PPE 2020

I think I handle having to use PPE (that's personal protective equipment) better than most of the new to healthcare workers, because I was there when the AIDS epidemic happened.

At that time we were all working bare handed. There were no gloves in nursing homes.

We had nothing to use and no idea how the HIV virus was being transferred. That fear of not knowing when that virus was going to gobble us up, was terrifying. We faced that virus bare handed, no masks to gowns no face shields.

It was a lot.

I'm not as alarmed this pandemic. I just know what I need to do and that's protect myself, my residents, wash my hands don't touch my face and don't touch any body fluid that isn't mine.

The fear isn't there, I went through that the last time, I know this time just focus on prevention.

Stressing and worrying doesn't help. When you can't see your enemy, just fortify your castle walls.

By the numbers * *TRIGGER FOR SELF INJURY DISCUSSION* *

As I jotted down the hash marks in my therapy journal...I wasn't completely honest... mostly because I didn't want Richard to think I was a lunatic...even though I had told him I needed to be in therapy because I was a lunatic.

The X's represented episodes of self injury for that year.

Mind you, in the dark days the self injury was constant. 

Like daily, all day, during the waking hours. 

I can't even stress how much self inflicted violence I inflicted on my self over the years. 

It is STAGGERING.

I have hundred of burn scars. 

HUNDREDS.

But the numbers have no meaning. 

It's not the number of injuries that counts in the end, its the number of times I didn't.

I had started working on roping in the SIV (self inflicted violence) long before I headed out into therapy.  As I aged and got further and further away from what triggered the behavior in the first place, I could see I needed to change.

To show Richard how often I was injuring I jotted down that list you see above. 

Keeping track suddenly became a thing. Prior to this I didn't keep track. It was a very helpful too l for me to SEE it on paper like this.

Also for me to kinda track my progress as I learned healthier coping skill and put them into place. It became a sad thing to have to open my therapy journal and add a new x. I focused on those stinking numbers some days. Wondering ...have I lived like this so long I can never heal?

Time rolled on and did my 3 month stretch of no injuring. First time I had even been injury free for that length of time in forever. Bounding off that I set the goal of one year.

I recorded my wins along side my losses.

That X  list ends in 2000.

Life had smoothed out and I was in a loving safe environment and my non-injuring streak made it up to seven years before I again burned.

I dug our my old tattered therapy book to add that episodes X.

I stared for a long time at that page. My mind milling over old memories...old numbers.

But the numbers have no meaning. 

It's not the number of injuries that counts in the end, its the number of times I didn't.

I capped my pen and shut my journal without adding the new X.

Later when my burn was cleaned and bandaged, I grabbed a piece of paper and began dissecting the events that lead up to and contributed to the SIV episode.  

This injury wasn't a sign of failure. It was a sign there was still some work to be done.

I no longer keep a count of length between injuries either.

I no longer need that. 

I will always live with SIV. When it crops up I slow down and look to see what is off  and needs addressed in my life...what I need to do to put that old dusty coping skill back in it's mental box in the back of my head.

Evacuation

2020 has been a year. For sure.

Never in my life would I have expected to need to frantically evacuate from my house in a large city as high winds were forcing a fire towards it. 

We got out and the town never got touched.

The two neighboring towns though weren't so lucky. Close to 3000 houses and businesses were burned to the ground. Lots of people were at work and didn't have the chance to go back and pack anything. There were left with only there work clothes on their backs.

As we watched the evacuation numbers rise and the boarder creep closer and closer to our home, the lights started to flicker. The smoke was choking our the sky and the winds blew hot air in your face as you stepped outside.

My anxiety caved in as I watched the neighbor pack. 

Once the decision was made to prepare, JUST IN CASE, we had to evacuate. It was a done deal. 

I knew as I instructed husband/son to load the camping equipment in the truck, we were leaving. I had been up close to 30 hours at that point and I knew I couldn't sleep with death inching its way towards my family.

I have often written lists of things I would take if I had to flee from a house fire. Have done so since I was young.

Mama used to tell me as she lighted the oil stove, "if this explodes, it will burn the house down."

The schools made me do a fire evacuation plan each year in class. I still have tucked away.

I used to lay awake at night planning what I would grab as  I left.

Racky, my Indian blanket, Daddy's box, all my toys.

the list changed little as I aged, it just got longer.

Parker, my Indian blanket, Daddy's box, all my toys, all my writing, Seven.

and longer

Parker, my Indian blanket, Daddy's box, all my toys, all my writing, Seven, the farm kids, my cats.

It was very apparent, Everything was coming with me.

So what do you think I packed with 54 years of pre-preparation and boy scout training?

I grabbed the kids, "You need to pack, your phones/chargers, DS/charger/bags, clothes for three days. After you have done that, Pillows and blankets. ONLY after that pack anything you can't live without.

I followed my daughter into her room. Knowing she would need help. She stood there looking around. 

"I don't even have time to process loosing my entire childhood." she said.

I repeated the list and she silently got to work. I took one last look as I left her room, marveling at her strength.

I messaged my brother: we may be camping in the back yard. Ignore any Russell setting up camp tonight. We are under level 2 evacuation orders. 

Thankful that we had my childhood home to go to and the yard is big enough for us to camp if needed.

After that I turned to the task of packing. suitcase, clothes/toiletries, little suit case all my work stuff. 

Truck:  all the camping stuff. Food for us, all of my son's tube feeding supplies, formula, and three flats of water.

Husband was easy, Chess set and his Bible.

Then the important stuff. Medical records, bill box, password books, phones, chargers, medicine,

...wait I only have three cans of Pepsi?! gaahhh...what a time to be short.

Once all that was done and in the truck, I stood in the bedroom under the flickering light. Looked at my children's books masters, all my writing, all the photographs...Daddy's box, seven.

I grabbed only the meteor dagger. Even today I am not sure why. That is all I took.

We left without looking back...had the important stuff in the vehicles. Dad and son in the truck, me and daughter in the car with Fall Out Boy blaring...the ominous dark smoke on our heels.  From our house to the exit in the next town over was 45 min of bumper to bumper traffic.

We hit the freeway and disappeared into  the night.

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

The next day I took my work stuff and headed up to Corvallis where all my residents had been evacuated to. That week, up there like no other...hell on a different level then Dante could have ever dreamed up.

My family stayed with Daddy and brother for two nights then returned home when the evacuation level 3 line was further away then 4 blocks.

Thankful for years of mental prepping that make this evacuation a seamless, smooth process.

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

Unpacking stuff, I returned the meteor dagger to it place on the shelf. Unsure why it alone had been taken.

Helped my daughter unpack too, she at the last minute had grabbed a grocery bag and grabbed a few remnants of her childhood to take. I pulled out a bag of her hair that she had saved from some long ago hair cut.

"We we fleeing for our lives and you packed your hair?" I inquired.

"I couldn't bear the thought of it burning up."

.......Mikitty, my weighted blanket, Daddy's box, all my MTG cards, all my writing, Seven, the kids, husband, my daughters hair...

Unus Annus

It means one year.

... and that is all we get.

It is a YouTube channel created my Markiplier (Mark) and Crankgameplays (Ethan). A hairy magical, hysterical land of thicc nincompoopery.

My son casually mentioned it to me last November when he was dealing with a life threatening health crisis. "Mama... Markiplier has a new channel, in the first video they're cooking with sex toys."

Me: *laughter* why do you always tell me these things while were driving and I can't go look it up?

I have always listened to my kids and investigated the people and things they watch on YouTube. I have been a fan of Markiplier since JUR mentioned him years ago.

This channel is a self destructing one. After one year they are deleting it. All of it. Only our memories of the journey will remain....and its been one hell of a journey. I was dealing with a frightening time in my life when Unus Annus was brought to my attention.

My son was ill.  We were three years into the search for what was ailing him, doctor after doctor, after doctor...and the last ones only advice was...."Have you tried putting cheese on his broccoli?"

I was tired of going to wake him up and having my heart cave-in as I approached his bed and called his name. ...was he alive? or did he die in his sleep?

Nearly six feet tall and 103 pounds. He looked like he was dying.

...he was dying...

Finally in November 2019 he got refereed to a GI doctor, who took one look at him and his blood pressure and turned to me and said. "I want you to leave here and drive straight to Doernbecher  Children's Hospital, he is being directly admitted."

In a whirl wind stay, he was scoped and poked and prodded and diagnosed with eosinophilic esophagitis.  EOE for short.


They would be placing a NJ-tube so they could start feeding him.  He would be there a week, as he suffered from re-feeding syndrome and his labs went hay-wire.

They also inserted the NG tube in his lung vs his stomach the first time.

 That's were it belongs.

I can't explain how grateful and thrilled I was to have answers finally. To have someone doing something for my beautiful son.

It was November and we had a long ways to go. He left the hospital at 103#.

November 14th that year Unus Annus signed on. It was my birthday.

It was a good birthday, my son was home and alive, and I had a youTube show that would be a one year timer....the same time frame that the doctors were saying it would take to have my son up to weight and healthy.

Each day at noon they would upload the daily video. It got to where I wake up at noon each day to watch it and then go back to sleep. Unus Annus isn't for everyone...it should be through, the laughter everyday is so needed and appreciated.

It reminds me of my childhood and all the goofy things me and siblings did. In a way I lived Unus Annus.  Being alive before the internet meant we entertained ourselves. I will miss it when it gets deleted, but I will celebrate being part of it.

JUR and I both watch it. Laughing at it, as funny parts tickle us. He  and I and 3.68 million subscribers partaking in a strange black and white cult of laughter, corn, beans and pee.

His recovery was slow.

I weighed him expecting miracles...to find only a pound here and there.

By the Unus Annus Christmas eggnog muckbang video, we knew for sure a surgically implanted g-tube was in the works.

In January we were off to the hospital again.

oh my sweet son, I'm so sorry for your pain...

As he laid there after surgery, he was listening to Markiplier's vlog on his pain and hospital stay. I am so grateful Mark shared his journey so freely. His words were there to comfort and help my son in ways I could not.

And he was also helping me get through all this, with his and Ethan's infections laughter on Unus Annus. My daily dose of sheer frolicking fun and laughter.




And then.....2020 shit on us all.

The lock down had detrimental effects in my mental health. On others too. Steve Cash another YouTube star that me and the kids  have watched for ever, took his own life.  His loss a staggering blow to us all. These people who share their creativity with us on line, are truly imaginary friends. We don't know each other, but they are in our lives.

Unus Annus went into quarantine with us.

Delivering as promised....each day. It payed off, helping me focus and have something to look forward too. The days pasted slowly.

I don't know who was more excited Mr. Crab or me.

When Mark and Ethan were able to get out of quarantine and get together again, it was epic. A video that no one who has seen it will ever forget it. And no one will believe us in the future when we speak of it. the infamous, Pee Sauna.

I was there. I saw it. I was part of it. (chants)  "Unus annus, unus annus,unus annus!!!"

With all the chaos going on in the world right now, its  been nice to watch my son's weight go up.

All the while watching the Unus Annus counter go down.

The ticking clock that closes out each video.

Each day I watch those numbers go down...knowing that when it reaches zero and the channel disapears...at that time I will know that it's been a year, and my son is 365 days farther away from those days when he was heading towards an early death.

Will I miss the channel?

Yes.

Memento Mori.

But I have the laughter inside of me.

Those days are pounds in my son's life.

After 7 months on a milk free diet, they scoped him again to see if the treatment was working.

 Above is his esophagus in early November, its closed up and riddled with inflammation.

This is it in June. THIS is how it is suppose to look! Doctor says things look great.

A dexa scan showed the long term damage that the malnutrition caused to his bones.

Jur knew about the scan from watching the Unus Annus episode where Mark and Ethan got their bones scanned.

 The curse of 2020 had us without AC for a week and 1/2 during 100+ degree weather this summer. Jur found humor in it.

So did I.

That magical day I've been waiting for is close at hand.

When he reaches 155 we can start weaning him off the tube and see if he can maintain the weight with just food.

I see so many things in him since we have found the right balance...most of all his smile has returned.

and so has mine.

I'm glad that this time in our lives is growing shorter, and will be gone soon. Some day the scar on his belly will be all that remains.

...just like the faint memories of the time we both spent watching Unus Annus.

Preface - Getting the Bucks Out

Children,

In April 2020 while we were in quarantine for the covid-19 virus, I printed out my blog.

Upon seeing the stack of 1350+ pages Hanna says to me, “Will reading the ancient text be required?”

Yes, child, yes.

In these massive volumes you will find stories of me and you. 

Others are about self injury and my lives journey. Others are a hodge podge of stuff stirred up in my writers brain. Some will be good, some will be bad. Some will be life changing.

I’m sorry that there are no pictures included. A lot of the humor was in the pictures. I hope you will be able to still access my blog in some fashion on line. But just in case, I have printed it out , because it is all I have to give you.

At this printing Getting The Bucks Out @ blogspot.com is 566 posts, and spans from 2012-2020. It’s not done yet, and there will be more posts/volumes. I write slower now, but I still write. I've loved blogging and have no desire to stop.

I have loved to write since I was very little. The blog has become a diary, a confessional, a place where I can write to reach others....or just amuse my self as I read back over it and giggle at my skullduggery.

Take what you want from it.

Use it as canon for a cult or sell it on eBay, or carefully carve out the book on self injury from it and sell it to a publisher, what ever you want. These are your copies. There will not be a test on the contents. If you loose your copy don't panic. Things belong to people not the other way around...perhaps the person who found it, needs the wisdom in it more then you, and you were just the vehicle to get it to them.

I hope you each find peace in this life and your place among the world. It was/is a real treasure to have been there from day one to watch you grow.

Peace be the journey

Mama / Muma

In the forest (Sexual Abuse TRIGGER)

A evil breeze violated the peaceful slumber of the forest girls.

It slid over them, touching them, lingering longer then it should have.

It roused the memories first, and then their minds.

They awoke crying and afraid.

Scrambling in the dark, they all reached for their lanterns and lite them.

One by one warm bubbles of light pushed back the darkness.

Once the light reached Dogdancing she shook her head sleepily. The lightening bolts in her hair glittered in the lantern light. She opened her eyes and they dilated slowly as they adjusted to the night light.

Abruptly she shot up onto her feet. "Girls! she called in alarm.

Years of conditioning surged through their veins and the girls shot out of their leaf beds and on to their feet in a seamless motion.

That is when they all saw the ground. It was scattered with dead baby birds.

Little One voiced what they were all thinking. "what is it?"

"There is a monster in the forest." whispered Dogdancing with nostrils flared and her body tensing up to take flight. "Lets go."

"Halt!" came a deep voice.

They froze...eyes darting left and right.

The bear huffed as it slowly padded into the light. "Yes there is monster in the forest. But we must stay put."

Little Two writhed in agony. "But my heart is telling me to run, that we are in danger."

"We are." Said the red fox jumping into her lantern bubble and sitting at her feet.

Dogdancing swallowed hard. So scared she was she couldn't hear her thoughts over the poundings of her heart. "we aren't safe here." she said in an echoic voice tinged with panic.

"Truth." said the tree from above. "Right now, no where is safe. We must all be trees, and stay put."

"oooohh" whined Little Three, tears slipping down her dark face. "If we stay put the man wif the flesh knife can find me. He will hurt me."

The bear nodded saddly. "we have two monsters in the forest."

"Uuugh, one killing, and the other sending more girls to the forest." said the fox.

Dogdancing's knees buckled and she crashed heavily to the forest floor. The weight of that knowledge crushing her.

Her lantern flicked and dimmed.

The bear carefully began scooping out paw fulls of earth.

The red fox began gathering the baby birds and placing them softly in the holes, and using his snout to cover them.

A few of the  forest girls stood tall  twisted and held out their arms and barked over to became trees.

Others, crouched down and shelled up...blending in the the boulders.

"I can't stay, HERE, I can't stay STILL." said one of the newest girls to the forest. She was so new she didn't even have a lantern yet... and before anyone could move she took her life.

This unhinged the fox.

He fell and yelped painfully next to the still body.

From way up  in the forest canopy the redmother tree spoke. "The forest is ancient. Endless. The journey is long. Long enough that some of you have forgotten just how strong you are. What it took to survive the past. You still have that in you."

 Dogdancing painfully stood up, and took up her lantern. "not everyone can survive this...some are not long in their healing journey, some have yet to even take one step. Healing is hard."

She walked over to the fox and scooped him up. He sobbed silently into her neck.

She looked at the bear. "Not every story has a happy ending."

"Truth" the bear said and began to push dirt over the newest forest girl's body.

"What now?" asked Little One as she hunkered down and nestled into the rocks.

"We stay. We wait." Said Dogdancing.

"Is the healing journey over?" said Little Two.

"No." Said the fox wiggling out of Dogdancing's arm. 

Dogdancing placed her lantern on the grave. It's light shining bright.

"We still journey....but for now we just have to march in place and hold the line."

Grandma's girl

Daughter,

You were never meant to read my blog at ten years old.

You were to find a hard copy in my possessions after I died. You were suppose to be a grown woman long gone from home when you discovered it.

I never wrote it thinking, my ten year old daughter would be reading my words.

I didn't fathom what affect it would have on you.

It tainted your relationship with your grandma., and for that I am truly sorry.

You were only three when she started having the strokes. Started having memory issues from them. She started forgetting around this time. Her life and memories fading at a rapid pace.

She loved you little one.  Coming over to the house and lavishing all her thrift store treasures on you. You loved to play with her.

Before Dad and I had kids we talked about how old I was. We both discussed how that any children we had might have there own children cheated out of having me as there grandma because of my age.

Grandma's are important.

 It didn't occur to me that my own children would get  jipped in the grandma department.

Grandma Ginny loved you too. You were six when she died.

It guts me you have no memories of her.

You missed out on such a wonderful woman. Kind and gently like her son, your father.

She made you two dresses. Hold on to them.

they are tangible little reminders she loved you.  Don't worry she would eventually get your named spelled right.

You have no memories of grandma Penny either. well none of your own, you have mine,  from reading my blog. Which are tainted.



You still have Jonny the little black cat? remember picking him out of grandma's toys?

guess you do remember.

Grandma Penny loved to thrift store shop. Like a crow she collected all sorts of goodies and brought them home. When we would stop by to visit she delighted in having you pick out goodies to take home. Your big ornate silver cross came from her too. Star city was from her too.

I had a different relationship with her. She had a good relationship with you. Don't hold onto my blog memories of her. She was a mother. Mothers and daughters don't always get along. She had a nice relationship with you, there was no pressure to raise you, she could just love and play with you.

She only remembers Grandpa now days. She has what is known as vascular dementia.

I wish she could remember you too.  You both have forgotten each other. Which makes me sad.

Grandma's are important.

And you had two of the best, even if you were too young to remember.

heck, you had a beautiful great-grandma too who loved you also.

and you have been blessed with a new grandma too. One you can reach out too and get to know.

...and what do you know...she's a writer just like you!

Next time we can made the drive, first priority is to take a picture of you and her.  I don't have enough pictures of you with your grandma's. I want to fix that lackingness.

Love,

Mama