Hope Dies Hard

 There are times when I'm brought back in my imagination to that place in the desert, the military base which I've constructed from actual photos. I can only imagine what it actually looked like to him. The photos are very few and limited in what they show. Day by day for about 6 months I imagined him waking and going to sleep. I tried to think about what his day looked like, although I had no idea. I read several books on military chaplains on deployment. I read about their duties, their locations, the challenges they faced and the things they did. I tried to picture him in many of these activities. Mostly, I saw him listening to service members share their struggles and he in turn giving counsel, guidance, comfort, and praying with them. That was not hard to imagine.

It baffles me to this day, totally mystifies me, as to why I cared so much. Why was I so curious? Why do those memories drift across my consciousness now that I know there was another woman who was privy to all that information? There was someone who regularly face timed him and actually saw his room and the area that he lived in. She spoke to him regularly and heard about his daily activities and thoughts about such things. When I found out she existed and has been in a relationship with him during his deployment I wrestled with envy and disappointment that I had not been the one in that position. 

As I struggled with tears and heart anguish over this new revelation, I heard God quietly push into my thinking, ever so gently and matter-of-fact, "You didn't miss out on anything."  I'm not exactly sure what to make out of that revelation. But I trust God and I know he knows best for me.

Still, I have this haunting feeling that I left a part of myself in that desert, my hopes and anticipation, my desire for reuniting, left drifting like sand that gets carried away when the wind whips up, off into the distance. And yet, I recall this experience many, many years ago (https://halfdozengirls.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-vacationed-in-hell-and-lived-to-tell.html). 

God is with me and he finds me, faithfully and mercifully, again and again. I am overcome by gratitude.

Hope dies hard, but God excels in hard.

Notable Notes

 

     He asked me, again, to meet him in his room because he needed "to talk." Bipolar, mixed phase sliding toward the more depressive side, with notable paranoia. The other nurses and I had animated conversations about his constant, attention-seeking paranoid delusions as being just that - attention seeking and thus, behavioral in nature. I on the other hand, having taken care of him for several days throughout the week, noted the genuine fear in the paranoid delusions. "When I was in the ER, they gave me IV fluids and I think they poisoned me....When I was sleeping at the hospital before I came to this one, I think I got raped. My butt hurts....I got raped, I know it. I think I have HIV. I want an HIV test.....I have a headache, I think I have a brain tumor. I want a CT scan. Call the doctor NOW-I need an Xray of my head!" And on and on the delusions went. I patiently attempted to address each one and, if need be, contact the doctor to see if further testing might be warranted, or a possible medication change, or a complete set of vitals, or....Oh, I'm exhausted just remembering this patient!

     And then, this request:

"I want to see your notes."

"You can't see my notes. They are mine. Why do you want to see them?"

"I just want to see them. I want to see my medical records and the doctor's notes. I want to see what people are saying about me."

"You can't see my notes or the doctor's notes. You can see some of your medical record on your iPad app the hospital provides, but it is limited in the information. It won't have the notes."

"Well, then, I want to see your notes."

"Why do you want to see my notes?"

"Because I want to see what you're saying about me. I don't think you like me."

"Why do you think I don't like you?"

"I don't know - it's just a vibe I get."

"Have I done something to indicate that I don't like you? I have made a lot of effort these past few days to answer your questions, spend time talking to you and helping you in any way I can."

"Well, I just don't think you like me."

"What I don't like is being told that I don't like you when I have done nothing to indicate that I don't like you and many things to indicate that I care about you and want to help you have a good day and get better."

"Well, I guess I'm just treating you like I treat my mom."

"Ok. I can understand that. Do you want to know what my notes say? They say that you are having paranoid delusions, disorganized thought processes and that you are easily overwhelmed and slow to process information."

"Oh, yeah, I guess that's accurate."

END of conversation. Reality orientation can be SO effective.

Phew!

*All descriptions of any identifiable data of each patient have been drastically altered to comply with HIPAA laws. If you think I'm referring to you or someone you know, you would be completely wrong.

Supermodels In My Midst

    

     The shift had started out fairly routine on the inpatient psychiatric unit I worked on. After getting my patient assignment I went to speak to each of my patients. One of my patients had very serious substance abuse problems and had told me about being a dancer and an artist* overseas in her earlier years. So, of course, I googled her name and yes, she had, in fact, been a very beautiful model at one time. The years of alcohol abuse, eating disorders, drug abuse, and multiple medical issues had aged her significantly. She had been physically beautiful with strawberry blonde hair, chiseled cheekbones, and clear aquamarine eyes. What remained was shades of her former beauty, wrinkles around those beautiful, now-faded blue eyes and blotchy skin. The most attractive thing about her was a sharp, intelligent and slightly sarcastic wit.  I liked her. We talked extensively about her life and I found her charming and brilliant, if not sad and aging in a most melancholy way.

     I went to my next patient to check on her. She had no psychiatric history but a dabble in recreational drugs landed her in my psychiatric unit. She was very bizarre and stunningly beautiful. She worked in the government sector,* but could've been a supermodel. She was slender and without one bit of makeup she had beautiful skin and cheekbones with bright green eyes and silky, rich brown hair which flowed over her shoulders in soft curls. She took her hospital issued green pajama top and tied it above her navel and wore tight bicycle shorts. She was rather flirtatious and limits had to be set on her clothing and her behavior. She was also very strange in what she talked about and how she acted. However, when her friends visited her, they were stunningly beautiful as well. They were a sight to see, worried about her, showering her with gifts and expressing worried exclamations. The whole lot of them glowed in loveliness and museum-like paintings of beautiful, perfect people.

     The next order of business I was assigned to was to round with the treatment team. This team included, but was not limited to, the attending psychiatrist, at least one or two resident psychiatrists, one medical student, one social worker, a nurse (me) and possibly a nursing student. It was a big group! I was assigned to a team which rounded on a patient whom I was not assigned to. I entered this male patient's room with the rest of the psychiatric professional entourage and, thankfully, was wearing a mask as it was the end of covid. This young male patient was short and rotund, with messy blonde hair and patchy facial hair with spotted acne over his forehead.* His facial features were pleasant, but rather plain from a purely aesthetic view. The resident psychiatrist began asking the patient why he was in the hospital. The patient answered, straight-faced as can be,  "Well, I'm a star athlete at the college I go to. I'm also one of the smartest people at that school. And I'm a supermodel." As I mentioned before, I was thankful to be wearing a mask because I couldn't help but smile broadly underneath that thin piece of yellow paper and suppress a chuckle. He didn't look like a supermodel, but adamantly and confidently asserted that he was one. Talk about delusions of grandeur! I exited the room earlier than the rest because I was so worried I'd laugh out loud.

     It was an interesting, and dare I assert, beautifully bizarre day on the psychiatric unit. 

*All descriptions of any identifiable data of each patient have been drastically altered to comply with HIPAA laws. If you think I'm referring to you or someone you know, you would be completely wrong. 

"A Cord of Three Strands Is Not Easily Broken"

Tim and I had a wedding celebration in late November of 1992 after we married in Las Vegas several months earlier. It appeared to be a normal wedding, complete with a wedding program. On that program the verse was written: "A cord of three strands is not easily broken." We liked that verse because we added Jesus to the other two strands that made up me and Tim. With Jesus intertwining our marriage, we would be a strong unit, so the sentiment and hope went. But "not easily broken"  is not "not broken."

     

 It was November 8, 2020 and I was walking into Wal-Mart early Sunday morning. I felt a sharp sensation as my finger touched my wedding band. What was that? I looked down and there was a crack in the outer band of my wedding ring. I tried to twist it off my finger but found it too sharp for the fingers trying to remove it. Soap in the Wal-Mart bathroom did nothing to help slide it off either. I finished my shopping and went home - or that is, to the home we had just moved into the day before in Arcadia. Our house in Sierra Madre had sold in 10 days  for full asking price with an all cash offer. We tried to get out of the sale, having changed our mind that there was no bidding war and that the price had not gone higher, but we could not. We moved out about two weeks later.

     It was a long, grueling move. We only had two hired helpers and it was a rainy day. It took all day long, but finally, we were moved out and the Sierra Madre house was cleaned. I was exhausted from the move, but needed to get some things from Wal-Mart the next day because I was scheduled to work on Monday morning. When I arrived back home, I tried in futile pursuit to remove that ring, but the sharpness cut into my other fingers. I knew I had to go to Urgent Care.

     It took three people and a huge tool from REI to cut and twist those two thick gold inner and outer bands off my finger. I remember the PA holding my arm up to reduce the swelling and so facilitate the removal of the ring. The two nurses and one tech pushed, pulled, yanked and finally got that ring off my finger. They handed it to me and I looked at it all twisted up and open. I said my thank yous and walked out the door.

     "You are free to go. So tightly have you held on to your marriage that it took three people, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, to set you free. I want you to know that I have done this; you had no part in the end of your marriage." I was a little puzzled by the impression, but knew that it meant something. I doubted that I had heard accurately.

     Two weeks later Tim came to me and told me he wanted a divorce. I was shocked and said, "Why don't we go to counseling? We have the money now to afford a really good counselor." Tim solemnly and with no expression shook his said. His mind was made up and our marriage was over. I was part stunned and part elated. I know what the Bible says about letting an unbelieving spouse leave a marriage if they want to go; let them! God had heard my desperate cries to deliver me from such a miserable, painful and hopeless marriage. I had brought up divorce when we were cleaning out and fixing up our house to sell it about a month prior. My heart had been utterly broken when Tim sided with Elena in a disagreement she and I had. His lack of support and care for me was more than I could bear. I told him the marriage was over. He didn't say anything. And he said nothing when I told him a few days later that I didn't want to divorce him because of how devastating that would be to our finances and the kids college money. He said nothing, just waited till after everything got settled in our new rental home.

     Several weeks later I appealed to him again about a divorce eating up the money we had gotten out of the sale of our house in a divorce and two separate households, as opposed to our children's education. He listened to me and appeared deflated, but didn't say a word. The tension in the months to come was palpable, even when he spent weeks at a time up north helping his elderly mother out. The boiling point came several months later when he yelled at me and came very close to my face. He was so angry and I knew: let him go. It still took me a couple of weeks later to approach him and ask him if he wanted to still be married to me, if he still had feelings for me as his wife. The answers were yes and no, respectively. I clarified and repeated the conversation just to make sure he was sure. He was sure. 

     Thirteen months later, at the end of July 2022, I got the notification from the court that the divorce was final. It wasn't a happy moment then and it still isn't now. However, I am much happier and freer in so many ways. Tim and I are good friends and we are kind to one another. He is remarried and I am single. I love the peace of mind, heart and soul I have being single, but early post-divorce dating foolishness wounded me deeply these last two years. I'm not sure if I'll find someone, but I do miss physical closeness, intimacy and the companionship that comes along with marriage on the better days.

     For now, I'm content and trusting God for whatever and whomever he has for me. I just noticed that the indent on my ring finger has finally lessened to where you would never know from my ring finger that I was ever married for almost 30 years.

It's Been So Long

Smiley me in the sunshine next to the San Gabriel River this morning in Azusa Canyon.

     Blogging has gone out of style in 2025. It's been over a decade since I've written in this blog, primarily because my creative writing juices have dried up, so to speak. There are many reasons for this; busyness, stress, time suckers like social media and massive life changes.

     I don't aim to update this blog, per se, but to pick up at this spot, so many years later since the last post. I am aiming to post more regularly, knowing it will probably not be read by anyone IRL - a new acronym since I stopped blogging. The fact that it could be read by someone is enough to motivate me to put some effort into make it interesting and something that I would like to read in the years to come. I'd like it to be an accurate reflection of where I'm at now in whichever way I choose. It's so different from social media where people know others will see what they post. The temptation to only post "Instagram-worthy" photos and to present an ideal image is quite intense. This blog has never been about that. I didn't intentionally put ugly pictures of myself and my children up for the world to see in my various blogs, but I was honest about what was happening in our lives, mostly.

     I'm not on social media anymore, which is a recent occurrence. I'm so relieved. I feel like my life and activities and even my appearance can be cocooned away in the world that used to exist - a world in which people far away could only see what you looked like that day from photos or, well, I don't really know. There are plenty of people who post things online without ever posting photos of themselves as they are currently. That's not really the point. The point is that recently I deleted all of my social media apps from all of my devices. I had obsessed over a man in which I was hoping to rekindle a relationship with for almost two years. I just recently discovered that he had another woman he seems to be in love with and she posts pictures - fabulous looking photos - of her life, her accomplishments, her children, and her happy, ebullient-looking boyfriend. She, of course, is beautiful. Of course.

     But that is all in the recent past. To reshape my habits of checking if he had returned from his extra long deployment, when he indicated that he "might" call me when he got back, getting off social media altogether, vigilantly, and completely was my only hope for moving on, healing and recovering. And I absolutely did not want to be tempted to peek at his girlfriend's Instagram page and see happy photos, engagement photos, wedding photos, etc. I can be kind to myself.

     This whole discussion begs the most obvious update on this blog: where is Tim in all this?! He and I divorced in 2022, one month before our 30th wedding anniversary. I felt relieved and set free after a semi-challenging divorce process. Two and half years away from it I've begun to think about what actually happened. So, here goes: Julia was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes in 2019. She was just 10 years old and it was a very scary and hard adjustment. It mandated a job change for me to a more challenging working environment with an awful manager. I was so miserable and stressed out at that job. I gained about 40 pounds and was miserably heavier than I had ever been. Work pressures at Tim's job were getting worse and worse. He was being bullied by his students and his administrators. He was having severe, debilitating, long, depressive episodes, drinking hard liquor and our communication and sex life plummeted. We were having a hard time getting plugged in to a church where we could have a supportive care group and pastor to help us. Leanne was still struggling with psychogenic seizures and I was also trying to recover from my brother's death in 2017. Life was just hard. Miserable. So difficult.

     Then COVID occurred. Nothing improved with COVID. The girls were miserable not being in school and the lawsuits Tim had filed with a Worker's Comp attorney were going nowhere fast. The pressure cooker of life during COVID was almost unbearable. One late night, Tim was rearranging all of Julia's cords and chargers in her room - including her cell phone and insulin pump charger, when she started screaming at Tim to stop. Somehow, Daisy was upset because her cords and chargers were getting rearranged, too. I tried to intervene then walked away, but it was almost 11 pm and I so desperately wanted everyone to go to bed. Nothing I was doing could settle anyone down - the girls were screaming and Tim was completely ignoring them, causing them to scream hysterically. This was not unusual of Tim to ignore our pleas to change something about his irritating or inconsiderate behavior - he simply ignored us or defended himself. In my exhaustion and desperation to get all the screaming to stop - I shoved Tim as he was bending down right in front of the piano. I was instantly horrified at what I had done. He screamed and the girls looked terrified. I began to apologize, but Tim was furious. An ill-fated family meeting the following day where I tried to apologize to Tim and the girls for what I did and discuss what led up to it failed with Tim storming off and blaming me for everything.

     Several months later we put our home on the market for sale. It sold in 10 days. We moved out about 1 week later. What follows is a story for my next blog post. Writing all of this down is rather wearisome. This is a good stopping point.

A beautiful scene near the river bank. I desperately needed some nature time. It was uncrowded and I was delighted to take in how beautiful and serene it was.

Near the water's edge. The gently gurling water was so delightful!