When Riis challenged us with the simple quest of going back and pulling our first Xanga post here, it was more than I expected. You know this isn't my first account here. Sarahsmurfette was. I started that blog 2/15/2005. Before kids, before Josh. However, early June 2007 a terrible thing happened in my life and I deleted everything in my account leading up to it (except pictures). So my first available blogpost on my first account is not my first. And I will tell the story of what happened that caused me to wish to start over.

Ava was born May 10th, 2006. She was always a healthy, thriving little girl. Until May 2007.

(Shit, I'm shaking in my fingers already)

It was just a fever. Nothing else. But it wouldn't go away. I took her to her pediatrician. There were no other symptoms, her ears were clear, her lungs sounded well, her throat looked good, she was acting like a normal one year old. I was told to give Motrin and Tylenol, staggered, when her fever spiked.

I did.

A week passed. She still kept spiking fevers. I took her back to the pediatrician. This time, she saw another physician (we couldn't be worked in with her normal pediatrician). Because it was a persistent fever at this point and she still had no other symptom, he ordered chest x-rays. They were terrible x-rays, which I knew because before I worked in CT, I worked in X-Ray. He said she had pneumonia. I said "she has no cough, no wheezing, no mucus, is not in pain. That x-ray is insufficient for diagnosing pneumonia because it is not done on inspiration, count the ribs. The consolidation you think you see is actually the dome of the liver, not evidence of pneumonia and mucus in her lungs." He took the films down, his glasses off, and looked at me with his mouth agape. "Who are you?" And sent the films to a Radiologist (a dr who specializes in reading x-rays etc) who said it was insufficient (told ya so) and ordered another set, which were also shitty, and another, which were also shitty, and then we called it off because the radiation was just too much and the staff was clearly ... well, shitty.

Either way, because her fever had persisted so long with an unknown etiology, and when it spiked it spiked to 102, she was prescribed antibiotics.

Days passed. The antibiotics threatened to give her a diaper rash, I was working REALLY hard to stop it. Her fevers still persisted. I took her to a well-renowned Children's E.R. when it spiked to 104.

They drew her blood (they "missed" her vein the first time. SIGH). They ordered a cath sampling of her urine (they wanted to insert a catheter into her urethra to take a sterile sample). I asked if we could wait to see the result of the bloodwork first, or if I could speak to the doctor first before putting Ava through that invasive and painful procedure. They were really snotty about my request. They left and I did not see another staff member for about 3 hours. When they returned it was with discharge papers and normal bloodwork results. We never saw the physician. I never got to discuss Ava and what was going on. They labeled the file "would not consent."

Yeah. I would not consent without more information. That's called informed consent.

We went home with no answers, but at least I knew her blood count was normal and that her ears and throat etc were still normal. The blood count was important to me, as elevated white blood cells indicate infection somewhere, and hers was normal. So... It was still a big fat "We don't know. Sometimes kids just get fevers."

3 days later, it spiked again to 104. I took her back. Same result. Blood draw, look at ears, nose, throat. Nothing. Sent home after a big dose of Motrin, and this time, when they drew her blood they left the iv in place and put in a bag of saline. Her extended fever surely must be dehydrating her.

2 days later, my world changed.

___

I put her to bed that night after a dose of Motrin at midnight. She was warm, 101. At this point, it was kind of normal though. She never acted strange. Just took her medicine like a good girl. She didn't want much dinner that night, though. I put her to bed in a thin onesie. It was now the very beginning of June in Florida.

When I woke up around 8am (Josh was at work), I thought it strange that she wasn't up yet. I checked on her, she was sleeping soundly. She was warm to touch. But not hot. I let her sleep. I checked again at 9. Same. At 10, she was still sleeping. This was getting too weird. I actually tried to rouse her at that point. Notice I said tried.

She was extremely lethargic. It was very wrong. She didn't want to wake up at all, and not in an I've-got-an-attitude kind of way. She was weak. She just kept closing her eyes. She was limp. She was still breathing fine but was much hotter now. I took her out of her crib and downstairs. I took her onesie off to change her diaper. It was dry. It shouldn't have been dry. She slept through all that. I didn't re-dress her. I took her temperature, first from her ear. 104. I called emergency nurse call, a service through our pediatrician to ask where I should go: to the emergency room or to their office. She asked me to take a rectal temperature. I did. Also 104. She told me to come immediately to the pediatrics department, that they were about to start lunch breaks (they break around 11) but that someone would stay behind waiting for me. This was ok with me because their department is IN the hospital. We would be there if/when other decisions needed to be made. She was sooo sleepy.

I grabbed some of her clothes and stuffed them in her diaper bag, and strapped her in her carseat. Off we went. It usually takes about 25 minutes to get there, it was on base (Naval Air Station Jax). About 15 minutes in, the worst actually began to happen.

**oh my God**

First, her coloring changed. She turned kind of grey-ish. I said her name. Her eyes were opened. But she didn't look at me. I shouted her name. Nothing. Not even a flinch. I started driving like a bat out of hell. She slumped forward.

I called my Mom. Someone had to know. I asked her to call Josh, I couldn't get in touch with him, he was on a boat. She told me later it was the worst phone call she ever received. She made plans to leave Indiana immediately. She started a prayer chain for what she fully believed was Ava's death. Because that is what was beginning. Her friends still refer to Ava as "the one."

I don't even remember going through security or parking at the hospital. I know I grabbed Ava and nothing else and ran inside with this grey, unresponsive child in her diaper. The guy who was waiting in pediatrics was horrified. He took her pulse. It was over 200. He dropped all of his equipment on the floor and ran, shouting, "stay there!" I heard his voice over the hospital-wide PA system, "I need a doctor, any doctor, to Pediatrics. Stat! This is a true emergency. Any doctor, come to Pediatrics. Stat!"

It was horrible.

They came running. These Naval hospital physicians, whoever they were. They took her to a procedure room that was very weird looking. As I gave her history, others were taking her vitals, starting an iv, using cool cloths to both rouse and cool her. It didn't take long for her to be more aware of the world. They gave her a Pedialyte popcicle. They stood in corners conferring with each other. She was bypassing the ER and being admitted to the hospital.

Meningitis was being discussed. I could hear it. Other unmentionables were also on the table. Untreatable unmentionables.

Josh finally came.

We were taken to her hospital room. It had this huge metal crib and they'd crammed a regular hospital bed in there, too, for me and Josh. She was on iv antibiotics and saline. They took her vitals every hour. They had a stockpile of Pedialyte popcicles brought in, it was all she'd eat/drink. And then she'd sleep again. The day passed. And then the night. Still no wet diaper. Still the spiking and falling crazy high fever. Mostly spiking.

Mom came. She says we had such a look of numbness on our faces. I believe it. I don't even remember much about the time in the hospital. Just weird details like the blood pressure cuff. And then a conversation with the doctor on the second day. She didn't know what was happening. She didn't think the antibiotics were helping. She thought it was possible that they were prolonging the fever, because she'd been on them in iv or oral form since her 2nd visit to the Pediatrician. She said she was going to turn it off.

And see what happened.

I sort of thought nothing of it. I wasn't capable of thinking into it.

Mom went with the doctor into the hallway and talked with her. I found out about this well after, like years after. The fact was, they had no idea why Ava was so deathly, yes deathly, ill. The antibiotics had not made any progress in her wellness. So taking her off of them? She'd either begin to get better...

...or she wouldn't.

She would basically either get better, or would die.

____

They stopped the antibiotics. And waited.

____

We stayed in the hospital for another two days. Ava's fever went away.

Here she was, about a week later, back home. Still looking like shit. But miles better than how she'd been:

___

And that's the reason why I don't have my original posting. Because this turned my life upside down so badly I didn't, at the time, wish to look back.

@MyxlDove

I know there isn't much time left for me to air out my always righteous indignations for all of you to emphatically and empirically agree with here.  But I am one of those who will go down with the ship. Because I believe in it. Because nothing else fits. Because I can't settle for shallow when what I crave is depth. (And I have more of an idea of why I need so much depth here, now. I'm discovering a lot through counseling, both about myself and about the man I married. But I don't wish to air my dirty laundry, only my righteous indignation.) Right on.

You know it's a bad state of affairs when the government prevents her law-abiding citizens from abiding the law (by making it so difficult to comply), and yet will still hold them to that standard. Yes, it's a universally known peeve of most that driver's license offices and employees are notoriously unhelpful or even rude. To me, this North Carolina office took the cake. Let me explain why. In order for us to swap our Texas licenses for North Carolina licenses, here is what we needed (all listed, not a combination of some - ALL):

1. My Texas driver's license

2. My original birth certificate

3. My social security card

4. Proof of residency

5. Proof of insurance

and the one that took the cake for me, just one step WAY too far:

6. Proof of middle name

WHAT THE FRANKENSTEIN is "proof of middle name?" OK, let's back up here. I started getting effing annoyed at all the requirements anyway, but number 6? Proof of middle name? I want to know what the purpose of that is and what they consider "proof" if it isn't any of the other means they already required. Let's take it another step, who does this rule make life more difficult for? Women and Immigrants. Let's explain why.

Women often change their name when they get married. Men don't do this. Often, the middle name is dropped or added on to and the last name changed.

Immigrants. Other cultures don't always (or often) give middle names. It's kind of an American culture thing. Or Westernized culture thing, at least.

So what if one doesn't HAVE a middle name at all? What happens then? And why does it matter if the citizen trying to get a DRIVER'S license can't prove their middle name status IF they have their social security card and birth certificate and an official photo id? What are we trying to prevent or authorize at this point?

My question is, what is the point of this requirement, period? How do I know it's required? The rude dude at the desk told me so, peon.

Another thing that annoys me is the general fact that states require all of the information IN ADDITION TO the driver's license from the previous state. Do you know how many times I've had to provide these documents at this point in my life? Seriously, about every 2 years for the last 8. At what point is it going to be good enough to stand? North Carolina says Texas must not have verified my identity - they need my documents, too. Texas said Florida must not have verified my identity, they needed them, too. And so on. WHILE they require my "unverified" driver's license, as defined by their lack of acceptance of said proof of identity, in order to help verify my identity. Do you see the contradiction here? Either it's valid proof of identity or it isn't.

That isn't even to address the REAL ID Act or PASS ID which some states do participate in.

I guess it really just got my goat that North Carolina has the gall to ask me for proof of my middle name. On behalf of women who might change their name upon marriage everywhere, and on behalf of the peoples of other cultures who might not be able to participate period - I'm offended. What are we trying to do?

My favorite book when I was a little girl was Misty of Chincoteague. I'm pretty sure I read every book in the series, over and over again. I loved these books but mostly, I loved the horses. I already have a special connection to the water, you already know that. The Atlantic particularly speaks to me, relaxes me, just generally makes me feel joy. I've never known why, who am I to question it too closely? Better to just go with it and enjoy the connection that I feel has been given to me.

When we lived in Jacksonville, Florida, Josh was out with his crew off the coast of Cumberland Island. They saw wild horses there. When he told me about it, my heart leapt. I've always, always, wanted to see wild horses like that. To be so close? It excited me! I thought that my little girl fantasies were going to come true, because he promised me he would take me back. Someday.

Years passed. That day never came. We moved away (to Texas). The opportunity was lost, and with a sigh, I put my dreams on hold.

4 more years passed, the years of spiritual and physical wasteland. The years in Texas. But we pulled through, and now? It's a whole different world here in coastal North Carolina.

This morning, I woke up late after having slept in (oh blessed sleep when you have kids). Josh told me that we were "going somewhere" today. It was a surprise. Yes, it certainly was a surprise - this has never happened in our entire relationship. So I got up, showered, got dressed, and in the truck we hopped for a destination unknown. At least, it was unknown to me.

We drove for about an hour and a half, to a city I'd never been to. And then we, all four of us (the kids, Josh, and I) boarded a small boat. This was pre-planned.

We were taken to a barrier island where wild horses roam free.

They dropped us off and would return about three hours later to ferry us back to the mainland.

We hardly knew where to begin, but we just started walking. I sort of took the lead, because I became a woman possessed. I needed this. I needed to find these horses. My soul needed it. I knew it so deeply that almost nothing else mattered. So I followed where my instinct led me.

The children walked behind me, and Josh behind them. I walked along what I believed with all my heart were horse trails in the tall beach grass. Narrow. Just paths where the grass had been trodden on like a finger dragging a line through wet sand. I don't know how I thought I would know, I've never met a horse in my life - that was a part of the dream: to meet and discover horses, but not just any horse, a horse in the wild. Not just because they were horses but because they were free.

I know we were on the right path. I know we were. But the paths became more rustic and natural than the kids were ok walking though, and I was in flip flops myself - when I'd gotten dressed, I hadn't known what we'd be doing or where we would be going. The sun began beating down on us. We were far enough from the coast that the breeze no longer blew. It was time to regroup. We were on top of a dune, so had good perspective on where we were on the island. Josh called it, and we decided to walk back to the ocean. We'd been told the horses were deep in hiding today, no one had reported seeing any at all. It was disappointing, but damn if we weren't hot. And because the kids were with us, I knew I couldn't just persist in my personal journey to find my wild horses. Not today. We gave up and walked back to the shores.

The ocean was rough on that side of the island. I walked knee-deep in the waves along the shoreline as the kids and Josh walked on the sand. Having thoroughly accepted that it wasn't meant to be, I had decided to just enjoy this moment anyway. It was a beautiful beach, and the water felt amazing. After about 30 minutes of walking along the shoreline, Josh quietly said my name. "Sarah. I see one. Over this dune."

When we quietly walked over the dune, we saw that it wasn't just one. There were 12 of them. No one else found any, but we accidentally came upon twelve. It was meant to be, fated. What else?

We saw them at a little bit of a distance. I had to get closer, it was necessary. I walked slowly, the wind beginning to dry the hem of my dress which had been soaked in the ocean. The kids came with me to a certain point, but I didn't want them to come as close as I wanted to get, because I knew there was an inherent risk involved. A risk they shouldn't take or wouldn't know how to react to anyway, should any craziness happen.

In the middle was the youngest of the horses. To me, she behaved in a very bizarre way. She just stood there in that spot, not moving, staring, for what seemed like ever. Really, it was probably 20 minutes. She finally shook herself out of her trance, whatever it was, and walked on. I worried about her.

One of the first things I noticed, and it saddened me deeply, was that they are all branded and numbered. My cognitive self wants to reason that there must be some preservation cause for this. But I hate it, and don't know why it's still practiced. Call me whatever you want, but when I got my tattoo, I volunteered for it and sat in the chair of my own volition. No one had to rope me in, or whatever other means they had to do in order to burn these horses. I did not like it, and my heart went out to these magnificent creatures who were just minding their business when someone decided that wild and free meant numbered and charted.

How was I so close? I walked to within about 10-15 feet. And stood still. We, these horses and I, occupied the same space on this earth, on this beach. They did not mind me. They noticed me, not doubt. Some walked closer, most walked right beside me. I was, for a time, surrounded by them.

Maybe I'm crazy. But I felt that they accepted me. I don't know anything about horses, but my instincts and my inner voice listened to them. One of the males walked so close to me I could have touched him without even outstretching my hand all the way. But I did not. I restrained myself, although I desired very much to touch him. Because though I was accepted, I did not feel they had given me permission to feel them. 

Josh and the kids walked a little bit away from me and the small group I was submersed in (there were 4, they aren't all in the picture). They walked over and saw this beautiful mare, who later stood and joined her group as they moved away from their grazing.:

While they were gone, I made friends with a special girl. She and I sort of danced around each other as she ate. We spent a long time together. I watched how she shuffled the sand around the grass and pulled the wetter roots out to eat them. With my hands, I emulated her action and put a pile of wet-rooted grass a few feet in front of her that I'd pulled. It took a few minutes, but she slowly sniffed it out and she ate it. I asked her if I could take her picture. This is the video I took, then. *video note: When I panned out a little to see the other horses, I walked away from her because having turned away, I didn't know if she would walk upon me. I didn't want her to approach me without me knowing it. We were equally wary and comfortable with each other.

Shortly after this, it was time to head back to the other side of the island to be ferried back to the mainland. We'd need to hurry to make it before they left. I whispered goodbye.

I don't think it was really goodbye, though. More like, see you later, friend.

And so it was, a childhood dream was fulfilled. There are no accidents.

~*~ Happy birthday to me. I'm 33. ~*~

While talking with Josh about it this morning, we tried to find something special about this number, this year. Because 33? Isn't so special. It's doubles. I guess that's cool. It has that going for it.

Oh well, it is what it is. I like that I was born July 13th, 1980. It's my perfect number.

To those who say there is an expectation of pain, whether good or bad, when you have sex:

You don't understand what real sex is. You, male, may understand humping. You, male, may understand many physical responses. But no, you don't understand a woman and HER sex. If you think there is an element of pain, it's because you didn't wait until she was ready for you. You just forged ahead like a bat out of hell (or rather into heaven) and had your way. Eventually she, out of HER love for YOU, probably adjusted without too much crying, and woo-hoo, there was a party in her tummy. So yummy, so yummy yummy.

But that initial pain was your fault and was unnecessary.

Because if you loved her the way she loved you, you would have been gentle with her. You wouldn't have forced your way in when she wasn't there yet. You would have gently waited, easing her, teasing her, and pleasing her until she was actually ready. She shouldn't have HAD to adjust to your foreign occupation, like a militarized warzone.

This is particularly true for any woman with a history of sexual abuse. Who has been taught that sex hurts. Women like me. I was a virgin when I was raped. Women who were molested also fall into this category. The category of women who must learn that sex feels good. Who have something to overcome before that's possible. Who have a memory that sex=pain.

So to those out there who say that sex has an expectation of pain, whether good or bad? I say there is no such thing as good pain when it comes to sex. It wouldn't then be described as "pain." Another word would be used, what a lucky thing that as humans we have so many words. Don't go around giving the expectation of painful sex as normal to any woman, particularly if you know she has a history of abuse. Your words are nothing but fodder for the corner of her mind that would poison her - his corner, the abuser's corner.

Sex should be love. Love should be gentle and kind. It doesn't just forge ahead, unmindful.

I will preface this by saying that while it's possible by the simple virtue of living in the same house that the kids have heard the grown ups arguing (for lack of a better word, and no it does not involve actual fighting and yelling - well 99% of the time), we do not discuss things like our relationship or whatever is going on behind the scenes in front of them. At all. We wait until they are in bed behind closed doors, or now that I think of it, we have discussed a couple of issues in the car when we thought they were watching their dvd (or lacked the other knowledge to grasp what we were discussing). Either way, all of this has caught me completely off guard.

You see, Ava has a strong imagination, I've said that before. Really strong imagination. Like, she sometimes can't even tell the difference between what she has imagined and what is real. Example, she was completely pissed off at me for allowing her to watch a Twilight movie because she had a nightmare about it. Problem. I never allowed her to watch one. First of all, I am against Twilight as a True Blood fan (and I don't think vampires and "true" eternal love is a subject for high school teenagers - so the concept is failed to begin with for me). I've never seen them myself, much less shown them to her. But she was legit pissed at me for having shown her this movie. Which never happened. Her imagination is a little bit out of control. I wish she were a little better at writing so she could have an outlet for her imagination and could in that way keep it wrapped up. But she, having just completed 1st grade, doesn't quite possess that skill yet.

It doesn't matter that Josh and I have never discussed divorce, she has placed it in her mind. "Mommy, if you and daddy ever decide to break up, will you tell me first? That way, I can call the love doctor. He can help." Yeah, tears welled when she said that.

Last night, Josh went to the store for something random. He was going to take the kids with him. I was going to have a few moments to myself for the first time in I honestly don't even know how long. He left while I was in the shower. I got out, and thought I was alone. I felt so much unexpected JOY. I had time alone!! OMG. And then I heard it. Ava's voice downstairs. She didn't go, she chose not to. Why? Good question. I believe she has decided she has to keep an eye on me.

Because while he was gone, he called me. At the end of the conversation, we said "I love you," like we normally do. She heard and immediately inquired, "who was on the phone? Who did you just say 'I love you' to?" Really? Smiling, I said, "Who do you think it was, crazy girl?" She crossed her arms and said, "I. Don't. Know." Ok then. "It was my boyfriend, Ava." She replied, "Daddy isn't your boyfriend, he's your husband. So, you have a boyfriend? Does daddy know?" Wow. I told her it was, of course, daddy on the phone.

Over dinner, she said, "Soooo, dad. When you were at the store, did you call mom?" She freaking VERIFIED.

I have a little spy in the house. I don't like it.

Little kids have a never-ending supply of knock knock jokes. Every once in a while, they actually strike gold and are rewarded with real laughter. When that happens, look forward to hearing that same joke for the next week. Over and over again. Repeatedly. In a row. Forever. This is an example of a joke that Isaiah made earlier this week, that he has re-told infinite times since (and it's still funny, fortunately for all of us). Excuse my voice, I'm dealing with some congestion and headache and whatever from sleeping extremely stupidly last night (yeah, still hurting Riis).

Wokka wokka, kid.

Pretty early on, when we lived in Texas, Josh found a collection of very old books in our house. I took them and ever so gently dusted them off the best I could, given their age, and put them inside much more carefully and with respect to their history. The love that must have been shared with these stories that they still existed in our home! I recently handled them again, giving them a new home here in North Carolina. I want to share a little of one of them, probably my favorite of the group.

Rudyard Kipling's Just So Stories. The only year marks I can find inside are copyrights 1902 and 1907. My assumption is that the book was written in 1902, but the edition is 1907. 1907 is also the year that Kipling was awarded the Nobel. I like that.

The pictures in here are part of what makes this my favorite. They are so beautiful, I cannot describe my feelings for them, they are just images that evoke deep emotion and connection and I treasure this book. I took a few inadequate pictures. One of them is of what is probably my favorite illustration in the book.

Wow

I swear to you, I kept waiting for the punchline...

Josh's grandparents are visiting us (and his parents and siblings arrive tomorrow as well). We went to dinner at Outback. All of the sudden, a group of servers came over to our table with a bowl of ice cream. They shouted, "we hear someone has a birthday today!!" And began singing their birthday song, clapping and making the scene that they do.

It was for me.

WHAT!!!

My birthday isn't until the 13th, mates. So here I was, completely dumbfounded, red-faced, embarrassed, with a bowl of ice cream in front of me and a restaurant singing happy birthday.

So I did what any sane person would do. I clapped along and looked at Josh, as though it were HIS birthday, not mine.

Cuz I'm sneaky like that.

What happened? Josh's grandmother told them it was my birthday because they won't be here for my actual day. Oy!!!