 I first started to realize I was really sick. At first I noticed I’d stopped having my periods and, of course, I thought I was pregnant. I went to my Gynecologist who had no explanation. Then I got really tired. I would take my son to a half hour Choir rehearsal and could not stay awake for the whole time.

A whole raft of other symptoms started appearing – I grew a beard (Hirsuitism), gained weight even though I was on Weight Watchers and working out at the gym nearly every day, lost my period, everything hurt, got what is called a “moon face” and a “buffalo hump” on the back of my neck. I also got stretch marks. I was very depressed but it’s hard to say if that was because of the hormone imbalance or because I felt so bad and no one would listen to me.

I came across a little article in the Ladies Home Journal which said “If you have these symptoms…ask your doctor about Cushing’s”. After that, I started reading everything I could on Cushing’s and asking my doctors. Due to all my reading at the library, I was sure I had Cushing’s but no one would believe me. Doctors would say that Cushing’s Disease is too rare, that I was making this up and that I couldn’t have it.

My husband just told me to think “happy thoughts” and it would all go away. A Neurologist gave me Xanax. Since he couldn’t see my tumorwith his Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) machine there was “no possibility” that it existed. Boy was he wrong!

In late 1986 I started bruising incredibly easily. I could touch my skin and get a bruise. On New Year’s Day of 1987 I started bleeding under the skin. My husband made circles around the outside perimeter each hour with a marker. When I went to my Internist the next day he was shocked at the size. He now thought I had a blood disorder so he sent me to a Hematologist/Oncologist. 
I was also having trouble with my feet and walking, so I had the distinction of going to two doctors in one day, a Podiatrist in the morning and the Hematologist/Oncologist in the afternoon.

Fortunately, the Hematologist/Oncologist ran a twenty-four hour urine test and really looked at me. Both he and his partner recognized that I had Cushing’s.

It was not yet determined if it was Cushing’s Disease (Pituitary) or Syndrome (Adrenal). However, he couldn’t help me any further so the Hematologist referred me to an Endocrinologist.

The Endocrinologist, of course, didn’t trust the other tests I had had done so I was back to square one. He ran his own multitude of tests. He had to draw blood at certain times like 9 AM. and 5 PM. There was a dexamethasone suppression test where I took a pill at 10 p.m. and gave blood at 9 am the next day. I collected gallons of urine in BIG boxes (Fun in the fridge!). Those were from 6 a.m. to 6 a.m. to be delivered to his office by 9 a.m. same day. I was always worried that I’d be stopped in rush hour and the police would ask about what was in that big container. I think I did those for a week. He also did standard neurological tests and asked lots of questions.

“I’m here to help, I couldn’t let you do this on your own, you are not alone in this, I love you!” I say back and he shakes his head.

“Go away Riley, I don’t want you here, you shouldn’t be here!” his fingers sign angrily and he turns and walks away.

I come awake in a panic, my throat hurts and I can only imagine it was from yelling, from fighting back tears, my eyes feel bruised from the tears I cried the night before and I lay back down, thankful it is still dark out, that means I have at least an hour to sleep before I have to get up from work. I think back to the dream and seeing Liam signing to me. Everything is falling away like clouds being pushed away by wind. Pieces just out of reach as to what we were arguing about and why I was in the UK with him. The thing that strikes me as the most odd is that he was signing. Liam was born almost two months premature, and his lungs suffered. Even as an adult now, they have never been full size and they seize up when he tries to speak. He can hear perfectly but it requires too much lung capacity to speak, so he signs to communicate. In all the years I’ve known Liam, he’s never signed in any of my dreams of him. This thought puzzles me.

There was something else too, something else that should mean something to me in the dream, but sleep is pulling me back under before I can focus on it.

The new medicine doesn’t seem to have any bad side effects except I have to take it at night because it knocks me out, other than that it seems to be working just as well as the Cymbalta did. Work has been hell this week and I am increasingly grateful that Friday has arrived and it is almost the weekend. Today is moving day at work, and I am saddened by this but surprisingly enough, I’m looking forward to it.

You just want to have William to yourself.  The Hag says and I chuckle in my head.

What’s wrong with that? I question her and she is speechless that I’ve responded to her.

All moved, only took thirty minutes and I am highly aware of the fact that I do not like my new desk. It is out in the open, no cubicle walls and I feel like everyone is staring at me. Worse than that, Carl is right beside me which means all of his annoying questions, which used to go to Fran, are now coming to me.

“I miss you,” Amy says with a sad smile as she comes up to my new desk.

“Awww, I miss you guys too,” I respond. She looks around and wrinkles her nose.

“It’s so open,” she whispers.

“I know, I’m in hell,” I laugh. “I have to be quiet, it’s like being a friggin’ library!” we both laugh and I am content that I have at least made an impact enough to be missed from the area I was in before.

The day progresses on, various people, Mark, John, and Harold especially, all come to visit. John remarks on how quiet it is downstairs without me and not in a good way. I am in awe of this almost love that is coming from them.

“Why do they keep coming up to visit you?” Carl asks finally and I shake my head.

“Because I’m me,” I reply sarcastically.

“Well yea, but it hurts a guy’s feelings. They all come up and talk to you and just say hey to me real quick before they leave.”

I cannot tell him that it’s because he is a first rate douche, no I have to maintain some professionalism. So I opt for the easiest partial truth.

“I’ve worked side by side with these people for six years Carl, you’ve been here three months. It takes time to cultivate relationships like we have.”

He rolls his eyes at me and I know he knows it’s a bullshit response. Fact is, I value my job, it’s the only reason I haven’t been honest with him.

Friday night is simple, an easy night with my daughters, no Savannah. I still have no idea when she will come back, and I know it will be soon simply because it’s been a week and she has to be running out of money. Lemar won’t support her for long because he will require her to actually get a job. I put the girls to bed shortly after ten and leave to pick up Tyler. I fake having a massive migraine just so he will leave me alone and just let me drop him off and leave. As I drive back home I feel that nagging again, that need to cry and I turn up the stereo, crank up the most upbeat song I can find, and I ignore it.

It is Saturday morning, about 10 AM and I am on our front porch, scrolling through facebook posts while having a morning cigarette. The girls are up, finishing up a game before we start cleaning for the day and I glance up to see a black sedan driving down the road, vaguely aware it looks like Dad and Kay’s car before I glance back to my phone and back to facebook. I hear a car pull in the drive only to realize that it was Dad and Kay’s car. I don’t know whether to feel anger or surprise. I hate when people just pop in unannounced.

“Hey,” I say, walking to the car as she rolls down the window and I realize she is alone.

“I’ve been calling for three days and all I get is an odd busy signal,” she says and I wrinkle my nose.

“That’s weird, we’ve been here,” I reply.

“Well I’m going to Warren to the outlet malls and wanted to take the girls, that’s the only reason I just dropped in,” she says. We talk for a while and she lets me know in her own way that my father is out of town for work this weekend and she would like to take the girls overnight. This is Kay’s way of respecting my boundaries of the girls not being able to stay the night if my dad is there, without admitting that she believes he molested Marie. They are my rules, and she knows them. Luckily she’s a better person than my father, because she doesn’t try to overstep them and as long as she gets time with the girls, she is fine with that.

“I don’t mind,” I say as Lyla opens the door and sees her car and comes squealing outside.

“Grandma!!!!” she shrieks and runs to Kay, giving her hugs. The girls pack a bag and they are gone in under fifteen minutes, now I am faced with a dilemma. Do I clean, which is what I’d been planning to do when I came outside, or do I write, now that I have the house to myself?

I opt for writing and for the next few hours I am lost in a world of make-believe, a world I love getting lost in.

3PM hits and I yawn as I type the final sentence on the end of the third chapter I’ve written. I grin at the screen and opt to procrastinate on doing any housework until I’ve napped. Turning on Netflix I fall asleep with Silas curled up next to me, purring loudly.

Something wakes me up, I’m not sure what it is exactly, but something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones and I feel that panic as I sit up and look around. Silas yowls loudly at the disturbance and I check that all is well with the house. I don’t smell any smoke, the phone isn’t ringing, there is no knocking at the door. I shrug it off and reach for my iPhone, clicking on the display and I see an email from Liam.

Odd because I haven’t talked to him in weeks, and it’s late enough in the day that he shouldn’t be emailing me, in the UK it’s after midnight, he should be asleep.

I know Ive been away, sry.

Riles, I dnt no what to do right now, Lily has cancer, not even 30 yet, how is that fair? She shud be worrying about familys and babys and stuff like that, not this. Im here with her now, just her and hher guy. She dont wanna tell mum, wants to injoy her holidays that just started. She told me monday after she had a biopsies or sumthin. Sry to be dumpin this on u, didnt no who else to talk to.

Liam x

The words blind me, make my throat seize up and all that I hear is an empty, mournful howl. It takes me a moment to realize the sound is coming from me, the pain, the grief, all of it. Lily is Liam’s baby sister, she is 27, and his sole reason for being alive right now. I really believe if she weren’t around, he would have offed himself a long time ago. But the big brother has to protect her, it’s what Liam is rather known for, burying his own shit and taking on the world.

I stare at the screen, the words glaring at me and all I see is one line.

She told me Monday.

She told me Monday.

She told me Monday.

She told me Monday.

Monday.

Monday.

MONDAY!

This brings another realization, one that breaks me down even more and I cannot stop as the sobs encompass me, as I start crying to the point of having to throw up and I barely make it to the bathroom before I collapse on the floor, still crying.

Once I have had a moment to calm down, to slowly compose myself, I message Maddie. Maddie had promised when I split with Bryan, that she would still be around, that I was her sister, regardless. Funny, I haven’t been able to get a hold of her in over two months. I know she’s fine, I know she sees my messages on Facebook, but she never replies.

I quickly type to her, watch as the message scrolls up that she’s read it on facebook, but she doesn’t reply. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m drowning. I call the only other person I know that will understand.

Savannah.

She answers on the second ring and I start bawling before I can even explain. She calms me down as I start to ramble.

“I let that bastard tell me it was Satan, let him convince me I was doing something wrong. I ignored it! All the signs Savannah, I ignored all of them! All of them!” I howl in grief and she is trying to make sense of what I’m telling her. I finally calm down enough to tell her that I knew on Monday something was wrong, something terrible was happening to someone and I blocked it because of our dad, and then I tell her about Liam.

Now here is one of the many reasons I love Savannah. She tells me exactly what I need to hear. She makes me feel justified in being angry at our Dad, sympathizes with my plights, whether or not she believes in them. That is just the person she is.

“I don’t know why you listen to him Riley, he hasn’t done shit for you in how long? And you still need his approval in everything,” she says finally. She has a point, one I will never admit to. We get off the phone and I’m still at a loss of what I should do. I’m so conflicted I can’t even begin to think, let alone write Liam back. So I do what I do best.

I pray.

I very simply, in all of my hysterical sobbing wonder, ask God to show me. Show me exactly what this is. If it is demonic as dad says, then tell me, if it isn’t and it is a gift, then show me, but just that I need confirmation of some sort.

I open up an app on my phone, one that shows random bible verses and the one that comes up brings me to my knees, crying even harder.

Colossians 3:23-24 – Whatever you do, work heartily as for the Lord and not for men knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.

I blink through my tears, at the screen, saving the verse and I pray harder. Pray for guidance, pray for Liam and Lily, pray for my father… most of all I just give in to everything going on in that moment.

And again I notice, the little girl and the Hag seem to be finding peace in the fact that I’ve gotten answers. Granted they are answers that anyone who has never seen the work of God’s hand in their life will discount as coincidence, but answers that suddenly bring me more peace than I’ve experienced in a long time.