I have been sort of putting this off. My life is bizarre enough, as one friend who is a published author states: “if your life was written as fiction, it would be 'bad fiction', and no one would read it. If it was written as an autobiography....no one would believe it.”
Truer words have never been spoken.
The babies are fine. Pint, who is now 12 and a half, is getting ready to graduate 8th grade with honors. She starts BOTH high school and college in August. She will be taking honors classes (advanced placement-or commonly known as either AP or college prep) classes, and will be taking ONE college class her freshman year at the high school, but taught by a professor at the local University, enrolled as a student in the University, and receive college credit for the class. Sophomore year, she gets to take TWO classes, then Junior and Senior year, she can carry a full load but has to actually drive (read me, she won't be old enough for even a permit, she will be 15) to the University itself to take her classes. It is called Dual Enrollment. She not only got bitten by the Booby fairy, it was a bit of MANIFICENT proportions!! She is in a growing stage that girls go through where they grow OUT instead of UP, and is now sort of 'dumpyish'. So, she is a normal teenager (almost) entering 9th grade who thinks she is ugly (she is not) and fat (she is a bit, but will outgrow it when she finally shoots up about 3 inches). She is moody, funny, smart, emotional and concerned for others. She see's her mother weekly, and except for the head games which she is handling well, doesn't really have any drama other than school drama.She finally (Thank you God) got her period, although, as a severe bleeder, this could be a problem for her, but she has only had one period so far, so the jury is out as to whether or not this will be an issue with her. (bleeding disorder + menstruation = very not good).
¾ Pint is almost 11 (this month) in fifth grade and also an honors student. She is leaning toward the sciences heavily and is most interested in Marine Biology. She is now over 5 feet tall and growing like a weed! The pediatrician says she will be over 6 ft tall, and NO, she does NOT like basketball!! She is so normal it is actually funny in our house. Her gastroparesis is well maintained and she is having no difficulty with her digestion at this time.
½ Pint continues to be a delight. She is 9, and also in 5th grade with her cousin, ¾ Pint. So far (knocking like crazy on wood) there are no issues there. They are both in the same class and both honors students. There is a tiny bit of competition between the two, God forbid if one gets an A and one gets an A- ! But, I think it is healthy competition, and we do not encourage it at all, it is strictly between them. Her life plans are totally ridiculous, but she has her entire life mapped out and is sticking to it. Her plan is to also attend dual enrollment, but where the more advanced kids graduate high school and college with an Associate's Degree, the little shit went and did research and found out that she could graduate simultaneously with a flipping Bachelors degree in Psychology, and Psychology is considered a pre-med acceptable degree. She figures if she graduates college and high school at the same time with Honors, she will get a full ride scholarship to the local Medical School (about an hour away) and will start Medical school at age 16 (she will turn 17 one week later). Then, she figures she can graduate Med school in 3 years, be in Residency by the time she is 19, and fully Board Certified in Anesthesiology by the time she turns 21.
I have her working with a Psychologist to try and slow her down a bit, have for the last two years, but so far, it isn't working! We are emphasizing social aspects of school, etc., but ½ Pint is a very self driven person who makes goals and sticks to them like glue.
We did set the two gifted ones up for failure, and that was a success. They both fell flat on their faces, and then had to learn to get back up and go on to succeed where they had previously failed. Pint had an absolutely horrid two years where her grades were pretty much in the toilet, a lot of C's and D's, one F. In 8th grade, she finally pulled her head out of her butt and buckled down. I think a big part of it was coming off the medication, she still has a bit of trouble focusing and remembering, but is slowly learning to compensate for that.
½ Pint got her first D last year, and you would have thought the world had ended! She had to learn to study....and to REMEMBER to study. A couple of times during the year she has bombed a test because she came home and there was something more fun to do, and I DID not remind her. So, then she went to school and was totally unprepared and flunked the test. Natural consequences won out, and now she comes home and announces “I HAVE A TEST, I HAVE TO STUDY BEFORE I PLAY!” lol.
Now the not fun part of the last um....couple of years.
Son, still on couch. Working. Helping out. Turning 27 this year.
Baby. You all remember the wreck in July 2009 where she broke her neck. We were so worried about the broken neck and recovery from that.
Her actions were a bit weird the first year, which we attributed to grief as she had lost her best friend since 6th grade in the wreck. At age 19, to have that happen, well that is pretty traumatic.
At the end of the first year, I started getting suspicious, and looking into Traumatic Brain Injury. I had her tested about a year ago, and we discovered that she had lost 25 points of I.Q. But was still in the high normal range (110) however, her processing I.Q. Was under 70, about the level of a 10 year old. Which translates to not really able to make good judgement decsions. Okay, so we got her enrolled in online University, She struggled a lot, I helped her with things like learning to use her iPhone to take notes about where she was supposed to be, what she was supposed to be doing, etc. She kept screwing up college, and I would have to straighten out all the financial aid and get her back in. She sort of moved from house to house, blew through her money from the wreck, and changed boyfriends the way the rest of us change socks.
As her behavior got more and more bizarre, she lost friends and felt abandoned. Her biological mother (remember, she is mine via painless birth from my DH's ex wife, I have had her since she was 2), accused her of being a junkie, everyone else in the family turned against her but DH and I. She lost all her friends from childhood.
She sought out those who could accept her behavior, and ended up in the druggie crowd. I tested her over and over, and she tested clean each time. Oh, not for pot, but I wasn't fussed about that truthfully.
She ended up with a boyfriend whom we didn't like, so she didn't come around much. I would get calls almost daily, with the most outlandish stories and screaming from her and BF on the other end of the phone. It was quite upsetting. This went on for about a year. He raped her, she was robbed, the house was broken into, she was beat up.....The stories got more and more outlandish.
I work on finding a Brain Rehab hospital for Baby to go to as an outpatient. I have by now realized that she has what is known as TBI, or Traumatic Brain Injury, and her behaviors are most likely linked to the TBI. I find one within an hour away, and we are working on getting her admitted so that she can begin brain rehab. We spend many hours sitting on the couch with her on my lap crying (which she does, at that point, constantly, for days at a time) begging me to put her somewhere. I am trying. She has been in counseling for the last year, which does not seem to be helping at all.
Segue to February.
DH went into the hospital in Cleveland at the big V.A. Hospital for a staff infection of the bad foot which is the reason (one of them) for his Disabled 100% Service Connected Veteran's status. He went into hospital on the 13th. Cleveland is 3 hours away, so my life got a bit hectic. Put kids on bus at 8, zip to cleveland, see DH for about a hour, then zip home to be there when kids got off bus.
Meanwhile, Baby gets a ticket in a neighboring state for possession of a minute amount of weed, apparently found on the floor of her car. BF gets arrested for a bowl with residue. Baby calls and tells me, and brings me the ticket.
She is to pay the ticket or report to court within 5 days.
I am back and forth to Cleveland. Taking kids to doctors, counselors etc.
I am standing outside the pediatrician's office with ½ Pint who is there for yet another tonsillitis infection when the phone rings with Baby's ringtone.
Hi honey, what's up.
Well, you're going to be disappointed, but I am sort of going to jail.
Well, I got sentenced for paraphernalia, BF had a syringe and told me to tell the cops it was mine since I had no record nothing would happen. I have to go to jail for 5 days.
When are you going to jail?
Hang on, I'll ask.....(gets quiet for a minute), um...Right now, bye, I love you!
Get done at pediatrician's office, go pick up scrips, take ½ Pint back to school, head home, look up on computer (thank God our system is online).
90 days jail, 85 suspended. Two years supervised probation. License suspended for 6 months. I call the jail about visitation etc. They say the first day to visit is Sunday, and she will be released Sunday morning at 9 a.m. So no point. This is Wednesday.
Phone rings, it is DH with a conference call with the Vascular and Orthopedic surgeons. They decide that they can do surgery on the femoral artery to restore complete circulation to the right leg and foot, AND then amputate the front part of the foot (where 90% of his pain is) all in the same surgerey. We both say yes, and the surgery is scheduled for Friday.
Thursday, I go up to see DH and fill him in on all the situation.
Friday, Mother in Law and I go up to Cleveland for the surgery which actually takes 13 hours. 11 ½ hours STRAIGHT on the actual operating table, under anesthetic. We are total basket cases. It was supposed to be a 3-4 hour surgery.
We spend the night at a hotel. Get up the next moring. Go to hospital. See DH who is doing well, in ICU but responding to time, place and person.
Segue again. DH has PTSD from the original accident which made him disabled. To put it succinctly, he was on a black ops mission for the US Army. They had to go behind the Iron Curtain (this was well before the end of the Berlin Wall) and extract someone who needed out for intelligence purposes. They did get the guy out safely, and were back in the non communist Germany when the original accident occurred.
Sooooo, we leave, as it is Saturday and I must be in hometown-ish Sunday morning to pick Baby up from jail.
Sunday morning arrives, I head out to pick Baby up from jail. She is a bit weird, telling me stories about how her BF broke into the jail the day before, and shot her full of heroin and crack, over and over. I am telling her how that is impossible, no one breaks into a jail. Her pupils are hugely dialated, but she has been in jail for five days and with me, so I am pretty sure she is drug free.
On the drive (2 more hours) her stories get wilder and wilder. I won't tell you all of them, but believe me when I tell you that she is REALLY out there.
We get to hospital (who by the way has been calling me every 20 mins or so saying WHEN CAN YOU GET HERE!!!!!) without telling me why. Finally, the last call, I tell them they MUST tell me what is wrong.
DH has flashbacked to the original wreck and the black ops mission.
He has ripped out all his I.V.'s, taken off all his bandages, is sitting in a recliner in the ICU completely naked and has the 8 wire heart monitor braided behind his back and is threatening to strangle anyone who comes near him.
I tell them, STAY AWAY FROM HIM. DO NOT GO NEAR HIM. HE WILL KILL YOU. DO NOT TRY TO RESTRAIN HIM. WAIT FOR ME. I AM ONLY ½ HOUR AWAY.
I get to hospital, drag Baby, who has a death grip on my left arm and is now seeing cops everywhere and probation officers who don't exist, hearing voices that don't exist and seeing things that aren't there.
We walk into ICU to the sight of my naked and bleeding everywhere (11 incisions total for the surgery) sitting in a recliner in the cubicle of ICU, surrounded by six armed and weapons drawn federal police officers, behind them are four HUGE orderlies, behind them are about 16 ICU nurses and staff, and behind them are two psychiatrists with needles loaded full of halidol.
OMG. I look up to the Heavens and go “FUCKING REALLY GOD?” REALLY?
I start toward the, the cops tell me “you can't go in there!” I'm like, just get out of my way, and shoulder through them.
I walk in and go...
“DAVID! What the hell do you think you are doing?” He says, Who are you? I say, I am your wife! He says, NO, you are not my wife, my wife would have been here!
I walk over and he threatens to kill me. Weapons are still drawn. I stand in front of him and reach out to his face. He bats my hands away. I put them back and grab his face and look directly into his eyes. I am like,
Dave. It is NOT 1980. You are NOT in Germany. It is 2012. You got the guy out of Czechoslovakia safely. The mission is completed. You finished the mission. You were de-briefed. It is okay. You had surgery. You are confused and scared, but it is okay. I am here and I love you.
I turn around and tell everyone, PLEASE GO AWAY, HE WILL BE FINE IN A FEW MINUTES.
They, thankfully, do as I ask.
About a half hour later, I have talked him into letting the I.V.'s be put back in and the bandages back on.
He refuses to leave the recliner. I put Baby on the bed where she buries her face and talks to herself manically faster than an auctioneer could possibly talk. Whispering.
After about 4 hours, and DH is now resting comfortably, I call Nursey, the oldest who just happens to be a psychiatric nurse and tell her to get someone to watch the kids and come get her baby sister who is fully psychotic and have her committed. She comes. Gets Baby.
Baby spends a week in state mental hospital.
DH continues to recover and is discharged to home.
Baby gets discharged and is well regulated on medication.
Baby has schizophrenia.
I go to V.A. Where my prescriber tells me that the new policy is to take everyone off Xanax.
YOU. HAVE. GOT. TO. BE. KIDDING. ME.
I go to my civilian doctor who just shakes his head and says, They certainly don't know what you go through in ONE day do they?
Bad Fiction or unbelievable non-fiction. For sure.
But, it is my life.