Howard Mechanic, no real apology and the Dateline side effect

Let me start at the beginning. Stick with me through the prologue... In 1970, a Washington University student named Howard Mechanic was accused of throwing a cherry bomb in a Vietnam war protest on campus. This cherry bomb started a fire and Howard was arrested. A bunch of people thought Howard was innocent, and one of them was my dad, who was a professor of English at Wash U. So, faculty and staff all went down to the courthouse to help post bail for Howard. Now, why his family did not do this, I have no idea but Howard had a lot of support and quite a few people showed up for him. Lucky guy. But the judge was kind of an ass, and wouldn't take bail from all these people- instead, he insisted one person or one family be on the hook for the whole thing, and unfortunately my parents were the people with the house to put up. So, the judge made my parents, with four young children and a pretty new mortgage put up their house as collateral for this student they barely knew. My mother said she made him look her in the eye and promise that he would show up. This is a longer story, but feel free to google Howard Mechanic to get his story. The end of this one is- the jerk did not show up. He jumped bail and disappeared for 28 years. My parents almost lost their house. Four children were almost made homeless. Luckily the community came together and saved our family from this awful fate, not that Howard Mechanic ever knew or cared about the consequences of his actions. Well, one day, 28 years later, Howard Mechanic is caught doing something stupid (running for office in Arizona) and there is a media frenzy. My mother hears this on the news and just shakes her head. My father thinks this is nice and for some reason is all about being on board with Howard being pardoned. Really? What about what we know he did for sure? Like jump bail? Even if he is innocent of the cherry bomb crime, he still committed a crime, and put us in a terrible place. But no thank you to us. No apology for almost making four kids homeless. But I digress. The media frenzy is happening. Howard is all over the news. The reporter that discovered him is all over the news. St. Louis and Washington U is all abuzz with the news. The marquis of the record store up the street says "Free Howard Mechanic" and I call them and ask them to please take it down, my parents live three blocks away. Then, Dateline calls. They have discovered my parents are the ones who put up the bail. Immediately, my dad says yes to the interview. I was very excited. I wanted to watch all of it and I did. I took the kids to school and show up at my parent's house and watch the whole thing! I chatted with the camera guys... I was in film school at the time. My mother respectfully declines to be interviewed but Josh Mankiewicz smells blood in the water. My mother does not agree with my father. She's still pissed off with him about what he did. He realizes quickly that this will make a better interview with her. So, the producers do what they do best. They flatter and convince my mother to get on camera. It doesn't take too much, and my father realizes that she is going to have her say. I am in the background silently cheering! Go Mom! Be the one person who says it is not the act of a HERO to run away! Stop making this guy out to be some kind of martyr for the cause. The justice system is still the bad guy but this is not how you deal with problems. My mother famously says "I always tell my children, 'say what you mean and clean up your own mess' Howard Mechanic did neither." This quote makes it on the air and I cheer. It was a good interview but they use just a clipping of my parents, which is fine. Story is not about them after all. Now all in all, this is a pretty good story as is. The Howard Mechanic group sends my dad a plaque for his support. What the hell ever. There is still no apology from him. There is still no offer to pay us back the bail money. But that is all over and life goes on. Until the phone rings... and there is a complete surprise on the other end. Now, before I tell you this part, I'm going to back up a little bit. All my life, my mother told me stories about her very best friend growing up, Elaine. My mother grew up in New York City in Queens and all I ever heard about was how much fun Elaine was. She was smart and beautiful and kind and she was the best friend ever. Honestly, Elaine was larger than life to me. I would get so excited when my mother would tell another Elaine story. She told me once that she had even considered naming me Elaine at one point. I knew right then and there that I wanted to name a daughter Elaine. When my mother was pregnant with me, we had gone to California to live and I was born out there in Santa Monica. Around the same time, Elaine had moved to Florida and they had lost touch with one another. One of the saddest parts of the Elaine stories was my mother lamenting how much she missed her and how awful it was to have lost touch with her. It made my heart ache and I wanted more than anything to find Elaine for my mother. The years went by and I did indeed have a daughter, and I named her Cassandra Elaine. I smiled and wished that just once, I could meet Elaine and tell her how much I had enjoyed hearing about her. But more than anything, I wanted my mother to be able to reunite with her best friend. And who knew that Howard Mechanic and all of his misdeeds would lead us to that moment... for the voice on the other end of the phone indeed did belong to Elaine. She had been watching that episode of Dateline and there was my mother on her television set. She found her listed in the phone book and called her up the very next day. And yes, of course, there was the most joyous of reunions. They connected like not a day had gone by as only best friends can, and shamelessly, I admit, even now I have tears in my eyes writing this because that happy ending could not have come for two better friends. I met Elaine a few years later when I was driving down to Florida. She was a little surprised I wanted to meet her so much but I really did. I made a special trip to Winter Park, Florida. This woman was a part of a story in my head. When she opened the door to me, she lost her breath for a minute. I look a lot like my mother and apparently this really stunned her. Behind me was another daughter who looks just like me, and just like my mother when she was about eight or nine and that threw her even further. Elaine was delightful and I wasn't at all put off by the staring. I understand that part. I'm going to end this story here in that, this is one of those really bizarre miracle things that happens. I don't want to be exactly grateful to Howard Mechanic but it makes it harder to completely dislike him. Instead, I'm happy that the Universe aligned in such a way that all those thoughts went out to connect two friends one more time.

Truth is stranger than fiction

Early on, when I was learning to tell stories, and sitting in my writing classes reading other people's stories, the idea that truth is not credible came up as a topic. And I find myself nodding vigorously. I'm one of those people who, when watching a movie or reading a book, will say "Oh, come on, that would never happen! It's not credible, it's not possible, it's too much of a stretch!" And in class, over and over I would hear... "But that's the way it DID happen!" When will you all realize- that doesn't matter? Truth will always be stranger than fiction. Unless you're doing a documentary, you cannot tell a story that way. Why? Because your audience has to believe you! Your truth is not a defense if we, the audience does not believe you. Yes, you have to be a skilled liar. I don't spend a lot of time lying any more. I tried it out when I was around 9, 10, 11 and found out- making things up to make my life more interesting was getting me in trouble when I got caught out. It wasn't worth it. Instead, I made my life more interesting, so my true stories were more fun to tell. And when I had something I wanted to make up, I channeled my lies into my fiction and worked very hard at making them credible. But I learned HOW to lie. I think lies are important. Sometimes, they are necessary and life saving. You should be judicious with them and save them for only the most dire circumstances. Casual lies will kill your credibility and destroy your friendships and ruin you. If I tell a lie, which I don't very often, it's for a much greater good. I find casual lies stupid and pointless, and I have removed them from my life so that I can build positive and strong friendships, and of course, I am thankful that my bff weathered this period of my life with grace and love and taught me that she could catch me out every time, I am so grateful she was such a good detective. Life lessons from your friends are sometimes painful but when it is done with care, they are good! But I digress. Here, I want to tell you a true story. A story I could never turn into fiction, as so much of my truth ends up in my fiction, and I tell lies around it. Here is a very true story, though. I recently went to Florida with my husband and we decided to leave the car in long term parking. At this point in my life, I have a 16 year old daughter. This combination of things has led me to this particular memory. When I was sixteen years old, I was pretty adventure seeking and engaged in some risky and exciting behavior. I freely admit I was a thrill seeker and I was a kid with a very active imagination. This is one of my stupider antics. My parents already did not trust me for a number of reasons. One of which was that I had a history of "borrowing the car without permission". So, they had to take a weekend business trip and instead of just taking a cab to the airport or getting a ride, they decided to leave the car in long term parking. I was not going to be allowed to use it for the weekend. It was the first time they had ever left my brother and I alone for the weekend. I was 16, he was 14. Naturally, I was dating a jerk who really brought out the worst in me. I'm not saying this was his fault, but every time I would have a stupid idea, he encouraged me to go through with it. I'm not sure I would have even listened to my best friend on this but she and several other friends with common sense would have at least attempted to talk me out of it. But no, I surrounded myself with people who would encourage the thrill seeking and foolish behavior. I knew my mom pretty well and my mom, much to my chagrin, knew me pretty well. She assumed that I might be up to something and also thought that leaving that car in long term parking MIGHT keep it safe. What I knew was that I could get by with using the "lost ticket story" and pay the maximum. I think it was something like $12 or $15. I cannot remember how but someone gave me and my idiot boyfriend a ride out to the airport and dropped us off. I immediately went to the cheapest lot, no way my mom was going to more when she didn't have to! And, miraculously, we found the car right away. Talking my way out of the lot was easy. I'm a girl. I looked innocent enough. They have a policy on lost tickets. We were soon on our way to freedom and a car for the weekend. Very carefully, I took note of three things, the gas gauge, the position of the driver's seat and the parking space the car had been in. I knew that I had to return the car with exactly the same gas, exactly the same seat position and put it back in the same place. Okay, so I know you all are thinking, how stupid was I? Someone else was going to park in that spot, right? In fact, I worried about that all weekend. The first thing I told my idiot, asshole boyfriend was "Whatever you do, don't smoke in the car." He promptly scoffed at that and told me he could roll down the window and it would air out in plenty of time. I'm ashamed to say I allowed him to do this without kicking up a fuss and when he mocked my driving and my gender, I also allowed him to drive. (Well, anyone that knows me now can clearly see how all that has changed) Back then, though, I was a real pleaser and desperate for him to love me and to make him happy. It's easy to see now how being raised by a controlling and punishing abusive father and a mother who would do anything to keep the peace resulted in this. Fortunately, I was able to carve out a better future for myself, but this asshole was only a version of my dad, a drunken version but a version of a controlling, abusive person nonetheless. But I'm not blaming him for this. This was, shamefully, my idea. I let idiot boyfriend drive even though he didn't even have a driver's license! So, you know, we used the car all weekend and we didn't even do anything that exciting that we couldn't have done without a car. We picked up some people for Rocky Horror and drove them around. Big deal. They could always find other rides. On Sunday, I was starting to feel deep regret and deeper worry. You see, I could control the gas gauge and the seat position, but the parking space was another matter entirely. I started thinking to myself how pointless and stupid this whole thing had been. I was going to get myself in trouble for no reason at all other than my own stupidity and selfishness. It was partly an experiment in what I could get away with, I guess? I don't know, I didn't usually do things like this. This was purely an exercise in foolishness and while I could certainly be foolish, usually the things I did had actual purpose, even if they didn't make sense to anyone but me. But this time, even as an impulsive sixteen year old, I was clear headed enough to see I had gone too far and the likelihood that I was going to get caught was increasing by the second. Idiot boyfriend went with me to return the car. He insisted on driving again. My nerves became increasingly tight as we got nearer to the long term parking lot. Then, the worst happened. The lot was blocked off entirely. No one was allowed in. The sign at the front said the lot was full. I couldn't even return it to a nearby spot. Completely screwed! We circled around to a place where he pulled over and Idiot boyfriend rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. "What are you doing??" I yelled at him. I mean, really, what did he care if I got caught. It was all on me, wasn't it? He couldn't even be bothered to get out of the car and smoke. I was so angry. But he just yelled back at me that it didn't make any difference now and he needed to think. Blah blah blah, the selfish prick continued on. Idiot boyfriend proceeded to curse and bang on the wheel and generally make an even bigger idiot out of himself. Then, I did something. I told him to get out of the driver's seat and put out the cigarette and I was going to do the thing I knew how to do. Charm and convince. Idiot boyfriend was never going to have that skill, and I have to tell you, it was something that was going to come in handy for me again and again. Make fun of my gender all you want, insult my driving because I am female and because you think you can, but YOU, idiot man with no couth and no charm, will never be able to convince a complete stranger to want to help you. And that is what I did. I rolled up to the guy in the booth and I told him a sad story. I don't even fully remember what it was, but it was a lie so convincing and sympathetic that the gate opened. I told him I needed to get that car back in that lot and could I please, please just go in? And he let me. Because a smile and a kindness and honey in my words are something my idiot boyfriend will never recognize as a skill. And this is the part where I could never fictionalize this story. This was the miracle. That same spot was open. The place I had taken the car from just appeared in front of me. And I pulled into that spot. Joyfully, we celebrated, jumping up and down in excitement! I adjusted the seat back and exited the car and we ran to catch our ride home. I remember thinking to myself, the only thing that can get me caught now is the smokey smell. But who would believe it? How could my mother possibly believe that I could take the car, joy ride for the weekend and return it to the same spot? It was impossible, right? Never happen that way. No one in their right mind would believe it. I could never tell a fictional story and get you to believe that happened that way. But it did. So, I went home and sat in the living room, feeling fairly confident that I would not be caught. I mean, I wanted to be an actress, so I just acted calm. I waited. My parents came through the door and everything seemed normal for about thirty seconds. I had gotten away with it. I mean... like most kids, I had gotten away with multiple things that my parents did not know about, so... this would be the next thing. I have to tell you, from my sixteen year old perspective-- this was a victimless crime. No one got hurt. The car was in as perfect condition as when they left it. No harm, no foul, right? But that feeling of well being did not last long at all. In a few minutes after they put their luggage away, they started to question me. In a way that implied they knew I had taken the car. They told me that the attendant had ratted me out. Really? That seemed kind of strange to me. I had that guy on my side, I was sure of it. Eventually, though, I just confessed. Yeah, I did it. I mean, what were they going to do now? It was over, the thing had happened, it was over. I had been caught after, not before. So... okay. I was in trouble. What else was new. I was always in trouble back then. So, I had to know. What tipped them off? The smell of smoke? Turns out not so much. It was the seat position. It was not exact. Now, I KNOW I put that seat back! I know I did. Last week, I went to my mother and asked her what it was. I mean, all of the things were so minor, unless someone is paying a lot of attention, you would really not even notice them. How many little things do we let go of on a daily basis. You know, that mirror is not in exactly the right position... hmmm, maybe I bumped it? Both my parents drive that car and they both move the seat from time to time... But here it was - what tipped my mother off (because my dad did not suspect a thing) She said to me. "I knew you were going to do it." I asked "Why is that, Ma?" She said "Because I knew YOU." And really, at the end of all of this, it was because my mother knew how I worked. She was paying attention to me. All this time, I thought she had no idea who I am (and now my own sixteen year old daughter thinks I have no idea who she is) but my mom knew who I was. She knew my favorite meals, my favorite color, my strengths, my weaknesses. She was paying attention to who I was. Not some version of me like my dad made up in his head. So, when she got into the car, she was already looking for the little signs that would tip her off, and so they were easy to find. Ah, the fierce love of my mother. Last week, I told her I was sorry (again) that I did that. I took full responsibility for the stupid, reckless and idiot thing that I did. She shook her head and said this was probably her fault somehow. No, Ma, that will never be your fault. You definitely raised me better than that, it just took a while for me to stop being so foolish and to grow up. Still, it is comforting to know that there is someone in the world who knows me, my strengths and my faults- and chooses to love me, anyway.

Musings on a New Year 2014: Perspective

I welcome 2014. As someone with a silly ass fear of the number 13, I did not take many risks in 2013. I just tried to survive it. Silly, I know, but my life did not take any major leaps. I was just waiting it out like a bad storm. This year a new moon fell on January 1st, the first time that has happened in 19 years. Coincidentally, it was 19 years ago on New Years Eve, as Blueberry Hill was closing that an impulsive 20 something guy surprised me by taking me gently by the shoulders and planting a kiss on my lips in the new falling snow as I bid him goodnight. Nineteen years later, that guy is my husband and he kisses me on New Year's eve under the new moon as we arrive home together. On the way to attending a party, in the car, my husband says to me. "I'm really glad 2013 is over. It was a terrible year." "Really?" I said "Name three things." He thought for a minute and said "Well, my stupid car broke down like once a month, so I couldn't save any money." I nodded. He went on. "And we had to get the terrible news that our daughter has ADHD and dyslexia. Now we have to pay all that money to a really expensive school." I said "Now, hang on a minute..." I say, and prepare a really good answer for this... "This is not a matter of bad things happening. This is a matter of your perspective on things." "How do you mean?" He asks. "Think about it," I said. "We had been wandering around in the dark not knowing what was going on with Isabella and she was steady struggling with a terrible teacher in a school that totally misdiagnosed her. By the time we got her to a real doctor and found out what was really wrong with her- even though it punched us in the gut, it was really good news. We finally had answers! We finally knew definitively what was wrong and we had a solid approach on how to treat her. So, if you think about it, that was actually good news." "That's true." He said. "And as for that expensive school, I am happy to spend the money at a school where our daughter can get the education she needs. I'm grateful for that place every day. And you love it as much as I do. But most importantly, Isabella is happy there, and she is learning to work with her disability. We found a really great doctor and the medication she is on is actually working. How are these things bad?" John stops and thinks "You're right, you know? I guess those are good things." "Now, as for your car..." John said "just stop there, I'm feeling better. Quit while you're ahead." Happy New Year everyone. I hope your perspective stays optimistic and your struggles have purpose.

Brad Pitt didn't write this either...

I keep seeing this essay being circulated on facebook called "The Secret of Love". It's being credited to Brad Pitt and it is supposedly written about his fiance (not wife) Angelina Jolie. It's not written by him. Snopes and other sources have confirmed this, and it has been published before it was credited to Brad. But my issue isn't this. It's the essay itself I have a REAL problem with. I'm going to copy it below and then what follows will be me explaining why this bothers me so much. Secret of Love My wife got sick. She was constantly nervous because of problems at work, personal life, her failures and problems with children. She has lost 30 pounds and weighted about 90 pounds in her 35 years. She got very skinny, and was constantly crying. She was not a happy woman. She had suffered from continuing headaches, heart pain and jammed nerves in her back and ribs. She did not sleep well, falling asleep only in the morning and got tired very quickly during the day. Our relationship was on the verge of break up. Her beauty was leaving her somewhere, she had bags under her eyes, she was poking her head, and stopped taking care of herself. She refused to shoot the films and rejected any role. I lost hope and thought that we’ll get divorced soon ... But then I decided to act on it. After all I’ve got the most beautiful woman on the earth. She is the ideal of more than half of men and women on earth, and I was the one allowed to fall asleep next to her and to hug her shoulders. I began to pepper her with flowers, kisses and complements. I surprised her and pleased every minute. I gave her lots of gifts and lived just for her. I spoke in public only about her. I incorporated all themes in her direction. I praised her in front of her own and our mutual friends. You won’t believe, but she has blossomed. She became even better than before. She gained weight, was no longer nervous and she loved me even more than ever. I had no clue that she CAN love that much. And then I realized one thing: "The woman is the reflection of her man" Me again. Let me explain why this essay nauseates me. (I mean, other than the atrocious grammar and bad spelling. Complement is not the same as compliment. They are totally different words. But I digress...) Let's begin with "My wife got sick." If your wife is sick- LOVE won't cure her and neither will bringing her flowers. She is sick. Take her to a doctor. Let's now go to "a woman is a reflection of her man." Really? You cured her while holding up a mirror to yourself? How incredibly full of yourself are you? In a relationship, we should absolutely speak lovingly and kindly of our significant others. Nurturing the relationship is the way to go. A few days ago, my husband told me in all seriousness how grateful he was for me in his life. And it brought me to tears. Because that kind of genuine expression, even though I know he loves me, is always moving to hear. I could not even speak. I had to just hug him for a minute. Now, being in a good, stable, loving and supportive relationship makes me happy. It would make anyone happy, to be with someone who cares for you and understands you. But I am no ones reflection and neither is he. We may bring out the best in one another and being with him may inspire me to be the best person I can be, but we are not reflections of one another. We are a team, a strong, united team that loves and supports one another. If he brought me flowers and compliments every day, it would probably get old fast. More valuable to me is doing the dishes when I cannot lift my head. Driving our daughter to school every morning. Surprising me by making the bed. Asking how my day went. Being excited to hear my stories. Hearing the words "welcome home" and lighting up when I enter the room. Another issue of mine in this essay "her beauty was leaving her". Then, he goes on to mention every physical aspect of her beauty being gone. In fact, this essay is primarily about the physical. She got "too skinny", she had "bags under her eyes". Guess what? If you are fortunate enough to grow old, physical beauty leaves everyone. This idiot thinks that being nice and complimentary will get her to "take care of herself". I mean, if she is losing weight, tired all the time, has all that pallor on the skin, constant headaches, heart pain, jammed nerves (?)-- you should consider encouraging your wife to see a doctor. That sounds serious! The cure must be... peppering her with kisses. Magic kisses that cure everything. She blossomed because he paid attention to her. Really? Women are just... not that fragile. And I don't know Angelina, but I can't see her feminist, independent, fabulous ass putting up with that for a single minute. Also, I don't believe Brad Pitt is that simpering and insulting. Unfortunately, women all over the internet are sighing and adoring this essay. Why? Are we that desperate for attention? If that is all you think you need, ladies, kisses and compliments, flowers and public displays of affection, you are all in for a rude awakening because you all deserve SO much more than that. None of that is REAL, ladies. None of that is equal. That pampering patriarchal bullshit is the bill of goods women have been sold for a long time and it is time to wake up. It's lovely to get flowers. I hope you get them on your birthday and Valentine's Day and one day for no reason whatsoever. But what you need is a man who knows how to operate a vacuum cleaner and change some diapers. Not sexy enough for you? I'm sorry about that. But if he is cranky and sick, your love isn't going to cure him either. If you truly look that sick, I hope he takes you to the doctor instead of proposing either divorce or a mirror that praises you. So, yes, please nurture your relationships. Do all that you can to praise and love your man or woman. I think that is fabulous. But this essay- it's insulting. And I wish you all better love that that. Most of all, love yourselves better and don't settle for less than you deserve.

Discovering Empathy

Last night, my husband and I were cleaning up a storm getting ready for company and to put up the tree. We had just put Isabella to bed a little while ago. When we shut the vacuum off, I heard sobbing coming from her room. I admit, my first suspicion was sibling rivalry. That the older daughter had said something to make the younger one cry. This is pretty common, as you can imagine, but was not the case. I stepped into the room and Isabella was simply weeping inconsolably. It broke my heart! The little female Tortie cat, Lightning was curled up at the end of the bed and Isabella was sobbing and petting her. Lightning loves Isabella, she sleeps with her most nights and Isabella is gentle and sweet with all the cats. This was the kind of sorrow that calls for a mom to get in bed with her little one and hold her until the tears are lessened, so that is what I did. Amidst the sobs, I asked her what could possibly be troubling her this much. She finally confessed a little. "A long time ago, I did something to Lightning that was really mean. But I didn't know any better. And now I feel so sorry." I stroked her hair and kissed her. "Well, it's pretty obvious to me that Lightning has forgiven you. She sleeps with you every night and cats won't go near you if they don't like you. She's in your room right now because she loves you." "I know, but I never should have done it. It's terrible." "What did you do?" I asked. "I don't think I can tell you. I can't say the words." "Are you afraid I'll be mad at you and you'll get in trouble?" Isabella nodded silently and a fresh torrent of tears let loose. I held her close and told her that whatever it was, I would forgive her and Lightning had already forgiven her, so she really could safely tell me. She was still very reluctant. I thought a minute and then made a decision. There are times when you must reveal your flaws and your humanity to others. Yes, even your children. We are not perfect beings and I know that my daughter looks up to my "cat behavior" as an example. I am always, always kind to my cats. There is always joy in my voice when one of my kitties comes in the room and there is always room on my lap. In all things, I feel loving towards them. Of course, they know when the squirt bottle is coming... but it's a rare thing nowadays. Mostly, I can clap my hands and say "No" and they will stop doing the thing they are doing and life moves on but most of my time with my cats is spent loving and adoring. All my kids model this. They are as loving and gentle as I have showed them and you can see it is genuine. But last night, I could see how much pain my poor baby was in and I had to let her know she was not alone in her mistakes. So, I decided to crawl inside her pain and share my own pain and guilt with her to make her feel safe and not alone. Here is the story I told her. I have had cats my whole life, from the day I was born, there was a cat looking at me. (Really, there are pictures!) But when I was a little kid, I chased them, I pulled tails, I giggled when they ran. I also petted gently and lovingly but I had to retract my hand from a scratch more than once when I did something the cat did not like. All of this is rather normal kid behavior and nothing remarkable, but there is one day that sticks in my memory as a defining moment. We had two Siamese cats, Sappho and Rasha. Sappho was very sweet, she did not display the usual temperamental crankiness that Siamese cats usually show. She was loving and warm and very amiable all the time. I don't know what got into me this day, but I can only describe it as the actions of an impulsive four year old, but I thought I wanted to see what happened if I picked her up by the tail. So, I did what curious and foolish four year olds do. I picked her up by the tail. And I could tell I hurt her... a lot. I immediately regretted the action. Honestly, I can't believe she didn't claw the shit out of me, but she just ran away when I put her down. That moment snapped in my memory as the day I knew I had to change. I told Isabella that was the last time I was mean to a cat or any animal. I could barely live with myself. I knew I had hurt a family member. Someone I loved so dearly and deeply, I was incredibly ashamed. Something clicked that day and I realized strongly that you get what you give. And if I ever wanted a cat to love me back, I would have to just be kind every day, every time. And if I did that, then maybe, maybe she would trust me again and forgive me. So, I set out on a mission to love that cat. From that day on, there was nothing but loving and gentle hands, soft words, no yelling. And slowly, she came to trust me and then to love me. When I was nine years old, we moved to a new house and I got my own room. That cat slept with me every single night, she would come to my room and scratch and meow at the door and I would let her in and she would not leave until breakfast time in the morning. Sappho wouldn't sleep with anyone else. So, I told this story of cruelty and redemption to my daughter who was feeling so terrible about herself and after I was done, she opened up about the thing she had done. She had shut up Lightning in a desk drawer a long time ago. While she was remembering doing it, it occurred to her that the little cat might have suffocated in there and she was overcome with remorse and pain, fearing how terrible it would have been had she lost her furry friend. I told her I was very proud of her for learning a lesson and in spite of her mistake, she was now growing to be a more caring kid, but most of all I told her to forgive herself for her mistake, that the cure to that is to realize your error, learn from it and never, ever do it again. I told Isabella "Lightning has already forgiven you, I have already forgiven you. Now it is time for you to forgive yourself. Those are not wasted tears, those are tears to remind you what you have and for you to value it. But your heart is open now, and you have learned what you need to learn." Sometimes you have to open yourself up to others and reveal something shameful in your past to make that connection. I wanted my baby girl to feel safe revealing herself to me and to know I had my own mistakes to live with. That learning and growing from them is so important. We are very lucky that our actions did not result in more serious pain and that we were able to take our lessons without more serious consequences. And I am grateful for my daughter's tears. She is gaining empathy and discovering emotional depth. Those are good reasons to cry. But mostly I am grateful I was able to soothe her and comfort her and let her know she is not alone in this world, even when she makes mistakes.

My Mother's Medical Nightmare Part 4: Home and back again

This was now the second bout with pneumonia we were facing. It was not as bad as the first, we had caught it sooner and were very hopeful about it. We were beginning to make plans to take my mother home after this. After extensive conversations with Medicare, in which I finally got on the list to be able to speak to them on my mother's behalf, I discovered that if she was out of hospital and nursing home for 60 days, and after that she had a three day or more hospital stay, she would be eligible for another 100 days of rehab, which she would NOW need because all of the progress we had made before was for naught. She was now as weak as she was before. We would have to start all over again. After a week, the doctors announced they were sending her back to the home. Our plan was to transition her home at the end of the month, February 28. We were paid up at the home until then. But, something was wrong. My brother and I were visiting her and saying to ourselves and each other that she was not herself, that something else was going on, that maybe the lungs were better but she was still sick. She looked terrible. I called a meeting with the doctors and made them come in. "I know you're thinking of sending her back but she is still very ill. Something is wrong." They told me her lungs were better and she could continue antibiotics at the home and she was fine. I shook my head. "If you do this, it will be a mistake." They said the plan was still tomorrow. That evening she began vomiting and having terrible diarrhea. They were forced to reconsider. After testing, they discovered she had a Clostridium difficile bacterial infection. Better known as C diff. The antibiotics had killed all the good bacteria which kept that bad bacteria under control. She was immediately moved into ICU and began the second half of her battle. C diff is incredibly difficult to get rid of. She was sick for weeks. Finally in mid March, they began to say she could be released. I made arrangements for home health care to come for 8 hours a day. Also arranged for Physical, Speech and Occupational therapy to visit. The most we could get on insurance was once a week. I knew it would not be enough. It was very rough when she first came home, she had two more trips to the hospital because she was not quite well. We had some changes on the food and we had some adjustments on medication. My daughter Cassandra really stepped up to taking care of her grandmother and we soon realized we were going to need 24 hour nursing help. I cannot begin to tell you the financial devastation of that. After several ups and downs though, we got a routine and discovered some really amazing caretakers who were so caring and kind and became just part of the family at some point. We had two favorite live in caretakers. But the PT situation was not going to get any better. Truth be told, my mother got very good at manipulating her way out of exercises many days and for some reason, the PT guy, as great as he was refused to even try to stand her up, which pissed me off to no end. He said we would get there but HE NEVER DID. After three months, he had still not even tried to get her in a standing position. We finally got a regular primary care doctor and what I have to say about him is that he is okay but nothing more. He does the bare minimum if that. But he is more or less there. We tried a number of things. One was Mobile Docs who come to the house. The doc that came was okay but when we called to ask a question, the reception couldn't be bothered to page doctors or make any effort. Worst medical office ever! Then began the struggle to get her Medicare Part B. That is a whole other story. She didn't have it but the previous nursing home said she did and then when they found out she didn't, long after she left, they sent a huge bill. I hate them. The whole time I tried to talk to Medicare but they refused to talk to me even when my mother said they could, made us miss the deadline for enrolling her and I had to go down to the social security office and beg them to find some way to get her enrolled. So now, we enter limbo. Waiting out the sixty days. And after that we have to hope she needs to go back in the hospital. WHAT SADIST MAKES UP THESE RULES? Why can't we just get the medical care we need? Why are we running a clock all the time? Running with limits. While she was in the hospital, they did a pet scan which revealed a possible tumor in her saliva gland. They were convinced this was cancer. THIS was the cancer they were looking for. This was it. They biopsied it. It was benign. They were almost disappointed. Still convinced that she had cancer, still watching those nodules in her lungs that now had not grown a centimeter in 9 months, they told us we needed to see a pulmonologist. But the wait time was 2 months. I asked them "If you had cancer, would you want to wait two months?" They called back and postponed it further. I yelled. They told me the doctor wanted it this way. I asked them "Do you really believe in waiting this long to diagnose cancer?" They would not budge. They called back again and pushed it another two weeks. I hate them even more. She had an appointment with a pulmonologist that we had been waiting for now four months! She was getting a pet scan, cat scan and breathing test and they were having a second, third, fourth look. But I knew. I knew it was not cancer. They finally see her and admit to me that it is NOT cancer. That it has not grown in a year and it is not cancer. We had a follow up at the end of August and those nodules have not grown. They don't know what they are but they are not cancer. But still, doctors keep bringing it up and saying it is cancer. I had a fight with an ER doc who insisted she knew it was cancer. I told her "At what point does your giant ego allow you to admit you're wrong?" At what point do they admit that the Lisinopril is the cause. When will that happen? I don't know. She was home from March 29 through August 3rd before she needed to go into the hospital and they admitted her. She had terrible diarrhea, we thought it might be c-diff again but turns out she was badly impacted. Lack of physical movement will do that to you. She was in the hospital for over a week. I immediately began looking for a skilled care rehab so we could get her six days a week of therapy. I found one. I began another fight with Medicare who made her stay in the hospital two extra days because they had not properly updated her records. But I finally got her admitted. This rehab kind of sucks. There were a lot of perks at the other place we had not realized were even there. But my parents insist on staying even though it is not ideal. And the speech therapist is leaps and bounds better than Tammy. Last week, my mom had to be admitted to the hospital again. Her third bout with pneumonia. She was there for about ten days with respiratory distress. Three nights ago, she was a half hour away from being put on a ventilator and miraculously, her CO2 levels began to fall into normal ranges moments before they intubated. She is now back at the skilled care and I will continue the fight to keep her healthy and happy and get her back to mobility.

My Mother's Medical Nightmare Part 3

I pick up this story when my mother moved upstairs to the "long term care" floor. Really, this is where the majority of the Alzheimer's patients live. It's sad up there. There is a different vibe, and you have to get a code to get out of the locked door. I had hoped this was going to be very temporary, but I was nervous. In these meetings with nurses, we made a lot of care plans for the outcome we wanted but you still feel like you are in a trap. My mother was nowhere near being able to care for herself and if we wanted a successful home coming, she would need to be practiced and able to participate in her care. So, I said "What is the problem with her using the toilet?" I spoke with the nurses first thing as I was going to have to get to know a whole new set of nurses. Now, I have to tell you, those nurses on the rehab floor were really good. I only had one bad run in with someone in three months and she was reassigned. They were just really compassionate and good at their jobs. So, I kind of expect the same thing on this floor. But we don't get it. My mom is still supposed to go to therapy every day and keep getting worked with and keep making progress. And they begin to "threaten" us now. The threat has always been there but now it is more pronounced. "If your mother doesn't show measurable progress and is not displaying adequate initiative, then we will have to report her to Medicare as uncooperative and they will cut off the rehab." So, my mother is not really allowed to have a bad day or be cranky. The uncooperative label is a big deal. I tried to back off the bathroom issue after and ugly incident with her. Clearly she needs some control and her daughter bringing it up is bothering her. She won't talk to me about it. I try to go and have a conversation with her and she tells me the discussion is over and turns up the television so she can't hear me. I think, my mother is now a rebellious teenager and I guess this is how I behaved with her. I go to the nurse at the desk who is new to me and I explain to her that my mother needs to be out of diapers. She is not incontinent, she can easily be trained to go but I need her help. I'm going to call this nurse Jane. Jane says to me "No problem! I will start right away and put a note in her chart. We will have her bathroom trained this week." And I believe this will happen. And I don't bring it up with my mom because I want to be her daughter and not pester her and step on her dignity. I don't bring it up for the next three visits. I assume it is happening because I was assured that it would happen. I check back in with Jane after three days when I see her on the floor. Jane says "It's going great! She gets up and goes now, she lets us know when she needs to and she is doing terrific." I am completely encouraged until I find out this is A LIE. The next day I am with my mother and a nurse's aid comes in and brings fresh diapers. I look at them and say "But Mom, I thought you were using the bathroom." "No, I haven't." I am confused. She confesses to me that she has not tried and they have not asked her to-- not one time. I am now furious but I can't find Jane anywhere to confront her and ask her to explain. I go right to the head of nursing and I tell her my story. She is very understanding but she says "Well, I wouldn't say she lied." NO. She lied to me. She lied right in my face. There is no gray area here. That woman told me a complete lie. But I have now thrown an epic fit and insist that they deal with it. Now my mother digs her heels in and refuses to go. She won't even try. They are all now legitimately trying and we have talks with her and she refuses. I realize that she is VERY depressed. She is terrified of falling if she tries to get up and use the toilet and she has no control over any of this. So, this is the battle she wages. And she is going to win because if you take away the diapers, she pees the bed. No one can talk with her. And my father will not get involved or support us. He thinks she should be allowed to do nothing and he will be happy sitting in the room with her if she never moves or goes outside or does anything but watch Jeopardy at 4:30 every day. This is NOT my mother. I have no idea who this woman is. This disease has robbed her of her dignity, her independence and her zest for life. This woman is terrified to try to use the toilet, she does not tell me stories or smile and there is no light in her eyes. I despair and spend days and nights crying and fighting. I go to the nursing home and have epic battles and no one will support me. Meanwhile, she is for a time still getting physical therapy and speech therapy. Every day, the Speech lady, who I will name Tammy and who I still do not like, who is still pessimistic and difficult, puts a stimulator around my mother's neck and sends electrical impulses to cause her muscles to contract so she can regain her swallow muscles. Tammy insists all the time that this is useless and will never work and my mother will never eat again. But I tell her that we cannot know unless we try and insist that we do. My mother is scheduled for a barium swallow test in December of 2012. And in spite of Tammy's negative attitude, my mother passes the swallow test! He muscles are recovering! This is the greatest piece of hope ever. Tammy didn't want to work with her, she shrugged every day and told me my mother would never eat again and I should just accept it. And within a few days my mother was eating oatmeal and salad. She was sitting at the lunch table and making progress. I am thrilled with any good news! And this was all going well until PT labeled her uncooperative and announced she had hit a plateau and they would no longer work with her. We go into another meeting with the nurses and I ask "If she is not getting exercise, how will she get better?" They explain to me that my mother is NOT demonstrating any desire to do more than they are asking her to do. Really? But she is doing all that you ask, I say. And they say "She is not asking to do more than we ask her to do and therefore she is uncooperative." Which JUST pisses me off. So, they put her on "restorative therapy" which means that a new nurse comes once a day and asks her to move her arms and legs. She never gets out of bed and works on the bars or walks. And my father argues with them about this but there is not much we can do but argue. I ask the lady doing restorative therapy to please get her up out of bed, that they are putting her at risk for pneumonia and she says okay but unless I am right there, she does below the bare minimum and my mother is now so depressed that while she does what she is asked to do, her energy level is waning. And they continue to let her go down hill. They tell me she cannot get back in full time PT unless she demonstrates initiative. How can you get a depressed person to want to demonstrate initiative? SIDEBAR here. This is an important part of the story. When my mother was first coming out of the ICU psychosis after being drugged to the hilt when she had three tubes draining fluid from her lungs, one of her doctors noticed she was not making a lot of eye contact and she had flat affect. He decided she was depressed. Depression runs in our family. I have no doubt she was depressed but she had just survived a very traumatic illness and she HATES hospitals. The morphine had given her severe constipation and she had to undergo a surgical procedure where they dealt with her being seriously impacted in her upper colon. This doctor decided to put her on anti depressants. He told me casually during an update conversation over the phone. This made me uneasy. After all the recent drug reactions, introducing antidepressants at this juncture seemed unwise. "Did you ask her if she wanted to be on this drug?" He hesitated, and I knew that he was making the decision to lie to me. "Of course I did." I said "I don't believe you. My mother would never consent to them." Part of me thought she might need them but her mind was sharp, it was still up to her to decide that for herself. I marched into the hospital room, questioned my mother, who, as I suspected knew nothing about the antidepressant she had been taking for three days. The doctor had actually said "I think she perked up today because the antidepressant is working." Did he go to Medical school? That is not how those drugs work. They have to build up in your system. So, I paged the doctor, and made him come to the room and I said to my mother. "please make your wishes known to him. This drug can be very beneficial to you should you decide to take it. it can help you with depression but this is YOUR decision. This drug is not necessary to your survival so it is up to you to decide." She said very clearly, with some effort because an NG tube had been down her throat for over a week. "I was not aware I was on this drug and I want you to take me off of it." I'm sure the doctor was pissed off but I don't care. Sidebar over. Now, the conversation of antidepressants was coming up again in the nursing home. My father doesn't understand them or how they work so he thinks they and psychiatry are totally unnecessary. I begged my mother to at least talk to a therapist. She grudgingly agreed but it didn't happen. Somehow that guy just never stopped by... I began to make plans to just get my mother home. I realized that this battle with them was only going to get worse and worse. There was no point in continuing here with this kind of terrible care. It was now January and they were making the least effort possible. My mother was in the bed full time and she got up for one hour at lunch on weekdays, I could not convince them to do more with her and all they ever did was blame HER for her lack of progress. I began to realize that only certain people called her uncooperative and that others completely contradicted this assertion. In early February, I get a call from Tammy, the speech therapist and she says that my mother is refusing to eat, that she doesn't like the food. I say that I will cook something for her and try to help with that. Getting someone off a feeding tube is a process. They have to relearn eating and they have to get a certain percentage of food to replace a tube feed. She was getting lunch every day and that was it. My mother started to say she wasn't feeling well, she didn't want to eat, could they just put her back in the bed. I brought my mom some lasagna and she barely touched it. I noticed that she was having quite a few breathing problems and Tammy just kept insisting what a problem my mother was and how she was making the decision to be difficult and she was trying to encourage her to eat. But I could see that my mom was sick and coughing and not feeling well. Tammy refused to "hear" this and just kept telling me how treating her was pointless when she was going to be this uncooperative. The next day, my mother had an appointment with the neurologist. I had started going to all the doctor appointments with her and my dad. So, I thought I would ask him what he thought was going on. The whole time, my mother was short of breath and struggled to do the slightest thing. I asked the doctor- "Am I crazy or does this look like pneumonia?" Again, hard to tell with my mom because she doesn't present in a typical manner. The neurologist said to me "She seems very sick to me, I am not an ER doc but if this were my mother, I would take her to the ER right now." I'm going to skip the epic battle with my dad... there was one. He did not agree she was sick, and insisted she go back to the skilled care place, that she was just tired and needed to rest, that she had a chest xray a few days ago and she was fine. I have to tell you, though, when you know something in your gut, you have to listen. So, I lost that battle and she was taken back to the home. At which point, I marched up to the desk and found one of the good nurses who I had a good rapport with. I made her come with me and examine my mom. "Tell me that her lungs are bad and I am not imagining this looks like pneumonia." The nurse was immediately very concerned, she nodded and of course realized that this situation had been going on for a while and no one had properly noticed. The nurse said "She needs an ambulance right now." She explained all this to my dad who actually said the words "This is the first I am hearing of this." It is exhausting fighting this hard all the time. It was indeed pneumonia. And it was bad. This was the last day she spent in this skilled care facility. It was February 7, 2013. I have no doubt that their lack of physical therapy caused this bout of pneumonia. I have no doubt they are more than culpable for what happened, this neglect and web of lies and incompetence led to this situation and now, my mother was right back where she started before she was ever in their care. As a last note on this, when I went back to pick up my mother's things, I dropped by Tammy's office to let her know a few things. I said to her "I need you to know that my mother tried very hard to cooperate with you but you needed to understand that she was too sick to eat, and you didn't notice. You were trying to force feed a patient with pneumonia. You missed all the signs that she will gravely ill and you blamed her. I'm telling you this so that you don't miss the signs with your next patient." Tammy said "I still think your mother will never be able to eat normally and will be at risk for aspiration the rest of her life. You probably need to come out of denial about this. She's not going to get better." I said "Did you hear what I just told you? She has pneumonia. And you didn't notice. As for her future, that isn't written yet." Tammy shrugged and looked at me with the simpering, condescending look. She didn't get it- at all. What a waste of time. My mother made huge progress in spite of her negativity. Every speech therapist since then has been much more positive about working with her and future outcome. I feel very sorry for Tammy's future patients. The woman is incompetent and I was very glad to say goodbye to her. The next part is hospital and home-