A Sea of Determination and Hope

Some nights even in these last smoldering weeks of summer I sleep in Clint’s red sweater.  Worn and washed dozens of times, its softness is almost painful.  I still feel his warmth in it and every now and then I sprinkle a few drops of Old Spice on it so I won’t forget how he smelled.  Even after he was sick and dying my husband smelled of Old Spice and not death.

I survived.  I thought I would perish in my grief, drown in the sea of sadness that rose around me when Clint died.  But I lived.  In spite of myself, I lived.  It took three and a half years for the toughness that is at my core to beat down my grief and come to the surface.

Clint never doubted my strength.  I never thought about being strong or not being strong.  I faced life and did what I had to do to make it work.  I thought everybody did that.  

On the afternoon he was dying and I was lying next to him in our bed whispering into his ear that I would be okay, that I was as strong as he always said I was, I thought I was lying.  I thought I was telling him what he needed to know in order to feel okay about leaving me alone.  

I was wrong.  Challenged first by the void in my life that Clint left behind and then by my inability to function as a nurse because my grief was so complicated, I was then faced with a series of stress driven autoimmune syndromes that paralyzed my life for a year.

I didn’t want to deal with Parrish.  I resisted letting him back into my life but he wouldn’t go away.  As I watched him deteriorate into what should have been a terminal psychosis triggered by alcohol abuse, a sense of the raw need for survival welled up inside me.

Less than three months ago, when Parrish nearly died of an overdose of Seroquel, something happened in my soul, in my spirit.  Even with all the craziness around me and in me, I began to think of a future for myself, a meaningful and creative life without Clint.  I dug in.

I knew with complete certainty that I had to come home to Saint Simons.   On June 6, I decided to sell the house on Canyon Road and on August 22, I moved into this flat.  Four days later we closed the deal on the house in Macon and here I am, swimming in a sea of determination and hope, surrounded by the comfort and cover of sprawling oaks and the force that is the ocean. 


© 2013 cjschlottman 

A Purple Streak in my Hair and Why I'll Never Drown

It’s hot as the hinges of hell.  Earlier in the day Ole Dick was out on his balcony dicking around with his stained glass.  I have to give it to him for working in all this heat.

I, on the other hand, have been thinking up ways to avoid organizing my boudoir.  This is the way it looks and I’ve been here eight days. 

That’s my chandelier sitting in the tub.  The maintenance man was supposed to come over today and hang it up in my bathroom but I guess he got too busy or found something better to do on the Friday before Labor Day.

Living down here is a little like living in Mayberry.  Everybody is on Island Time and I better get used to it if I’m not going to pull out what’s left of my hair.

A little over two weeks ago I went to see my friend and hairdresser, Peggi, and got her to put a streak of purple in the left side of my hair.  It’s awesome.  I don’t have a photo of it yet because, as they say, the camera does not love me.  The camera essentially hates my guts if you want to know the truth.  I’ll probably have to wait for Cuz to come visit and take about a hundred photos of me to get a good one. 

After I got the purple streak, people in Macon started talking to my hair instead of me.  They looked straight at the streak and asked me how I was doing, not that they really cared.  Macon is like that.  It’s full of phonies.  I’m not counting the real friends I have there.  They don’t give a shit what color my hair is.  Nobody here seems to notice.

It has been a rainy summer in Georgia and the rivers north and west of here are all at flood stage or higher.  That means our rivers are wide and at high tide the marshes on either side of the causeway are dotted with ponds of water.  It is beautiful and like no other place I know.  Earlier I got in my car and drove across the causeway and back just to look at it.

There is strength and courage and danger in water.  I’m a good swimmer but when I was little I nearly drowned in the deep end of the swimming pool at the Crooked River State Park down near Kingsland.  The lifeguard pulled me up from the bottom and I was in love with him for about 10 years after that.  I ended up spending so much time learning how to do every swimming stroke known to man that I swam on the swim team when I was 12 and 13.  I swam the backstroke and the breaststroke.  It didn’t do much for my breasts, but I by God never worried about drowning again.   

© 2013 cjschlottman  

I Am Happy

The man in 101 makes stained glass.  His name is Dick and he comes across as one.  He’s a real I’m-on-the-condo-board kind of guy.  You know what I mean.  I should give him a chance.  This morning he was working on his balcony and I could see he the beautiful blues of the glass.  He can’t be all bad.

I spend too much time on Facebook, and how I have become fascinated with Pinterest, a site where one builds a virtual bulletin board and pins stuff on it.  Mine is full of quotations like, 

“You belong somewhere you feel free.”  Tom Petty

“You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy.”   Unknown

“So this is my life.  And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”   The Perks of Being a Wallflower

It’s cool on the balcony and Honey is guarding the neighborhood from the other chair.  I am happy here.  I think I said that already today, but I want to make sure I say it enough.  I can write here, write like I am meant to write.

Kristy and Shannon and her family are coming down tomorrow night for the holiday weekend.  Shannon and Joey and the kids are staying at Lawrence’s house and Kristy is staying here with Marnie and me.  I am glad they are all coming to my Island.  I want those great grandlittles (Abby and Drew) to learn to love this place the way I do.  I want them to see the moss on the trees and be amazed by it.  I want them to put their feet in the sand and dip themselves in the edge of the ocean and feel the power of the universe as the tides move in and out.  I want them to catch blue crabs and learn to pick out the sweet meat without leaving a bunch of shells in it.  I want them to love crab soup and want me to make it for them and think about me when they eat it, even it somebody else makes it.  

I want Jacob to sink himself into all this beauty and history and get his creative brain stirred up and want to draw or paint or write.  I want Noah to feel the magic of this place and know the force of the river as it flows by all filled up with river critters and dreams.

There’s a fearlessness about the energy here and I want all of them to drink it in and be empowered by it and become fearless themselves.

My house is in total disarray but my mind is squared away just fine.  Marnie is on her way from Macon and I am going to go in the kitchen and make us a pot of chicken and mushroom risotto so we can have some comfort food in the middle of all this mess.  

I am happy.

© 2013 cjschlottman

Life's a Trade Off

Saint Simons Island

I am happy here on my island.  Honey and I walked the fitness trail yesterday afternoon and again this morning.  The trail itself is a half mile long, so the entire trip is probably three quarters of a mile.  It’s a start.  I am walking the stairs at least twice a day.

Last night I started rearranging the kitchen.  Marnie and Sophie didn’t put away things the way I want them, so I am placing my stuff where it works for me.  I am grateful for what they did.  At least, I don’t have to unpack the boxes to get to them.  

The weather is hot, but this morning is pleasant here on the deck.  By mid-afternoon there will be steam in the air even through the sunshine but I don’t care.  I am happy here.  

All my life I took the beauty of Saint Simons for granted.  Now every time I look out the window I am in awe of its splendor.  I am surrounded by ancient oaks that are dripping with Spanish moss, their limbs hanging over the roads forming mystical.  

I am concerned for Cuz.  He has lung cancer that spread to his brain and forearm before he had any symptoms.  The lesion on his forearm, which he thought was a cyst, began to grow and became painful, so he went to see his friend John Kendrick who is an orthopedic surgeon.  

X-rays and scans and biopsies followed and the metastatic lesions in his brain were found.  He will go to Moffitt cancer and research center in Tampa as soon as his doctors gather all of their findings to send with him.

Cuz has been a big part of my life - and Clint’s too - since the night before Mary Ellen’s funeral in December of 1996.  That’s 17 years this year.  I cannot imagine him being sick and in the bed and suffering.

Jesus.  I am tired of the men in my life getting sick and dying.  No, Cuz isn’t dead, but he is dying.  No matter what treatment he gets, his life will be shortened by this killer.  

Maybe one day I will understand all this loss, but I'm not counting on it.


© 2013 cjschlottman

Beginning to Break 02/11/13

I am sorry this post is out of order.  I try, but I still haven't mastered the art of changing the order of my posts.


It has begun.  Parrish is starting to break.  He calls me and is hysterical about some imagined situation.  Today he is convinced that the other people in the house are doing crack and smack.  He perseverates and his voice rises until I ask him to lower it.  It is nearly impossible to break through his manic strings of words to insert my own word or words, begging him to stop talking. I have to shout to get is attention.

He needs medication, and the day after his release from jail he went to the Health Department’s psychiatric facility only to be told it would be four to six weeks before he could see a doctor.  No doctor, no medicine.  Really.  How in the name of God do they rationalize turning away a clearly psychotic man?  I suppose they have no sense of a crisis.  They should. 

All of this wears on me, chips away at my sanity, makes  me reclusive and agoraphobic.  Will I survive it?  

© 2013 cj schlottmn  

It's About Me

I have spent too much time thinking and writing about Parrish.  It’s important that I do that but not at the expense of my own person and physical needs. 

I have lost sleep and been traumatized by the situations into which P’s disease inserted us.  I have been anxious and in pain while he stole my pain and anxiety medications.  I am gaining weight because I am feeding my fatigue and frustration with sweets.

Yesterday and today, while Parrish has been asleep, I have rested and written blog posts and eaten a healthy grain-based diet.  There are dishes to put away and more to wash.  I will take care of that when P is awake.  I need a shower.  

Belle is old and sick.  She is confused and I wonder about her eyesight.  Wobbly when up, she sleeps most of the time.  After two days of refusing to eat, she finally ate something yesterday.  That made it possible for her to take her medicine from Dr. Pam - an antibiotic and Remadyl and an antacid.  Dr. Pam is a mobile vet and brings her office to us.  

Belle has tumors in her mouth and her gums are in bad shape, making it difficult for her to chew.  She is too old and fragile to go under general anesthesia for a cleaning, so we manage with an all meat food that is finely ground and which she can lap up.  Tomorrow, I am going to buy her elevated bowls because when she leans over to the floor for food and water, she sometimes loses her balance.

Honey is healthy but sometimes anxious and fractious.  She snaps at Belle when Belle is getting food and she is not.  Parrish’s manic episodes of the last weeks have sent her hiding behind the toilet in my bedroom.  It’s as far away from him as she can get.  Pitiful.  God, I hope these long hours of sleep will have the benefit of settling him down a little. 

There I go, writing about Parrish and his disease again.  I can’t seem to help myself.

©2013 cjschlottman

March 19, 2013 - Things are Improving

Things with Parrish are improving.  He is calmer but extremely drowsy, having difficulty keeping his eyes open, and he has occasional slurred speech and is sometimes paranoid.  He is on several drugs that could cause a multitude of side effects but doesn’t have an appointment to see a physician at River Edge until the middle of April.  So, we do the best we can.  It would be such a gift if we had a doctor available to call at times like this.  

When things are more settled and Parrish has a place to live and we have his finances in order, maybe he can see a private psychiatrist.  Since his father and stepmother are contributing to his upkeep, we may be able to swing it.

For now, I am spending time with him about 4 days a week.  He rides along when I run errands, and we eat at Waffle House (his favorite) nearly every time we go out.  I gave him a tiny iPod I bought several years ago but decided not to give it to him then.  He was in Florida and I knew he would lose it or sell it or give it away.  He loves it.  

I am anxious and unsteady and a little afraid of what may happen.  Life with P is much easier without the manic episodes, but they have now been replaced by a sluggishness that means he sometimes cannot keep his eyes open.   It will take constant monitoring to keep Parrish on an even keel.  I should be grateful for what we have, unsatisfactory though it may be.

We have talked about a visit to the hospital for medication management.  He says he doesn’t object, saying, “Why wouldn’t I want to stop feeling like this?  If I need to go to hospital, then I will go.”  We can’t take any action until I have guardianship.

March 18, 2013 - March 21, 2013

Parrish is asleep on the big white sofa in my living room, where he has been since noon.  He’s covered with a thick felt tie dyed blanket that looks as though it came straight out of the late sixties, and he has been up twice, both times to eat.  Only his buzz cut of graying brown hair is visible and he is snoring loudly.

He has a dreadful cold and chest congestion.  I gave him cough syrup and a decongestant at noon and then again at 4:00.

So, I need to fill in some of the blanks since my last post about my son.  

Last Monday, March 18, there were severe thunderstorms in our area.  There were trees down all over town, including the front yard of the boarding house. A large pine fell over the hood of a young woman’s car as she drove down the steep driveway.  She is unharmed but the front of her car is flattened.   The other residents' cars were in the back of the house and no one could get up the driveway.    She had no money for a cab, so she stayed over at the house.   Parrish gave her his bed and slept on the floor.  

He called to tell me about all the exciting events and insisted he did not want me to come and get him.  Things were chaotic there, but he seemed to be managing.  

It was Wednesday morning when P called, anxious and perseverating.  He said there were drug deals going on in the house and that people were coming to the door asking for “Fat Mama,” the landlady.  He said Fat Mama had dozen of bottles of pills, most of which she stole from her renters, using their medicaid cards and keeping the meds.  I knew she tried to get Parrish’s application, but he gave it to me to complete.  He said that Fat Mama told him she was going to open a Direct TV account in is name.  She told P to ask me if I would co-sign a loan application with her so she could buy a new truck!  I thought he was paranoid and tried to reassure him and went to fetch him.

We went out for a drive and I continued to try reassure P and try to convince him that Fat Mama couldn’t take out a contract with Direct TV in his name.  He has no job and no credit, so I let it go, though he continued to obsess over it.  He was so sluggish, he did’t want to eat and asked me to take him home so he could sleep.

The next morning, Thursday, Parrish called, saying he was in a bad place, that he was afraid someone would hurt him, that there were drugs everywhere and he was afraid “they” would steal his meds and his phone and his iPod.  When I arrived, he was standing in the street waiting for me.  He had a note from Big Mama asking me if I would use her food assistant card and give her the cash.  She tried to sell me her food card.  Hell, it could have been someone else’s, given her propensity for applying for them in the names of her tenants.  I balled up the note and threw it in my car trash can.  P said he woke in the night to find Big Mama “borrowing” his phone because hers was dead and she needed to make calls about the tree and other things.  He foolishly let her have it.  

Parrish continued to be fearful and insist that he needed to get out of the boarding house.  He said Fat Mama “borrowed” his phone because hers had been cut off by the power outage.  I called Parrish’s number and when she answered, I told her take the phone home and put it in his room.  (I later learned she did so only after using all of his minutes).  I brought him to my house to spend the day with me while I searched for a one bedroom apartment that is affordable and safe.  I learned that there is no public housing available in this town and that none of the facilities are taking applications until next year.  

I was frustrated and Parrish was anxious and didn’t want to go back to the house.  For as long as was practical, we stayed here and avoided going.  When it was nearly too late for me to be out alone in my car, I dropped P off with a stone in my stomach.  When I got home, I called his phone but it went straight to voice mail.  Of course it did.  There were no minutes left on it.

I didn’t sleep.  I was unsettled, wondering if I should have dropped Parrish at the house.  At 1:30, the thunderstorms rolled in with multiple lightening strikes and booming thunder. 

Belle panted loudly and wandering around the room.  There was no way to sleep through that noise.  Honey climbed on my stomach and shivered.  Then she jumped down and hid behind the toilet.  Now and then, she got on the bed, then jumped back down.  I did not make this up.  

There’s more......

© 2013 cjschlottman

March 25, 2013 - Tough Decision

On Sunday morning, I drove to the motel and brought Parrish back to my house.  He was coughing and blowing and feverish.  He was amazingly calm and said he was terrified all night that the thugs from the “House” would find him and hurt or even kill him.

He said he felt safe for the first time in weeks.  I doctored his cold/flu and he lay down on the sofa and was asleep almost at once.  I began to mull over what I should do with him.  I can’t afford a motel, and as I have reported before, there is no available public housing in Macon.  

Parrish spent the entire day sleeping, only getting up for soup and the bathroom.  He coughed in his sleep and was feverish again four hours after his cold medicine.  I re-dosed him and he lay back down, again asleep in minutes.

After prayer and self-examination, I made the difficult decision to allow him to stay here.  Rosemary will understand, but most will shake their heads and decide that I have lost my mind and my resolve.  I’m okay with what any of my readers think of this decision.  I know you are there for me.

I reiterated the importance that he not show out or drink while here, saying I would have to drop him at Salvation Army if he did.  I have put him out before.  

Parrish slept all morning.  He was still sick and feverish but rode with me to fetch his Cymbalta from River Edge and to Drivers Assistance to get an ID.  It was cold and extremely windy and the line was out the door.  I decided to go today.  Back home, he slept all afternoon.

In today's mail I found a check from Parrish's father and stepmother, a very generous gift of $2500. made out to P.   There was a previous check, but that's another post.  His stepmother* found my blog and learned of our situation and messaged me on Facebook.  We have exchanged several messages over the last month and agree to leave the past where it is and move forward with a clean slate.   Her generosity will go far.  I have found a one bedroom apartment for P, and we will need furnishings.  Him having  adequate funds is a huge help to me and I am grateful.

 *  I have not yet asked her if I may publish her name

© 2013 cjschlottman

March 15, 2013 - River Edge

03/15/13

It was Monday when the madness reached it’s peak. When I fetched Parrish to go to River Edge, the community health center for patients with behavioral disorders,

he was as manic as I have ever seen.  

He leaped into the car and began talking and shouting at the radio and laughing inappropriately and repeating my every word and perseverating.  

We arrived at River Edge with plenty of time for Parrish to be seen as a drop-in.  When he checked in, the clerk behind the glass said he didn’t have the required information to fill out an application.  

We thought that since P was treated there in October, having been referred by the Medical Center, that they would have his profile and could use the information.  Not so.  Since it has been over three months since he was seen, he is required to resubmit the documents that  prove he is eligible to receive treatment at the facility.

I dug into my file and found all the required documentation only to be told that it was too late in the day for Parrish to be seen.  I pleaded with the clerk, explaining that Parrish was in psychotic crisis, and that he was in dire need of medication.  He had two days left of the inadequate meds we got from the ER the last month.

The clerk, who had been aloof and hostile when P checked in, melted a little and slipped us in to see an admissions person.  The sympathetic woman there went out of her way to make arrangements for us to return the next day, Tuesday, for a nurse’s assessment. Such assessments are routine before the patient sees a doctor.  Parrish has an appointment with a doctor on April 11.  

The next morning, we presented ourselves for the appointment only to learn that it was pushed back to 11:00.  We went for coffee at Krispy Kreem and stood outside in the cold wind so P could chain smoke.  When we got back to the nurse’s office, I entertained him by helping him set up his phone.  It worked for a while but he got restless and loud and unhappy.

When we were ushered into the nurse’s office, Parrish’s mania intensified, and I was gratified that she could see the extent to which he is sick and in need of medication.  She obtained a record of his meds and had a psychiatrist write prescriptions.  

We left the assessment with five prescriptions and filled them at their pharmacy - four at $.50 and one for $3.00.  Yes, cj, there is a Santa Claus.  

It was two days before I could detect any improvement, but when P began to settle down, it was one of the most beautiful events in my life.  Yes, this is only the beginning, but we could not go forward with anything until he got medicated.

Yesterday, Thursday, three girls from his high school days picked him up and took him to Whistle Stop Cafe.  Earlier in the day we shopped for a few decent items of clothing so he would not be embarrassed.  He reported that he enjoyed the outing. 

Next Monday, March 17, Parrish will be evaluated by a court-appointed psychologist who will testify before the court as to Parrish’s fitness to take care of himself.  After that, the court will set a date for the hearing, and I should have guardianship by the first week in April.

A happy note:  Last spring, I planned a trip to Aix-en-Provence with Zona Rosa but was forced to cancel because of my illness.  Yesterday, after 10 months of trying to get the trip insurance company to pay, I found a check in my mailbox for $3,700  Yea!  Some good things are beginning to happen for me.  It makes the drama easier to tolerate.

© 2013 cj schlottman  

Emergency Meds 02/13/13

When I was fully awake, I called around and see if I could get a psychiatrist to see Parrish.  It was a long and frustrating endeavor.  They all slammed the door in my face the moment they learned that Parrish is indigent.  My last call was to a shrink in the same building as my therapist.  The receptionist was kind and sympathetic.  She advised me to call the “Life Line” at one of the local hospitals. 

I made the call.  A soft spoken woman advised me to take P to their emergency room.  She said the ER doctors would check out Parrish to ensure he is not suffering a physical event, and if they gave him a pass, a psychiatrist from the psych hospital would come and evaluate him.  All the while we were waiting, Parrish was becoming more manic by the minute. He was walking like a race walker and went in and out of the building to smoke.  

It was a while before everything was worked out, but the shrink wrote that P is schizophrenic and in crisis.  He gave him some prescriptions to tie him over for 30 days.  

We went directly to the pharmacy and filled the Lithium and Trazadone.  There was a script for Risperidal, an antipsychotic drug but because of the cost ($7.30 a pill), we decided to try the other drugs and see if they would be enough to keep him halfway sane.

His symptoms were softened, and we had hope that he would be able to make it until he sees the doctor.  We should have filled the Risperidal from the beginning.

© 2013 cj schlottman

In summary.........03/10/13

I am so behind on posts, I have decided to make this one a summary of the events that occurred since February 13.  I may edit out some minor details, but I want to keep it as concise and unwieldy as possible.  This is a month’s work of information.  You’ve read much of it before.  I am trying, without much success, to rearrange my posts so they are easier to read without being confused.

Between February 14 and 20, Parrish was, at intervals, psychotic, dissociative, manic and distracted. When he is manic, he can walk for miles and remain hyperactive.  He went to the club and tried to charge merchandise to me.  When the young man from the shop phoned to get my permission, I made sure he understood that P did not have consent to shop with my number. Later, he had no memory if being at the club.

We went the next day to fill the Risperdil that the ER physician wrote. Since he had to make it stretch over two weeks before seeing a doctor at the public health psychiatric facility, Parrish spread the doses over the days.

Over the following days and weeks, Parrish continued to have a multitude of severe symptoms. He walked the four miles to my house several times, and each time I drove him home. He took Risperdil when he recognized that he was becoming manic, but it was not enough or the proper dosage.  He continued to perseverate and his behavior was inappropriate much of the time.  He was so manic on the day I took him to the Social Security office that I had to constantly tell him to lower his voice. He bounced up to grab the door every time someone approached it.

I came home exhausted in the same way I am exhausted every time I spend more than a few minutes with him.

I continued to see my Psyciatrist and my Therapist.  They get credit for keeping me centered enough to deal with all the chaos. They have encouraged me in my petition for guardianship of Parrish.

Last week, Parrish gave me his debit card into which his SSI is deposited each month. I see this as progress.  He remains sober and attends meetings.  If he drinks, he will no doubt find himself back in jail.

Because he was in jail all of February and received his benefits when he should not have, he got no money for March. I will keep the card and when there are funds available, pay his rent and dole out an allowance to him. 

We are on a roller coaster that is breaking down. Parrish’s disease is spiraling him into more madness.  Tomorrow morning, we have an appointment at River Edge.  It is my fervent prayer that a physician there will make some much needed changes in his medicine and set up a treatment plan for him that includes an inpatient stay.

© 2013 cj schlottman

  

Blood on My Favorite Blouse - 02/06/13

Notebook/TRS - 02/06/13

This morning I woke up feeling refreshed and clear-headed, so I went out to do errands.  There were just a few stops to make, and as I was drove back home, I stopped at SteinMart which is on the way.

I needed essentials, like panties and bras, and I squatted down to look at panties.  After struggling to find my size, I chose several items, balanced myself on my right hand and stood up.  About two thirds of the way to a standing position, I lost my balance and fell into a rack of unmentionables.

I cried for help.  Store employees came quickly and disentangled the hangers caught in my hair.  I felt blood running down the back of my neck under my blouse, reached back to feel a large gash, then there was more blood running down the front of my blouse and sleeves.  My favorite blouse was soaked with blood stains.  The employees at SteinMart were well prepared and one of the women went for an ice pack while the other stayed with me and encouraged and soothed me as I lay on the floor, bleeding and shaking a little. 

I had one of the women fetch my phone from my purse, and I called my stepson, Robert.  He arrived quickly and sat me up.  With the ice pack in place, I got to my feet and left for Urgent Care.  I was holding the ice pack in place, but blood continued to ooze onto my neck.

It is not far from SteinMart to the urgent care facility, and we were there in about 10 minutes.  I presented myself at the desk and a clerk told to sit down.  Ever cooperative, I took a seat, bloody blouse and all.  When a another clerk called my name, I presented myself at her station, where she greeted me with, “Oh my goodness!  You should have been seen before now!”

Once in am examination room, Dr. Patel, a lovely man, came to have a look.  The cut was still oozing blood, and he had to clip a little of my hair to get to the gash.  It was about an inch and a half long and penetrated my scalp, exposing my skull.  Robert even took a picture of it.  Dr. Patel was quick to put five stitches in my scalp, and then he ordered me to go downtown to the emergency center and have a CT scan of my brain.

So, we got back into Robert’s Mini Cooper and drove downtown to the emergency center.  I was covered with blood and was quickly ushered into triage.  The nurse there examined the wound, took my vitals and said for me to have a seat and they would call me in a little while.

The first hour wasn’t so bad. The waiting room was about 80% full and it was cold.  I tried to get Robert to go home and let me call him when I finished.  He refused.

So, through hours two, three, and four, we sat and waited.  I ate junk food from snack machines and drank water.  When I used the bathroom, there was no hook for my purse.  Of all the places in the world that need hooks for belongings, hospital restrooms should be at the top of the list.  I returned to my seat and left my bag with Robert before returning to the restroom.

Thirty minutes later, at midnight, my injury was 6-1/2 hours old so we left for home. 

I was unable to sleep, but finally drifted away about 5:00 AM.  The back of my head was sore, but I didn’t have a headache.

© 2013 cj schlottman

A Visit From P - 02/07/13

Yesterday, with the help of some Tide and Biz, I cleaned all the blood from of my blouse.  It is practically sparkling!  It’s amazing what will make one happy while in the throes of one crisis after another.  In the middle of all the shit in my life right now, my first thought was of my bloody blouse.

A few hours later while I was in the den writing, the back door bell rang.  It never occurred to me that it would be Parrish, but when I walked into the kitchen, there he stood on the other side of the door.  If my door had not been locked, he would have walked inside, forgetting that to do so guaranteed a trip back to jail.

I stepped out onto the breezeway and asked what he wanted.  He said he came to fetch his duffle bag that was left behind the last time he was arrested.  He pitched for me to wash his clothes and drive him back to the house where he is living.

I refused to drive him home.  Instead, I directed him to the bus stop around the corner.

Claiming he was too tired to carry his bag, he asked to pick it up tomorrow, a thinly veiled attempt to get permission to come back.  No manner of insistence on my part could make him take the damned bag.  I finally told him he could pick it up tomorrow, but he was not to ring my bell.  I said I would leave it outside the closed garage door.

So there it sat, in my breezeway.  I lugged it inside, washed its contents, and placed it outside the garage door. 

About Parrish’s living arrangements, he moved into the house with one of his inmate friends.  Really, he did that. Not knowing whether he were walking into an opium den or a meth lab or worse, he blindly rented a room he had never seen.  I have not yet seen it 

Parrish’s judgement is more compromised than it was a few days ago, and every day that passes without medicine, he is more manic and inappropriate.  He is spending money on things he doesn’t need, like Starbuck’s and clothing.  He is more likely to drink and drug

© 2013 cj schlottman

King of Beers

Tucked against the brick of the garage wall and next to a planter full of pansies, it stands tall as a sentinel, the giant Budweiser bottle, empty and wearing its cap.  

Is it lost?  Who lost this beer bottle in my breezeway?  Was it left for me by a homeless one, grateful for having slept in the protection of the garage?  Nothing is missing, not even the pocket change I left on the little table.

Did he sleep on the floor or in my car?  No matter.  Was he here at all?  Of course he wasn't here.  He is a product of my imagination.  Or is he?

Who else would walk all the way from the street just to place this bottle so carefully, stage this scene?  What kind of person would do that? 

If Parrish were not in jail, I would immediately know it came from him, some sign that he was here though the judge forbade him to come to my house.

Does it mean anything?  Is it some sort of prank?  To what end?  If Israel found it in the yard, he would put it in the trash, not place it on the breezeway.  I am puzzled but not afraid.

  

There is nothing menacing about this beer bottle.  It is friendly and appears to be watching out for me.  I place it in the trash, wondering where it will end up next. 


© 2013 cj schlottman
  

Relapse - Again

I am in the middle of a relapse.  There, I said it, as much as it pains me to admit it.  This morning I could not put my earrings in my lobes, and my fine motor skills are compromised except when I am typing my blog posts and my journal.  What does that say about my situation?  Does it mean that the only thing that can override my shakiness is my desire to communicate through the written word?  

My gait is almost staggering.

My memory is once more holding me back.  This afternoon at the pet store, I couldn’t remember the word “harness” when I decided to buy a new one for Honey.  The clerk looked at me skeptically as I struggled to remember the word and ended up walking to the display and showing her what I wanted.    

These symptoms do not define me.  They are not the measure of who I am or who I will be.  They are what they are.  

It came to me that my symptoms may be related to diet.  I don’t eat enough fresh and whole foods.  I don’t eat enough whole grains.  I don’t eat enough cold water fish.  I should concentrate more on preparing and consuming healthy foods.  

As proof of my compromised mental acuity, I will tell the story of locking the keys in my car at Harris Teeter this afternoon.  I didn’t take my phone into the store.  If it were in my pocket, I would have been able to open the car with OnStar.  But, the phone was parked right next to my keys.  I have no idea why I left it in the car.

I called Sea Island Security and they sent a car to fetch me and take me back to the house for my other set of keys.  A beautiful black man with shiny skin and a smile a foot wide drove me all the way to the north end of Sea Island and waited while I got the keys.  Then he drove me back.  My life is blessed with angels.


© 2013 cj schlottman

The Trip to Paradise

We left Macon at 4:45 and yesterday’s trip was about normal for me.  My usual trip anxiety set in and I had several errands to finish, including having the dogs bathed and making a trip all the way down to the vet’s office to get Belle’s arthritis medicine.  I was here before I realized I got the wrong dosage.  

I only left two things that are important:  my pain medicine and dog food.  

On the way down, I took a wrong turn in Jesup, of all places.  I have driven through that town what seems like 100 times without getting lost.  I turned at the wrong intersection and started down a road that immediately appeared unfamiliar.  So, I stopped for advice and was directed back the way I came.  Soon I was in familiar territory, and got back on track.  

After arriving on Saint Simons Island, I stopped at Harris Teeter for dog food and milk.  The wind was cold and blowing what felt like a gale, but it did not affect my joy at being on the coast again.

Sea Island Causeway leads to the guard house that sits just before Village Creek, the body of water separating the island from Saint Simons.  The guards are young with eager and shiny faces.  An attractive young man handed me my Sea Island pass, and I tossed it into the  windshield and drove the 37 or so blocks down Sea Island Drive to Ocean Forest, the gated and very exclusive community where my wonderful friend, Deidra, has a house.  It is at the end of the road and overlooks the Hampton River.  The dogs and I have the house to ourselves.   

It was dark at land’s end.  I got out and found the key, opened the house and turned on some lights.    Instead of leaving the dogs in the car, I let them out and into the house.  Stiff and sore from driving, I was slow to unload the few things I packed in my car.  The steps are steep, as are the stairs in the house.  Out of shape and already exhausted, I struggled with the stairs every time I climbed them.  I don’t know how many trips back and forth from the car it took to deliver our things up to my room. 

Belle was whining at the bottom of the stairs, and I assumed she was hungry.  I fed both of the dogs from the bag of dog food from Harris Teeter, but neither would eat it.  Since Baby’s medicine was not strong enough for her, I cut an aspirin in half and stirred it into her food.  She turned up her nose at it.  I resorted to mixing in some chicken noodle soup from a can.  No go.  Honey did eat her food after I put in the soup.  

I crawled back upstairs to find some Aleve and grab my iPad.  Belle pooped on the floor before I stumbled back down.  Thank God she missed the rug.  I cleaned up the mess and put both dogs on leashes and took them outside for a walk.  The wind nearly blew all of us off our feet, but we managed to stay out long enough for the dogs to finish their business.  

Since it was 9:00 PM when we arrived, bedtime came soon.  Honey and I went upstairs to get ready for bed, and before I could brush my teeth, Baby was back at the foot of the stairs, wailing.  I went down to encourage her to come up, but she refused.  She was afraid.  That fear, along with her crippling arthritis, grounded her.  I went back upstairs to finish my toilette, she continued to whine.  I left on my warmup pants and sweater and went down to sit with Belle until she fell asleep in her bed.

After an hour, Honey and I went back upstairs and were tucking ourselves in when the wailing began anew.  Down we went, and Honey and I fell asleep on the sofa.


© 2013 cj schlottman

Rest and Relax

I woke at 3:30, every bone and muscle screaming.  While Belle continued to sleep, Honey and I dragged ourselves upstairs and fell into bed.  

At 6:30 Belle was at the bottom of the stairs, howling.    I brushed my teeth to the song of her complaint and we were downstairs in just a few minutes.  Out the back door, the river rolled by and the weather was blustery and cold.  The dogs didn’t seem to mind, but the wind whipped my hair into my face, stinging it.  

The dogs were energized by the fresh and cool air, and they jumped around, entangling me in their leashes as I worked to keep my sweater wrapped around me and my hair out of my eyes.

With some effort, we disentangled without any major accident.  They dogs were not ready to leave the yard and continued to celebrate the fresh air.  I resorted to begging and bribing with the offer of food.

Again, neither dog would eat, and Belle needed her medicine.  In the pantry, I found a can of dog food especially made to sweeten their food.  It worked.

The rest of the day was devoted to settling in.  I could not find my dental guard, though I had worn it during the night, nor could I find the extra one I thought I packed.  I put away my clothes, and figured out how to work the TV.   

All of us were so tired from the trip and no sleep, the day was devoted to settling in to relax and enjoy the view across the river all the way to Little Saint Simons Island, and out over the Atlantic Ocean.  There was plenty of time for writing and napping.

Late in the afternoon, we walked down lush Ocean Forest Drive, and on the way back, I pulled Spanish moss off of some trees and brought it to the house.  I’m going to take it home and see if it will grow in my back yard.  

In an effort to find myself I’m reading the Diamond is your Pocket by Gangaji.  I hope I will acquire some knowledge that makes my life better.  I’ll write a book review on The Red Sweater.


© 2013 cj schlottman