Giving Up The Dream

I hadn't planned on leaving the house the day before yesterday, but my mother threw a big fit because she wanted me to drop everything I was doing and run out to pick up the iPod she purchased for my ex-fiance for Christmas at Circuit City. She also mentioned that she wanted KFC for dinner. In other words, I didn't have an option.
After leaving the house, I figured I could squeeze a few extra minutes out of my alloted time frame and decided to stop by and see a good friend of mine at work. My timing was almost perfect as she was about to go on break and we spent the next fifteen minutes or so smoking like a freight train and chatting about the past week. For the most part I just listened. My complaints about my mother seemed quite minor compared to her horror story and the drama she'd experienced over the past 48 horus. During the conversation, she recapped a few words of wisdom that she had offered to her daughter in regards to her father. Although unintentional, her advice spread a great deal of light on my own situation.

You have to take people for what they are. You either love them despite their flaws and accept the good with the bad, or you hate them because of their flaws and dwell on the bad. It's all up to you. But, in the case of your father, chosing the latter route will only drive you crazy. He's never going to be the father you need him to be but, love him or hate him, in the end, he's still your father.

My mother is who she is. As spiteful and vendictive and manipulative as she is, the fact remains that she is still my mother. I can accept her and love her despite her flaws or I can hate her because of her flaws. I had the opportunity to completely rid her of my life, but, when my son was born, I chose his needs over my own. I did not feel it was fair to deny him the love of a grandmother because of my own foolish needs. And, as much as it angers me, she is a wonderful grandmother. However, I haven't reached a point in my life, at least not yet, where I can say 'I fogive you' to the woman who has brought me so much pain and agony. My feelings haven't been validated by her or anyone else in my family who witnessed the painful childhood I lived. I haven't gained closure. Until then, I can't honestly say that I love her. In fact, on most days, I hate her. But, for my own sanity, I think it is time that I accept her for who she is, acknowlege her flaws, and finally, after 25 years, give up the dream of the mother I never had.

Moving Home Mistake

Five months ago I had a terrible lapse of judgement. Technically, there was a long line of bad decisions that ultimately led me to this particular crossroad, but any bad decision or lapse of judgement prior to this one was and is, by far, the lesser of the evils. To get right to the point, I managed to drain myself both financially and emotionally and when I found myself facing an inevitable eviction I had to make a decision based on what was best for my son. Low and behold, I ended up moving back 'home' to West Virginia.

Even then I could think of a hundred, maybe even a thousand, reasons why I wanted to stay in Pennsylvania. For starters, the Mid-Ohio Valley, as it's called by it's residents, is better known as Cancer Valley to the rest of the world. Secondly, the town is small enough that your business becomes everyone else's business. There is no such thing as annonomity. Third, the town literally shuts down at nine o'clock at night with the exception of three 24-hour Wal-Mart stores in a 30 mile radius. Wal-Mart, by the way, is the 'it' place to hang out. And for number four, although the cost of living in general is, for the most part, in line with the rest of the world, the pay scale for this hell-hole is about twenty years behind. Milk costs the same. Gas, give or take a few cents, costs the same. Even the utility costs are the same. But salary, well, that's a completely different story...

In the state of Pennsylania, I was employed by a large, well known franchise and earned in the ball park of $45,000.00 annually. After moving home, I was offered the SAME position with the SAME company with the SAME job responsibilities for $16,640.00 annually. Do you see a problem???

I really thought I was doing what was best for my son. After all, I wanted him to grow up with family, but what I forgot to consider, aside from all the valid points I mentioned above, was how much I hated my mother.

Local Lights of Christmas

My mother and my aunt, along with myself, took my little boy to see the Christmas lights tonight. He's really too young to enjoy them, but I took along the camera in order to take pictures. If I ever get around to it, I'll put them in his scrapbook.

I thought you might enjoy the lights as well.

CITY PARK - PARKERSBURG, WV
This is my first Christmas in the area since moving back home so I can't accurately tell you how long this particular light exhibit has been a part of the light display at the City Park. I can say that the inspiration most likely came from a very similar exhibit at Oglebay Resort in Wheeling, WV. (See picture below.)


OGLEBAY PARK - WHEELING, WV

Inspiration??? I think so!

See more pictures from the Festival of Lights at Oglebay Resort at the following link.
http://www.oglebay-resort.com/fol.htm


CIVITAN PARK - BELPRE, OH

To my knowledge, this is one of the first light exhibits that was displayed at Civitan Park. It has always been one of my favorites. Although you can't tell from the picture, the sea monster is set just a few feet away from the edge of the pond. From a distance, he appears to be swimming.

CIVITAN PARK - BELPRE, OH

I just couldn't help myself. It's the cat and the fiddle!

P.S. In case you're wondering, I believe there may have been a moon exhibit although I can't say for sure if it included a cow. Additionally, there was no little dog laughing or a dish running away with a spoon. I, too, am disappointed.

CITY PARK - PARKERSBURG, WV

This particular light exhibit is one of the older displays at the City Park. It too is one of my favorites and never fails to make me smile. There is a third 'scene' which shows the knight with a melted sword after the dragon breaths fire. Sadly, my talent is not night photography.

"In a place in La Mancha, whose name I do not want to recall, not so long ago there dwelt a gentleman of the type wont to keep an unused lance, an old shield, a skinny old horse, and a greyhound for racing."

CITY PARK - PARKERSBURG, WV

And last, but not least...

Merry Christmas!
From Auntie Anne's
(Locally owned by The Angelos Family)

The Story of Booger

If you are a cat lover such as I, you will agree when I say that a cat's eyes speak volumes. Booger's eyes tell a story of a cat who came face to face with death, beat all odds, and survived despite a 'guarded' prognosis.

Booger was the last of a litter of kittens that belonged to one of my parent's neighbors. He had been offered to me on more than one occasion, and, although this may sound odd coming from the cat lady, I had actually decided against taking him home. Then, one particular evening near the end of summer a little over three years ago, I found my Boogie in my parent's garage as I was leaving to go home. I had intended to return him to the neighbor, but, when I stopped to tell them that I had found him in my parent's garage, they informed me that they weren't surprised because, and I quote, "he really only comes around for food and he rarely comes around now that we've stopped buying cat food. We just put table scraps out every once in a while." I was appalled to say the least. It was at that very moment that I realized the little kitten in my arms had chosen me. His eyes begged me to take him home. "Thank you for the kitten," I said. "I'll take very good care of him."

FACING DEATH...

This past Easter, a little over eight months ago, I realized that Booger was sick. I was exhausted from working long hours and what little bit of energy I did have left was spent taking care of my ten month old son. I hadn't been paying as much attention to Boogie as I should have been and, because of that, I missed all of the early warning signs. I hadn't noticed that he wasn't eating much if he was even eating at all. I hadn't noticed that he had stopped grooming himself. I hadn't noticed he had lost a considerable amount of weight. I hadn't noticed he hadn't been downstairs for days. And, I hadn't even noticed that his litter box was empty. But, that morning, when Boogie attempted to come downstairs he failed miserably. He literally rolled down the last four steps or so. He cried.

I immediately went into crisis mode. Within fifteen minutes, I had made arrangements with a friend who agreed to watch my son. My ex-fiance (we were still together at the time) and I dropped the baby off and took Boogie straight to the emergency veterinary clinic. $1600 and six hours later, we were informed that, despite perfectly normal test results, it was likely that Boogie's liver had failed. He was severely anemic and would require a blood transfusion, however, because of his critical condition, there was a chance that he could bleed out or go into cardiac arrest during the transfusion. Furthermore, even if he survived the transfusion his chances for making it through the night were slim to none.

The hospital had said they would call if there was any change so I slept with the phone. Although, I'm not sure if I slept at all. The following morning, I called Dr. Myers. He was my regular veterinarian and I valued his opinion. He requested Boogie's file from the emergency hospital and called me back within the hour. He informed me that Boogie's liver had not failed and that he wanted me to bring him to the office immediately. I did. Boogie received numerous tests as well as a second blood transfusion. He was in intensive care, so to speak, for the next week. Each time he appeared to be improving he'd experience another setback. On Thursday, Booger's pleural cavity filled up with 100cc of fluid. Dr. Myers prepared me for the worst and informed me that he wanted me to take him home over the weekend. There was nothing more that he could do.

I requested that Boogie's pleural cavity be drained before I picked him up. Although reluctant, Dr. Myers agreed. I picked Boogie up around noon on Saturday. He barely weighed five pounds and looked like he had been found in a dumpster. I took him home and my once lively cat found a hiding space under the baby's crib and refused to move. I took his food and water along with his litter box to him. Each time I went to check on him I half expected to find him dead. You never really know how much a pet means to you until you're faced with losing him. When you have a healthy pet, you tend to take their health for granted. When you lose a pet, you grieve for your loss. But, when you are faced with the unknown, well, I didn't know how to deal with that. I cried like a baby for hours on end. Finally, Sunday afternoon when there was no improvement, I decided that allowing Boogie to suffer just because I didn't want him to die was unfair. Boogie was scheduled to see Dr. Myers on Monday for an evaluation. If Dr. Myers still felt that there was no hope I would agree to have him euthanized.

Monday morning I awoke from a very restless sleep to find Boogie staring me in the face. It took me by surprise, after all, he hadn't moved since I had brought him home on Saturday. He rubbed his head up against my face. For the first time since I was a child I felt like God had answered my prayers. I looked in his eyes and saw that my Boogie didn't want to die. By the time we arrived at the veterinary office Boogie was alert and active. Dr. Myers was stunned to say the least. He ran an in-office blood test to check Boogie's red blood cell count and x-rayed his chest. To my surprise, as well as Dr. Myer's and his staff, Boogie's blood count was in the normal range and there was no fluid in his pleural cavity. By all medical accounts, it appeared to be a miracle.

Boogie was eventually diagnosed with AIHA (Autoimmune Hemolytic Anemia). In short, it's an immune disorder in which Boogie's body destroys his own blood cells. He receives an immuno-suppressive dose of prednisone daily and is doing amazingly well. In the beginning, he required weekly trips to the veterinarian which eventually turned into every two weeks, every three weeks, and so on. He was last seen this past October, six months after his initial diagnosis, by a local veterinarian for a complete blood work up. With the exception of a slightly elevated protein count, which is most likely attributed to the prednisone, he seems to be completely healthy. I still panic on occasion when I don't think he's acting right or when I think his gums and ears look pale, but I suppose that is normal when the possibility of a relapse is constantly looming in the back of my mind. I've learned a lot from the whole ordeal though. I've learned to slow down and pay attention to the little things. I've learned that each day should be treated like a gift. I've learned to never give up. And, I've learned to never take anything for granted.