I use it almost every time we go xomewhere. This time we got our vacation book while we were still on vacation! So when it came in the mail I also got a code for $10 off a purchase ofover $10, and I am giving it away. If you can use it before it expires go for it!
Use this code in the promo box at check out. Enjoy! Let me know if you use it, thanks!
First of all they don't give conjugal visits here in Colorado so if you were hoping for some smutty details I'll just disappoint you now.
I first went to visit my husband in prison in May of 2001. Prior to that he had been in Mesa County jail for over a year. Jail visits are different then prison, worse I'd say because now they use a video camera and you can't actually look each other in the eye. It's like a skype chat. But when I went to see him in Walsenburg, it was a private prison facility. They allow certain things like a short greeting kiss, coins for purchasing food and drinks and you sit together at a table where you can hold hands. I was bringing Riley, our son and it would be the first time that they touched, Riley was already 8 months old and had not been held by his daddy. I was struggling through a mess of red tape to get there. First you have to send in an application and wait for it to be approved, that takes a couple weeks and you can't do it until they get to the facility where you plan to visit. So once it was approved we made the plans to go, we would stay with Rob's grandparents who happened to live in Walsenburg. I had a little money but i had not worked since before Riley was born and was still making payments on my car so it was very tight for us. We decide to leave on Friday and visit on Saturday and Sunday. On the way there at the highway exit before the one I needed to take my car died. I sat there with the hood up and Riley in my arms wondering what I would do, when someone offered us a ride to town. Thankfully Rob's grandparents knew someone who could tow the car to a shop, I had no way of paying for anything and no idea what was wrong with the car. Jack and Jeannie (the grandparents) took care of it for us, and even drove us to the prison for visits. We got inside, that was a process; push the button at the gate, state your business, proceed to the door, wait for them to unlock it, go through to the next door and wait again. Then you're in the lobby, you have to fill out paperwork there and go through their "shake down". They tell you what you can leave in a locker and what you have to take back to your car, only certain things are allowed for the baby, two diapers, a blanket, a bottle. The diapers stay out in the locker you can't change the baby in the visitation room, you have to do it in the bathroom with a guard watching. Also they want to pat down your clothes and check inside the diaper before you go in, take off your earrings, necklaces and all but one ring. They look in your mouth, ears, and ask you to turn your pockets inside out. If you have anything considered suspicious they can deny your visit or call the police and have you arrested. I was in the middle of being "pat down" when the phone rang at the desk and it was for me! Color me shocked, he said it was about my car. I looked at him and said "I don't care if I ever see that car again, I just want to kiss my husband!" But I took the call and told them to go ahead and fix it.
Next we go through another set of double doors where we wait for the next one to open and finally get nto the visitation room, the officer there assigns us a table and we sit down and wait. I don't remember how long it was before he came in, and I wanted to run to him but you are under such intense scrutiny that you dare not do anything like that. We hugged and kissed VERY briefly and sat down at our table. Rob was holding Riley but Riley wasn't very receptive so it was a little uncomfortable, but we were just so happy to be together again nothing could dampen our spirits. We talked, ate junk food, drank soda and even played games they had available to use. There would be many many more of these visit over the years and it would not always go smoothly, in fact we were kicked out once and threatened many times. But I will get to those stories another time. Here is a photo taken in the visitation room, they did that from time to time, and yes we paid for it.
I have been putting off writing about the death of my sister Misty all month. I am 42 years old and I am grateful to be here with my family, I only wish my sister was here too. The story is intertwined with the birth of my son Riley. I got pregnant in January 2000 and just a month or so later my sister was pregnant too. We had shared our first two pregnancies as I mentioned in those birth stories, so we were very happy to be sharing another set of cousins. Only it would not go the way we planned.
In March of 2000 my husband was arrested, he would not come home for eight years. It was around that time my sister started noticing what we called a "pain in the butt". It was a bump on her right buttock that was getting bigger and causing her pain. After many doctors examined her including a dermatologist she finally got a biopsy of it and it came back positive for cancer. It was a huge blow for all of us. They said it was soft tissue sarcoma, one of the deadliest forms of cancer. There was no explanation for how or why, just a sadness and bleak outlook for the future. I remember when she called to tell me the news and then maybe having one more conversation with her before it was determined that the pregnancy was part of the problem.
I have to back up just a little here because in 1999 I had an IUD placed for birth control. After less then three months I was found to be pregnant. It was a difficult dilemma considering how new our relationship was, we were planning our wedding but it was a few months away still. The situation was that I was already miscarrying, I had been bleeding before I knew about the pregnancy, and the doctors could not find where it had implanted. So I opted not to do anything, it was a risk because if it was in the Fallopian tube it could rupture and I could bleed to death. But when Rob and I discussed it we both felt that if there was any chance of a life being saved inside me it was worth some risk. They told us over and over that it was not a "viable pregnancy", meaning I would not have a baby result from it, but we waited. Eventually another doctor did an ultrasound and found a pool of blood behind the uterus, he also removed the IUD and gave me a shot to stop the bleeding. I think I always considered myself "pro-life" but after this test, I knew I would put my baby before myself even in the case of losing my life.
I didn't talk to my sister again until she was in the hospital having already aborted her baby boy at 20 weeks gestation. My calls to her went unanswered and she went through with the procedure in order to begin chemotherapy and treat the cancer. The day she called me from the hospital still haunts me. She said that the baby was born, they named him Matthew Robert. He was alive and breathing but they just expected him to die, they weren't making any attempts to keep him alive, not feeding him or anything. My heart was breaking in so many pieces I did not know what to say, I just listened. So much of it is from memory and since I wasn't there I may be wrong about it. My mom said that she had changed her mind midway through the procedure and they tried to stop but the baby was already gone by then. I was in the middle of my own struggles when we talked so it's all pretty foggy. She seemed distant probably still medicated and we would not have many opportunities to talk during the next few months of her treatment. Mom also said that the doctors had told her the baby would not live through the pregnancy anyway, and in order for my sister to have a chance they had to begin right away. Well about six months later they were declaring success, she had radiation and even though the cancer had spread through her body they thought that the chemotherapy had worked and on a final scan all they could see was a suspicious spot on her lung. I don't remember if that was before or after doing exploratory surgery on her lungs, but I do remember the scars on her back. We started going to the gym together, or more or less ran into each other there frequently. She was still bald and every now and then someone would mistake her for a man in the locker room, until they saw her face. By now Riley had been born and was a few months old. Misty and her husband Dan decided to go on a vacation to celebrate her clean bill of health, and they took a trip to Mexico. Just a couple months after they returned she was pregnant again. It was quite a shock, she thought the treatments had rendered her infertile, but that was not the case. We were spending more time together and talked a lot about how I had lost a baby by miscarriage and she had lost one as well. She was very worried about her situation, she asked me one day "what if the same thing happens again?" I replied with a question to her, "what if the same things keep happening over and over until we make the right choice?" I didn't want to see her go through this again, and at the same time I didn't know why so many hard things had happened lately. We had made some hard decisions and I think we both felt some regret. She must have known there was something wrong during her pregnancy but she never said anything to the doctors about it until she was 28 weeks gestation. She had been coughing a lot and when they did a scan the spot on her lung had grown to the size of a grapefruit. They induced labor the next day and Robert was born two months premature but healthy. I went to visit him in the NICU, I helped give him a bath and get him dressed. He was so tiny. I remember her saying that it looked like I knew what I was doing, she was supposed to be caring for him but she seemed to be in a daze. I don't know all the details of the treatments she went through over those next months. I know she had brain surgery to remove a tumor that had grown, and she had them all over her body. But they were not expecting her to survive this time. By the time they found that the cancer had returned it had spread throughout her body. I sat with her in the hospital during her last week of life, she was heavily medicated with morphine. She woke up only occasionally, but she introduced me to her friends from church and talked a little. Her baby had gone home after two months and was doing well, being cared for by his Dad and aunt. The girls were 6 and 8 I think, they knew what was happening to their mom and were in counseling with hospice. Mom and I had been there almost all night and finally decided to get some sleep, when we came back the next morning she was gone. I saw her lifeless body swollen and gray. I prayed there in her room, cried a little and left. I got conflicting stories about what exactly had happened, but essentially she suffocated. Her lungs had never recovered and the tumors were pressing in on her until she took her last breath. What an awful way to die, it was better that we weren't there to witness it I think, we would have freaked out. We had her funeral service within a week, we had just buried my aunt a week before that and she had also died of lung cancer but hers was attributed to smoking cigarettes. She also left behind four children and one grandchild at the time. It was a hard time of many sorrows and I still sometimes wonder how we got through it. The picture is of my sister and her family around the day that Robert was born, he is now eleven years old.
I hope to see my sister again in the life to come.
When I moved to Grand Junction I had my cat Romeo as my only pet.
But it wasn't long before we acquired several more pets. I was mainly a cat person, Jason and I adopted a long haired himalayan from the Humane Society, named Giz. Then we got Oscar a registered pedigree Persian from the Pet store. I decided I wanted to breed kittens and we got our mother Persian from the same person I had gotten Cass from in Meeker. We named her Pandora. I was working at a convenience store in the Redlands and became familiar with the people in the area. I met a man with a small dog he needed a home for, she was part Shitzsu part Lhasaapso her name was Madison. I brought her home from work one day. We had a small one bedroom house but it had a big yard and we still wanted one more dog. We tried a couple out before we found the right one. We had Snuggles who would not stay in the yard, although we loved him we had to give him back. We liked the look of the Chow and began to look for one. We found a chow mix and had him for a little while, I called him Thunder but we gave him to Rob (who is now my husband) and he called him Malachi. Finally we found a breeder in town with a new litter puppies and we went to see them. It was a hefty price for a pet but about the same as we paid for Oscar so we came home with Thor, a red fluffy pure bred Chow. We knew he was the right choice when I set him down in the house, and he walked to the screen door, pushed it open went outside and pee'd on the sidewalk. Then he came back and looked at me, he was trained already at only 6-8 weeks old.
We loved our large family of pets and when we decided to move to south Florida we took all of them with us. We rented a U-haul and a car trailer. We put our stuff. In the U-haul and let all the pets ride in the car, my 1985 Mazda RX7. It was only a two seat car with a small hatchback, so they did not have much room. The dogs had the front seats and the cats had carriers in the hatchback but eventually we let them roam the car too, it was black and hot inside but we kept the windows down some and they all did fine, we had a litter box for the cats on the floorboard. It was a three day trip if I remember right. We stayed in pet friendly motels so we could bring them all in with us. Except the night we stayed in New Orleans there were no pet friendly motels, so they all stayed in the car.
It took a couple tries in Fort Lauderdale to find the right place to live, the first one allowed pets but it was infested with roaches and the neighborhood was very bad, there were drugs being sold and prostitutes walking around. So we looked for that month and found a suitable place in Pompano Beach. A two bedroom duplex for $450 a month, perfect.
I took Thor and Maddie for walks around the neighborhood and she walked out in front of him and people commented that they looked like the big one chasing the little one. But they loved eachother. He had the common problem that Chows have with their eyes running from the fur rubbing them and she would stand up on his shoulders and lick his eyes clean. Thor was never aggressive but he had a mean loud bark when someone unfamiliar came around. He bonded with both Jason and me, and if a stranger came near us he would growl at them. Even when Jason's mom stayed with us for the birth of our son Nicolas, she got up in the night to use the bathroom and he growled at her, he stayed right outside our bedroom door and she could not have come in there if she wanted to. It was around that time that our cat had her first litter of kittens and when we were at Lamaze class Maddie had killed two of them, leaving only one, the blue one, Sebastian. She had four one died right away and I sobbed over it, but the others were doing great. Two were definitely black and one had black hair with grayish tips they call it a blue. I was so angry with Maddie I could not keep her, I gave her to a girl in the neighborhood, and later found out she had gotten pregnant by the Scottish Terrier across the street. She had three puppies, only two lived, I never got to see them.
One day we woke up to find Thor in the front yard laying down, it was unusual for him to get out, we had a good fence around the yard and he was always well behaved. He was hurt but we didn't know why. We took him to the vet, they said he had a high fever and hip displacia. But that was common in Chows and it didn't explain the fever. He had trouble walking when we found him on the front lawn, but he seemed to recover.
It was about a week later I had gone to my mommy and me class with my baby Nicolas and when we got home, Thor was laying in the driveway dead. I cannot explain the panic and grief I felt. I paged Jason with a 911 to let him know it was urgent and told him Thor was dead. We were so stunned, he was only a couple years old and had been in good health. We took his body to the same vet, they could not give us any explanation either, they disposed of him for free and gave us their condolences. We went to our neighbors in the duplex to ask if they had any idea about what had happened to him, what we heard was horrific. The worst imaginable thing a pet could have suffered. They were there the day he died and they saw what happened.
Apparently, the kid living in the house next tours was in a gang, a Puerto Rican gang of teenagers. They frequently took his pitbull dog around the neighborhood to fight with other dogs. That's what we think happened the day we found Thor laying on the front lawn, obviously Thor had triumphed. But they could not let that be, they came back for revenge the day I was gone. There was a circle of kids, teenagers and younger they had the dogs fight again and again Thor was taking down the pitbull. So the kids took 2x4 boards and baseball bats and beat him to death. I can't imagine how horrible my poor dog felt, they had enticed him out of the yard, threatened him and then beat him for no reason other than to entertain themselves. It was so disturbing and shocking to us we wanted to go over there and get that kid. Instead we called the police. We told them what had happened, it was in fact a felony to kill someone's pet and we wanted him charged. The police were all too familiar with this kid, they said they would file the case if we wanted to press charges but the kid was 17 and was already on house arrest for attempted murder, he had shot someone at the grocery store nearby. So knowing of his gang involvement and track record the police asked us if we were prepared to take all that on ourselves, with a new baby at home and all. We decided it was not the answer and within two weeks from the day Thor died we were driving away in another U-haul headed north to New Jersey. I wanted so badly to aim the shotgun we had at that kid and pull the trigger as we drove away, he was sitting outside his house looking so smug, but I took the high road and prayed Lord God let your judgement be upon him for what he has done to us. Thor was the best dog we ever had and I still get choked up thinking about him.
I know there are probably a few people out there who want to know the real story, the least I can do is tell my side of it. I was in therapy/counseling for years after my stepfather's abuse. I started to work at the hospital in town before my senior year of high school and continued past graduation. I was the front desk receptionist, I answered calls and helped people find what they needed, even getting them to the ER when necessary. I think I met "Ed" at the hospital, but it could also have been at my therapists office because he worked there as a counselor a subordinate to my therapist who was the director of that office. I don't remember much about how I got involved with Ed but I know he called me at the apartment I shared with my boyfriend at the time, and although we were already on the rocks, that call added to it. We broke up and I moved into my own apartment not long after. I remember riding around at night with Ed and his friend, a social worker, and my friend Heidi two years my junior. It occurred to me later that there were two guys over thirty and two teenage girls, I was barely over eighteen, but we were used to dating older men it was the two of them that should have seen it as inappropriate. I dated Ed for several months, he lived in Rangely which was 60 miles away but we made trips back and forth and he worked in Meeker once a week so we saw each other often and talked on the phone. It was never exclusive, I continued to date other people and he tried to but failed. He may have had one woman on the phone a lot but I don't think she was really interested in him. He wasn't very attractive, in fact he was probably the least attractive guy I ever dated. He was short, maybe my height (5'5") not muscular, nothing distinguishing about him except maybe his blue eyes. He had a rather large nose, dark hair and a nasally voice. He started talking about marriage in a very casual way, he obviously didn't take it too seriously since he had already been married two or three times. I just brushed it off, I wasn't into commitment. Then he went away on a vacation for a week to his parents, it wasn't a big deal to me I even dated while he was gone. When he came back he made this big show of how much he missed me and how lonely he was without me, it was endearing. I had recently seen the movie Pretty Woman with a friend and it had me feeling like I needed some security in my life. When he suggested again that we get married that very day I just said 'sure'. He made all the arrangements, we were going to Rifle for my orthodontist appointment and something he had to do, it was the day before my nineteenth birthday. We went to a lawyer's office, all he asked us was what made us decide to do this, and Ed said "spontenaity" which was good enough I guess because he went through with it. We said our "I do's" it was short and not very involved or at all religious. I forget who witnessed it, maybe the secretary or it could have been Ed's friends later on that day.
My family did not receive the news of it very well, my friends and coworkers were shocked and dismayed. My boss questioned whether I would be able to continue my job while living so far away, I don't think I considered that, or even moving for that matter. But I did, that weekend I believe. It was okay at first, we had fun hanging out with his friends and after commuting to my job for a couple weeks and being late everyday I was fired. My boss had been somewhat of a motherly figure to me and she suggested I go to college in Rangely since I would be right there. I wanted nothing to do with that. But I spent my first day of freedom from work at my friends house in Meeker, and thought maybe I could just stay home and be a housewife. But then the trouble began to rear it's ugly head. Well actually I had some clues prior to that but didn't give them much thought. Ed had a very strange obsession with my cat, Cassanova (Cass for short). My mom and I had gone together to buy pedigree Persian kittens, it was a sort of bonding for us. I chose Cass because of his little crooked nose, he was a solid black which I also liked and I had another black cat already named Romeo. But Ed was mean to Cass, he hurt him when I wasn't there, I knew that it was a problem I asked my therapist (Ed's boss) to keep Cass for a while until we could get adjusted. She did, and she was great with him, little did I know, I should have left him there. Actually she should have done something, I don't think she even talked to him about it, but I don't know for sure. I brought him back home after having him shaved, I thought he was hot and he was very matted. But I could also see that he had been hurt more than I knew, my heart was aching I didn't know what to do. I remember one day going to Grand Junction with a friend and having to go back home for something I forgot. I found Ed having what I later learned was a manic episode. He was flushed and sweating, he had pulled all the furniture from the walls looking for the cat. I got what I needed and left, I was young and naive. I had taken a job at a restaurant in Rangely and worked evenings. One night I came home from work, I always asked about the cat when I got home, and Ed said he was under the chair, he was there; dead, eyes open head twisted around in an unusual way. I screamed, got up ran for the back door, grabbing the car keys but running barefoot. I jumped in the car and drove to a payphone. I called the police, I was hysterical crying that he killed him, he killed my baby. Thankfully the responding officer was a guy I knew and he calmed me and got the story of what happened out of me. Then he suggested I call my family. My mom and stepdad knew what was going on,I had tried talking to people and asked for help from anyone I could. It was a tricky situation. I found out that Ed had put Cass in the washer and the dryer, not sure if he was still alive or not, but he also finally admitted that he had broken the cats neck. He was sick and his coworker came that night to assess him. He would go to an in house treatment facility in Provo Utah. Animal control confiscated all the other pets that night. There was my cat Romeo, unharmed and Ed's two dogs. I stayed with my parents for a while, but I decided not to give up on my marriage just yet. I went to the Mental health facility in Provo and did the program with him. I was an outpatient and stayed in a motel in town and could come and go as I pleased. I learned a lot about myself, I did the classes so many times I knew the answers before they asked the questions. They medicated Ed pretty heavily. I still know the names of some of the medications he took, Haldol was the strongest. I found out he had molested his younger sister when they were younger. When the thirty days were up I did not feel he was ready for release and I was an unwilling participant in their "ceremonies" of sending him off into the world. He had caused quite a stink back home, people he had been treating for mental illness were very upset to find out he was even worse off than they were. He really should not have a license to treat people, but he still does.
After we came home there were more fights, he was violent and frequently missed taking his medication. I told him during our last fight that if he did this again I was done, and I meant it. He threw all my stuff out on the front lawn, he tried choking me with the phone cord. I don't even know what we were fighting about, anything set him off. I went to my parents house again and started making plans to move on, eventually moving to Grand Junction. As for Ed, well he moved to Arizona last I heard, I was not in a hurry to get my divorce, it was costly and I thought it was better if the two of us did not get remarried any time soon. As it turned out I would not have to pay for it, but I wish now that I had gotten it annulled. I had his last name for over three years but it was only about six months from the day we got married until the day I left for good. What a mess, I know there's some details I'm leaving out, but this is one of those stories that I struggled with, the memory of my beloved Cass still gives me grief. I will never forget him.
I was 39 years old when I had my youngest child. It was the most difficult pregnancy of all, I had gestational diabetes which was followed by high blood pressure and eventually became pre-eclampsia. I may have contributed to it by not following the standards for my diet as well as I could have. It was basically just a low sugar low carb diet to keep my blood sugar from spiking up, but I tested my glucose levels after every meal and they never went above what was considered normal, so I figured the little treats were no big deal. I know now that it could have been much worse and I am thankful for the covering and protection God gave us during that time.
It was on a Friday morning that I decided to go into the hospital, not because I had contractions or any signs of labor, just a feeling of something being "off". I figured I would get my blood pressure taken and some monitoring of the baby's heart rate and come home. It was still two weeks until my "due date". However, when I had first become pregnant I told a friend of mine about it, and she asked the usual first question of when was I due, I said February 2, and she said that was her birthday, but that her mother had died in her birth. It was like a curse that I never really could shake, I was afraid I might die having my son, and with all the complications I was kind of a wreck by January.
Anyway, I got to the hospital, by myself, I told my husband to go on to work and I would be home shortly, or call him. Well my blood pressure was 147/94, which is just on the border of needing treatment by magnesium, but definitely too high to go home. I had some other symptoms as well, and by about noon I knew before ever even seeing my midwife that I wasn't going home that day. Rob got there before the midwife, and we talked about our options, not really knowing what would be recommended, but figuring that it would be induction of labor to have the baby. When the midwife got there she told us that this condition does not go away and only gets worse and the only treatment is delivering the baby. So we could wait at the most two days but by Sunday we would have to be back and it could mean risking a sudden increase of my blood pressure which could be catastrophic. I was ready to get him out and agreed to go with the induction. There was another problem we discovered, he was not in the right position for birth, he was head up instead of head down because of all the extra amniotic fluid from the diabetes, I was told that was a side effect. So they wanted to do external aversion, (sorry if I am not remembering all the correct terminology) basically push on my stomach to try turning his head down in the right position. The first attempt was not working and was very painful, I knew he would not go that way, but trying the other way was better and he turned but his head was not engaged in my pelvis so there was a chance he would turn back. I wore this elastic belly band to hold him in place and could not sleep with it on, finally sometime in the early morning Saturday I took it off and got some rest, not much I was still hooked to an IV with pitocin and a dose of antibiotics every two hours. (Yuck!) Saturday came and went and nothing much happened. I think I was only dialated to 3. But then they went ahead and broke my waters, looking back I am even surprised at myself for allowing all of this to happen. I really must have been desperate to have him. They kicked up the pitocin that evening, I was walking around and trying to help it along but mostly just waiting and getting more tired. They didn't let me eat much and Rob wasn't taking much time to eat either. I know we finally called Andrea, my doula to come that night and she was able to give Rob some relief by staying with me. The induction was causing contractions they just didn't seem to be doing much except make me miserable. I finally asked for an epidural, it is really hard to sit in the position they need and be still while in so much pain to get a needle inserted into your spine for pain relief. I don't know what went wrong but it didn't work, I still felt everything and could still get up and walk, it was supposed to numb me from the waist down. I suffered a while longer and I could hear my midwife paging the doctor for low fetal heart tones, that's when I started to freak out, crying and hyper ventilating. The midwife asked me if I wanted them to re do the epidural, I said "yes!". He was more precise with it that time and remarked that he wanted it to be in place in case we went to a c-section. Andrea was quick to reassure me that wouldn't happen. But after another drop in his heart rate, the doctor tried pushing his head to make it come down, he actually reached up inside me with his whole hand and pressed against the baby's head. I knew if the epidural had not worked for that, I would have flown right out of the bed in pain. It only made it worse on the baby too, his heart rate was down and he was taking much longer to recover. The decision was obvious, it would be a cesarean delivery but they left us alone to discuss it and pray together before making it final. Andrea prayed and we started preparations, Rob had to put on a gown he would go with me but Andrea could not. I wish I had taken time to discuss that policy before agreeing to it, I needed her there after Rob left with the baby.
It was just before 5:00 am Sunday morning January 23 2011 when we went in for the surgery, the doctor and midwife would do it together. It didn't take long to get him out and he was beautiful, even through my tired, drugged, and drooping eyes. I gave him a quick kiss, they took a few pictures, weighed him he was only 7lbs 12 ounces,(and the doctor said he would be over nine pounds). Then they were gone and the longest hardest part of the whole procedure was still going on. There were many injections, questions about my vaccinations, warnings about nausea and when I did vomit it was so awful because I could not move, could not hardly turn my head and the nurse or anesthesiologist who was sitting beside my head had to hold a strange receptacle for it by my face. My arms were laying spread out and strapped down, but I was able to pull out of it. Then when I coughed the doctor was quick to tell me that I had to warn him if I needed to cough because my insides were all out on the table. Of course I couldn't see anything because of the sheet they put up, and I didn't actually see him come out even though they had a mirror for me, the doctor's head was in the way.
I was so relieved when that part was over, it was nearly an hour of stitching up before I went to the recovery room where my son and husband were. I tried to sit up so I could nurse him, but I was so drugged and numb it was hard. He was just fine, our baby had not suffered any damage from the ordeal we put him through thank God. The recovery would not be easy either, the vomiting lasted through the next day and thankfully I had a friend who was also a nurse and she was there when I was sick and people were all coming to see me, she told them to wait in the lounge for a bit. I was happy but also exhausted and physically and emotionally beaten. His name means "life" and I am glad for it, we are both here and alive, in the end that's all that matters. I know we could have done things differently and I grieved my choices for a long time, the stories are always similar when you go down this road; to a c-section. But they save lives and for that we are thankful, and for our beloved baby son Khai Levon.
My best friend in the world growing up was always my sister. We were close in age, I was a year and a half older. We shared things, had similar interests and suffered together too. When I was eight and she was six years old, we lived in Carbondale with our mom, stepfather, and two younger brothers. We were never sure if our stepfather would suddenly explode in violence so we all stayed fairly quiet and to ourselves if possible. Our stepfather started a job driving to Denver for deliveries, and would stay overnight. We took turns going with him and staying in a motel then driving back. No one questioned it even though we frequently missed school to go. This was when the sexual abuse began, at least as far as I can remember. He showed me pornography and talked about it asking me if I would like to do those things. Then he eventually began touching me inappropriately, in my private places. He also exposed himself to me and tried to engage me in his actions. I felt confused, I knew it was wrong but I wanted him to love me, and it felt good sometimes. I talked with my sister and she expressed to me that she had endured the same behavior from him, but she had participated a bit more then I did. She was younger and more easily influenced, that was usually the case in the things we got involved in. Thankfully his job didn't last long and we moved again like we always did. Somehow we had lost our innocence but kept our virginity intact. As time went on there was occasional abuse both physical and sexual and I began acting out in many ways.
I remember one year on my sister's birthday we didn't have any money and (she never got good gifts since her birthday was so soon after Christmas) had just moved into a new house and my mom found an old floral print umbrella in the attic and gave it to her as a gift. We played outside with that old umbrella all day, pretending to model for pictures and to be someone else. There were times when we forgot how harsh our lives were but it always came back. We spent many evenings crying while our parents fought, they usually provided some treat for us so we cried and ate fried pies. Wow that could be a creepy nursery rhyme. Anyway my sister and I had also begun to confide in our friends about our unsatisfactory home life. And it seemed like he knew when someone was getting suspicious because we would move out of town at about that time. Until we made our way back to a town where we had friends from before and had kept in touch and they knew too much. But it still took me running away from home over 14 times for someone to ask someone what was going on.
It was my freshman year, by now I had opened myself up to a very promiscuous life and my virginity was history. I was best friends with a girl in my class, and had a boyfriend in the same grade. I had more freedom to get away from home then before and I did so as much as possible. We had no home phone so I could ride the bus to school, hop off and leave school without anyone telling my parents. Then I would ride the bus home or stay over my friend's house. I had started smoking cigarettes, drinking alcohol and even tried marijuana a few times. But the time had come where they decided to move again in the middle of the school year and I really didn't want to go this time. Even though it was back to a place where I had friends, I had changed and my friends would not welcome it or me back. My parents made the trip over to find housing and left us kids with my grandfather, who was very strict and old fashioned. I had arranged to spend the last weekend with my best friend and it was not uncommon for us to skip the last day of school before we moved, especially when it was the day before winter break. But this time there would be a problem, because the school had my grandfather's phone number on file and when I didn't show up they called him. He sent out the truancy officer to look for me. We joked about it at the recreation center with the staff there, but they must have alerted the authorities because we had the cops waiting outside my friends apartment and we were "busted". I actually went to jail as a runaway, apparently if you are still 'at large' after school is out they consider you a runaway. I was so angry with my grandfather for getting me arrested I insisted that I would rather stay in jail then go back to him. But they really just wanted to scare me, and eventually I had to go back to my grandfather's house. That would only serve to increase my rage against my parents and my acting out once we moved. I made friends with the "bad girls" at school pretty quickly and started to run around town with the wrong crowd. When ever they let me out I would not come back, they picked me up on the road hitch hiking while ditching school and even once they (my parents) found me in an empty apartment I had stayed in all weekend after my boyfriend went through the window to unlock the front door, it was right across the hall from where he lived. It was this time that my friend would finally tell the school that my stepfather beat us, and sexually abused my sister and me. Not only because she was being questioned about ditching school with me, but also because she knew I was miserable.
That brings me back to the story of my sister's birthday. It was on her birthday that the school counselors would pull us out of class and question us about our stepfather. We both confessed and told similar stories, I presume. And that day my Mom had gone to the food bank to get some supplies so she could make a pie for my sister's birthday, but we would not be there for it. We were taken into foster homes, separately. She went to a farm and I went to a place in town, the high school secretary's house. We were in the custody of the state of Colorado. Now surely things would change, but would they be better? I'll tell you later.
We are doing our best to walk in the way of the Messiah we eat clean foods and only celebrate the biblical Holy days, with the instruction of Yeshua and the apostles given in the New Covenant writings.