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Losing my best friends

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I lived in one of “those” houses. You know the one. It was a house that a lot of my friends weren’t allowed to go to but I was always welcome at their house. I was invited into the popular group for a little while but that didn’t work out too well for me. I had an issue with conforming to narrow and limiting group norms AND I lived in one of “those” houses. I did have a best friend in high school I will name Shelly. Her parents only let her leave the house to go to school and to walk down to the store to buy them cigarettes. My second best friend was Mary and she was one of 13 kids in her house. Her parents didn’t seem to notice if she was home or not. So this worked!

When Shelly was 17, she was allowed to come over to my house once. She got home an hour late that day. By the time I took her home, the police were there because her parents listed her as a runaway. Shelly was one of those quiet girls that never got into trouble. When she turned 18, she moved in with us. My mom didn’t charge her rent because she didn’t have a job. She did have to help clean the house, which was no easy task because my parents are practically hoarders. At 19, Shelly got married and I was her maid of honor. 

Shelly was having a hard time finding a job right out of high school. My mom got her a job as Matt’s teachers aide. After 3 years of being “kicked out of school” for his violent and aggressive behavior, Matt was transitioned back in. He still was angry and would lash out if forced to do schoolwork. At this time, I was going to college and was roommates with Mary. I was soon to meet my future husband who lived in the apartment below mine. 

Over time, Matt was still having issues in school. He kept attacking Shelly and pulled her hair. Matt’s teacher convinced Shelly to press charges against Matt because he didn’t have any consequences for his behavior. The next time Matt attacked Shelly at school, she called the police. The police came to the school and arrested Matt with the charge of assault. At this time, I was engaged to Paul. My mother was devastated as she picked Matt up from the police station. I was torn between my best friend and my family. Mary was torn between Shelly and I. It was a big, fricken mess. 

After several months of legal issues, Matt was found incompetent to face the charges brought against him and they were dropped. He has the mind of a 7 year old. He does not read or write. He can’t do simple math. I lost my 2 best friends. They didn’t come to my wedding. That is why, parents, you should not have your child’s friends be caregivers! It was a very hard time for me. I haven’t talked to Shelly in almost 2 decades and Mary for at least a decade. People sometimes ask me if I have any friends from high school. Did you just drift apart over time? Yes, it was something like that. 

The cure for autism, part 9

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It started out the way these things usually do. My contractions were 2 minutes apart. I was due on my birthday and it was that week. The contractions didn’t lead anywhere and neither did the pitocin induced labor. I left the hospital the next day with an empty car seat. The nurses joked on my way out that they would see me later that day. Didn’t happen. 

The following week, I made it in to my appointment. I was now a week overdue and the doctor said it looked like a big baby. They scheduled to induce me again early the next morning. Another day of pitocin induced labor with no results until they broke my water. But they wouldn’t break my water until what seemed like 10 medical students got to feel my cervix. Then started the 2 hours of pushing without the urge to push. The baby never made it into the birth canal and was showing signs of stress. Stop pushing your baby could get stuck in the birth canal, sign these forms, and off to the surgical room. Seventeen years ago today ushered in the birth of Angelique Hope, 8lbs 13 oz. 

My mom said that this baby was going to finally pull Matt out of himself, a new cure for autism. Matt was an uncle for the first time. 

I graduated from college in May, got married in August, and was pregnant by October. After a fruitless job search, I decided to do what I did off and on for my whole life, be Matt’s caregiver this time with Angel. My mom and Matt became obsessed with Angel, the only difference was Matt’s obsession was dark.  Angel grew into a beautiful and happy little girl. I should have seen it coming, but I was blinded by optimism. 

It happened on Angel’s 4th birthday at her party. Angel wanted everyone to watch her dance around and sing. Matt said, “Everybody watch this” and proceeded to grab Angel’s arm and start twisting. Paul and Luke had to struggle to get Matt off of Angel. My mom was screaming not to hurt Matt. Luke took Matt home. Matt muttered to himself for hours, evil laughter and delight that he obeyed whatever voices where telling him to hurt her. Thankfully, Angel was not seriously hurt. 

I had now entered the second most difficult period of my life. After this happened, we decided to cut Matt out of our life for awhile. I couldn’t stand to watch my own children get hurt the way I was. This also cut my mom out of my life because Matt still lived at home and they were always together. For a period of about five years, I lost all support from my family and felt very alone. 

Still no cure. 

Marathon training, week 9

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I won’t be running 24 miles this week. Yes, you did hear me right. I injured myself. I wish I could say that I hurt myself doing something heroic, like rescuing another sailor lost at sea. Or possibly something daring or exciting that few of you would be brave enough to try. But it was something mundane that got me. I guess I was worried about the wrong things. Even if I put myself in a completely protective bubble, I would still risk tripping over my own two feet. 

I was looking for my youngest daughter to tell her that supper was ready last night. I couldn’t find her anywhere. I quickly climbed two steps on her bunk bed ladder and only went down one rolling my ankle as I missed the last rung. My ankle is swollen and sore, but I think I should be back on my feet by next week. Maybe the end of this week if I’m really lucky. 

I’ve heard that pride comes before a fall. I admit I am guilty! My kids are still limping around the house after the 5k. I limped around a day or two after the half marathon, but didn’t have to recover from the 5k or 10k. I am stronger than everyone in my house. I am a better runner. Aahhhhhhhh as I fall down the stairs and end up limping up and down them like everyone else. Oh damn the limits of being a mere mortal! 

It could be worse. I found out this past weekend that my runner cousin injured his foot so bad that he can’t even walk on it for a month. He was one of the people that was instrumental in me starting this blog about running, even though I spend more time talking about the things that I am out running. Lol. It is hard to think about your run being over, but I feel good that with some rest I will be back on the road again soon. 

My silver birthday medal

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I called this “won”. My silver birthday week ended with a silver medal. Inwardly, I am chuckling at the irony of earning the icing on my cake. I finished the 5k in 25 minutes. I awoke this morning to thunder and heavy rain. When we got to the race, it stopped raining. I guess there was a silver lining in the gray clouds after all. It was a hot and humid run. My mom, Paul, and the kids all finished but did not place. 

 Now back to marathon training mode with another 24 mile run planned for this next week. Pfwhew…

Imperfect perfection

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I was raised in a house full of introverts with the exception of Luke. At one time that probably made Matt’s bizarre behavior all the more shocking. Anything could set Matt off so we had to make sure that anything didn’t happen. We had to tiptoe around the house in a whisper, no loud music and absolutely no anger was allowed. Anger was wrong. But that didn’t seem to stop my parents from arguing when they thought we were asleep at night or before we woke up in the morning. Matt was the burner on high underneath my pot of water. Just when the water was rolling and coming to a full raging boil, the lid was forced on. Sometimes a little steam would escape, as from a tea kettle, but never before a full roaring scream could be issued. The hot water stayed trapped inside making my blood boil. It was a long time before I learned that feeling angry was ok. When I finally opened that spout, I boiled over with anger for a long time. 

I also had to be perfect. Completely, inhumanly perfect. When Matt hit me I was not supposed to strike back or feel anger. I was lucky to be normal. Lucky! I got in big trouble when I struck back, but Matt was never once told that what he was doing was wrong whether he could control it or not. When my grades dropped in grade school, my dolls were taken away for a semester until I was perfect again. I couldn’t play piccolo in middle school because it was so high pitched that people could hear if I made a mistake. The same thing with singing. But this perfection was not just imposed on me. Mark had to be perfect and so did my mom herself. We all knew that my dad, Matt, and Luke were flawed. 

For example, Mark put his hand on his girlfriend’s knee and got in trouble for that. Luke stayed out all night with his girlfriend and never even bothered to call. He did not get in trouble. I asked my mom about this unfairness and she said she expected more from Mark. I became judge over Mark and Luke. Most of the time I sided with Mark which caused fighting with Luke. Luke and I got in a big fight which wasn’t allowed. My mom tried to stop us. I retorted with, “Why should I stop fighting with Luke when you and dad fight all the time?” But most of the time our house was filled with silent rage and imperfect strivings toward perfection. 

Marathon training, week 8

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I am done training for the week. I worked out for a total of 2 hours this week compared to my normal 6. No, not because it was my birthday this week. It took everything I had not to go for a 6 mile run on my birthday. Pretty sad, huh? Actually I decided to take it easy to get ready for a 5k this weekend. I want to place in my age group. Looking at last year’s results it isn’t going to be a (birthday) cake walk (run). Plus we are going to have the summer’s first heat wave this weekend, but everyone will be in the same boat as far as that goes. Wouldn’t it just be the icing on my cake if I got a silver medal the week of my silver birthday? Geez. In my opinion, I already won. My mother and two daughters are doing their first 5k this weekend. They will all be walking it, but hey, there is nothing wrong with baby steps. Lol

Did I tell you that I got my first “hit” off my honk if you’re going to hit me t-shirt last week? I wear it for my long runs. Some guy came up behind me and started honking. I was bracing myself for impact. Turns out the guy only wanted directions. Talking about that, I did end up seeing the black cat out on the road again that just missed getting smacked by a truck last week. This time he ran out in front of a bicyclist. I think that cat must enjoy the adrenaline rush. I wanted to tell him he was on the wrong path. Hmmm…

My silver birthday

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The good news is that I didn’t spend the first few hours of this birthday in the ER. Instead Paul and I took the kids out for sushi. The restaurant had a nice, quiet atmosphere with live classical guitar music. I had a glass of Riesling and we all sampled each other’s sushi. Two out of three kids liked sushi. I once heard that two out of three ain’t bad. Ha ha. I bet right now you are thinking that I am a really sophisticated, classy, and perhaps elegant woman. If that is what you want to think then you better stop reading because Saturday night I was in the mosh pit. 

Saturday night? Well Saturday night I played the birthday card. The birthday card is something that I bring out the couple of weeks before or after my birthday, okay okay pretty much the whole month of July. I think that birthdays became such a big deal for me because as a kid my mom went out of her way to make me feel like a princess on that one day of the year. My autistic brother went to grandma’s or aunt Grace’s for the day. He wasn’t the center of our universe or talked about for that one day of the year. Since my birthday fell in the middle of summer I could take friends swimming, have a sleepover up north, or go mini bike riding. 

Back to Saturday night, I talked Paul into seeing a metal band with me. Paul likes classical music. No, not classical rock. I am talking about Beethoven and Bach here. Pretty wild guys in their day, but not ours. We also dragged our pastor along. Makes confession a lot easier. No, seriously, he has an appreciation for the music. This was a pretty crazy crowd. Not a quiet crowd like the one we had at the Metallica tribute concert. Who would’ve guessed? We hung out in the back, moving out of the way when average sized bouncers dragged out surly drunk fighters. Three quarters of the way through the concert I wanted to get in where the action was. Even though the little voice in my head told me to stay away because I couldn’t risk getting hurt before the marathon next month. I imagined someone crushing my foot as I inched my way into the third row, the music beating into my chest and my hair feeling the static of the vibration. The adrenaline rush, the anxiety of passing out, feeling surrounded by people yet all alone, enjoying the music. The guy two over started punching someone which edged me over into the mosh pit. The guys there moved this weak, fragile, old (strong , marathon trained, young) lady out of the way. But that happened Saturday night when I was still 40. 

Another year of life with lots of things checked off my bucket list this year and  just as many added. Another birthday under my belt!

My 40th birthday

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I spent the first couple hours of my 40th birthday at the ER in downtown Chicago. 

Today is my last day of being 40. Tomorrow is my silver birthday. No, it is not because I have silver hair as the kids thought. It happens when the numbers in your birth date flip flop, the opposite of a golden birthday. I just found out about this 2 months ago. Good thing, I guess, since tomorrow is the big day. But I have to work tomorrow. That can be a hazard of being self-employed. My employee who covers for me, especially on the long running days, has the day off tomorrow. Her mother is having surgery. Sorry you have to work it is my silver birthday would be totally wrong. But I digress, you probably want to know how I ended up in the ER. 

Last year I started my birthday celebration off with my first and only ear cartilage piercing. Milestone birthdays always require special rituals. My friends took me out to eat and dancing afterwards. I started celebrating July 3rd as my real 40th birthday was on a Monday and let me tell you that the nightlife around here on a Monday night is nothing worth blogging about. Half of my friends were up north already for the holiday weekend, so it was a rather small crew. I headed up north the following day myself and that is where it happened. My youngest daughter, Arabella, got sick with a fever. I took her to a fast care when we got home Sunday because she had a 104 temp after meds. They said she had a virus and sent her home. Arabella got a lot of rest and seemed to be feeling a little better. 

We headed to Chicago later that week as planned to pick up my mom and oldest daughter from the airport after a school trip. We toured the aquarium, saw The Blue Man Group (awesome show by the way), and I bought myself an authentic 70’s hippie outfit that I wanted to wear out for my birthday. By the end of the weekend, poor Arabella was very sick and feverish. She had to stay behind with family for some of the planned events. In the wee hours of my 40th birthday, Arabella was burning up. Paul and I decided to call our family dr first thing in the morning. When we called our family dr, we found out that she retired that morning. Really? WTH! So we found that nearest ER to find out that Arabella had pneumonia. We were given antibiotics for her. That night I went to the House of Blues for my birthday. I didn’t dress up because I felt down that I had to leave Arabella behind and my other kids said that weren’t going if I dressed in hippie garb. Party poopers!

We headed home the next morning. Arabella wasnt feeling any better and on the ride home she developed hives from the antibiotic . We got home and headed back to the ER. This time the dr thought it was asthma as she responded well to the steroid treatment. They took her IV out and were ready to send us home when the dr decided to do a quick X-ray . The X-ray showed pneumonia everywhere. The dr mentioned hospitalization and put the IV back in as I started to cry. Further tests showed a really bad case of walking pneumonia. The dr reluctantly sent us home with promises of finding another dr for follow up. This is how my 40th year started. I hope that tomorrow proves to be a less eventful start of my 41st year. 

The cure for autism, part 8

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Biofeedback.  Matt was obsessed with little girls. He could hear the high pitched voices of their teasing and laughter on the grade school playground. Their mockery and teasing played like a recording over and over in his head for over a decade. He also heard voices in his head to hurt little girls. Since I was the only little girl around I was most often the target of his attacks. He pulled my hair, scratched up my arms, and swung at me with a closed fist to the upper arm sometimes on a daily basis. My mantra while enduring this was that every bruise or scar was going to make me stronger. Believe me, it has made me a stronger person mentally and physically as a marathon trainee. 

Eventually I did what most little girls do, I grew up. I became my brother’s caregiver. Parents, a strong word of advice, this is a bad idea! It is also a very bad idea to have your children’s friends be caregivers too. Another blog, another blog. I grew up but Matt didn’t. He was still fixated on hurting little girls. Mom found a new doctor who was into biofeedback. It involved hooking Matt up to a small machine to monitor when Matt was feeling anxiety. Using biological cues, he was suppose to be able to stop himself before hurting someone. So in the summer I would trudge around the local parks that were full of laughing and squealing little girls so we could hook Matt up to this equipment. I know this was supposed to be a good thing, but it felt so terribly wrong. 

Still no cure. 

The goodbye rescue kind of sail

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Paul may have saved a man’s life last night. 

Last night we went sailing with Tom and Lisa (my running partner and bff) to say our final goodbyes before they move from Wisconsin to Florida. We keep our boat on a relatively large body of water. I am not giving anything away as our state is practically surrounded by large bodies of water and contains large and numerous lakes and rivers. It is rumored that we have more lakes than our neighboring state of Minnesota, the land of 10,000 lakes. But I do not want to start a debate. Let me tell you that sailing on a large body of water isn’t always a breeze. Ha ha. Last night was no exception. 

The night started off breezy even though the forecasters said that there wasn’t going to be much of a wind. We were sailing with the same friends that we went on the accidental overnight sail with that I blogged about earlier. We have had so many crazy wild adventures with them that I thought I would give them names which means future crazy wild stories. Anyway, we decided to take a sail out to a landmark for some awesome goodbye photos. Lisa and I share the love of running and photography. The sunset pictures were going to be divine. The wind took us to our destination in no time. It was so windy that there were whitecaps with two to three foot waves. We had our pants and sweaters on as it was a chilly July night. The water splashing up on us was not much warmer. Lisa and I went out on the bow and started posing for the camera when we saw a little guy in the distance out on the water struggling. We asked him if he needed help and he said he would be okay. We looped around taking more pictures. 

When we made it back to the man a second time he was clearly in trouble. He was in a small boat, about the size of a canoe with a small sail on it. He had tipped the boat over several times struggling with the waves and the wind. The water was cold, it was getting dark, he was 5 miles from shore, and we were the only boat around. It was going to take us an hour to get back to shore at dusk under motor. His situation was getting dire. I was picturing in my mind the morning news story of a man lost at sea drowning. A man in the background of our smiling pictures. My husband Paul did what any great captain would do, he threw out a line and kept us all from panicking. After the man swam to our boat, I did what any good captain’s wife would do. I wrapped him up in my warm, fuzzy purple robe and handed the guy a beer. Apparently, he headed out for a short sail about four hours before. The wind took him out and he couldn’t get back to shore. He was clothed in a swimming suit, life jacket, and inexperience. He had nothing on the boat to eat or drink and left his cell phone at home. He was in big trouble. 

Paul may have saved a man’s life last night.