PROVEIT2METESST
My kid appeared when I was 17. No one I knew was there – not my mom or mailman or my last boss, one of the managers of an Arby's roast beef sandwich restaurant. It was a surreal situation, alone in a room of too many, of self-important nurses and doctors.
I felt the surgical knife slice across my stomach and did not like it. I pleaded to be “put under” and insisted that it hurt me unbearably, even though it was the slicing sensation that I couldn't stand, not an overwhelming amount of pain, as I claimed. The anesthesiologist knew. He did that crap every day. He did seem genuinely upset in his insistence that I would regret my decision to be unconscious during the first moments of my child's life on the outside of my body; the sight of medically-masked strangers pulling a small person from my baby trailing what looked like intestine from its belly button from my own large belly, sans button. Because my stomach was cut open. However, the anesthesiologist was wrong. I haven't regretted being put under and missing that sight. And that wasn't my daughter. It must have been a blind, unhappy alien covered in my physical insides and quite unappealing to behold, and I was a sliced open, helpless beached whale of an adult-child. What just happened?
I never regretted being the vessel for the life of my offspring, my upgrade, mini me. I can't recall complaining about being a single parent like I've heard so many parents do. The father was not involved, even by inquiry; we never heard from him and I received child support when he held a job at a gas station long enough to be found and have his pay garnished by the state division of child support.
In addition and also unlike the other parents I watched and heard about, I had no mom/dad grandma/grandpa around to help with any child-raising responsibilities, in a monetary form or otherwise, and I spent my early and mid 20's at home with my daughter nearly 100% of the time. This time was largely enjoyable and I did sometimes feel claustrophobic when my friends were all out without me, but never blamed this on my kid. She brought me joy and taught me love. She was my purpose for living since before I became a legal adult.
Child #1 had only been around for 14 months, and myself for 18 years, when I was told that there was a serious problem in the way my toddler's spine was growing, that she needed to be seen by specialists as soon as possible. We were living in Anchorage, Alaska.
After meeting with 3 doctors in the city, we were referred to Shriner's Medical Center in Portland, Oregon. Portland's location is where the charity children's hospital's contracted spine specialists provide treatment from.
Dr. Geitz note for neurosurgeon & back brace
Dr. Dales initial exam notes
Swedish Medical Center
​Seattle, WA
MRI order form
Dr. Krajbich scheduling 2020
Dr. Nathan Selden
Oregon Health & Sciences University (OHSU)
Portland, OR
Referral consult notes
Initial scoliosis intake notes
Pediatric Neurology Clinic new patient consult Dr. Roderick Smith
​
Shriner's letter re preparation for surgeries
The rules were often suggested and arbitrary, so I lived in fear or God and eternally burning in hell, as well as God's enemies like Satan and his demon minions who were constantly after my soul and each night waited in the darkest of dark places in my room, on the ceiling, outside the window- everywhere, and also in fear of taking any action without approval - I would have been very happy to live a decision-free lifestyle - at least as a younger youth. Because then I wouldn't have to worry about if what I was doing was going to get me in trouble - I NEVER KNEW when I was going to be doing something wrong.
Fear would destroy the soft spirit of me, the parts that were good and unique and harmlessly weird. I let it bring additional devastation to the life of my immensely adored, innocent, and undeserving child, who'd already been through, in my opinion, unthinkable experiences.
She had to deal with me, on top of dollar sign-eyed doctors subjecting her to emotionally and physically traumatic experiences with the shallow excuse of being behind schedule; unapologetically hurting her because of their f**k ups.
​
I allowed my fear turn me into into a stinking, drunken, blacked out, evil thing every night, and wake up the next day with absolutely no memory of my behavior - actions unimaginable when I was sober.
Pre-operation MRI cervical, lumbar & thoracic
& interpretation:
severe thoracic levoscoliosis with a rotary component, and
cervical & thoracic spinal cord syrinx.
I got married to a stranger in order to get health insurance for the unnecessary, precautionary neurosurgery. I married a man 7 years my junior, and only 10 years older than Frankie, who was actively enlisted in the Army. It 100% covered all health costs. I'm actually still married to him, I think.
There is no way I can explain the amount of fear and dread I felt at the idea of the back surgery(ies) and the preparation that went into the operations that were described to me by the potential operating physicians as something that would be inevitable for my little girl.
​
I am already a fear-filled, anxiety-ridden person. I was raised in a cultlike-Christian atmosphere of an arbitrary sect. Nobody led by example, but any failure by me in particular to maintain the rules and suggestions set forth was met with strict and unforgiving punishment. Adults and other kids could get away with an infraction here or there with little to no punishment, but out of everyone I knew and have known since then, I was without fail punished with the most extreme of the selections available. And the rules were often suggested and arbitrary, so I lived in fear or God and eternally burning in hell, as well as God's enemies like Satan and his demon minions who were constantly after my soul and each night waited in the darkest of dark places in my room, on the ceiling, outside the window- everywhere, and also in fear of taking any action without approval - I would have been very happy to live a decision-free lifestyle - at least as a younger youth. Because then I wouldn't have to worry about if what I was doing was going to get me in trouble - I NEVER KNEW when I was going to be doing something wrong.
​
I think this background helped me grow into the fear-addled adult I am today. When I was the young single parent for my daughter, I was still becoming self-aware and didnt realize the incredible stress that I felt at her situation and the potential future for it was not normal. I wish I would have gotten emotional and mental supports right away, but I didn't have a social group, the internet was still new and I didn't have a cell phone yet. I had no idea what the fear that I held for my precious, beautiful, perfect, sweet sweet SWEET little girl would do to me, and her. That it would destroy the spirit of me, the parts that were good and unique and harmlessly weird, that it would devastate my innocent, wonderful, undeserving child, who'd already been through, to me, unthinkable experiences. Having to deal with me, doctors subjecting her to emotionally stressful and trauma-inducing experiences because they were running late on their schedule and didn't want to take the time to administer the anesthetics I'd starved her for nearly 24 hours to enable her sedation with.
I allowed my fear turn me into a pre-disposed alcoholic, and that turned me into a blacked out evil thing every night.
​
I was so afraid for her. After her diagnosis with the back person in Anchorage, I brought her to her aunt's house, where her aunt watched her along with her younger cousins during the work day. Instead of going back to work, I went home and cried for hours. I was alone there and I didn't call anyone to tell them what happened. I was so sick and cold and absolutely in disbelief of the news of her condition and I literally laid in bed and cried, face down and on my side, for 1.5 to 2 hours until it was time to pick her up.
​
After the internet was an easily accessible thing, I spent hours every few month researching syringomyelia, and often my extremities would get the cold numbness of what I came to recognize as shock, and I would feel very very cold and sick. I recognize the feeling as being characteristic of shock because I got the same feeling each time I came upon solid evidence of a boyfriend cheating on me, of a guy I was crushing HARD on hooking up with someone else, of a man watching me live from the other side of the wall of the room I was in with hidden secret cameras he'd hidden in my room.
Project Name
Project Name
Project Name
