Problematic: Census 2020

For the first time, the 2020 Census is a text field to write in your race! The checkboxes are still there and initially, some may find this to be a wonderful change. American citizens don't have to "fit" themselves into a box that is not a true description of who they really are. And that's good news, right? Well...it depends on how you look at it. Home DNA tests have armed people with a snapshot of their (predicted) genotypes. For some, this is a complete revelation. Can you imagine how many adoptees have learned for the first time in their lives that they aren't who they thought they were? Most assuredly, these individuals and others that have found their newly revealed genotype will have different answers than they had on the 2010 Census. 

Previous censuses had checkboxes that allowed the American government to collect the phenotypes of U.S. citizens. How gracious of our government to allow its citizens to place themselves in a category of boxes that didn't really reflect how diverse we really are. If the American government wants to collect the phenotypes of its citizens, why not ask that simple question? "What is your phenotype?" (A phenotype is "the set of observable characteristics of an individual resulting from the interaction of its genotype with the environment.") Most people want to know why the government even wants to know this information about its citizens. The answer is our traumatic history. The United States has a long history of abusing its own inhabitants. It started with the indigenous people of this continent and then moved on to slaves and then immigrants. The wealthy (typically) eurocentric have always found ways to misuse and abuse the less fortunate to their own greatest advantage. 

Why is this data even needed? An adequate explanation is given in the excerpt of the Census document posted:
"Ensure Equal Opportunity
Knowing the ethnic groups in a community in combination with information about housing, voting, language, employment, and education, helps government and communities enforce laws, regulations, and policies against discrimination based on national origin. For example, ancestry data are used to enforce nondiscrimination in education (including monitoring desegregation); to enforce nondiscrimination in employment by federal agencies, private employers, employment agencies, and labor organizations; and to enforce laws, regulations, and policies against discrimination in federal financial assistance (Civil Rights Act of 1964).
Understand Changes
 Knowing whether people from different backgrounds have the same opportunities in education, employment, voting, homeownership, and many other areas are of interest to researchers, advocacy groups, and policymakers. For example, ancestry data are used with age and language data to address language and cultural diversity needs in health care plans for the older population."
Excerpt of “Questions Planned for the 2020 Census and American Community Survey: Federal Legislative and Program Uses” document of the United States Census Bureau. March 2018,  https://www2.census.gov/library/publications/decennial/2020/operations/planned-questions-2020-acs.pdf. Accessed 27 Sep 2019

I predict that the data gathered from the 2020 Census is going to be the most ethnically diverse Census that has EVER been taken. 

Finishing Well, Part 2

Starting a task that someone else finishes had a whole different meaning to me while working in corporate America. I was new to this big company and within a year, I moved to a completely new department doing things that were so new to me that before I knew it, I realized I had just changed career paths. My new job was a newly created position. When I realized what my days would consist of, it was laughable. The work wasn't hard at all, just different. At the end of every day, I would think, "This is it? This is all they want me to do? Do they realize I came from IT working on company-wide projects and that I was training incoming contractors?" In less than a month I was bored and felt like the job was a total mistake. There I was, sitting in my cubicle waiting for a "hotline" to ring and filing paperwork. Every so often, I would have to prepare the training room. That consisted of setting up the classroom the way the trainer's wanted it, making sure there were pens, markers, paper, flipboards and snacks available at the beginning and cleaning up the room at the end. It felt like a demotion and I wanted to go back to IT. To make matters worse, I clashed with one of the colleagues because she edited a document I was working on without my permission. Had she given me constructive criticism or walked me through changes she suggested, it would have felt more like a learning curve than an all-out ridicule of my lack of documentation skills. Out of frustration, I shared how I really felt about the new job. Wrong move. As we left the meeting room, she went to her cubicle and I went to mine only to see her drop her things off at her cubicle and make a beeline to the Director's cubicle. All I heard was, "I was just in a meeting with...". Yes, she went directly to our superior and told him everything I said. How do I know this? Because he asked to speak to me later that day. I wasn't in trouble. He was sincerely concerned and asked me to hold on and not to make any decisions about my job until he could get our new immediately supervisor in place. I never confided in that colleague again and it also taught me to keep my mouth shut.

My very first big project was creating a 2-week orientation for my division. I was on the project team because as one of two assistants, I needed to know how to accommodate the various classes for the entire orientation. I have to admit, I was kind of excited until I realized I would have no other part in the orientation. I don't know what I was expecting but seeing my other colleagues teaching classes while I was passing out paper and pens was not what I imagined. I knew I could do a lot more than that and frankly a lot better than some of them. The very thing I helped create, I was no part of. Ouch! It did not feel good and I was not mature enough to think it was me releasing the project to those who would make it better and greater.

The coming months were filled with answering a hotline, filing, and cleaning and organizing a mess of training materials that had gone ignored for years. Some messes were so old that no one in the department knew anything about it. I kept thinking, "How could people leave something in such a mess?" It wasn't impossible to do, just irritating and tedious. After finally getting things organized and labeled, I remember thinking, "This will make it easier for the next person that comes along." That thought stuck in my brain and I continued to work in that same fashion. Keep your files organized in such a way that if someone else had to take it over within a moments notice, they would be successful doing it.

Fast forward 6 years. I was promoted and had become the program manager for the orientation I helped to start. When my Team Leader assigned the program to me, I was not happy. No, I was angry. The program (to me) was a mess and I did not want to clean up someone else's mess. My task was to streamline the orientation and make it shorter. I was supposed to cut out the fluff, take the kinks out of some IT issues and utilize existing processes that were untapped. Almost all of the colleagues I started with were now gone and in 6 years our orientation had gone from 2 weeks to 1.5 days. I also realized that my Team Leader had more faith in my abilities than I did.

In less than 2 years, our department merged, our team was scattered and orientation was little more than computer-based courses. In the final days, I made sure all of the projects I was working on were accessible and updated, no matter what phase they were in, so they could easily be continued on by the next person. I started that department pretty rough, but I finished it well.

Finishing Well, Part 1

Currently, I'm part of a group of woman who are reading a devotional together via a group text message. The devotional is by Priscilla Shirer and it's called, "Awaken, 30 Days with the God Who Speaks". The daily devotionals are like appetizers...small but packed with BIG flavor. The title of today's devotional is, "Finishing Well". The devotional encourages us to be led by God in releasing things when God says to release it. Often times, this may mean passing a project that we initiated, on to another person to complete. It gives an example of how God appointed David to begin the construction of the Temple Mount from its foundation, however, it was David's son Solomon who actually completed the work.

You may think that it is unfair how the very Temple that David began construction of gives little recognition to him. Since Solomon completed it, it became "Solomon's Temple" to the people. A name that gives no recognition to the man that laid the foundation. In today's world, buildings have a ceremony when the cornerstone is laid. The cornerstone is typically inscribed with the date of the groundbreaking as well as the architect, builder, and other significant people. In this way, those that started it are not forgotten. David was never (and has never been) really forgotten, however, I think part of the significance of what he did has been lost.

Gad the Prophet, instructed David to purchase a specific threshing floor. Why a threshing floor? A threshing floor is typically a hard, flat surface seen as having significant strength. Why that threshing floor? The specific threshing floor Gad directed David to was owned by a Jebusite named Araunah (or Ornan). What is even more significant is where the threshing floor was located. Mount Moriah! Yes, the same Mt. Moriah where Abraham was going to sacrifice his son to God. God (through Gad) directed David to a place where his 14th Great-Grandfather was about to make a sacrificial promise to God and because of his obedience, God promised Abraham that his seed would outnumber the stars and that Abraham would be the Father of many nations. The foundation that David laid for the temple was more significant than David may have even known.

David was approximately 37 years old when he purchased that threshing floor and began making the plans for the Temple. Surely he could have completed it before his death at age 70, right? Between David's sins, the misbehaviors of relatives, wars, and rebellions David didn't have time to progress the building of the Temple, but through overcoming all of those trials and winning wars he inadvertently protected that foundation. If David hadn't purchased it and protected it, Solomon would have had nowhere to build. Such is the significance of completing the task(s) that God has set before you and then knowing when to "pass the baton" for the next phases to be completed. David's contribution to the Temple was no less significant than Solomon's and the glory of it all belonged to God. Click here for part 2.

"6 I planted, Apollos watered, but God made it grow. 7 Because of this, neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but the only one who is anything is God who makes it grow. 8 The one who plants and the one who waters work together, but each one will receive their own reward for their own labor. 9 We are God’s coworkers, and you are God’s field, God’s building." I Corinthians 3:6-9

Part 2 | "...in sickness and in health." The part of your marriage vows you can't prepare for.

2018 started off in full speed. Dad was convalescing in a rehabilitation hospital, I was in physical therapy because of my neck, upper back and shoulder pain and my faithful husband was holding down the fort. Dad left the rehabilitation hospital on the iciest winter day of the year. He texted me, "It's good to be home." and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief...temporarily. My pain was increasing, I was sleeping on top of 3 heating pads and my husband was bewildered with worry. In the midst of this, cancer cells were found when the hospital he was treated at biopsied his gall bladder. I was hoping from my Dad's appointments to my own, all while bearing the pain as much as possible. 

Finally, I couldn't bear my own pain anymore. There were a few times that my husband would ask me if I was okay and I would lie and say, yes I knew if I said, "No.", he would try to stay at home from work with me and that would just make me feel even more guilty. The final day of my PT, I drove all the way there and back home through tears. PT wasn't working and they referred me back to my neurosurgeon.  The neurosurgeon that I was working with (for what I thought was a pinched nerve in my neck), dismissed me and referred me to a rheumatologist when (at my last appointment) I complained that PT wasn't working and I was still in pain. Three days later, I landed in the ER (of a research hospital) where they found a Giant Cell Bone Tumor in my cervical spine.

What I thought was going to be a 3-4 hour ER visit ended up being a 10-day hospital stay. This had to be the worst period of my entire life. My husband became like a superhero to me. During my most painful moments in the hospital, God would have him supernaturally appear out of nowhere. I remember saying to God, "THIS is why you chose him as a husband for me." By the time I left the hospital, I couldn't move my left arm,  my right arm was extremely weak and I couldn't care for myself at all. I was like an infant who had to be bathed, clothed and fed. That's exactly what my husband did for almost 6 weeks. He bathed me, washed my hair, clothed me and fed me with such an unconditional Godly kind of love. I don't know of any other man who could withstand all of my sicknesses with such love, patience, kindness, compassion, and grace. And to think, God chose him just for me. 

My gratitude toward my husband far outweighs the guilt I still sometimes get burdened with and one of the biggest blessings that has come out of these past 2 years is that it caused my husband and me to be closer, stronger in faith and in unconditional love for each other. God showed His all-encompassing love for me through my husband.

I love you, Patrick.

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”  1 Peter 4:8
“But you, O Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.”  Psalm 86:15
“Let all that you do be done in love.”  1 Corinthians 16:14
“So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”  1 Corinthians 13:13

Part 1 | "...in sickness and in health." The part of your marriage vows you can't prepare for.

"...in sickness and in health. Til death do us part." Most of us stated this as a part of our marriage vows and at the time, never thought about the impact it would make on our marriage. If you are like me, you thought sickness and death were FAR into the future of your marriage. Well, here I am 20 years after reciting those vows and the reality of that part of our vows has come to its fruition MANY times. Between my spouse and I, we have endured Graves Disease, hormonal imbalances, GERD, Arthritis, Carpal tunnel, cysts, tumors, etc. Most of our ailments we were able to walk through carefully by the grace of God, but stay married long enough and there will be other debilitating illnesses that will test every facet of your marriage.

Chronic migraines shifted our lives 180° about 9 years ago (in 2010). The pain plunged me into a black hole. I went from a successful career as a globe-trotting corporate trainer and project manager to being bedridden, with black fabric against my windows, only able to tolerate the screen of my old 2nd generation Apple iPod Touch and reading subtitles because I couldn't tolerate noise. I know that there were at least 4 solid years where I stayed in my dark bedroom, with the covers over my head. It seemed as though anything I did triggered a migraine. From something as simple as chewing to showering. I could have never imagined that a sudden migraine would cause me to have to spit my food out because I couldn't tolerate the pain from chewing or I couldn't shower because the water drops hurt my head and I couldn't brush my teeth because the abrasiveness of even the softest toothbrush would cause my head to hurt. I was completely debilitated, could no longer work and filed for SSDI. Although I was suffering, for my spouse it meant no cooked meals, no clean house, no vacations, no date nights, no social interaction, no celebration of birthdays, anniversaries or holidays and no sex. When I think about those days, I can only remember that I watched a lot of Korean dramas (because of the subtitles), had a lot of appointments with my neurologist and tried a lot of different prescription drugs that didn't work. One of the worst parts of my migraines was the excruciating migraine pain that would wake me from my sleep in the middle of the night. According to my husband, I would wake up screaming and crying because of the pain. He said he learned that an ice pack would cause me to instantly go silent and fall back to sleep. Unfortunately, I don't remember all of those episodes and my husband didn't get a lot of sleep. My "migraine terrors" literally drove my spouse from our bedroom for almost 2 years. He was so triggered by every sound I made in the middle of the night that he had to sleep on the couch in our living room in order to get a full night's rest. Eventually, I collected 5 different migraine hats (that are kept in our freezer) and the ability to be conscious enough to help myself during those migraine terrors that occurred in the middle of the night. My husband has competed as a novice in bodybuilding, been a personal trainer and a health and wellbeing advocate for years. When my migraines were at their worst, all of his own activity ceased as well. He rushed home from work every single day to check on me and prepare dinner. Over time, he gained more weight than he ever had before and did nothing physically for his own wellbeing.

I was immersed with guilt. The guilt of not contributing to the household financial weighed heavily on me. We were now living from paycheck to paycheck. I couldn't do anything. My husband cleaned, cooked, did laundry and paid all the bills. He probably felt like a bachelor all over again, save the human log that lived in the bedroom. For years, it was like we couldn't catch a break. Added to the chronic migraines was chronic pain. Then in 2017, my husband had a tumor scare. It was benign and with an out-patient surgery all was well...or so we thought. About 3 months later, I found myself in the ER headed for emergency surgery because of a gangrenous gall bladder. For almost 8 weeks my husband had to be my "nurse", cleaning, packing and unpacking my gall bladder opening. I thank God for his humility and compassionate heart. I really don't know what I would have done without him. Four months after my "gallbladder summer", the holiday season was in full swing, except I didn't feel like swinging so much. I had a nagging pain in my neck and shoulders that kept getting increasingly worse. I really didn't have time to pay attention because right before Christmas my Dad ended up in the same ER as I did just 6 months prior and had to have emergency surgery to remove...his gallbladder! For about 6 weeks, I endured my pain getting progressively worse and concentrated on the health and wellness of my elderly parents.

After my Dad got home and settled, by now I was in physical therapy and it wasn't having any effect on my pain. And then I woke up one morning and my left shoulder wouldn't move. Continued in Part 2.

Instead of helping you take out your smartphone to record?!?!?!

Before you read any further, please watch the following video.

Pretty cool thing to happen on an early Saturday morning, right? It's not every day that air balloons land right in front of your house. It was great! It was exciting but in the midst of it, I had about 5 seconds where my heart stopped and I was in disbelief. Right before the picture at 0:21, I had yelled to the balloonists, "Do you need any help?" "Yes!" they yelled back. The picture shows my husband running to the balloon in his bare feet. I then expected people to run to his aid to help. As I filmed (in my pajamas), I saw in my peripheral vision people walking up to help. Or so I thought. When they weren't approaching my husband or the balloon, to my amazement, everyone was recording with their phones! I was horrified until I realized that my husband was totally phone and proceeded to assist a second balloon land.

Social media has affected our society in unimaginable ways. The need to feed our voracious viral community has sometimes manipulated and at other times dulled our senses. Random acts of human kindness are replaced with staged and scripted acts all for the sake of views or likes. Everyone wants to be the first to upload, post or tweet just in case it goes viral. Because in social media, going viral is equated with doors of opportunity opening. Having a viral video opens up the possibility of being on "The Ellen Show" or getting sponsors, commercials or starting your own YouTube channel. The end game is that it's all about the money.

There is a common denominator that most heroes, heroines and good samaritans have. Selflessness. They're too busy helping and assisting to think about video recording for the sake and possibility of becoming a viral video star. Often times, their acts of kindness are never seen, heard or spoken of.  Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying video recording is wrong, but it definitely has its pros and cons. It's definitely a con, when you see someone in need of help and instead of running to their aid, you take out your smartphone to record.

As you see in the video, my husband stayed with the balloon that needed his help the most. He stayed with that balloon until the very end until they were ready to deflate it. No fanfare. No appreciation. He was just a kind human who wanted to help...selflessly.

My husband. My hero.

Let's talk about right and wrong actions before we talk about race. Cukor Vs Michel

https://www.doorking.com

Unless you've been living under a rock, we've all heard the names. "Permit Patty", "Golfcart Gail", "Cornerstone Carol", "Dog Park Debbie", "BBQ Becky", just to name a few. All nomenclatures that were given to White women who have called the police on African-Americans for petty things. I typically roll my eyes about the unfortunate incidences. I always feel like I can end things cordially before they escalate. I always feel like there has to be some civil way or just...walk away. That's the way my parents reared me. 

Recently there was another incident. Christopher Cukor called the police on Wesley Michel, an African-American man, calling him a "trespasser" and that he was "tailgating" into an apartment complex. This whole situation should have ended when Cukor said, "Great. Could you please call your friend on the call box...?" Mr. Michel could have said, "Sure. Thanks for holding the door." or "She doesn't know I'm coming because it's a surprise." or "My bad. Wasn't trying to act all creepy by bypassing your security measures here." So, you're asking me, a resident who is paying to live in that apartment with that specific security measure in place to just let you walk in because I happen to make it convenient to do so by walking out at the same time you come up to the door???? When is it okay to bypass any security measure or protocol when walking into a building? If I am a resident of a building that has certain security measures in place for me and my family's protection, I don't want ANYONE to bypass them, not friends or other family members. The call box is there for a reason. So, yes! "Tee-Tee", "Big Momma", "Uncle" and "Grandaddy" HAVE TO use that call box! (And having a southern Mother, etiquette would dictate that any gentleman caller would need to speak to me prior to arriving on my doorstep.)

If Cukor hadn't been there at the time that Michel walked up, what was Michel going to do? Probably 1 of 3 things: Use the call box, call his friend via his smartphone or keep on walking down the street. This situation should never have escalated to this "viral" level. Groupthink caused people to react and immediately side with Wesley Michel because initially, it looks like another White man going after a Black man, however, if you do just little bit of critical thinking, it's obvious who was at fault if you ask yourself the question, "What made these two men happen to engage each other?" Cukor resides in the building. Cukor is walking out of his building (which is essentially like his front door) with his child. As he is walking out of a door that is locked 24/7, a man grabs the door before it can shut and starts to let himself in. At this point, the only adverse thing that is happening is that Wesley Michel is attempting to circumvent the security protocol of the apartment complex. This is the root of the problem. As a resident in the building, Cukor has the right to question any situation that goes against the security measures set for the building. Wesley Michel added insult to injury thinking that circumventing the security measure was okay. Why would a person think they have the right to circumvent the security measure that I'm paying for as a resident of this apartment complex? How about we talk about right and wrong before talking about race?

And the pleas of the little boy...so sad. The child is old enough to have seen or heard of far too many examples of "police + African-American man = not a good situation" and was attempting to diffuse it by begging his Father to leave. People want to fault Cukor for not acknowledging his son's pleas, but if a parent is thinking they are protecting you, they are going to protect you despite how you act or feel.

Gender Is Not Fluid And Is Problematic

I was watching the Today Show this morning and they had a segment called, "An inside look at the blurring of gender lines". As I watched it, I was a bit confused. I was wondering what made people in American think gender is fluid? Gender is a word that means either of the two sexes (male and female). That's it. Sounds simple to me. So, how can it be fluid? I don't have all of the answers but this sounds like a case of semantics. It sounds like there is a need to discuss the definitions of gender, sexual identity and sexual preference.

As of today, the United States government has made no official acknowledgment or definition of non-binary or unspecified gender. The states have taken it upon themselves to allow non-binary gender markers on identification documents. I'm sure there are various reasons why someone would declare themselves as gender "x" and I hope it's worth the time, energy, attention, and finances they can potentially incur for the sake of having that status.

Recently, I read an article where a state is now allowing gender "x" as an option on driver's licenses. I see that as being potentially problematic in the future. "x" is basically an unknown gender to the person that sees it on documentation. Things that are unknown have a tendency to take an exponential amount of time, energy and sometimes finances. There are a plethora of things that are intentionally separated by 2 genders. Prisons, bathrooms, locker rooms, hospital rooms are intentionally separated by 2 genders. When a 3rd is added, won't it result in mishaps, extra added expenses or accommodations? In 2018 Forbes article stated the U.S. was one of "The World's Most Crowded Prison Systems". Is the prison system willing and able to accommodate gender "x"? Probably not. So, if you are unfortunate and end up in the prison system, your gender "x" status may not mean anything. Perhaps as a gender "x" you're admitted to a hospital. The potential for a fatal mishap increases significantly. Why? Because in the field of medicine there are not only gender-specific diseases but also gender-specific drug effects. The time it would take for medical staff to determine if a gender "x" patient required medication and/or dosage that was specific to male or female may result in misdiagnosis, misadministration or much worse, death. More than likely, the "x" gender person may be forced to choose one gender or the other in a lot of situations, so I guess I'm not understanding the point of declaring it at all. This societal construct of a third gender (x) seems like more trouble than it's worth. Individuals that have to face the landscape of determining medical treatment based on hormone levels rather than gender are individuals that are intersex or have ambiguous genitalia. This is irrefutably necessary because of their physical development. Without these (or any other) physical reasons, determining yourself as gender "x" seems more like a product of groupthink and part of this era that feels the need to affix self-proclaimed labels and statuses based on your "truth" or individuality.

If you've continued to read this far, you've probably decided that this blog is the rantings of a "cisgender person preaching cisnormativity", let me be clear, I have no qualms about the descriptives you use to define yourself, your sexual preference or orientation. You can declare the color of your skin sarcoline, wenge or eburnean, have a sexual affection for trees and worship the god of dirt or ants but legally, on a state or government issued identification, it would be in your own interest (for health and safety) to specify what gender you are currently. For those individuals that are individuals that are intersex or have ambiguous genitalia, I would hope most have already completed the medical diagnostics to determine the percentage of male and female hormones that they produce and for the purpose of getting accurate and appropriate medical attention the greater % of hormone would be determined as their gender.

There are always exceptions but it is rare that human genes, blood type, and gender biologically (as opposed to cosmetically) change after you're born. When people speak of gender fluidity, it sounds like a self-proclaimed and self-described gender identity that is not fixed or set and is based on an emotional or psychological level. This is not the same as your gender. Again, gender is a word that means either of the two sexes (male and female). So, my conclusion is that gender in and of itself is not fluid. (Yes, I said it. Gender is NOT fluid.) Until it takes more than a human female ovum and a human male sperm to produce a human being, IT...IS...NOT...FLUID. (Why not? Because a bunch of unfertilized ovum that sits around for a month produces nothing but menstruation along with cramps, nausea, pain, etc.)

When a new word or phrase starts trending through social media, I always try my best to understand it. I want to know where this word or phrase came from and why it came to be. If I didn't do my due diligence in researching it and asking questions, I could easily fall into the pit of groupthink. And although groupthink can be powerful, it is not always correct. Understanding "gender fluid" begins with the correct definition of it as well as the correct definitions of other gender-based identifiers. Gender is the way you were born biologically (or hormonally), sexual identity is what you proclaim yourself to be (in your mind, heart or soul, if you will) and sexual preference is who you've chosen to love romantically. If a conversation is had, let's start it from a place of true and accurate definitions.

The Hidden Expense of Newspaper Obituaries

My Father passed away in May 2018 from stage 4 living Cancer. Three weeks before he passed away (and when he was at his sickest, I was hospitalized battling a cancer issue as well. My parents had already prepaid their cemetery plots and headstones years ago and a few years earlier I decided to write my parents' obituaries while they were alive. It sounds a bit morbid, but it makes total sense. While alive, I was able to ask them details about where they lived, the correct spellings of names and if they wanted anything special added. I placed those obituaries on a cloud server and had given 2 other siblings access. I never would have imagined that my preparation was exactly what was needed at the time. I was hospitalized at the time that my Father's funeral was being planned. I was able to remind one of the siblings where his already written obituary was and it was a relief to my entire family that it was already written. Attempting to write an obituary at such an emotional time can be daunting.

Our relief quickly turned into disappointment when we realized how much it cost to place an obituary in the newspaper. My Father was the first close family member that has died, where I was somewhat intimately knowledgeable about the details of his funeral preparations. When my Brother began to place my Dad's obituary in the local newspaper, he was almost stymied at the expense of it. $100.00 per line! At a minimum, most people give the date, time and location of the funeral but after people have incurred the high priced burial expenses, allotting a substantial amount of money (to most) for a newspaper obituary doesn't make the cut. I recently read that the New York Times charged $263 for the first 4 lines and an additional charge for a picture. Some Newspapers charge you one price for a colored photo and another price for black & white. There's another charge depending on the size of your photo. The cost of obituaries in Newspapers is obvious price gouging during a time of mourning and it is exploitive. Most are totally opting out of this time-honored tradition that used to hold the memory of their loved one for years to come. People are now turning toward posting on the funeral home website (which is temporary) or other internet sites that are free.

There's a hidden expense that the lack of a newspaper obituary incurs that most don't think about. The expense lies in the form of history and memories. As the family genealogist, newspaper obituary archives are goldmines for family history. As I continue to fill my family tree full of thousands of names, obituaries from the past allow me to verify the names, locations, and dates of relatives from several generations back. Sometimes the obituaries of the past have allowed me to connect to relatives I didn't even know I had. Reading older obituaries is like having a short conversation with an ancestor. For a moment, the location, the people and the stories live again to be passed down to generations to come.

In my genealogical research, it appears that newspaper obituaries start to decline in the 1980s. They have all but disappeared (in my local paper) for minorities in general. My own Father's online obituary consists of two sentences and every time I see it, it saddens me. "(insert name here) passed away on (insert date here). (insert name here) was a resident of (insert state) at the time of passing."

Two sentences.

The Chronic Pain Chronicles, Part 10: The GCTOB

The GCTOB (giant cell tumor of the bone) is still with me, albeit, smaller in size. The Neurosurgeon who performed the surgery retired, but I was left in good hands. My first Oncology appointment after surgery was nerve-wracking. I was given more information about the tumor and the recommended protocols for permanent removal. Radiation or chemotherapy. Making that kind of decision is like choosing the lesser evil...and I chose chemo. Since there's no case like mine that's ever been documented, I guess you can say that my drug protocol is customized for me. I'm almost positive my case will be discussed in forums and conferences as well as written about in medical journals.

It took almost 10 months for my hands to be rid of the feeling of pins and needles, but the pain in my neck and arm on the left side is reminiscent of the pain prior to surgery. My left arm is weak and painful. My trapezium spasms any time I use my left arm and the spasms are painful. My left arm appears to be part of the permanent spinal damage I was warned about. Other spinal damage includes the inability to walk normally. I don't exactly walk like I'm drunk, but my gait is not stable. No amount of muscle strengthening seems to help thus far, but I'm going to keep on trying.

The amount of chronic daily pain I experience can be debilitating. The daily chronic migraines are blinding. Knowing your triggers helps, but it doesn't prevent the migraine from occurring at all. Attempting to find joy in life is hard.


This blog isn't called "The Chronic Pain Chronicles" for nothing. Continue to Part 11.

The Chronic Pain Chronicles, Part 9: The Most Excruciating Pain I've Ever Felt

For as long as I've had back pain (over 20 years), I've had periodic pain and muscle spasms in my upper back. On one occasion, at the chiropractor's office, her assistant attempted to inject a muscle relaxer into a muscle as it was spasming. It was spasming so intensely that when she removed the needle, the muscle spasmed and "spit" the medicine back out. Needless to say, it scared her but I found it fascinating.

This pain was concentrated more on my left side. It was my neck...again. But this time it was joined by the left trapezius muscle, tricep, and bicep. I knew I had a disc situation in my cervical spine from years before. I wondered if biotechnology had advanced to cervical disc replacement. After searching on the internet, I found a website and wondered if I would be a candidate. After using the "Surgeon Locator", I found a surgeon close to my home, at a privately owned hospital.  After several office visits, a nerve injection and physical therapy, my pain got worse. The physician I was seeing, didn't know where my pain was coming from, wouldn't prescribe any pain meds and curtly referred me to a rheumatologist. This painful saga lasted from November to April.

When I got home from the appointment, I called a rheumatologist to get an appointment. The appointment was a week away and that was the earliest appointment I could get as a first-time patient. Before I could get to the rheumatology appointment, I ended up in the ER because I could no longer lift my left shoulder and the pain was unbearable. While being examined by the ER physician, he noticed I couldn't lift my shoulder. He could tell that I was in acute pain but when he asked me to spread my fingers what came next surprised everyone in my room. When I attempted to spread my fingers, the worst pain I've ever felt in my entire life shot through me and all I could do was scream. I can't recall ever screaming like that since I've become an adult but I've never felt pain like that before. After pain meds were administered, a CT-Scan of my neck was done. The CT-Scan was suspicious and it was followed with an MRI. The MRI definitely showed something amiss, but to be sure another MRI was done with contrast and something on the image "lit up like a Christmas tree" I was told.

I'm wheeled back to the ER and a neck brace is immediately placed on me and I'm told to never take it off. An oncologist walks in and says, "You have cancer...and since you may have it somewhere else in your body, we will need to do a CT-Scan of your chest and abdomen." Good grief! Various physicians were coming in so fast that I started recording the conversations. I just didn't trust myself to remember everything they were telling me. The oncologist asked when was my last MRI. I told him when and where it was. He was able to view it and no cancer could be seen on an MRI that was done in November but by April it was very clearly seen.

A Neurosurgeon comes in and explains that I have a "giant cell bone tumor". The tumor itself is benign, the real danger is its location. It's dangerously close to my spinal column and if the disc itself had collapsed, I would have been paralyzed from the neck down. The C5 spinal location is the reason why I have severe pain on the left side and there is a possibility that I could end up with permanent muscle damage.

I entered the ER on a Tuesday afternoon, I was admitted that night and placed in a room Wednesday afternoon. Due to scheduling and a fatal car accident in the city, my surgery date got pushed almost a week out. My pain was off the charts without meds, so I had to be heavily medicated until after surgery. This proved to be problematic. If the nursing staff was late with my meds, I would definitely know because the pain would let me know. Sometimes I would be sleep and instead of giving me the meds, the staff would let me sleep. Bad idea. There were more occasions than I can count when I woke up screaming at the top of my lungs. The hospitalist ordered a PCA pump. That proved problematic because I'd sleep past the time when I was supposed to press the button and I'd still wake up screaming. I was probably the loudest patient on the floor because it kept happening at all times of the day and night.

Surgery day finally came and despite waking up from surgery and thinking I was in the back of a Chinese restaurant, it all went well. The hardest part was yet to come and that was the recovery. By the time I left the hospital, the pain was phenomenally decreased but kinesthetically, I had declined. I could no longer do self-care and it was humbling. Thank God for a loving, compassionate and patient husband who was my caregiver for the first 4-5 weeks after surgery. He literally did everything for me and it was comforting for him to be with me at post doctor appointments.

Right after surgery, physical therapy began. It was intense, tiring and at times painful but I had a physical therapist who felt like my personal cheerleader. "Sarah" was sympathetic, compassionate, down to Earth, easy going,  yet firm, forward thinking and consistent with a stellar sense of humor. Over the months, I was slowly able to take care of my own toiletry needs but being able to lift my left arm from the shoulder escaped me. That became my goal but by the time I finished physical therapy (5 months later), I never reached it. "Sarah" encouraged me to continue therapy at home, so I did. I did the exercises I learned and added some I found on YouTube. Within one month, I was able to lift my left arm at shoulder level all the way over my head. I went back to visit "Sarah" and greeted her by waving my left arm wildly. She noticed right away and gave me a big hug.

The Chronic Pain Chronicles, Part 8: When A Doctor Doubts You

Illustration by Brian Stauffer @staufferstudio

Last year, I read an article titled, "This Is How The American Health System Is Failing Black Women" by Ericka Stallings and suddenly realized I became a part of that statistic. Let's face it, we're all a part of some type of statistic...it's unavoidable, but when you become a part of a statistic that you think would never happen to you, righteous indignation takes over.

November 2017 the pain in my neck had become unbearable. The pain seemed to radiate down the left side of my neck to my shoulder and to my arm. I remembered having a herniated or bulging disc in my neck from years ago and thought that must be it. An old problem is rearing its ugly head. I wondered if biotechnology had caught up and performed cervical disc replacements yet. After searching on the internet, not only did I find it, I also found a local doctor that could perform it, but first I needed to know if I was a candidate. The doctor in question was from (what I heard was) a private, physician-owned hospital. How can I go wrong when the surgeons not only perform the surgeries but also own the hospital? I thought it was a win-win.

My first appointment was an assessment (of course), so X-rays were taken immediately and I was taken to an examination room to wait for the doctor. To my surprise, a doctor didn't walk in. A Physician Assistant was the individual who did the pre-assessment before you are even seen by a doctor. The PA seemed to be able to determine whether or not I had a problem that was worthy of the doctor's time. Thankfully, I did.

I met the doctor (who we'll call "Dr. Nive"). Dr. Nive was kind and cordial. After reviewing the x-rays, he briefly examed my cervical spine movements as well as the strength and function of my upper extremities while I answered his questions regarding my pain. By looking at the x-rays, he could definitely tell I had something going on but he would need an MRI to be sure. I believe the phrase he used was, "slight impingement", however, by the description of pain and discomfort that I relayed to him, he felt I'd do well with physical therapy but suggested a steroid injection prior to attempting physical therapy. Dr. Nive thought my case was best suited for another colleague, so my follow up appointment after the injection procedure was going to be with a different physician (who we'll call "Dr. Zo"). I was scheduled for the procedure before I even left the office. "How efficient.", I thought. The day of the procedure I met Dr. Zo and he comforted me by assuring me that I would feel great after the procedure.

I had my follow-up with Dr. Zo and when I told him the injection didn't work, he seemed almost apathetic at the fact that it wasn't successful, but I thought maybe it was my imagination. Maybe. After reviewing my MRI, Dr. Zo then prescribed physical therapy.  The physical therapy location was conveniently 5 minutes from my home and the physical therapist was awesome, but something wasn't right. I faithfully went to every single appointment and did every exercise I was told to do but the pain kept increasing. The physical therapist halted my appointments and suggested I make an appointment with my doctor immediately. Back to Dr. Zo I go and this time he suggested I try something called, "dry needling". It has now been 4 months since my initial appointment with Dr. Nive and at this point I'm miserable and my pain is at its worst, but he wants me to try dry needling? It sounds like acupuncture to me, but I'll try anything if it decreases my pain. 

Something strange happened before I got to my first dry needling appointment. My left shoulder literally stopped functioning. I tried to reach for something out of my refrigerator and my body didn't comply with my brain. By now, the pain has increased, I'm using ice, heat and Tiger Balm to try to decrease the pain because I have no medication that is working. It feels like my muscles are continuously spasming and my hands are painful as well. My hands were hurting so badly that one day, I actually woke up with my palms up and in the air (as if I was under arrest). My husband said he saw it and was wondering what was going on with me. So,  I go to the first dry needling appointment and I'm almost in tears. I'm hoping it will be my saving grace but it's not. By the second dry needling appointment I can't lift my left shoulder, the therapist can clearly see that I'm in pain and again, my appointments are halted. I schedule an appointment to see Dr. Zo.

My husband has to take me to the appointment with Dr. Zo because I can't drive. The pain is horrible but I'm trying to bear it in the hope that Dr. Zo will prescribe some type of medication that will relieve me of the pain. At this point, I'm not even caring about what the source of the pain is, I just want to be out of pain...period! When Dr. Zo enters the examination room, he appears almost irritated that I've returned. "So, what's going on?" was the first thing he said. I explained about the increase in pain, I explained that my left shoulder was functioning and he never rose from the rolling stool to examine me. I only heard, "I don't know what to tell you.", "I can't determine why you're in pain.", "All I can do is recommend you go to a rheumatologist." My husband is visibly livid and asked, "Can you at least give her a pain killer to last until she gets to the rheumatologist?" Dr. Zo's response was, "I can't do it. I won't." Since Dr. Zo couldn't determine why I was in pain, he obviously didn't believe I was in pain, therefore, he would not write a prescription for anything. I walked out of the room almost in tears, my husband was livid and thankfully, the administrative staff that gave me the document recommending a rheumatologist was kind and apologetic.

On the drive home, my husband and I were angry and in utter disbelief. We couldn't fathom why Dr. Zo didn't believe me, he didn't examine me when I told him my shoulder wasn't functioning, I was denied any kind of medication and we would be dismissed with nothing but a rheumatology referral. I suddenly remembered a viral video with a guy saying that physicians believe Black women less when they talk about the symptoms they're having. Did that just happen to me? I spoke with my oldest sister (who is like another Mother) and told her what just happened. She told me I needed to go to the hospital. I don't know why, but I thought I'd be able to get an appointment with the rheumatologist and everything would be fine. I tried to convince myself that everything would be fine but I knew something was wrong.

The next day I made an appointment with the first rheumatologist with the earliest appointment available and that still meant my appointment was a week away. One day around noon, I decided I'd get dressed. Attempting to do the smallest things seemed difficult but when I got to my pants and couldn't pull them up...that was it. Why was I bearing this pain? What was I trying to prove? I called my husband at work and asked him to take me to the ER when he got home. He agreed. Thirty minutes later I heard his vehicle entering the garage. When I mentioned wanting to go to the ER, he wasn't waiting. Thank God my husband didn't wait, because I was worse off than we thought.

Continued on "The Chronic Pain Chronicles, Part 9".

The Chronic Pain Chronicles, Part 7: A Bloating We Will Go

The Fall of 2016 and I noticed that I would wake up in the morning feeling bloated. By now, chronic pain is my "chronic friend". I've learned how to adapt, adjust or endure it but one thing I've never had was chronic stomach issues. A little acid reflux here and there but not much else. So, where is this bloating coming from? Who knows?

By Thanksgiving the bloating was obvious. I hadn't eaten a thing and already felt full. I noticed a bloody discharge when I went to the bathroom but didn't know where it was coming from. Went to my PCP and she couldn't tell where it was coming from. She sent me to another doctor and even that doctor didn't know where it was coming from. It didn't happen all the time and of course, it wouldn't happen on the day of a doctor's appointment. Since I'd already seen two doctors about it and they couldn't find anything, I was prescribed Prilosec and I thought that this bloating would be another type of pain that I would have to endure.

After the holidays were over, I decided to take a different type of action. I approached my husband with the idea of a weeklong, vegan cleansing. He agreed.  In addition to the cleansing, I was consuming a Korean red ginseng extract. I was determined to try to "cure" the bloating as naturally as possible, but for the next few months, the bloating was persistent.

March 31st was a pretty good day but by 11pm, I wasn't feeling so well. Earlier that day, I was at a neighborhood store and picked up one of my Mother's favorite treats, chicharrones. I like them but passed on eating them until about 9pm and I couldn't resist. I opened the bag and ate about 4 pieces. That was it! I was really eating clean until that moment of weakness. Unfortunately, that moment of weakness nearly cost me my life. Like I said, by 11pm I thought the chicharrones were coming back to haunt me and I felt like I deserved what I got. I tried to wash it down with water but that didn't work. It's now midnight and I popped a couple of papaya chewable, but that didn't work. When I started palpitating where the pain was, I quickly realized that it wasn't my stomach that was the issue. Something else was going on that I'd never felt before. This isn't good. This is bad. I washed up and put my clothes back on as the pain began to increase. I woke my husband up and told him that I think I needed to go to the ER. Something was wrong but I couldn't tell him what was wrong because I didn't know.

We arrive at the ER and I'm the only patient there. Thank you, Jesus! As the nurse is listening to my complaint and taking my blood pressure she asks, "Do you still have your gall bladder?" Gall bladder? Of course but what's that got to do with....uh oh. I'm taken back to a room and you know something is really wrong when a parade of physicians keep coming in to see you. A CT-Scan and an MRI, I was told "Your gall bladder needs to be taken out immediately. We're going to try to get you into surgery as soon as possible." So, long gall bladder. For the full gall bladder story, click here. 

The Chronic Pain Chronicles, Part 6: Not the Bee's Knees

The Bible says that God puts no more on you than you can bear, so I guess Fibromyalgia, plus a diagnosis of degenerative disc disease, plus chronic migraines just don't seem to be enough pain. Apparently, God thinks I can tolerate more.

Have you ever awakened only to realize that something that used to function properly doesn't function so properly anymore? That was my knees. More specifically, my left knee. At first, it felt like it needed to pop. As days went on and the pain increased, I started limping. At some point, it felt like it could no longer stand my own weight, so it was time to go to an Orthopaedist. According to the orthopaedist, that pain was a Baker's cyst and a torn meniscus. Recovery was slow but it came just in time for my other knee to break down. My right knee was doing the exact same thing as the left. To my surprise, it was a torn meniscus.

At this point in my life, my chronic pain was excruciating. I was prescribed the Fentynal Transdermal pain patch but it did nothing for my knee pain or migraines. (This was before the opioid overdose crisis.) After all the back pain and now knee pain, I entered the world of orthopedic shoes...the ugliest shoes on Earth.

My knee pain would come and go. I was told that I would eventually have to have my knees replaced but apparently, you have to wait until you're old enough to get your knees replaced...which is about 75 (I was told). I personally think orthopaedist tell their patients different things depending upon their situation. I have a friend who got her knees replaced while she was in her 40s and my Mother got her's replaced in her late 70s. So, until I age some more (God willing), I have to get my knees injected about every 6 months to stave off the pain.

A Patient Experience in Patience, Part 1

2017 marked an April Fool's Day that I will never forget. I've never been big on practical joking and on a day that it's celebrated, I felt like the biggest joke was played on me.
March 31st was a great day. I spent the day with 2 of my Grand-nieces. We shopped, cooked and even painted pottery. At the end of the day, I was my usual nocturnal self, still wide awake at 2 am (now April 1st). Suddenly, my stomach began to hurt. "No. Wait. That's not where my stomach is.", I thought. The pain was radiating from the right side, kind of where my ribs are. Even through the pain, I began searching the internet and everything kept pointing toward the gallbladder organ. Gallbladder? I didn't even know what to think but the pain kept increasing, so I woke my husband up and off to ER we went.

The ER was empty (thank God) and as I was being assessed, everyone kept asking me the same question, "Do you still have your gallbladder?". Yes, I still had it. As a matter of fact, I never even thought about it...until now. I'm taken to get an ultrasound only to be forgotten in the hallway by patient transport. The ultrasound technician felt so bad for me that she closed her office door and wheeled me back to emergency herself. With the appropriate pain meds on board (Finally!) and after seeing a parade of physicians, the chief surgeon announced, "We're going to admit you." The first thing out of my mouth was, "Why??" Two gallstones showed up on the ultrasound and the CT-Scan and my heightened pain meant that something else was going on other than just the gallstones.

April 1st at approximately 7:30 am, I'm officially admitted and moved into a private hospital room. My mind is still in disbelief because I've never been through anything like this before. No sooner than I'm in my room and I'm told that I've been scheduled for an MRI. Sheesh! I really don't want to move anymore. The pain is causing me breathing problems and I just want to be left alone. The MRI was the most difficult MRI I've ever had because it required me to hold my breath at a time where it hurt to just breathe. I felt like I was fading in and out of conscience-ness during the test, so I can't recall how often I was doing as instructed. FINALLY! The test was over and I'm wheeled back in the hall to wait for patient transport...again. My MRI was supposed to have taken 30-35 minutes. I don't know how long the patient's test after me was supposed to take but I was STILL waiting in the hallway on a patient bed after the patient's test was complete.

Back in my room, dying of thirst and I'm told that I can't have anything to eat or drink because I was scheduled for surgery ASAP but they didn't exactly know what time that would be. Hours go by. Sometime between late Saturday and early Sunday, my temperature spikes. Vitals are taken, antibiotics and Tylenol on board, more IVs added to my tree, more blood was drawn and I'm feeling like a pin cushion. Something I couldn't control was happening to my body and I felt extremely helpless. (Oh! I forgot to mention the ever-present heart monitor. Any movements out of the bed apparently made my heartbeat increase and whoever was monitoring it kept calling the nurse in charge to check on me. I think my heart was pranking them the whole time I was there. Ha!)

Time never moved so slowly before. Lots of poking, prodding, answering questions and waiting. The question of the day was, "When did you start having pain?". I kept saying about 2am Saturday morning but that wasn't the answer they were looking for. I guess I was supposed to have had pain for weeks prior but all I had was bloating...for months but no real pain.

I finally have the surgery and found out that my gallbladder was 50% dead. How did I walk around with 50% of my gallbladder not functioning and not really feel it? (I think it was all the Korean ginseng I was taking. LOL) And why am I waking up to a 6 inch open wound?

A Patient Experience in Patience, Part 2

My gallbladder was so infected, it seemed to have made the surgeons a bit nervous. I think I was less concerned about the infection and more intrigued about this newfound wound I had. (I'm a bit nerdy that way.) If you've ever seen "Little Shop of Horrors", the scar reminded me of the lips of the alien plant...without the teeth.

After surgery, the circus began. The hospital I was in used to be the BEST in the city. Unfortunately, it has fallen into a pool of disrepair and lack of care. I experienced so many outlandish scenarios that I actually started taking pictures.

The roll of garbage bags that sat on the mousepad of the computer.

The hole in the blanket that I saw in the middle of the night and swore it was a bug.

The empty IV bag I found in my bathroom sink.

The splattered blood by a nurse who never bothered to get me another blanket and only said, "Oops."

My stained sheets that I had asked to be changed and it didn't happen until the next day.

Things I didn't get pictures to capture were:

-how a nurse used the top of the soiled sheet receptacle to hold her supplies as she attempted to draw my blood.

-how after having an accident in the bathroom (with the urine catcher "thingy"), I ended up having to clean it up myself (post-surgery) with the foam antibacterial spray and by using my foot to wipe up the floor with a towel. This was AFTER an assistant came in and used HER foot to clean it up with a towel and left. I cleaned it up again because it was sticky. Housekeeping eventually came in and cleaned it up but it was HOURS after the accident.

The grand finale of my hospital stay was when THEY FORGOT TO DISCHARGE ME! I waited from 9am until almost 3pm waiting to be discharged. The nurse kept saying, "There's nothing in the system." Finally, a nurse decided to dig a little deeper into why there was nothing in the system. I was LITERALLY forgotten. Whatever physician was responsible for initiating my release forgot to do it. In an effort to quickly resolve the issue, my discharge was finally complete...so I thought. A nurse came into my room with the discharge papers and immediately began to apologize. For someone being sent home with an open wound to care for, my discharge papers were extremely basic. There were no detailed instructions about how to care for my open wound. I got a crash course from the nurse (who was very sympathetic) on what to do, how to do it and the supplies I would need. 

I survived that hospital stay and vowed to never return for any other planned surgeries or procedures. If the hospital thinks they're getting good feedback from surveying their patients, I think they're asking ALL the wrong questions.