The Grandfather's Curse- The Story of Riley

I always remembered my grandfather having dogs. He LOVED dogs. Big dogs. Little dogs. Fat dogs. Thin dogs. Fluffy dogs. Sleek dogs... It really didn't matter. He loved them all. Yet his canine companions all happened to be cursed. Nearly every dog he ever loved ended up contracting some rare, fatal disease. Whether my childhood memories are accurate or not, this is how I will always remember the fate of my grandfathers dogs- Heaped with adoration, love, lots of good Polish food, and their fate cruelly cut short.

My grandfather certainly passed his puppy persuasion on to me. So after he passed, it wasn't even a question that I would buy a puppy, in his memory, with a portion of the money he generously left me. And an added bonus for our one existing canine comrade who really needed a sibling.

Now, I'm not entirely proud of how we happened upon our furry fido, but I would never trade that day, or the decisions I made. It was August 20th, 2005, a Saturday. My family and I were out and about enjoying the Colorado summer and decided to swing by the local mall. We'd barely gotten into the building when "CAN WE SEE THE PUPPIES AND KITTIES PLEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAASSSSEEEEE?!?!" squawked our barely 4 year old spawn approximately 37 million times. The 'mall zoo' was on the opposite end. How the hell this kid remembered these things is beyond me... Why not? We made our way there, and in we went. Insert absurd amounts of oooohing and ahhhing here ------> for all the fluffy goodness saturating our brains.

The second we walked in, I knew someone was coming home with us. He stuck out the moment I saw him... not because he was 3x bigger than the other pups, though certainly at 5 months his feet were too big, his ears were too tall, and his legs were spindly and long making him a Goliath compared to his 8 week old counterparts who simply sported distended puppy bellies.  Nor was it his double curly tail, or the strikingly stark contrast between his snow white belly and his midnight black torso. No, it was those amber brown dinner plate eyes that melted my heart and created an instantaneous connection. Cue the child... "CAN WE GET A PUPPY?!?!?!?!" was the new chant being rhythmically sung by our kiddo who also refused to stop circling us until we agreed.

Not wanting the amber eyed Goliath thinking he had the upper hand, I tried to play it cool. So we sat with a Great Pyrenees first. She was very sweet... like an off-white cotton-ball with eyes. I think she might've moved once though it was likely accidental. She was likely a fluffy dog shaped sloth come to think of it. 

Recall there is a one year old weimaraner at home waiting for us. Bear with me a moment while I explain a bit about weimaraners: they have the energy of an adrenaline junkie, who is also a speed addict, while hopped up on cocaine laced espresso, jazzed up on happiness, with an invisible Mountain Dew mainline. Now put that assortment into an always running, tail wagging, and in our pups case- barking- grey ball of floppy eared dog, and that's a weimaraner. So this sweet, timid cotton-ball sloth would likely experience more anxiety from the grey streak than anything else, so she wasn't the pup for us. Eyeballs was next... In he came to our little 'meet and greet' cubby, and I was sold. He knew it too.

The spouse and spawn were a little reluctant about this bounding boy since we already had Mr. Crazy Energizer Doggy at home. That made my argument easy- our spazz needed a sibling that could match his energy. And look into those eyes while you're at it. He's perfect. Up I went to pay, had a realization that dogs don't go into a box like a cat, so I scooped up my new best friend, trekked the length of the mall carrying his furry cuteness the entire way, smiling at passerby's, and finally thru the lot to the car... By the time we were all settled in for the ride home, and before he decided to relieve himself on my husband, I knew his name would be Riley. By definition his name means 'a luxurious or carefree existence' and so far he was doing just that.

Our Irish boys, Murphy and Riley. (Funny considering one is a German and the other is a Northern breed with ties to Asia....) I was grinning from ear to ear. So, so happy to have this amazing, beautiful, vivacious creature who to me, is honoring the memory of my grandfather, now a part of my family. It wasn't until 10 years later that my grin finally faded. Born 3-22-2005, officially became an Armstrong on 8-20-2005, Riley was diagnosed 8-12-2015 with an inoperable form of spinal cancer. 9 years, 11 months, and 24 days after coming into our lives the grandfathers curse emerged. But I'll get to that...

I've never known a dog who likes to 'read' as much as him. Much to my child's chagrin, he read books that were age appropriate for him, which happened to be her books. He was quite the fan of The Dork Diaries and Diary of a Wimpy Kid. His spelling is atrocious though. 

True to his breed, he LOVED the snow. Always fearing the pet police would show up, I had my 'He won't come in, I swear' speech very well rehearsed. We even hooked a sled up to him on occasion and let him take the kiddo for a spin. When he wasn't reading, or mushing, he would tunnel with his nose in the snow whilst hopping around in circles. Funniest damn thing I've ever seen. Happy hopping moron. And that's the only way that Riley ever dug. Always with his nose, always in the middle of the yard, and always about the length of my foot so I'd be sure to step in it and break an ankle. My favorite part of the snow is Riley being Riley while he's in it.

Most huskies roam too. Not mine. He'd rather hang out and get treats. One time he ran off, crossed a busy road, and went down a rather daunting hill. My husband found him, had no leash, and carried him all the way home. Including up that unrelenting hill. The second, and last time that he got out was the moment we were leaving to drive my husband an hour north to have surgery. Not to worry, he and his brother weren't far off and happily jumped into my car for the 2 second drive home.

Riley has always been a sneaky fart too. Especially with the little kids who flocked to him. Oh the little ones are always drawn to Mr. Riley. It's his fluffy goodness that does it. He always made sure that they knew he was their Alpha... He'd start 'cleaning' them the way a dog does... nibbling with his teeth. So many of my friends with littler kids, and my daughters friends with younger siblings found this out after ignoring our warnings. It makes for a good lesson though, if someone says that only certain people in your group may pet your dog, there's probably a reason and you'd be wise to respect that.

Ever see that episode of Seinfeld with the 'close talker'? Riley. He'd sideways glance, give a little hop, then BOOP! (he doesn't bark, he boops) at 467 decibels approximately 1/32nd of a millimeter away from my face. Quite startling even after all these years. Very effective though! I knew right away he needed something. A new book perhaps?

He's a fairly laissez faire food thief as well. He could care less who's it is. It's his. If it's in range of his face, it's his. If his face is on the other side of the planet, and he can smell it and beats me to it, it's his. Not too mention that my husband can't cook a meal without Riley sprawled out on the floor behind him waiting for scraps.

So basically I have dog who loves reading, playing outdoors, gardening, staying close to home, good hygiene, foodie who appreciates clear communication. Maybe I should open a Tinder account for him.

Riley dog, generally speaking, has had very few adventures in the veterinarian arts- he had dangling dew claws in his youth, but it wasn't until much, much later when he decided to start dabbling in the arts... To start his new hobby he thought he'd open with right knee surgery. His right ACL was completely torn, so he'd have this TPLO surgery done, get some metal plates in there, heal up, and BLAMMO! back to Riley dog form! His left knee was showing signs of heading in that same direction, but for now, he was fine to have only the one knee done. So February 6, 2014, at 8 years and 10 months old, Riley had his right rear TPLO surgery done. A long road to recovery awaited us, and we were up for the challenge.

Anyone who has ever had a dog that has required TPLO surgery knows that it is not cheap. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not Melinda Gates, so it was a struggle to come up with the first round of dough. Fortunately, Riley's ortho surgeon is one of the most empathetic, humble, kind people I've ever met. He has never once charged me for visits, and he always helps out where ever else he can. I already liked the guy, this was just above and beyond.

Riley's PT and recovery were cruising along when the plot in his story decided to have a small twist. Infection. He had one. On his new hardware. The plan was to hit it hard with antibiotics, and hope that it would clear it up and never return. Plot twist. It came back again. The second infection came back months later, so removing the hardware was our best bet if we wanted to avoid any future infections, however... that also isn't cheap, even with my very financially sensitive doctor. He felt it was very reasonable to hit it hard again with antibiotics, as that seemed to work at taking care of the infection, tho no guarantee it wouldn't come back. Riley was in very good health otherwise. So that's what we did. Second time is a charm?

Fast forward one year. February 2015. We'd seen the ortho doc a number of times, and I am scrambling to scrape, borrow, and or steal enough scratch to pay for Riley's left leg. In those 12 months Riley's left knee had become so bad that he desperately needed surgery, and we desperately needed to find a way to pay for it. It took us until July 2015. We knew in February 2014 it would need to be done. By February 2015 we were scrambling to make it happen, so by July, when the funds were available, we just so happened to be going out of state, but when we returned however, Riley would FINALLY be able to get some relief for that left leg! The surgeon reassured us that Riley has been living with this for 16 months now, a week won't make a difference. Little did we know...

As soon as we returned, we picked up our boys, and were all thrilled to be reunited, and back at home. Oh, and Riley decided to grow a kiwi sized mass on his right front leg while we were gone. You know... just because. Riley's knee surgery was scheduled for that week. There was no way the ortho was fixing his knee until he knew what that was so he had a biopsy done instead, and we rescheduled his knee for Monday. By Monday Riley was no longer walking, instead he was hopping like a kangaroo. Guess what? No knee surgery, we had to figure out the cause of this new neurological event. So the ortho doc sent us to a neurologist.

Where to begin... Well, we were quite lucky to get in with the neurologist. He is one of 6 in North America with his credentials. His schedule is booked solid for months and months, and I know why. Like the ortho, he's nothing short of amazing. From 9am to 11am he examined Riley. Just the physical exam. He checked reflexes, muscle mass, for seizures, watched him walk, poked and prodded some more, watched him walk again, more reflexes, extension, rotation, lungs, heart, eyes...... He checks for at least 84 different things. 84! Makes a regular vet look like they're missing an awful lot now that I've seen this guy. He's personable, funny, thorough, empathetic, and I'm so glad that Riley is in his care.

What did he find? The 2 hour exam showed him a number of things. Stuff I never even considered a dog would have issues with... When Riley walks, he fish tails. So his back end swings out left, or right. I'd never really noticed.

Since his hind end isn't working, the doc was thinking Riley had sciatic nerve pain. Who knew?! It would certainly explain why Riley's right leg was getting tangled up, and was weaker on the right side, though that's the stronger of the two sides. Sciatic nerve pinch made sense. Since Riley has been falling, he also has a pulled groin muscle. Poor guy...

Yes, he has arthritis, but that wasn't contributing to the lameness either. He pretty much concluded that Riley has one long problem, or two separate problems. I clearly remember when he said 'I don't think it's cancer my dear.' Imagine how crazy relieved I was!!! MRI's would confirm his hunches. He had to do blood work, and possibly an EMG and a spinal tap in case the MRI came back clean, but we'd cross that bridge if we came to it. Then he drew quite the memorable diagram to explain what, where, why, and how.

He drew blood. Called with results, everything is great, his liver levels are back to normal compared to results he saw from a prior visit with another vet, his blood count was on the lowest end of low, but that's to be expected in a 10 year old dog that has arthritis and is rockin' a malignant tumor on his front leg. So, no surprises, all wonderful, he'll start the MRI's.

MRI's barely started, doctor calls. Riley's blood pressure dropped. He stabilized him, got it to normal, he's doing great, MRI time. Thoracic MRI done first. With and without contrast. Doctor calls. Riley has 3 bulging discs at the thoracic level where his fishtailing starts, they aren't compromising his spinal cord, not impacting anything, it looks like he's got some arthritis in those vertebrae, nothing to write home about, it's old and causes no pain or discomfort, nothing remarkable. On to lumbar for scans of Riley with and without contrast.

At this point it's 4pm. Riley has been under sedation for 4 and some hours. Doc calls. Absolutely nothing showed up on the lumbar scan. No pinched sciatic nerve. Nothing. Clean an clear. His spinal cord looks a bit short though. Weird. We were expecting to see bulging discs with pinched nerve.... it's just not there. Shit. If it's not that, then what the hell is it? A completely normal, clean scan. Most people would rejoice. We were baffled.

He doesn't want to keep Riley sedated much longer, but wants to rescan an area just to make sure he didn't miss something because this is weird. Baffling. Riley isn't fitting the mold. What is going on with Riley? The grandfather's curse.

5 pm. Doc calls. Riley is still under. Let's draw blood because he might have the dog form of ALS. Not painful at all, but will eventually leave him completely immobile. Riley showed pain on his physical exam in the morning, so it's more of a long shot, but certainly possible. Yes, let's draw blood to be safe.

515 pm, doc calls. Riley is still out, he has the radiologist take a look at Riley's scan... And out of 2000+ images, 4 showed something lighting up in Riley's spine. 4 slides. This teeny, tiny, itty bitty white spot that 1,996 pictures do not have. The neurologist initially missed it, and he feels absolutely horrible...

Since something lit up that means- Cancer, Myelitis (inflammation), or infection. The likelihood of the last two are less than 5%. Myelitis is mostly a young female problem, and infection is a very young pup problem. But, all three are treated with steroids. Do I want to do a spinal tap to see if he can get some of the cells that might have shed off of whatever it is in there? 30% chance he'd get something. This might give us something definitive. Well, if there's a 70% chance of getting nothing, and it only might give us something, I said no. No more. Wake Riley up, it's time for him to come home.

7 pm Doc calls, Riley is still groggy, but doing well. When doc woke Riley up, Riley licked his face. Can I be there at 8pm to go over the findings, all at once, so that we would know exactly what he knows, and to discuss our game plan. He stayed with us until 9:30 pm. Drew more illustrations, answered millions of questions, and explained what he feels is the absolutely best for Riley's treatment when we take him home.

Riley had already been taking an anti-inflammatory for some time. Before starting him on prednisone he needed to be completely off the old stuff for 5 days. 5 days with nothing to keep the whatever it is in his spine suppressed? That will make for an interesting time around here... Not too worry, the second medicine is for nerve pain, will help, will make him sleepy so start on the conservative side...I'm hoping the new nerve meds, and current pain meds will hold him over until then. Doc said the prednisone will make him feel like a million bucks for about a month. After that we will just have to see...

The devoted doctor stayed at Riley's side from 9am until we took him home at 9:30 pm. This guy went above and beyond, and even though none of us got the outcome we were hoping for, I felt so grateful that Riley was in such capable hands. And I feel so fortunate to have such a stellar surgeon who wasn't out for a buck, knew Riley should not have surgery, and sent us to his friend, who he knew would take great care of Riley.

Prognosis from this August 12 visit- only Riley knows. What I do know is this- he will continue to smile, wag his tail, boop, and steal Murphy's treats until the end of time, and we will do everything in our power to make sure he's happy, and comfortable.
 
Fast forward to October 2015. The neurologist predicted prednisone would make him feel like a million bucks for about a month. He wasn't kidding. It would also tell us if  there was a mass in his spine, or just inflammation. Riley also started PT as he is no longer be able to have surgery to fix the trashed left leg until we knew what was in his spine, and we need to keep his muscle mass up as it is already starting to waste away.

Fast Forward end of October, beginning of November 2015- Riley felt like a million bucks for about two and a half months. I got sick, couldn't do PT with him and he's not muscularly recovered from that to this day (yes, I blame myself.) His hind end has almost entirely wasted away now. He cannot stand up, or walk unassisted any longer.

Unfortunately, I think his spinal mass has started growing again. We paid a visit to the ortho. He is visibly upset about Riley's decline. Riley also has a weird tumor on his right hind paw on one of the pads that keeps cracking and bleeding. Which makes me completely reluctant walk him because I assume it hurts. His knees are now bone on bone. He is also bow legged because he couldn't have the surgery for that left knee. He wouldn't recover anyway. It's sad. Very, very sad. because his back legs are getting tangled up again, he's knuckling (walking on the top of his feet instead of the pad) and he has zero reflex response on his right hind leg. This means it's a tumor and not myelitis.

He's become more and more lethargic, he is slightly interested in food, very interested in treats and scraps though which is good, and generally just stays sprawled out on the floor. He enjoys gnawing on a rawhide and letting the kitties, and Murphy know that even tho he can't get up, that's his damn bone.

I can no longer leave him alone for more than a couple hours or he will pee all over himself as he cant stand up on his own and walk to the door. It's basically hospice for Riley- paying attention when he starts shuffling about and helping him get to where he needs- food, water, or outside.

This is horrific, heart breaking, and insanely stressful. I'm quite focused on him seeing the snow one.more.time. A text to the neurologist explaining what's going on, and share about the ortho visit,  and we bumped up his steroids - now he isn't knuckling as much.
 
There is some good in all of this. We all believe Riley will make it to see the snow one more time. Even with all this physical, neurological crap going on, he is still VERY aware, VERY much Mr. Personality. However, everyone can see that the time he has left is very short. He's 10. Diagnosed on 8/12/2015. So he's survived spinal cancer for almost 3 months, has had a completely torn knee for well over a year, has had recurrent infections in the hardware in his right leg, and some weirdo mass on his right rear foot that keeps bleeding. He has a lot going on. He can do this. In the meantime, I'm neurotically scanning the weather reports for any sign of snow... Looks like Nov. 11th is our best chance. You can do this Riley!

November 6-8, 2015- There are only liquids shooting out. Ummmm...

November 9, 2015- Decided midday that food wasn't really necessary any longer. It's time. Sent our wonderful ortho surgeon, who has been with Riley through this entire ordeal, a text to see if he would consider helping ease Riley's pain one final time. He'd be honored. It's supposed to snow on Wednesday the 11th, let's not wait much longer than that. The 11th it is. God I hope it snows.

November 10, 2015- As I sit here with my cuddly buddy on his last night with us, I smile, and tear up recalling his life and antics. I was thrilled when he actually ate some of the steak my husband made especially for him. 24 hours and not a bite... I guess he was waiting for the good stuff.

I can't help but feel a sense of guilt knowing what is in his very near future. It's the right thing to do. I keep telling myself that. My friends and family keep telling me that. The doctor told me that... I could go through the stages of grief 57 times in one (very long) paragraph. I posit this, why can't pets Benjamin Button instead?

What if this, what if that, had I tried X would that made a difference? I know the answers.

Then I dabble with the I should haves... I should have taken him on more walks, played with him more, been more patient... so when I'm not what iffing myself I'm shoulding all over myself. I did those things with him though. He was as active as I was. Which sometimes wasn't very much, and other times it was.  

I keep going back to the thought that I am now forever losing my grandfather too. I have a living, breathing, Riley... a walking reminder. At least for the next 18 or so hours. Perhaps I'm grieving the loss of two...

Tomorrow will, no doubt, be very stressful. We will all be there with Riley, as we all were in the beginning. I know that having the doctor he knows and loves with him will also give him peace. I hope to walk away with some relief in knowing that he is no longer suffering, and closure on his struggle with spinal cancer.

Riley dog... our ‘close talker’, our happy hopping moron, stubborn, sled pulling, sous chef, always smiling, fluffy boy. I thank you for giving me the honor of being a part of your pack, I thank you for teaching me so many lessons, I thank you for loving us. Forgive me for my mistakes. You have touched our lives and will live forever in our hearts.

3/22/2005-11/11/2015
10 years, 7 months, 20 days.

(though as I write this, he is still with us, resting comfortably at my feet on his cushy dog bed, and we are waiting for the snow that was predicted to start falling.)

***update of sorts***

It snowed :)

The People Under the Stairs

In my home I have some really fantastic storage underneath my stairs. One day I decided to use this space as storage for all of my holiday decorations. So I added 'repurpose space under stairs' to my list of projects around the house. When all was said and done, I have to admit, the artificial tree fits perfectly, along with our 97 thousand boxes of Halloween, Easter, and other Christmas decorations, that I know the space was meant to house my holiday goods.

On a typical day, I am working on 3 or 4 'projects' around my house. My ADHD gives me the patience of a gnat, so I tend to drift off into other things before finishing what I started. The end result of that is overflowing other areas of my house, wreaking havoc in it's disruptive path, and a whole bunch of cool shit for the cats to play with, pee on, and break, all at 4 am of course. To top it off, I seem to enjoy inviting people over smack dab in the middle of all the chaos. So I often find myself needing to shuffle the aforementioned detritus where ever I find space. The project 'put crap under the stairs' round went something like this:

Sonja decides to completely empty the two downstairs rooms by taking everything out and dumping it into the family room. End result: crowding out any possible space for life to exist. Sonja also decides that it's a perfect time to invite a ton of people over for a celebration! Half my house is covered in bullshit, nonsense, trinkets, boxes, cobwebs, crazed cats with new found toys, and various other weird stuff, why not have a party? Shit.

The beautiful storage under the stairs was the easiest solution to my mess problem. Dammit. Whatever I couldn't shuffle back into the appropriate spot was surreptitiously and precariously stacked, making one hell of a booby trap for the sucker that opens the door next. I'm fairly certain no cats were boxed up and put under the stairs.

Considering there haven't been any holidays between the onset of project 'something about the stairs' and Halloween, no suckers have opened that door. Knowing what lurks behind that door made my argument for not decorating for Halloween that much easier.

Unfortunately, my daughter LOVES Halloween, so doing nothing wasn't an option either. We settled on purchasing one decoration from the dollar store. A plastic skeleton. We could hang it on our front door, and be done with it. Simple, fast, and no risk of attack from zombie cats trapped under the stairs.

When we got home and took the skeleton out of the package, we realized we were far from being done with decorating. Two things were abundantly clear when we laid eyes on our fully extended, $1 skeleton:  1. It was a boy, and 2. He is fabulously gay. I know. I sound like a lunatic. But I kid you not, this skeleton is both of those things. Take a look:

As my daughter and I agreed on both of those things, we wanted to embrace his fabulousness, and help him scream it to the world "I'm gay and I'm proud!"  So we did what any good friends would do... we gave him our support, told him we loved him for who he is, and dressed him to the nines! But what to do? It was at this moment my darling husband chimed in. All he said while passing by was "He needs an ascot." That was all the motivation I needed.

For the next hour and a half, my daughter and I set out to properly outfit Al, aka Dead Gay Al, since it was Halloween and all. He was given rosy cheeks, a mani/pedi, fake eyelashes, a gold tooth, a pink polka-dot ascot, and a fabulous blue and purple vest. Al's makeover was complete! See what you think:

With something so fabulous decorating my door, I really couldn't be too upset about 'not decorating' for Halloween this year. All it took was looking at things from a slightly different perspective, and one little comment to create this masterpiece. Dead Gay Al is a part of the family now. He will be outfitted for the upcoming holidays, and on display for all to see. Some people hang wreaths, some hang lights, we'll hang Dead Gay Al dressed to impress. Hey, if Santa and Mrs. Claus can deck their halls like Christmas, and hand out candy canes on Halloween, why not adorn our home with a festive skeleton? Seriously, Santa and Mrs. Claus handed out candy canes on Halloween! See for yourself (I blurred the kids faces, don't worry, they have heads in real life)

I'll be sure to update once Al has made the switch. Though, come to think of it, maybe we should call him Jack Skellington instead...

* Please know that my family and I are huge supporters of the LGBT community, and do not wish to offend anyone with this post. If I have, please message me, and accept my sincere apologies.

What font do I use for drug addict?

I'm a drug addict. I'm going to put it on my resume too. Once I settle on a font that is. I'm actually excited about this! What a cool thing to be! I'm like Jessie from Breaking Bad. Or Mark Renton from Trainspotting. Except a woman. Oh cool! So I'm Gia Carnagi! Damn, I'm hot. Though, I am alive. Nope, not her. I'm Sonja. Just Sonja. Oh, and I'm not that kind of drug addict anyway. If I were, I would've embellished and started with something more like this:

The seeping concrete walls surrounding me are closing in... the floor beneath me is miles away... Floating? I'm floating? What the fuck. I'm wedged in this dank corner clutching my knees, trying with all my might to rock as violently as I can. But my sallow, slick skin, ice cold to the touch, odd though as my temperature is, no doubt, somewhere near hells fury, or surface of the sun, won't allow me to break free into motion. So I just violently jerk... convulse... occasionally smashing my already battered skull against that dank and sticky wall behind me, reopening old wounds over, and over again. My hair matted in blood, bits of skull and brain matter, yet I crave more.

The grime beneath my hideous yellow nails has taken on an indescribable odor. The constant picking, scratching, clawing, at the walls, trying to escape my self made prison, has turned my manicured digits into 10 deadly saw blades. I don't dare peek at my toes.

There are no lights anywhere... wait... from beneath the mats of hair I see... is that? Really? Oh come on... A bare bulb dangling from some frayed wires? How cliche. If there's only going to be one bare hanging bulb, might as well cue the- drip.... drip... drip.... spoke too soon.

How long have I been here? What day is it? Where on earth did I buy this ridiculous Exorcist flavored nightgown? I suppose if I'm going to be stuck in a dark, dank, poorly lit, concrete whatever this is, floating no less, why not sport a dingy grey nighty from the 70's? God, I hope that bulb doesn't swing into whatever is dripping. Speaking of drips... I could really go for some tea right now.

Tea. Oh the healing powers of that poorly drawn Panda on the side of the box. Sort of reminds me of the gigantic handicapped people on the Arc trucks. I seriously doubt they're meant to scare me, but have you seen those gigantic eyeballs? Stop judging me! You're different alright. Leave me the fuck alone. Could be the drugs talking. Mmmmmm drugs.... what were we talking about?

Someone needs to turn on the fucking lights in here. Open some curtains. Good lord. What the hell am I wearing? Is it hot in here? Good Lord I'm cold. Can someone please explain why it rained INSIDE, and who parked the creepy ass ARC van in the damn driveway! I'm hungry. I'm hungry. I'm. need. food. now. am.

Yeah, embellished drug addict Sonja is just not working for me. Plus, my dogs keep barking so I can let them in out again.  I can't keep it going. I'm also too busy wondering how many people I lost after using the word fuck the first, second, third.... times. Fuck 'em?

Back to it. Right. Now, what I am is a run of the mill, regular ole', class A (which is what exactly), prescription drug addict, and I was told I was going to be one before I ever took my first pill. If I could cue the spooky music, and pop a picture of Tangina up to scare everyone just then, it would've been awesome, but no, no fortune telling tricks here. I am finally in the general population of predicted outcomes, and I couldn't be happier to be an addict! Man that sounds fucked up. (How many am I up to?) I'm happy I'm going through withdrawal right now. I promise to tell you why that makes me happy, but I wouldn't be me if I didn't take us all for a ride while spinning my yarns now would I?

Back to food. You're supposed to make me well. Let's see. I shall have a bowl filled with sharp razors, shards of glass, barbed wire, and dynamite. Oh, and a little sumpthin' sumpthin' with an internal acid cleansing feature if you please. As a drug addict in withdrawal, this is now all the food groups. Burning acids. Flaming things. Razors. Barbed things. Glass shards. and Dynamite. They also all exit in exactly the same manner, exorcist style. I am lifted off my porcelain throne about 4 feet, screaming and writhing in pain, while my lower half rotates 360 degrees spewing evil. It's really quite a fantastic sight.

I watched the Gia Carnagi movie the other day. I've seen Trainspotting. I've seen other movies that also have unmemorable titles and unmemorable actors going through withdrawal. Now, granted, those are all about heroin, or meth, or other kinds of drugs. Not vitamin D withdrawal. Or, Advil withdrawal. Though that would be pretty damn funny in my opinion. Fish Oil supplement withdrawal. Neosporin withdrawal. Flintstone gummy vitamin withdrawal. HA! Wild, maniacal toddlers screeching "GIVE ME MY DINO!!" in Satan's voice! Ok, I'll quit while I'm ahead.

OxyContin withdrawal. That's what I have. Between having been born with iron clad genes susceptible to only the highest doses of pain meds, and having a constitution that is, without fail, the exception to every rule, I've made my rounds with the medicines, learning what they do for me, or to me, tattooed the ones that kill me on my person, only to end my OxyContin journey in my own version of the Exorcist.

When being a Sonja, one has to do things a particular way. This typically consists of 1. The Hard Way. 2. The Roundabout Way 3. The Long Way 4. The Road Less Traveled, and my most favorite, and ironic 5. The Way that No Other Doctor has Ever Seen Before Ever, aka, The Exception to Every Rule Way. I am the 1%. I am the exception to the rule. So when my doctor and I decided that taking OxyContin for a few years was long enough, and time to stop, I thought it was funny when I was handed an informational packet roughly titled: "What to Expect While You're Drug Addicted Body Goes Bat Shit Crazy Trying to Convince You That You've Made the Worst Decision of Your Life and Get You Back On the Drugs"

Day one: Olympic bathroom racing trials begin! I've never wished for a full fledged adult diaper any harder in my life. Maybe I should ask for those for my birthday. I've already shit 14 pounds of Sonja out already, who knows how much more could go by then! I could write a weight loss book maybe? I gotta remember to put paper and pencils in the bathroom. If I ever get to leave this place to go grab some that is. 

Day two: Ok Sonja. I'll make me a bargain. You withdrawal nicely, and I'll feed you.

Day three: Had the funny idea that if I left the bathroom I might actually be able to exist in the rest of the house. Boy was that a good joke. Forgot legs lost feeling days ago. Swear stomach laughed at me while I crumpled in slow mo to the ground.

Day four: Had bed installed around throne in bathroom. Husband asked me if I was hungry. Had not realized I could breathe fire and cry simultaneously. Must remember to replace burnt bathroom door.

Day five: I can't believe it took me this long to think of counting the tiles! 98. Ok, that was lame.

Day six: Still in the bathroom. Reasoning with myself now. Here is an excerpt of my conversation with me: Taking drugs for me is like playing Russian Roulette. There is absolutely no way of knowing if I'll be allergic to the shit, until I've already shot myself. The really hilarious part is, when you, my body, randomly decide when you've had enough and put itchy spots on me, wake me up elsewhere, make my heart exercise with me having to do any pesky work, that kind of junk. Oh, and death. That's a fun one too. The longer I take this, the more likely I am of shooting myself. Oxy bitch- you gotta go. Drank a glass of water. My body retaliated for the self talk and turned it into battery acid.

Day seven: Half expected angelic sunbeams and sparkles to shine down on my bed throne, lift me up (unlike the demonic lifting and spinning I've already been experiencing) and sprinkle (so tempted to say angel dust here) magic over me while harps, french horns, and choirs sing my praises for a job well done. Instead, my ass gave a rousing fffffrrrrumph with more toxic liquids spurting in time to the music in my head.

The good thing that's been coming from my time as a recovering drug addict is the weight loss of course. 14 pounds in a week. Exorcist style- and not out of my mouth. If I were a bigger person, I'd say I wouldn't wish this kind of pain on anyone. But, who am I kidding? I'm 14 pounds smaller, so I'm no longer a bigger person. Loopholes. I love them.

But, I did promise to tell you why I am happy to have withdrawal. I'm happy because I'm always the exception to the rule. For once in my life, I'm the rule. I am right there, along with everyone else. I'm the same. It leaves me with a glimmer of hope that there are other long sticks I'll draw as opposed to always pulling the short stick.

Be well everyone. Next time you see me, I'll be drug free, back pain free, out of the bathroom, and showing off my 'normal'.

The Broken Mother

The Eve of Mother's Day... Such a variety of mothers exist out there... Today I am only thinking of one type of mother. The broken mother.

I know the immense joy when seeing baby for the first time. And the joy that flows through as baby rides safely in their car seat on the way to their home for the very first time. All mother's share in that sacred bond, the joy of creating life.

And today, I know a mother who takes watch over her child and makes every effort to ensure that tonight is not the night that her child takes their own life. She thinks 'If baby makes it through the night then I have the gift of tomorrow with my child."

We never seem to remember the names of the victims do we- the children in the elementary school in Connecticut, the theater shootings in Denver, the small boy taken off the bus and held hostage underground for days... what were their names again? I am thinking of their mother's tonight.

The elementary shooter had a mother. The Denver theater shooter has a mother. The man in the underground bunker has a mother. I imagine the horror their mother's felt, that joy that had once coursed through their being now shattered. I am thinking of them tonight.

I am honored, and privileged to be a mother myself. I wouldn't say I'm lucky that my child is not suicidal, that my child hasn't killed another human being, or taken a child away from their home. That's not anything that typically crosses my mind. But, tonight it does. The pain and anguish that Mother's Day must bring to the broken mother: broken hearted, broken spirited, broken soul...

Tomorrow, while celebrations are had, meals are enjoyed, gifts are opened, remember the broken mothers. Remember that we are all connected in that bond. The broken mother tomorrow will suffer from pain in the death of their child, betrayal of their child, grief for days lost and questions unanswered, and so many other things I can't even fathom.

Give the mothers of the lost, and the mothers of those who took those lives a second of your time, and remember them, for it might be the only time that they can experience a moment of joy on a day that brings such sadness. And think of the mothers trying to keep their child alive for just one more day, for that gift of tomorrow.

I believe if we put goodness out, we will have goodness in return. I know that at times we just don't have it in us to put anything positive out there. So it is my hope that for those mothers, that have nothing left to give, that they can receive some of the warmth and love that is generated by my request. Thank you all for your unselfishness, for the gift you're giving to others in need, and for opening your hearts and minds. You truly are amazing.

These are the names of the victim's in the events I mentioned. I will not taint their deaths with the names of their killers:

Charlotte Bacon, 6
Daniel Barden, 7
Rachel D’Avino, 29
Olivia Engel, 6
Josephine Gay, 7
Ana Marquez-Greene, 6
Dylan Hockley, 6
Dawn Hochsprung, 47
Madeleine Hsu, 6
Catherine Hubbard, 6
Chase Kowalski, 7
Jesse Lewis, 6
James Mattioli, 6
Grace McDonnell, 7
Anne Marie Murphy, 52
Emilie Parker, 6
Jack Pinto, 6
Noah Pozner, 6
Caroline Previdi, 6
Jessica Rekos, 6
Avielle Richman, 6
Lauren Rousseau, 30
Mary Sherlach, 56
Victoria Soto, 27
Benjamin Wheeler, 6
Allison Wyatt, 6
 Jonathan Blunk, age 26
Alexander J. Boik, age 18
Jesse Childress, age 29
Gordon Cowden, age 51
Jessica Ghawi, age 24
John Larimer, age 27
Matt McQuinn, age 27
Micayla Medek, age 23
Veronica Moser-Sullivan, age 6
Alex Sullivan, age 27
Alexander C. Teves, age 24
Rebecca Wingo, age 31
Ethan- age 5 survivor

Buzz, Buzz, doodle-dang

One day I was sitting around doing whatever it is I do while I'm sitting around, when I hear the familiar "buzz, buzz, doodle-dang" on my phone announcing that I've just received an email.  Typically, I don't pay much attention to much of anything that my phone does, and today was no different. Since I've been signed up for every single possible companies email I get approximately 573 billion emails a day. So one doodle is no different from another ones dang. 

Like always, I continued doing whatever it is I do, sometimes that's working, sometimes it's making things, sometimes it's swearing so much it makes a sailor look prude. Yet I always hear 'Good things come to those who wait.' Lately I've been at the point where I say 'suck it' to that. I did every single thing I was supposed to do. Everything. So how can I possibly be a role model to my kiddo and encourage her on 'what to do' when I did that, and I have a steaming pile of shit to show for it. 

Let me spell this out a bit more. To get a good paying job, we are taught to go to college after high school. I went to college. Then I went to grad school. So I did more. We are told to be innovative, to stand out, to create, design, make our mark- I did just that, I designed curriculum that is used district wide to this day because of my innovative, positive ideas had made such a significant difference; those were going to be brought up to the governor even! Impressive right? Meh. 

Every school I worked at I found fatal flaws at. Every time I brought those up I was put in a position in which I needed to find another job. Administrators, I found, don't like it when they learn that very bad things are happening at their schools. My students loved me, I made a huge difference, I made people aware of things that were being covered up, and sure enough, I was always looking for another job at the end of each year. I am ok with that because I know that I did exactly what was needed for those kids. In 2 separate schools alone I was told by my administration not to file abuse charges on children which clearly had physical marks on their bodies of being hit.  When the MS joined me, it got rather difficult to make good on work, and allow myself the time and rest that I needed in order to heal and give me the strength I need to go to work everyday. I told no one about this infestation on my sheath, as it is not required, and continued to do my job with much praise from parents and students. And at the end of every year I was out of a job because I stuck to my training, and did what was right. 

The loss my job, and income, came with a massive price. It was more frightening than waking up with a gaggle of hungry zombies staring down at me while I slept.  I would suddenly wake up and realize that the shit has definitely hit the fan. Again.  

This is not what I had in mind when I went to college and grad school. That's what we are supposed to do right? We are supposed to go to college so we can get good paying jobs, live in houses with the rooms upstairs, a fireplace and family room downstairs, a garage, landscaping, yearly vacations, 2.3 kids and a dog named spot. I did what I was told. I have that dream of that house in my head, I have things I want to do, I have goals, I have a future. I thought. My reality is that I am scared beyond belief that none of it will never happen for me because I am actually closer to being homeless than living the dream I worked so hard for, and and in permanent debt for. Don't feel sorry. Feel angry. And donate to the charities of your choice so scientists can do research and help keep people like me from homelessness.I don't care which- cancer, MS, Alzheimer's, whatever. Any amount you donate helps someone like me stay from becoming homeless and getting well. 

Dan is the smartest person I know. He reads Nietzsche for fun for crying out loud. But, he isn't over educated like me. So when I lost my job, we lost 2/3rd of our income. And we have lived like that ever since. Let me just say that it sucks. Do we pay utilities this month and not gas so that we can get food? Or, do we skip food so that we can have heat? How much food can we grow so that we wont have to buy it? But wait, that just made the utilities go up. Shit, the dog completely tore his ACL and needs surgery. Guess what we can't pay for because we declared bankruptcy due to all the damn medical bills. 

I never see my husband. He is always working. Early morning until late at night. He's been at the same place for over a decade. He got less than 10 cents for a raise last year. Geez, that's helpful. Dan has Chrohn's disease, so he has his own demons do battle. Did I mention how hard he works? And for what? We don't live outside of our means, just in a constant state of stress.

I tell you, for doing exactly what I was supposed to do, why on earth would I encourage my kid to follow this same path? Look where it got me. Yeah! Go to college kiddo! Then you can be so stressed out for the rest of your life because you won't know how the hell you'll pay for the next months bills/food/ or rent. Why the hell would I tell her to go to college? To make things worse, there are plenty of people that just don't understand my situation. They're the 'know-it-alls', you know, the ones with all the advice, tell me exactly what I need to do with my life, let me know I don't want it badly enough, then talk so poorly behind your back it doesn't matter what I said in the first place. These are the people that have never once asked me a single question, or walked 10 feet in my shoes let alone a mile. But always the first to judge and accuse.

My car broke down a year ago. I paid for that car with an inheritance I received when my grandfather passed away. I thought it was a wise investment. And it was. Until I threw a rod. There is no coming back from that, so I had a huge pile of metal and plastic shit sitting in my driveway. Having learned how to be frugal I found my dream car- $42K Volvo XC-90- oh man this thing was beautiful! Alas, I cannot afford $42K to save my life. So I kept looking. I found one, for $9K. Those of you who wonder how on earth I can afford such an expensive car (I'm not driving a porche for crying out loud) it's because I do loads of research. And my husband and I shared one car for years until we finally bit the bullet and bought another. Man, did I got a lot of shit for buying such a fancy car.... All I could do was laugh. People are quite judgemental with zero basis.  

I live in a neighborhood where every single house looks exactly the same. My street looks like a slightly glorified trailer park. I have the best neighbors in the world, and I have done all the work on my house myself. I have made a loving, comfortable space that once you've been, you never want to leave. But, I am faced with losing my home every single month because I cannot work. 

Some of you reading this won't give a rat's ass, and will actually hope for that to happen, and I really hope that all the weirdness that you harbor doesn't give you a heart attack which leaves you dead. Perhaps just the heart attack part and a new outlook on life. I've know some pretty rotten people in my life and it would take something like a heart attack to pull that hatred out of their ass and figure out that life is more about helping others, than hurting. 

So yep, life is constantly desperate for me, I am not at a place in my life to be able to accept higher messages from various guru's when I am worried about my basic safety needs being met. I do appreciate being thought of tho. And since things have been so desperate for so long, and I refuse to live like this, and I am in no shape to do much, I applied for social security disability, and I won. It's still a waiting game at this point, and I have no clue what my benefits will be, when they will start, nothing. But, I won. The lawyer and judge both told me that they've never had a person with a superior IQ come in an not be employed. I didn't know whether to take that as a compliment, or a diss.

So that's what I've been doing since my neurologist suddenly halted my CCSVI surgery with the promise of more, and better treatment, and I was asked to give the doctor a chance? Yeah, I remember that too. Let me give you a lists of treatment and tests that I've had since he abruptly stopped my surgery. I want it to be crystal clear how seriously this was taken on my doctors behalf:


___________________________________________________________

Pretty impressive list right? Yes, I've left my neurologist and taken matters into my own hands. Before I get into that, why not chat about the other things that have been going on in my life...

As you all know, my family took a much needed vacation to Hawaii. Absolutely nothing could dampen our excitement :) It was exactly what we needed to do at that time, and it was perfect. We stayed in a condo right on the ocean in S. Kihei, Maui, HI. The Kamaole Sands. It was FABULOUS. We had everything we needed and more. Our mornings were spent on the lanai surrounded by all sorts of wild birds, the refreshing breezes of the ocean floating in the air, and the delightful Hawaiian sun. Followed by a stroll along the beach, a swim in the ocean, and making friends with local sea creatures. 

I took thousands of photo's and shared our journey with my friends and family on FaceBook and Instagram. Hopefully everyone was able to take a peek at our adventures. The photos are still available for viewing in case anyone missed them. 

To summarize our trip into one word I would have to say rejuvenating. Hearing that home was experiencing record snowfall amounts while we were basking in the sun, exploring lush jungles and waterfalls, spotting whales and sea turtles, and deciding if we needed to change out of our bathing suits, or just throw on shorts and flip flops, made our time spent in Hawaii that much more enjoyable. 

Rejuvenating in the Hawaiian tropics really bolstered my strength to face the challenges that I knew were awaiting me at home. I hit the ground running with my primary care physician by discussing whatever tests, scans, blood work, and so forth, that I should consider and make that wheel squeak until I had those things done, in order to finally be able to get my 'roto-rooter' surgery that I've had put off time and time again.  Well folks, one surgery, 974 pints of blood, 13 billion x-rays, and an MRI or two later, one back surgery, ambition that doesn't quit, and a fire that refuses to burn it, I read that doodle dang email, I am happy to report that it's finally happening!!! I am getting my CCSVI surgery. Talk about a long dramatic pause between start and finish. 

Tomorrow morning I will be getting this long overdue surgery. My goal was to raise $10,000K and I didn't quite get there. I am about $3K short. I've already declared bankruptcy for medical bills, so all that will happen is I'll get sent to collections for the remaining portion that I cannot pay. And perhaps have a need to declare bankruptcy again.

I had a lot of promises from people about various things that they would do to help me raise the rest of the funds. What I learned is that there are a lot of people that would really like to help, but find out how difficult it really is to make it happen. I adore each and every one of you. Even the nasty bitches with not a kind bone in their bodies. Without all of you, this wouldn't have happened. I needed the kindness to keep going, I needed the nasty bitches to give me a good laugh, I need the trip to Hawaii to rejuvenate my soul, and I needed to fire my neurologist and take matters into my own hands. So I might be an over educated, intellectual pauper, but I've found my job... It's me. I am my advocate. And I am getting my surgery tomorrow. Wish me luck and I'll see you on the other side my lovelies! 

I'd ask for more donations, but at this point, it's not worth it. Personally, I'm sick of asking for help, and I'm sure everyone is tired of seeing requests for donations time and time again. I am honored by the $7K I raised, for the patience, prayers, and love from all of my friends and family, and the enemies I've made. They help too! I look forward to sharing with everyone the impact my surgery had :)  Thank you all again! 

Much love, 
Sonja 
  

Absolutely Everything About Absolutely Nothing

I always hate April. April 15th specifically. Stupid tax day. Dan and I NEVER get a tax refund. I don't know if that's a good, or a bad thing. I suppose economists and accountants would claim it's good, that I'm not giving the government free money as they get to keep the interest earned off my 'over payment' in taxes. Pfft. What do they know. But, over the years I've just gotten used to having us break even, or maybe get $50 bucks if it's a red letter year. But something weird happened this year... we hit the tax return lotto. We got, dare I say, an actual REFUND! And, like any well-rounded adult, we thought that paying bills was the responsible and wise thing to do. When we stopped laughing at the thought of us being responsible and wise, we booked ourselves a trip to Maui, courtesy of our 2012 tax refund.

The second rarest thing in the Armstrong household is the Armstrong family going on a vacation. Unless you count me driving to the grocery store alone. It just doesn't happen. Don't get me wrong, we talk about it all the time, how great it would be to kiss the Blarney stone, to see the castles in Europe, to go on a safari, or muck about in Great Britain. Hell, it would be fun staying stateside and exploring the natural (and man-made) wonders here at home! I guess the nicest way to say it is this: we need a vacation to sit on our asses and do nothing. We've had so much shit happen that a whole lot of nothing sounds absolutely perfect. No kissing, no mucking, no exploring. Hence, Maui. It's perfect. I think the universe agrees that it's our time to go too.

Everything here in Colorado will still be here. The stupid doctors that can't figure out what's going on with me will all be here (and still have the same lack of information). Working from home allows work to go with me to Hawaii if I wanted it too (nope)... and Chloe is home-schooled so the island will be a learning tool/educational experience... aren't you jealous you didn't get a field trip to Hawaii? The timing is right and the refund was the impetus for our journey.

The older I get the more I think that it really is important to take time away from the stress of the daily grind. Even if it's just a few days, it is still very much necessary in maintaining health and happiness. Dan and I just got lucky this year. And hopefully whatever we gain from our respite will stick with us and keep us motivated to make it happen more frequently. I'm not saying it will cure all of our ails, but the stress has got to be responsible for a chunk of what ails us. Lord knows that a break from that certainly cannot hurt.

I've also decided to see a nutritionist. She's approximately 473 years old, in incredible health, and decided that my family really needed her services, so she squeezed us in. I won't see her for another month. I get the feeling I'll get more from visiting with her than I've gotten from seeing the doctors.
For example, I'm still waiting to find out if I have pulmonary hypertension. This, of course, is what is holding up surgery... I don't feel like having a stroke on the operating table. Call me crazy. I bet the nutritionist will be able to figure a few things out about me in my upcoming hour long visit.

So until I see the nutritionist, figure out if I have hypertension, and try to keep up with work at home and homeschooling, I will sing the praises of the refund Gods for giving me the much needed gift of a Hawaiian vacation.  I won't stress that my body isn't made for a bathing suit, or that my luggage might get lost along the way... I'll just pack some flip flops and a swim suit in my carry-on and enjoy absolute everything about absolutely nothing.

Wagging fingers and telling lies

So it's the end of the year and what have I learned? That I'm no closer to an answer, I'm still naively trusting of people, and my patience is still intact.

Remember when I was complaining about having my life turned upside down, shaken, and shit hitting the fan? Well, that was merely practice for what was to come. Since I've last posted a blog 37 million years ago I've been through a few changes (to say the least)...

Let's start with the health thing because I know everyone wants to know what's up with the surgery. Yes, I am rescheduling the surgery. No, I can't have it yet. Somehow this idea of pulmonary hypertension has become lodged into the brains of my medical entourage. So a really long story short- they think I might have pulmonary hypertension... if I do indeed have pulmonary hypertension and introduce a catheter to clear my innards, then what could occur is that the newly cleared arteries would result in more blood rushing through my arteries causing a rapid increase in pressure and giving me a stroke. Since I'm in no hurry to experience a stroke (ever), I'm willing to get this checked out to the fullest extent. Stroking out on an operating table happens to be one of the risks of this procedure. So, no thanks. I'll wait.

Now we are all caught up. On health anyway. So what the hell took me so damn long to tell you 7 sentences worth of information? All the other shit that comes with hosting a beating heart, functioning brain, working lungs, or more simply- life.

Shortly after my need to reschedule my surgery my daughters life took a turn for chaotic... not being one to sugar coat things I'll just lay it out there. Feel free to drop your jaw, get pissed, swear even... Lord knows I did. First, I'll give a bit of background info. that I think is relevant. Chloe will be getting a full psychological workup. She's an intense, serious, sensitive kiddo that really requires a certain approach. She doesn't handle, or deal with things like most people. There is something there that I'd like to discover so that I can help her, communicate with her, and approach her in ways that would be the most helpful and benefit her in meaningful ways. Anyone that has ever met Chloe knows what I'm talking about... there is just something there.

Chloe has been at the same school for her entire educational career. I'm that neurotic parent that helicopters around and gives her teachers every minute detail of her existence. Including that she needs a very specific approach. Chloe had certain legal provisions spelling all this out (which I had to fight tooth and nail for) which I also made sure her teachers were aware of... I was surprised with the start of this school year when her new teacher actually called me to go over this information! Never had this happened before! Finally, I had a teacher that was on the ball! We had a great conversation, I let her know what Chloe needed, even though it was spelled out for her, and was happy as a clam when school started and Chloe was left in such proactive hands! Then the fits. Then the fights. Then the headaches, migraines, severe stomach pains, and demon child appeared. It was only September.

If there was an available doctor, Chloe was there. She had so many ailments in the first few weeks of school it was like Satan had taken up shop in Chloe's innards. Knowing a thing or two about kids behaviors I decided to observe Chloe in class too. I didn't want to leave anything out. Here is where it gets interesting... I witnessed several occasions of Chloe's teacher bullying her. Yes, I said bullying. Not only that, I had the classroom door slammed in my face, I was told that I was not allowed in the classroom, and I watched this 'teacher' wag her finger and chastise my child, belittle her, demean her character, and wipe the floor with her fragile self-esteem. No wonder Chloe was acting out and manifesting physical symptoms! She was being bullied by a person in a position of trust! Lasers shooting out of your eyes and swearing with disbelief yet? Yeah... me too. It gets better though!

The school reacted like this "If this teacher were indeed a bully, why do we not have 26 other families complaining?" My response- "Because 26 other kids aren't the target." We got nowhere. So after this outrageous behavior, no help from the school, and a child on the verge of a breakdown, we withdrew her from the only place she'd ever known. Enter the private school- Yes, Chloe was accepted. However, every time I went she was alone. She always had a million miles between her and the other students. She would always say "I don't mind being alone all the time mom. It's ok." No Chloe, it's not. The teachers were not helpful with the situation either. Chloe has a terribly hard time making friends as it is... so here she is in a new place, and not one person to talk to, and the teachers blew her off saying 'it's just a kid thing.' Then another bomb dropped...

Chloe's former school sent her new school information stating that Chloe was a 'severe behavioral problem. with 'doctor documentation' to support their claims. Now one lovely thing about her old school was this- behavior reports. Weekly behavior reports. Weekly behavior reports that required a parent signature no matter what the behavior. I've known every week since Chloe began school exactly how she behaved. Imagine my surprise when the new school informed me that my rule following, never once in trouble child was now a 'severe behavioral problem' not too mention my ridiculous belief that I'd somehow have to be aware of any doctor's examination and opinions. I'm absurd in thinking that I'd have to give my permission for such testing to be done. Silly me right?

Basically it is this- I blew the whistle on a beloved teacher and they retaliated by sending documents to her new school that would have her dismissed. Guess what happened? That's right! They dis-enrolled her stating that I was dishonest. When I asked to see this information they would not share it with me. They even went so far as to state Chloe was showing signs of school phobia at school because she was absent one day. Ummm what? It appears that the enrollment committee are all now a child psychiatrists. Stab me.

I was furious. First my kiddo is bullied, then the former school has the balls to lie and send false information to the new school, then the new school kicks her out!?!?!?!?! Yes they did, and yes they did. Talk about doing what's right for kids. Chloe is the one that had to endure all of this, and do her best to understand. She tries to comprehend that this isn't about her, that she, in fact, did nothing wrong. Now try making her believe that she is one kick ass human being! Not easy. She's hurt and she blames herself. It doesn't matter what I say- but every day of her life I remind how incredible she is, and that she's an amazing person inside and out.

She is home-schooled now. Nothing I ever imagined I'd ever do... and it's the most wonderful, hardest, entertaining, trier of patience ever known to man. She's not had any migraines, and her stomach ailments appear to have disappeared now. It's incredible! However, she misses the shit out of her friends. I enrolled her in a home school program that has her go to 'school' one day a week with other home schooled kids. She does nothing but fun things all day. It's just not the same. She misses her friends. She wants her buddies back. She misses the boy she's had a crush on since first grade. She misses her best friend. She even misses the kids that annoyed her. She wants her life back. I can't take her back there. Not next year, not ever. It's not right. She feels punished. It's been a struggle all around. It's been a struggle dealing with the social components of everything. And it tears me apart seeing her so lonely and unhappy about missing her friends. Everyone has their lives, people are busy, and it's hard to fit play dates in around all that. Being an only child doesn't help things much either. We've found a lot of support from many unexpected places, and we've lost some friends along this new journey.

So that's where I've been. Working from home, home schooling, and trying not to blow up from the inside.

I'm working on blood tests, heart tests, and math, English, science, and history tests now too... Keep us in your thoughts and feel free to donate as I still know that I will have this much needed surgery done! Life just had other plans for me for the time being... my daughter will always come first. I know you all can understand.