web analytics
Search results for

"gallbladder attack"

Pumpkin ~You know that Autumn has arrived when the sky above the pumpkin patch lingers and soaks up all the colors of the leaves, fields and pumpkins below holding the color like a mother cradling her child, smiling upon the world for all to bask in her radiant glow. Autumn has arrived officially at the pumpkin patch. Pumpkins can be harvested through the utilization of tractors. Those tractors must be at their peak condition. If not, it probably needs some fixing or some new parts which may be found from the number one source for compact tractor parts and foreign tractor parts.

Pumpkin, autumn, sky, fall, October, pumpkin patch

Pumpkin Sky

Friday, we took our girls to the pumpkin patch. We’ve just recently relocated here, so this is the first of many traditions that we are forced to replace in our new surroundings. This is, by far, one of those holiday season traditions that our family most eagerly awaits every year. Expectations were high. Luckily, the Indian summer did not disappoint. As we arrived at the pumpkin patch, we were greeted by an autumn sky that illuminated the entire patch as if it were saying putting a spotlight on all of nature’s gifts; the grass so green, an amber sky and an array of warm colors on the trees. Enjoy and bask in all the pulchritudinous that the world has to offer you. With the sun shining on my face and my daughter’s smile beaming in my direction, I was thankful. Life was good.

Pumpkin, autumn, sky, fall, October, pumpkin patch

Seriously, isn’t this kid the cutest?

My girls were so excited to be at the pumpkin patch; to be together. We took a hay ride, the girls took a barrel train ride as it started to sprinkle but they didn’t care, they claimed queen of the mountain as they took the straw hill. There were cut out boards where I photographed the girls giggling as they pretended to be the farmer and his wife and the infectious laughter that exuded from within when they pretended to be the farmer and his cow was contagious. In those moments, my soul was full. The girls fawned over the animals at the petting zoo; a Shetland pony with a crooked grin, a donkey who stunk to high heaven but wanted nothing more than to have my sweet girl’s attention, a goat with a tangled horn, the wooliest sheep that I’ve ever seen and a couple of kid face licking cow. The girls were in pure heaven.

Innocuous Pumpkin, you say?

Pumpkin, autumn, sky, fall, October, pumpkin patch

Then we headed out to the pumpkin patch. The Big Guy and I told the girls that they could pick any pumpkin they wanted. They choose, he carves, I carry pumpkins to and from and remove pumpkin guts, as they are too squeamish to do so. I’m only appropriated the most glamorous jobs of the household. Unfortunately, herein lies the problem. Between paparazzi duties and carrying one of the great pumpkins, let’s just call him the Greatest Pumpkin because he weighed a solid 30 pounds if he weighed ten, I did some damage to my person. That’s right, I fought that pumpkin all the way to the car and he attacked me. This is why this post may not make a lot of sense, as my back went out and I am heavily medicated to be able to walk upright.

They say most crimes are perpetrated by someone close to you; someone you know and trust. Well, Great pumpkin, sir, you are no gentleman. I have been accosted by your rotundness, afflicted by your obesity and damaged by your girth. Happiest of holiday seasons to you and yours. Beware those jolly, happy bright orange vegetables, their looks are deceiving. What is your family’s favorite holiday tradition? Do you do the pumpkin patch?

Pumpkin, autumn, sky, fall, October, pumpkin patch

The Great Pumpkin

3 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail

I came across this video, that took place in a McDonald’s in Baltimore, on twitter the other day. What I felt when seeing this can only be described as disgust.How is this allowed to take place in decent society? In a McDonald’s in a major metropolitan area. Honestly, in my brief stint in the food service industry as a teenager, fast food was a breeding ground for acne and inappropriate sex under the guise of making a few dollars. I watched this video and all I kept thinking was..why are none of these men jumping in to stop these two girls from attacking this one girl. I call it an attack because what else do you call it when two girls are beating up on one person. It’s obviously not a fair fight.This attack transcends any color, race, religion or lifestyle that may be involved. This attack is so shocking due to its violent nature, lack of human compassion and infusion of hate. I’m not saying this girl didn’t start the altercation ( *as I have no context as to what was going on before this video was shot.). Hell, maybe she did but not by TWO people at the same time.( reference her talking back, safer the initial assault.Wouldn’t common sense dictate that you stay quiet and then call the cops? Just me? ) It’s pretty evident that no one in the building, perhaps with the exception of the Granny who tried to intervene, was using any common sense.Really, I’m convinced entirely that the geriatric super hero was using her good sense either…her heart and compassion yes. Good sense, probably not. I’m pretty sure she was a hair away from being the next victim. Those animals doing the beating were completely out of control and very cocky about the whole thing. I have no idea what could have prompted such a reaction and such hatred from these girls toward the victim.

Why the continuous beating? I don’t know. Why the moronic men filming and standing behind the counter didn’t pull the women apart? I don’t know. Why was the man filming commentating like Chris Tucker in Friday? Because, obviously, he is a fucking idiot. This video has convinced me that my girls will not be working in the fast food service industry. Hell, they will never even be allowed to walk through Baltimore without first being outfitted with a taser. And after I responded to the initial link tweeted , I received a tweet back from @McDonalds Corp offering this sorry press release:

 

Our Concern Regarding the Baltimore Incident

April 23, 2011

There’s no room for violence under the Golden Arches. We strongly condemn the videotaped assault in one of our Baltimore franchised restaurants.  Working with the authorities, we now have more facts, and we want to share our actions with you.

First and foremost, our thoughts are with the victim during this time.

Our franchisee is investigating the behavior and response of his employees. Action has been taken, and the crew member who made the video is no longer employed by his organization. Appropriate action regarding other employees will take place as warranted.

We want to reassure our customers that your neighborhood McDonald’s is a safe, welcoming place for everyone. We share our customers’ concern. We are doing everything possible to make sure the right thing is done.

 

I am pretty sure that I will no longer be eating under the golden arches until there is a press release stating that the assailants were fired and those who stood by and watched, were suspended pending an investigation. The scary thought is that McDonald’s just had a push to hire 50,000 more employees. I wonder, is this the caliber of employees that are lurking behind the counters when you order your Big Mac? If so, I’d say you better  proceed with caution. Who knows who you might set off with a “Specialty” order and, obvious from this video, no ones coming to your rescue if one ( or a group) of the employees goes off the rails and attacks you. But they do believe in teamwork, you saw how they were quick to help the girl escape once the sirens finally drew closer. I’m pretty sure the girl on the floor in full on shock, due to the fact that she had most of the hair ripped from her scalp, was ,indeed, NOT LOVING IT!

What action do you think McDonald’s should take in regards to their employees involved in this situation?

* UPDATE: Just did some more investigating and found this information from an article in the Baltimore Sun

A transgender woman beaten at a Baltimore County McDonald’s spoke out on Saturday, saying that the attack was “definitely a hate crime” and that she’s been afraid to go out in public ever since.

“They said, ‘That’s a dude, that’s a dude and she’s in the female bathroom,’ ” said Chrissy Lee Polis, 22, who said she stopped at the Rosedale restaurant to use the restroom. “They spit in my face.”

The video shows two females — one of them a 14-year-old girl — repeatedly kicking and punching Polis in the head as an employee and a patron try to intervene. Others can be heard laughing, and men are seen standing idly by.

Toward the end of the video, one of the suspects lands a punishing blow to the victim’s head, and Polis appears to have a seizure. A man’s voice tells the women to run because police are coming.

“I knew they were taping me; I told the guy to stop,” said Polis, a resident of Baltimore. “They didn’t help me. They didn’t do nothing for me.”

County police confirmed that the attack occurred April 18 in the 6300 block of Kenwood Ave. Police said the 14-year-old girl has been charged as a juvenile, while charges were pending against an 18-year-old woman. Reached Saturday, police officials said the investigation was continuing.

20 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
mom, daughter, my daughter loves me, tween years

It’s been a weird time over here, my daughter is growing up at an alarming rate ( both of them) and I feel like I’m physically, falling apart over the last few months. One has nothing to do with the other. But it just gives some background to my state of mind…vulnerable.

 

We’ve had growth spurts and growing pains and I’ve just waiting for my girls to hit that age where suddenly I am their least favorite person in the world and I’ve been dreading it because honestly, aside from the Big Guy, these two are my favorite people in the world. Have been since the moment they were born. Sure, I have moments when I don’t really like their behavior and I’m not particularly fond of the eye rolling and sarcastic tones that have been making an appearance at my house lately, but God, I adore these girls.

 

Lately between the bickering between the two of them and the moments of wondering if boarding school might be a better option for my sanity, I’ve been at the end of my parenting rope. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed and outnumbered and, worse, disrespected. It’s been hard trying to get my bearings in this new stage of parenthood. I’ve been solidly knocked off my axis. But suddenly, there’s been a shift.

 

Through it all, I’ve been sticking to my guns and no matter what transpires, my girls always know they are loved; no matter how unlovable they are behaving that day. My oldest, who is only 11, has been exerting her independence for the past couple of years trying to separate from me. I feel it. It’s natural but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. It does, like a son of a bitch and this is coming from a broad who has had unmedicated transition labor, a severely broken and shattered leg and relentless gallbladder attacks. My girls pulling away hurts more than any of that ever did. I was sure this was the beginning of the end.

 

I’m not so old that I don’t remember that phase in my life when I tried to separate from my mom; the teen years. I was awful and I didn’t even understand what it was about my mom that was so annoying. I just knew that every word she tried to tell me, annoyed me. I know now that it wasn’t her at all, it was me. I was growing up, and asserting my independence was just part of that. Being a complete asshole to my mom, that was just me taking it to the next level. Sorry, mom!

 

Anyways, my Bella, she’s been giving me the “ you don’t know anything” look. I know it well. I gave it. I could feel her pulling away. One day, she would barely speak to me then suddenly, the next she was trying to match me in outfits. I was so confused. Did she hate me or did she think I was “cool”? Was she messing with me? Adolescence is so confusing and puberty makes it all 1000x worse.

 

I’ve been holding my ground. No matter how awful she is to me, every night I go into her room and kiss her goodnight and tell her that I love her. Every morning when I drop her off at school, I kiss her goodbye and tell her (and her sister) that I love them. I’m relentless with this because I never want them to doubt that or themselves.

 

Over the last couple of months, I noticed that my daughter has been making a return to me. I know she’s only 11 and there is so much more of this pulling away to come but for now, she has become my biggest advocate. When her little sister starts to argue with me or talk back, my oldest has been intervening. I told her to stop because I don’t want it to cause a rift between her and her sister but I appreciate it. It was nice that she took the initiative to have my back. I appreciate that she cared enough to step in.

 

She’s been pointing out the similarities in our physical traits and wanting to emulate me. There’s been a shift from “leave me alone” to “can I spend some time with you, mommy” and I’m not ashamed to say that I love it. She loves me and she’s not afraid to show me. She’s stopped resisting the fact that I’ll never stop loving her.

 

I really think it has a lot to do with me being consistent. She knows my unconditional love means giving her what she needs of me, and that might not always be what she wants from me but she knows that she always has me on her side.

 

Anyways, with months upon months of crazy stuff going on lately (like seriously, I must have pissed someone off who gave me the evil eye or I accidentally came into possession of some tiki a la The Brady Bunch). All I know is that among broken legs, attacking gallbladder and too many other craptastic things to mention, it is awesome to feel the love from my daughters.

 

What’s the one time you really needed some love/kind word/smile/something good to happen and it did? Isn’t it amazing how it can change everything?

2 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Disney, Walt Disney World, disabled, tips for getting around Disney when you're disbaled

Last week, my family went to the happiest place on earth, Disney World, and I was disabled. We were all very excited. We’d been planning this trip since last year; everything got postponed when my life came to a screeching halt thanks to my slip and fall in my sister’s wedding last fall. Come hell or high water, we were going to Disney World. There was just a couple issues 1) my broken leg is still recovering (it’s an 18-month process y’all.) 2) the week before we left, I was in the ER with a severe gallbladder attack. I was far from 100% but I was going to Disney World.

Here is how I navigated the happiest place on earth with a messed up leg. I can tell you that it was no fun but I figured out a way to get around all of those parks and not end up back in the hospital. This post is just about getting around if you are physically disabled, I will write a separate post about eating at Disney World when you are on a restricted diet because, you know, I couldn’t just be hobbled I had to do it starving.

My advice for anyone who has a broken leg, is recovering from a broken leg, a sprained ankle, a bum knee or broken hip or just doesn’t do well with walking in high heat because they are sickly, especially the elderly…rent a wheelchair! I believe it’s $12/$13 a day or you can get 3 days for $30, which is what my husband did for me. But get to the parks early, especially the Magic Kingdom. Also, the wheelchairs are located to the right after you scan in but before you enter the park (the same place as where you rent the strollers).

Disney, travel, Walt Disney World, disabled, tips for getting around Disney when you're disbaled

I thought I could do it on my own. After all, I am 7 months out from the original break but I was wrong. I tried everything, ankle brace, ankle wrap, Kinesio Tape for the tendonitis, crutches and even took my walking boot. Nothing can make a recovering broken leg walk around the Magic Kingdom for 15 hours pain free, not even a strong will and multiple vicodin. Believe me I tried.

The first night we arrived, we went to Hollywood studios. We arrived around 4:30 p.m. we returned to our room around 10 pm, in those 5.5 hours, my ankle (that was firmly in a brace) had swollen up to the size of my calf and the pain was excruciating. I knew then and there that there was no way that I was going to survive the Magic Kingdom on foot.

A few things you should know about being physically disabled in a wheelchair at Walt Disney World:

Firstly, it’s not as embarrassing as you might think and don’t worry about your spouse or children pushing you around, they’d prefer that to hearing you complain and be in misery any day.

Secondly, if you do find yourself in a wheelchair, check with the cast members at each ride because some have steps and they will need to reroute you. Sometimes they just give you a fast pass and have you come back so you don’t have to wait in the long lines in your chair.

Thirdly, check when you go to the restaurants, some have special seating for people in wheelchairs and some you need to leave the chair outside but for the most part all the parks were very wheelchair friendly.

Fourth, check with cast members at each park about seating for fireworks and such. They are very accommodating and there are special seating locations for those in wheelchairs. It was very nice that they provide these spaces because it’s hard to see when you are at wheelchair level.

Fifth, and this is the important one, if you are not disabled do not rent the wheelchairs. Leave those for those people who actually need them. Laziness is not a disability. Also, don’t use the handicapped bathrooms; those of us who are actually handicapped need those larger bathrooms for a reason. A wheelchair does not fit in a standard restroom stall.

Disney, Walt Disney World, disabled, tips for getting around Disney when you're disbaled, travel

I won’t lie, being at Walt Disney World in a wheelchair was a humbling experience for me but, like most of these past 7 months, it’s given me a new respect for the disabled and respect for their situations. Disney did a great job of making the parks easily enjoyed by the disabled as well as the able bodied.

If it hadn’t been for the wheelchair rental service, the entire trip would have been ruined. If you find yourself, physically unable to walk Disney World, don’t be too proud to use the wheelchairs. They are there for those of us who are disabled in some way and need them.

Have you ever been to Disney World when you weren’t 100% physically?

 

0 comment
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Kitchen appliances you need, 5 Kitchen Appliances You Need to Get Healthy, tips to live longer, tips to get healthy

I’ve made a list of  5 kitchen appliances you need to get healthy. I am, once again, trying to get my groove back. Well, not so much my groove, per se, but I am trying to see my feet again. Not that I’m walking around waiting for my spot on My 600-lb to air or anything. No one is coming anytime soon to airlift me out of my house with the jaws of life (knock on wood) but I could definitely be in better shape.

Yes, I’ve been here before. My never-ending quest for perfection. But this time, it really is different. This has nothing to do with perfection and everything to do with just wanting to look and feel good. It really isn’t so much vanity as just wanting to buy off the rack and have things fit correctly.  And if I could get rid of this Mother’s apron belly and my bat wings, even better. Okay, maybe I am a little vain.

READ ALSO: The Weight of my World is a Number on the Scale

The thing is this time, I really don’t care what other people think. The Big Guy is finally on board with trying to lose some weight himself. Like, it was his idea and he’s committed to it. I’m not embarrassed by my body. I love it. It’s a little broken but mostly, it is really strong. What I do want is to feel comfortable in my own skin, to be healthy and to not have to consider whether or not my body will be a hindrance to me in certain activities. For example, I just decided to skip an activity in Cozumel that would include me wearing a wetsuit in public.

To make it easier to get healthy, I wanted some appliances that could contribute to a healthier way of eating. Appliances that make eating healthy less cumbersome. I also wanted to be able to eat things that were recognizable to me and tasted good, just healthier versions.

This is my list of 5 kitchen appliances you need to get healthy

Hamilton Beach Rice and Hot Cereal Cooker, 5 kitchen appliances you need to get healthy, kitchen appliances you need

Hamilton Beach Rice and Hot Cereal Cooker

I don’t know how it does it but this magical appliance cooks rice (yes, even brown rice and whole grains) and steams vegetables perfectly simultaneously.  I’m telling you, it is magic. I can do pretty well with white rice and Spanish rice on my own but brown rice and whole grain perfection has alluded me.

It’s also pretty fantastic at making overnight oatmeal for a healthy breakfast in the morning for the entire family. It’s about to get really cold here in the Midwest and there is nothing that beats hot cereal for breakfast. Plus, why not eliminate some of the hassles of trying to do all the things, plus wrangle children in the morning? Did I mention cooks rice perfectly?

Disclosure: I was provided a Rice and Hot Cereal Cooker by Hamilton Beach for review purposes but all opinions are my own.

Juicer

I have a Breville but there are many options out there. This just happens to be the one I have and I love it. I like to juice for breakfast. It fills me up and gives me an energy boost. You may be asking, why not just drink coffee? While coffee is delicious, it is acidic and I’m pretty sure that the last time I was in the ER with my gallbladder attack, they told me that I had an ulcer. I’m 100% certain in this statement, as I could not hear over my own sobbing and vomiting of all the bile. Either way, I drink coffee in small quantities.

Too much caffeine makes this insomniac manic. Which reminds me, I don’t recommend a juice fast and the reason I only do breakfast juicing is that when I’ve done a juice fast, I became extremely manic. It takes a lot of fruit and veggies to make a glass of juice. Fruit has a lot of natural sugars. For me, sugar is sugar. My mania knows no difference. But still, for a healthy and delicious morning pick me up, juice.

Ninja Smart Screen Kitchen System with FreshVac Technology

One smart base, three high-performance appliances: the 72 oz. FreshVac Pitcher
(64 oz. max liquid capacity), 20 oz. Single Serve FreshVac Cup, and 40 oz. Precision Processor. It makes getting your daily smoothies in easy and quick. Kids come home from school hangry, smoothies in minutes. This is one of my favorite appliance buys. It does so much.

Airfryer

The Big Guy has gone on the Mediterranean diet so we are trying to reduce frying and incorporate a healthier option. Whatever you can deep fry, you can air fry, it is safer and healthier like having a portable convection-type oven at your fingertips. The Bella Air Fryer is a multi-functional unit with traditional fryer functions can air fry French fries, onion rings and chicken nuggets. PLUS, apparently, you can also bake small cakes, cook small chickens and meat roasts and even bread. Really simple and convenient to use you can cook a 1/2 bag of frozen French fries in 15 minutes using no oil at all.

Food scale

I have the EatSmart Digital Nutrition Scale. It’s a Professional Food and Nutrient Calculator that Calculate calories, carbs, fiber, sodium, fats, vitamin k and six other nutrients from thousands of packaged and 999 whole foods. It’s lightweight and stores easily under my counter.

Weighs in grams (to nearest whole gram) and ounces (to nearest .1 ounce); Max weight 11 pounds. It’s so simple but so important. Once you get those portions under control, you’ll be amazed at how your weight begins to level off.

READ ALSO: Fat Girl Walking

These are my 5 kitchen appliances you need to get healthy. What can you not live without in your kitchen? Do you think that the appliances you have in your kitchen are as important as the food you eat?

0 comment
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Emily Doe, victim statement, Brock Turner, Stanford, swimmer, rape, rapist, kid, roared, roar, tantrums, mommy moment, bad parenting

On January 17, 2015, former Stanford University student, Brock Turner, raped an inebriated 22-year-old woman, Emily Doe, behind a garbage dumpster after a frat party. There was no remorse on the part of Mr. Turner for raping someone, only the remorse of being caught. We are all Emily Doe. This could have happened to any of us. It has happened to many of us (to one degree or another) and it will happen to many more of us, if we don’t fight to change it. In fact, it will happen to your daughter, and your granddaughters and all those daughters that come after that.

The attack was only stopped when two Swedish PhD students, Carl Fredrik-Arndt and Peter Jonsson, were cycling past on their way to a party. When the two heroes saw that Turner was on top of an unconscious woman, they stopped, tackled Turner and pinned him down until police could arrive and arrest him. They didn’t have to stop, in fact, most people wouldn’t have stopped they would have gone on about their business.

Because let’s be honest, most people don’t want to be bothered by the inconvenience. It’s so much easier not to get involved. So people pretend they don’t see it happening; the frightened woman on the subway with the stranger’s hand on her ass, the drunk girl at the party being carried off to another room by a group of guys or even the businesswoman walking down the street being harassed by catcalls by men so far beneath her station that the closest thing they’ll ever get to talking to her is yelling sexually lewd epithets at her.

This March, Turner was found guilty of three counts of sexual assault and last Thursday Turner faced a maximum of 14 years in state prison but instead was only sentenced to six months in a county jail and probation. He must also complete a sex offender management program and register as a convicted sex offender for the rest of his life.   This is a slap on the wrist and an insult to his victim. Apparently, membership in the club of white penis has its privileges. I’ve seen worse punishments bestowed on POC simply for being of color.

I’ve been avoiding the news the last few days because I wanted to enjoy my time with my family. After last week’s fiasco, I know to truly enjoy my life and time with my family I have to unplug. Then I stumbled across Facebook and I saw the photo of Brock Turner as the clean-cut good kid. Then I saw the actual mug shot and honestly, what does it matter what a rapist looks like? If you rape a woman you are a rapist. How well you dress or clean shaven you are, doesn’t make it okay or make you less of a rapist.

Brock Turner, Stanford University, rape culture, misogyny, campus rape

I’m sitting on vacation, reading the transcript of Emily Doe’s impact statement. As I listen to my little girl’s playing and giggling in the background, I am pushing down the lump in my throat and it is taking everything in my body not to start sobbing right here in the pool room at the Hyatt Regency. I didn’t realize that I’d be triggered but I was. Rape culture is alive and well and is not going anywhere soon. If anything, it’s growing momentum.

I want to cry for the victim; for what she has had to endure and her revictimization by a system that has failed her. I want to cry for my daughters who will one day soon be at college, alone without me to protect them from the evils of the world. I want to cry for every young woman who has ever gone doe-eyed and naively into the world and not expected to be victimized; myself included.

The judge was lenient on Brock Turner because he was an athlete, had a promising future and could possibly have even gone to the Olympics; made all of us Americans proud in the fucking 100-meter dash or some fucking shit like that. He got six months for ruining this woman’s life because in the world we live in, women’s lives don’t matter. We might have “equal rights” but really we will never be considered as valuable as men. He could have been an Olympian, what is she? Just another drunk girl at a party; or so Brock Turner, his father and the judge would have you believe. Just a poor dumb girl, who drank too much and had some drinker’s remorse the next day.

I used to be that girl. No, actually I was what Brock Turner and his attorneys would have you believe his victim was so I was actually much worse. I used to drink a lot in college. I would black out on occasion. I went to frat parties and I loved to flirt. I was the touchy-feely girl who loved attention and liked to have fun but I was a virgin until I was in college. Sure, I had boyfriends and there was dry humping, marathon make-out sessions and all that other shit you do when you just haven’t done the deed yet but I never consented to more. I wouldn’t because I hadn’t and I didn’t want to yet.

But there were times when I was drinking and guys got a little too aggressive in their advances. I remember once I was visiting a friend and I’d met a guy who was visiting her boyfriend, after a night of drinking and hanging out, I woke up to feel him pressed up against me and kissing me. I pushed him off but by the time I had woken up, he’d already been touching my body. I don’t know for how long, I was passed out. But I didn’t do anything about it because I felt partially responsible. Even though there was no consent and no making out before I passed out, I felt responsible for letting myself get into this vulnerable position because that is how this society has conditioned women to believe. If we are assaulted, we must have done something to encourage it.

Then there was the time I was at a frat party and a group of brothers from another university came to the party. I was a little sister at the fraternity, so I was comfortable and even felt safe at the house. A cute walkout started talking to me and one thing led to another, the flirting was in high gear and then in the middle of a room full of people, he pushed my head into his lap. I was drinking but that sobered me up immediately. I felt vulnerable, threatened (in a room full of guys) and angry. Luckily, the president of the frat (a friend of mine) saw the whole thing happen and literally, kicked the guy out of the house. Of course, then he spent the night “comforting” me. I let him because I felt like I owed him. I didn’t want his advances but it felt safer than some stranger shoving my face in his crotch and becoming an unwilling participant in a gang rape.

Then there was the time I was at a college bar with my friends and the star basketball player came up behind me and started grinding on me. I gently moved away. He followed in pursuit. Then he came in front of me, grabbed me by my ass and lifted me up around his waist and started trying to kiss me. No one did anything. I was terrified. I didn’t want his advances. I did not invite him to do any of this. I was minding my own business. No one helped me. I wiggled myself out of his grip and ran out of the bar. When a friend found me outside, she did not care if I was alright or if I was shaken. Her question was, “Don’t you know who that was?”

Or the time I was working at a retail chain as a teenager and the security guys called me back into the security room. I thought they needed a female employee as a witness as they questioned a suspected female shoplifter because that was protocol. Instead, when I got back there at 9 at night, when we were working on a skeleton crew, the two grown men, locked the door and started making comments on how I looked in my uniform. They told me that they liked watching me on the cameras and told me to my face, as they laughed, “You know we could do anything we wanted to you in here and no one would even hear us.” I was trembling I was so terrified.

How about the time I was at a cop party with my friend and a married cop tried to make advances towards me and when I said no because he was married (plus I wasn’t interested) he told me that I should think twice before driving alone in his city ever again because he could pull me over late at night on a dark road and it wouldn’t matter if I was interested or not.

The thing is as I read the victim’s account of what had happened to her, I was saddened and more than anything I was fuming mad. I’m trying to use my words but the problem is that I’m angry and I’m sick of the world giving men a hall pass for rape and attempted rape and acting like it’s a victimless crime. I could go on for pages listing all the different times I’ve been accosted to one degree or another.

Sometimes were worse than others. Sometimes things went further than I wanted them to go but I never felt like I could do anything about it because the truth is that no matter how good, bad, drunk, sober, promiscuous or frigid you are, if you are a woman, you have been made to feel vulnerable and unsafe in your lifetime; it is the curse of being born with a vagina.

We don’t have to do anything to precipitate an attack, they just happen and we just have to learn to live with it, apparently even in 2016. But this is bullshit. I don’t want my girls to ever feel this kind of vulnerability or fear of living. Why do we have to be cautious and careful before doing everything? Even a girl in a beige cardigan who did nothing to encourage her attacker’s advances still got raped, left like garbage on the side of a dumpster and her attacker only received six months jail time.

Even a girl in a beige cardigan who did nothing to encourage her attacker’s advances still got raped, left like garbage on the side of a dumpster and her attacker only received six months jail time. Apparently, that is all a woman’s life is worth. Her life is ruined; she will never be the same but it doesn’t really matter because a penis holds more value in this world than a vagina ever could. After all, we only propagate the species. He could have been an Olympian; she was always just a woman.

Emily Doe, Victim statement, swimmer,Brock Turner, Stanford University, rape culture, misogyny, campus rape

The scary thing is Brock Turner is not an anomaly. And it doesn’t matter what we do, how we dress, how much we do or don’t drink, we can all be the victim and this is what scares me the most. When are we going to teach our sons that it’s not okay to put their hands, fingers, mouths and dicks on women’s bodies without permission? When will our girls ever be able to feel safe to walk alone at night or have a vagina?

In case you don’t think rape is a serious crime that warrants more than a six-month inconvenience for the attacker, read the statement below from Brock Turner’s victim.

Your Honor, if it is all right, for the majority of this statement I would like to address the defendant directly.

You don’t know me, but you’ve been inside me, and that’s why we’re here today.

On January 17th, 2015, it was a quiet Saturday night at home. My dad made some dinner and I sat at the table with my younger sister who was visiting for the weekend. I was working full time and it was approaching my bed time. I planned to stay at home by myself, watch some TV and read, while she went to a party with her friends. Then, I decided it was my only night with her, I had nothing better to do, so why not, there’s a dumb party ten minutes from my house, I would go, dance like a fool, and embarrass my younger sister. On the way there, I joked that undergrad guys would have braces. My sister teased me for wearing a beige cardigan to a frat party like a librarian. I called myself “big mama”, because I knew I’d be the oldest one there. I made silly faces, let my guard down, and drank liquor too fast not factoring in that my tolerance had significantly lowered since college.

The next thing I remember I was in a gurney in a hallway. I had dried blood and bandages on the backs of my hands and elbow. I thought maybe I had fallen and was in an admin office on campus. I was very calm and wondering where my sister was. A deputy explained I had been assaulted. I still remained calm, assured he was speaking to the wrong person. I knew no one at this party. When I was finally allowed to use the restroom, I pulled down the hospital pants they had given me, went to pull down my underwear, and felt nothing. I still remember the feeling of my hands touching my skin and grabbing nothing. I looked down and there was nothing. The thin piece of fabric, the only thing between my vagina and anything else, was missing and everything inside me was silenced. I still don’t have words for that feeling. In order to keep breathing, I thought maybe the policemen used scissors to cut them off for evidence.

“You don’t know me, but you’ve been inside me, and that’s why we’re here today.”

Then, I felt pine needles scratching the back of my neck and started pulling them out my hair. I thought maybe, the pine needles had fallen from a tree onto my head. My brain was talking my gut into not collapsing. Because my gut was saying, help me, help me.

I shuffled from room to room with a blanket wrapped around me, pine needles trailing behind me, I left a little pile in every room I sat in. I was asked to sign papers that said “Rape Victim” and I thought something has really happened. My clothes were confiscated and I stood naked while the nurses held a ruler to various abrasions on my body and photographed them. The three of us worked to comb the pine needles out of my hair, six hands to fill one paper bag. To calm me down, they said it’s just the flora and fauna, flora and fauna. I had multiple swabs inserted into my vagina and anus, needles for shots, pills, had a Nikon pointed right into my spread legs. I had long, pointed beaks inside me and had my vagina smeared with cold, blue paint to check for abrasions.

After a few hours of this, they let me shower. I stood there examining my body beneath the stream of water and decided, I don’t want my body anymore. I was terrified of it, I didn’t know what had been in it, if it had been contaminated, who had touched it. I wanted to take off my body like a jacket and leave it at the hospital with everything else.

On that morning, all that I was told was that I had been found behind a dumpster, potentially penetrated by a stranger, and that I should get retested for HIV because results don’t always show up immediately. But for now, I should go home and get back to my normal life. Imagine stepping back into the world with only that information. They gave me huge hugs and I walked out of the hospital into the parking lot wearing the new sweatshirt and sweatpants they provided me, as they had only allowed me to keep my necklace and shoes.

My sister picked me up, face wet from tears and contorted in anguish. Instinctively and immediately, I wanted to take away her pain. I smiled at her, I told her to look at me, I’m right here, I’m okay, everything’s okay, I’m right here. My hair is washed and clean, they gave me the strangest shampoo, calm down, and look at me. Look at these funny new sweatpants and sweatshirt, I look like a P.E. teacher, let’s go home, let’s eat something. She did not know that beneath my sweatsuit, I had scratches and bandages on my skin, my vagina was sore and had become a strange, dark color from all the prodding, my underwear was missing, and I felt too empty to continue to speak. That I was also afraid, that I was also devastated. That day we drove home and for hours in silence my younger sister held me.

My boyfriend did not know what happened, but called that day and said, “I was really worried about you last night, you scared me, did you make it home okay?” I was horrified. That’s when I learned I had called him that night in my blackout, left an incomprehensible voicemail, that we had also spoken on the phone, but I was slurring so heavily he was scared for me, that he repeatedly told me to go find [fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][my sister]. Again, he asked me, “What happened last night? Did you make it home okay?” I said yes, and hung up to cry.

I was not ready to tell my boyfriend or parents that actually, I may have been raped behind a dumpster, but I don’t know by who or when or how. If I told them, I would see the fear on their faces, and mine would multiply by tenfold, so instead I pretended the whole thing wasn’t real.

I tried to push it out of my mind, but it was so heavy I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t interact with anyone. After work, I would drive to a secluded place to scream. I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t interact with anyone, and I became isolated from the ones I loved most. For over a week after the incident, I didn’t get any calls or updates about that night or what happened to me. The only symbol that proved that it hadn’t just been a bad dream, was the sweatshirt from the hospital in my drawer.

One day, I was at work, scrolling through the news on my phone, and came across an article. In it, I read and learned for the first time about how I was found unconscious, with my hair disheveled, long necklace wrapped around my neck, bra pulled out of my dress, dress pulled off over my shoulders and pulled up above my waist, that I was butt naked all the way down to my boots, legs spread apart, and had been penetrated by a foreign object by someone I did not recognize. This was how I learned what happened to me, sitting at my desk reading the news at work. I learned what happened to me the same time everyone else in the world learned what happened to me. That’s when the pine needles in my hair made sense, they didn’t fall from a tree. He had taken off my underwear, his fingers had been inside of me. I don’t even know this person. I still don’t know this person. When I read about me like this, I said, this can’t be me, this can’t be me. I could not digest or accept any of this information. I could not imagine my family having to read about this online. I kept reading. In the next paragraph, I read something that I will never forgive; I read that according to him, I liked it. I liked it. Again, I do not have words for these feelings.

“And then, at the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times.”

It’s like if you were to read an article where a car was hit, and found dented, in a ditch. But maybe the car enjoyed being hit. Maybe the other car didn’t mean to hit it, just bump it up a little bit. Cars get in accidents all the time, people aren’t always paying attention, can we really say who’s at fault.

And then, at the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times. She was found breathing, unresponsive with her underwear six inches away from her bare stomach curled in fetal position. By the way, he’s really good at swimming. Throw in my mile time if that’s what we’re doing. I’m good at cooking, put that in there, I think the end is where you list your extracurriculars to cancel out all the sickening things that’ve happened.

The night the news came out I sat my parents down and told them that I had been assaulted, to not look at the news because it’s upsetting, just know that I’m okay, I’m right here, and I’m okay. But halfway through telling them, my mom had to hold me because I could no longer stand up.

The night after it happened, he said he didn’t know my name, said he wouldn’t be able to identify my face in a lineup, didn’t mention any dialogue between us, no words, only dancing and kissing. Dancing is a cute term; was it snapping fingers and twirling dancing, or just bodies grinding up against each other in a crowded room? I wonder if kissing was just faces sloppily pressed up against each other? When the detective asked if he had planned on taking me back to his dorm, he said no. When the detective asked how we ended up behind the dumpster, he said he didn’t know. He admitted to kissing other girls at that party, one of whom was my own sister who pushed him away. He admitted to wanting to hook up with someone. I was the wounded antelope of the herd, completely alone and vulnerable, physically unable to fend for myself, and he chose me. Sometimes I think, if I hadn’t gone, then this never would’ve happened. But then I realized, it would have happened, just to somebody else. You were about to enter four years of access to drunk girls and parties, and if this is the foot you started off on, then it is right you did not continue. The night after it happened, he said he thought I liked it because I rubbed his back. A back rub.

Never mentioned me voicing consent, never mentioned us even speaking, a back rub. One more time, in public news, I learned that my ass and vagina were completely exposed outside, my breasts had been groped, fingers had been jabbed inside me along with pine needles and debris, my bare skin and head had been rubbing against the ground behind a dumpster, while an erect freshman was humping my half naked, unconscious body. But I don’t remember, so how do I prove I didn’t like it.

I thought there’s no way this is going to trial; there were witnesses, there was dirt in my body, he ran but was caught. He’s going to settle, formally apologize, and we will both move on. Instead, I was told he hired a powerful attorney, expert witnesses, private investigators who were going to try and find details about my personal life to use against me, find loopholes in my story to invalidate me and my sister, in order to show that this sexual assault was in fact a misunderstanding. That he was going to go to any length to convince the world he had simply been confused.

I was not only told that I was assaulted, I was told that because I couldn’t remember, I technically could not prove it was unwanted. And that distorted me, damaged me, almost broke me. It is the saddest type of confusion to be told I was assaulted and nearly raped, blatantly out in the open, but we don’t know if it counts as assault yet. I had to fight for an entire year to make it clear that there was something wrong with this situation.

“I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask for my name. “

When I was told to be prepared in case we didn’t win, I said, I can’t prepare for that. He was guilty the minute I woke up. No one can talk me out of the hurt he caused me. Worst of all, I was warned, because he now knows you don’t remember, he is going to get to write the script. He can say whatever he wants and no one can contest it. I had no power, I had no voice, I was defenseless. My memory loss would be used against me. My testimony was weak, was incomplete, and I was made to believe that perhaps, I am not enough to win this. His attorney constantly reminded the jury, the only one we can believe is Brock, because she doesn’t remember. That helplessness was traumatizing.

Instead of taking time to heal, I was taking time to recall the night in excruciating detail, in order to prepare for the attorney’s questions that would be invasive, aggressive, and designed to steer me off course, to contradict myself, my sister, phrased in ways to manipulate my answers. Instead of his attorney saying, Did you notice any abrasions? He said, You didn’t notice any abrasions, right? This was a game of strategy, as if I could be tricked out of my own worth. The sexual assault had been so clear, but instead, here I was at the trial, answering questions like:

How old are you? How much do you weigh? What did you eat that day? Well what did you have for dinner? Who made dinner? Did you drink with dinner? No, not even water? When did you drink? How much did you drink? What container did you drink out of? Who gave you the drink? How much do you usually drink? Who dropped you off at this party? At what time? But where exactly? What were you wearing? Why were you going to this party? What’ d you do when you got there? Are you sure you did that? But what time did you do that? What does this text mean? Who were you texting? When did you urinate? Where did you urinate? With whom did you urinate outside? Was your phone on silent when your sister called? Do you remember silencing it? Really because on page 53 I’d like to point out that you said it was set to ring. Did you drink in college? You said you were a party animal? How many times did you black out? Did you party at frats? Are you serious with your boyfriend? Are you sexually active with him? When did you start dating? Would you ever cheat? Do you have a history of cheating? What do you mean when you said you wanted to reward him? Do you remember what time you woke up? Were you wearing your cardigan? What color was your cardigan? Do you remember any more from that night? No? Okay, well, we’ll let Brock fill it in.

I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask for my name. After a physical assault, I was assaulted with questions designed to attack me, to say see, her facts don’t line up, she’s out of her mind, she’s practically an alcoholic, she probably wanted to hook up, he’s like an athlete right, they were both drunk, whatever, the hospital stuff she remembers is after the fact, why take it into account, Brock has a lot at stake so he’s having a really hard time right now.

And then it came time for him to testify and I learned what it meant to be revictimized. I want to remind you, the night after it happened he said he never planned to take me back to his dorm. He said he didn’t know why we were behind a dumpster. He got up to leave because he wasn’t feeling well when he was suddenly chased and attacked. Then he learned I could not remember.

So one year later, as predicted, a new dialogue emerged. Brock had a strange new story, almost sounded like a poorly written young adult novel with kissing and dancing and hand holding and lovingly tumbling onto the ground, and most importantly in this new story, there was suddenly consent. One year after the incident, he remembered, oh yeah, by the way she actually said yes, to everything, so.

He said he had asked if I wanted to dance. Apparently I said yes. He’d asked if I wanted to go to his dorm, I said yes. Then he asked if he could finger me and I said yes. Most guys don’t ask, can I finger you? Usually there’s a natural progression of things, unfolding consensually, not a Q and A. But apparently I granted full permission. He’s in the clear. Even in his story, I only said a total of three words, yes yes yes, before he had me half naked on the ground. Future reference, if you are confused about whether a girl can consent, see if she can speak an entire sentence. You couldn’t even do that. Just one coherent string of words. Where was the confusion? This is common sense, human decency.

According to him, the only reason we were on the ground was because I fell down. Note; if a girl falls down help her get back up. If she is too drunk to even walk and falls down, do not mount her, hump her, take off her underwear, and insert your hand inside her vagina. If a girl falls down help her up. If she is wearing a cardigan over her dress don’t take it off so that you can touch her breasts. Maybe she is cold, maybe that’s why she wore the cardigan.

Next in the story, two Swedes on bicycles approached you and you ran. When they tackled you why didn’t say, “Stop! Everything’s okay, go ask her, she’s right over there, she’ll tell you.” I mean you had just asked for my consent, right? I was awake, right? When the policeman arrived and interviewed the evil Swede who tackled you, he was crying so hard he couldn’t speak because of what he’d seen.

Your attorney has repeatedly pointed out, well we don’t know exactly when she became unconscious. And you’re right, maybe I was still fluttering my eyes and wasn’t completely limp yet. That was never the point. I was too drunk to speak English, too drunk to consent way before I was on the ground. I should have never been touched in the first place. Brock stated, “At no time did I see that she was not responding. If at any time I thought she was not responding, I would have stopped immediately.” Here’s the thing; if your plan was to stop only when I became unresponsive, then you still do not understand. You didn’t even stop when I was unconscious anyway! Someone else stopped you. Two guys on bikes noticed I wasn’t moving in the dark and had to tackle you. How did you not notice while on top of me?

You said, you would have stopped and gotten help. You say that, but I want you to explain how you would’ve helped me, step by step, walk me through this. I want to know, if those evil Swedes had not found me, how the night would have played out. I am asking you; Would you have pulled my underwear back on over my boots? Untangled the necklace wrapped around my neck? Closed my legs, covered me? Pick the pine needles from my hair? Asked if the abrasions on my neck and bottom hurt? Would you then go find a friend and say, Will you help me get her somewhere warm and soft? I don’t sleep when I think about the way it could have gone if the two guys had never come. What would have happened to me? That’s what you’ll never have a good answer for, that’s what you can’t explain even after a year.

On top of all this, he claimed that I orgasmed after one minute of digital penetration. The nurse said there had been abrasions, lacerations, and dirt in my genitalia. Was that before or after I came?

To sit under oath and inform all of us, that yes I wanted it, yes I permitted it, and that you are the true victim attacked by Swedes for reasons unknown to you is appalling, is demented, is selfish, is damaging. It is enough to be suffering. It is another thing to have someone ruthlessly working to diminish the gravity of validity of this suffering.

My family had to see pictures of my head strapped to a gurney full of pine needles, of my body in the dirt with my eyes closed, hair messed up, limbs bent, and dress hiked up. And even after that, my family had to listen to your attorney say the pictures were after the fact, we can dismiss them. To say, yes her nurse confirmed there was redness and abrasions inside her, significant trauma to her genitalia, but that’s what happens when you finger someone, and he’s already admitted to that. To listen to your attorney attempt to paint a picture of me, the face of girls gone wild, as if somehow that would make it so that I had this coming for me. To listen to him say I sounded drunk on the phone because I’m silly and that’s my goofy way of speaking. To point out that in the voicemail, I said I would reward my boyfriend and we all know what I was thinking. I assure you my rewards program is non transferable, especially to any nameless man that approaches me.

“This is not a story of another drunk college hook­up with poor decision making. Assault is not an accident.”

He has done irreversible damage to me and my family during the trial and we have sat silently, listening to him shape the evening. But in the end, his unsupported statements and his attorney’s twisted logic fooled no one. The truth won, the truth spoke for itself.

You are guilty. Twelve jurors convicted you guilty of three felony counts beyond reasonable doubt, that’s twelve votes per count, thirty ­six yeses confirming guilt, that’s one hundred percent, unanimous guilt. And I thought finally it is over, finally he will own up to what he did, truly apologize, we will both move on and get better. ​Then I read your statement.

If you are hoping that one of my organs will implode from anger and I will die, I’m almost there. You are very close. This is not a story of another drunk college hook­up with poor decision making. Assault is not an accident. Somehow, you still don’t get it. Somehow, you still sound confused. I will now read portions of the defendant’s statement and respond to them.

You said, Being drunk I just couldn’t make the best decisions and neither could she.

Alcohol is not an excuse. Is it a factor? Yes. But alcohol was not the one who stripped me, fingered me, had my head dragging against the ground, with me almost fully naked. Having too much to drink was an amateur mistake that I admit to, but it is not criminal. Everyone in this room has had a night where they have regretted drinking too much, or knows someone close to them who has had a night where they have regretted drinking too much. Regretting drinking is not the same as regretting sexual assault. We were both drunk, the difference is I did not take off your pants and underwear, touch you inappropriately, and run away. That’s the difference.

You said, If I wanted to get to know her, I should have asked for her number, rather than asking her to go back to my room.

I’m not mad because you didn’t ask for my number. Even if you did know me, I would not want to be in this situation. My own boyfriend knows me, but if he asked to finger me behind a dumpster, I would slap him. No girl wants to be in this situation. Nobody. I don’t care if you know their phone number or not.

You said, I stupidly thought it was okay for me to do what everyone around me was doing, which was drinking. I was wrong.

Again, you were not wrong for drinking. Everyone around you was not sexually assaulting me. You were wrong for doing what nobody else was doing, which was pushing your erect dick in your pants against my naked, defenseless body concealed in a dark area, where partygoers could no longer see or protect me, and my own sister could not find me. Sipping fireball is not your crime. Peeling off and discarding my underwear like a candy wrapper to insert your finger into my body, is where you went wrong. Why am I still explaining this.

You said, During the trial I didn’t want to victimize her at all. That was just my attorney and his way of approaching the case.

Your attorney is not your scapegoat, he represents you. Did your attorney say some incredulously infuriating, degrading things? Absolutely. He said you had an erection, because it was cold.

You said, you are in the process of establishing a program for high school and college students in which you speak about your experience to “speak out against the college campus drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that.”

Campus drinking culture. That’s what we’re speaking out against? You think that’s what I’ve spent the past year fighting for? Not awareness about campus sexual assault, or rape, or learning to recognize consent. Campus drinking culture. Down with Jack Daniels. Down with Skyy Vodka. If you want talk to people about drinking go to an AA meeting. You realize, having a drinking problem is different than drinking and then forcefully trying to have sex with someone? Show men how to respect women, not how to drink less.

Drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that. Goes along with that, like a side effect, like fries on the side of your order. Where does promiscuity even come into play? I don’t see headlines that read, Brock Turner, Guilty of drinking too much and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that. Campus Sexual Assault. There’s your first powerpoint slide. Rest assured, if you fail to fix the topic of your talk, I will follow you to every school you go to and give a follow up presentation.

Lastly you said, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin a life.

A life, one life, yours, you forgot about mine. Let me rephrase for you, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin two lives. You and me. You are the cause, I am the effect. You have dragged me through this hell with you, dipped me back into that night again and again. You knocked down both our towers, I collapsed at the same time you did. If you think I was spared, came out unscathed, that today I ride off into sunset, while you suffer the greatest blow, you are mistaken. Nobody wins. We have all been devastated, we have all been trying to find some meaning in all of this suffering. Your damage was concrete; stripped of titles, degrees, enrollment. My damage was internal, unseen, I carry it with me. You took away my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my confidence, my own voice, until today.

See one thing we have in common is that we were both unable to get up in the morning. I am no stranger to suffering. You made me a victim. In newspapers my name was “unconscious intoxicated woman”, ten syllables, and nothing more than that. For a while, I believed that that was all I was. I had to force myself to relearn my real name, my identity. To relearn that this is not all that I am. That I am not just a drunk victim at a frat party found behind a dumpster, while you are the All­ American swimmer at a top university, innocent until proven guilty, with so much at stake. I am a human being who has been irreversibly hurt, my life was put on hold for over a year, waiting to figure out if I was worth something.

My independence, natural joy, gentleness, and steady lifestyle I had been enjoying became distorted beyond recognition. I became closed off, angry, self deprecating, tired, irritable, empty. The isolation at times was unbearable. You cannot give me back the life I had before that night either. While you worry about your shattered reputation, I refrigerated spoons every night so when I woke up, and my eyes were puffy from crying, I would hold the spoons to my eyes to lessen the swelling so that I could see. I showed up an hour late to work every morning, excused myself to cry in the stairwells, I can tell you all the best places in that building to cry where no one can hear you. The pain became so bad that I had to explain the private details to my boss to let her know why I was leaving. I needed time because continuing day to day was not possible. I used my savings to go as far away as I could possibly be. I did not return to work full time as I knew I’d have to take weeks off in the future for the hearing and trial, that were constantly being rescheduled. My life was put on hold for over a year, my structure had collapsed.

I can’t sleep alone at night without having a light on, like a five year old, because I have nightmares of being touched where I cannot wake up, I did this thing where I waited until the sun came up and I felt safe enough to sleep. For three months, I went to bed at six o’clock in the morning.

I used to pride myself on my independence, now I am afraid to go on walks in the evening, to attend social events with drinking among friends where I should be comfortable being. I have become a little barnacle always needing to be at someone’s side, to have my boyfriend standing next to me, sleeping beside me, protecting me. It is embarrassing how feeble I feel, how timidly I move through life, always guarded, ready to defend myself, ready to be angry.

You have no idea how hard I have worked to rebuild parts of me that are still weak. It took me eight months to even talk about what happened. I could no longer connect with friends, with everyone around me. I would scream at my boyfriend, my own family whenever they brought this up. You never let me forget what happened to me. At the of end of the hearing, the trial, I was too tired to speak. I would leave drained, silent. I would go home turn off my phone and for days I would not speak. You bought me a ticket to a planet where I lived by myself. Every time a new article come out, I lived with the paranoia that my entire hometown would find out and know me as the girl who got assaulted. I didn’t want anyone’s pity and am still learning to accept victim as part of my identity. You made my own hometown an uncomfortable place to be.

You cannot give me back my sleepless nights. The way I have broken down sobbing uncontrollably if I’m watching a movie and a woman is harmed, to say it lightly, this experience has expanded my empathy for other victims. I have lost weight from stress, when people would comment I told them I’ve been running a lot lately. There are times I did not want to be touched. I have to relearn that I am not fragile, I am capable, I am wholesome, not just livid and weak.

When I see my younger sister hurting, when she is unable to keep up in school, when she is deprived of joy, when she is not sleeping, when she is crying so hard on the phone she is barely breathing, telling me over and over again she is sorry for leaving me alone that night, sorry sorry sorry, when she feels more guilt than you, then I do not forgive you. That night I had called her to try and find her, but you found me first. Your attorney’s closing statement began, “[Her sister] said she was fine and who knows her better than her sister.” You tried to use my own sister against me? Your points of attack were so weak, so low, it was almost embarrassing. You do not touch her.

You should have never done this to me. Secondly, you should have never made me fight so long to tell you, you should have never done this to me. But here we are. The damage is done, no one can undo it. And now we both have a choice. We can let this destroy us, I can remain angry and hurt and you can be in denial, or we can face it head on, I accept the pain, you accept the punishment, and we move on.

Your life is not over, you have decades of years ahead to rewrite your story. The world is huge, it is so much bigger than Palo Alto and Stanford, and you will make a space for yourself in it where you can be useful and happy. But right now, you do not get to shrug your shoulders and be confused anymore. You do not get to pretend that there were no red flags. You have been convicted of violating me, intentionally, forcibly, sexually, with malicious intent, and all you can admit to is consuming alcohol. Do not talk about the sad way your life was upturned because alcohol made you do bad things. Figure out how to take responsibility for your own conduct.

Now to address the sentencing. When I read the probation officer’s report, I was in disbelief, consumed by anger which eventually quieted down to profound sadness. My statements have been slimmed down to distortion and taken out of context. I fought hard during this trial and will not have the outcome minimized by a probation officer who attempted to evaluate my current state and my wishes in a fifteen minute conversation, the majority of which was spent answering questions I had about the legal system. The context is also important. Brock had yet to issue a statement, and I had not read his remarks.

My life has been on hold for over a year, a year of anger, anguish and uncertainty, until a jury of my peers rendered a judgment that validated the injustices I had endured. Had Brock admitted guilt and remorse and offered to settle early on, I would have considered a lighter sentence, respecting his honesty, grateful to be able to move our lives forward. Instead he took the risk of going to trial, added insult to injury and forced me to relive the hurt as details about my personal life and sexual assault were brutally dissected before the public. He pushed me and my family through a year of inexplicable, unnecessary suffering, and should face the consequences of challenging his crime, of putting my pain into question, of making us wait so long for justice.

I told the probation officer I do not want Brock to rot away in prison. I did not say he does not deserve to be behind bars. The probation officer’s recommendation of a year or less in county jail is a soft time­out, a mockery of the seriousness of his assaults, an insult to me and all women. It gives the message that a stranger can be inside you without proper consent and he will receive less than what has been defined as the minimum sentence. Probation should be denied. I also told the probation officer that what I truly wanted was for Brock to get it, to understand and admit to his wrongdoing.

Unfortunately, after reading the defendant’s report, I am severely disappointed and feel that he has failed to exhibit sincere remorse or responsibility for his conduct. I fully respected his right to a trial, but even after twelve jurors unanimously convicted him guilty of three felonies, all he has admitted to doing is ingesting alcohol. Someone who cannot take full accountability for his actions does not deserve a mitigating sentence. It is deeply offensive that he would try and dilute rape with a suggestion of “promiscuity”. By definition rape is not the absence of promiscuity, rape is the absence of consent, and it perturbs me deeply that he can’t even see that distinction.

The probation officer factored in that the defendant is youthful and has no prior convictions. In my opinion, he is old enough to know what he did was wrong. When you are eighteen in this country you can go to war. When you are nineteen, you are old enough to pay the consequences for attempting to rape someone. He is young, but he is old enough to know better.

As this is a first offence I can see where leniency would beckon. On the other hand, as a society, we cannot forgive everyone’s first sexual assault or digital rape. It doesn’t make sense. The seriousness of rape has to be communicated clearly, we should not create a culture that suggests we learn that rape is wrong through trial and error. The consequences of sexual assault needs to be severe enough that people feel enough fear to exercise good judgment even if they are drunk, severe enough to be preventative.

The probation officer weighed the fact that he has surrendered a hard earned swimming scholarship. How fast Brock swims does not lessen the severity of what happened to me, and should not lessen the severity of his punishment. If a first time offender from an underprivileged background was accused of three felonies and displayed no accountability for his actions other than drinking, what would his sentence be? The fact that Brock was an athlete at a private university should not be seen as an entitlement to leniency, but as an opportunity to send a message that sexual assault is against the law regardless of social class.

The Probation Officer has stated that this case, when compared to other crimes of similar nature, may be considered less serious due to the defendant’s level of intoxication. It felt serious. That’s all I’m going to say.

What has he done to demonstrate that he deserves a break? He has only apologized for drinking and has yet to define what he did to me as sexual assault, he has revictimized me continually, relentlessly. He has been found guilty of three serious felonies and it is time for him to accept the consequences of his actions. He will not be quietly excused.

He is a lifetime sex registrant. That doesn’t expire. Just like what he did to me doesn’t expire, doesn’t just go away after a set number of years. It stays with me, it’s part of my identity, it has forever changed the way I carry myself, the way I live the rest of my life.

To conclude, I want to say thank you. To everyone from the intern who made me oatmeal when I woke up at the hospital that morning, to the deputy who waited beside me, to the nurses who calmed me, to the detective who listened to me and never judged me, to my advocates who stood unwaveringly beside me, to my therapist who taught me to find courage in vulnerability, to my boss for being kind and understanding, to my incredible parents who teach me how to turn pain into strength, to my grandma who snuck chocolate into the courtroom throughout this to give to me, my friends who remind me how to be happy, to my boyfriend who is patient and loving, to my unconquerable sister who is the other half of my heart, to Alaleh, my idol, who fought tirelessly and never doubted me. Thank you to everyone involved in the trial for their time and attention. Thank you to girls across the nation that wrote cards to my DA to give to me, so many strangers who cared for me.

Most importantly, thank you to the two men who saved me, who I have yet to meet. I sleep with two bicycles that I drew taped above my bed to remind myself there are heroes in this story. That we are looking out for one another. To have known all of these people, to have felt their protection and love, is something I will never forget.

And finally, to girls everywhere, I am with you. On nights when you feel alone, I am with you. When people doubt you or dismiss you, I am with you. I fought everyday for you. So never stop fighting, I believe you. As the author Anne Lamott once wrote, “Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.” Although I can’t save every boat, I hope that by speaking today, you absorbed a small amount of light, a small knowing that you can’t be silenced, a small satisfaction that justice was served, a small assurance that we are getting somewhere, and a big, big knowing that you are important, unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are beautiful, you are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute of every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away from you. To girls everywhere, I am with you. Thank you.

After the victim’s statement went viral, Turner’s dad, Dan Turner, issued a statement defending his son, arguing his life will be “deeply altered” by the court’s verdict. I know this man is speaking out as a father but really, the callousness with which he disregards the consequences his son’s actions have had on his victim sickens me. He pretends that his son has done nothing wrong worth jail time and has no regard whatsoever for how his child has ruined this woman’s life.

“He will never be his happy go lucky self with that easy going personality and welcoming smile,” he wrote.

“His every waking minute is consumed with worry, anxiety, fear and depression. Now he barely consumes any food and eats only to exist. These verdicts have broken and shattered him and our family in so many ways. His life will never be the one that he dreamt about and worked so hard to achieve. That is a steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action out of his 20 plus years of life.”

Mr. Turner says his son, Brock Turner, should not be sent to jail.

“The fact that he now has to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life forever alters where he can live, visit, work, and how he will be able to interact people and organizations,” he wrote.

“What I know as his father is that incarceration is not the appropriate punishment for Brock. He has no prior criminal history and has never been violence to anyone, including his actions on the night of January 17, 2015.”

Mr. Turner then suggested his son could become a role model for young people. I get that he is the kid’s dad but there comes a time when you need to support your child by loving them while at the same time making them understand that there are consequences to bad behavior and raping a woman is bad behavior. It is unforgivable behavior.

“Brock can do so many positive things as a contributor to society and is totally committed to educating other college age students about the dangers of alcohol consumption and sexual promiscuity.”

“By having people like Brock educate others on college campuses is how society can begin to break the cycle of binge drinking and its unfortunate results. Probation is the best answer for Brock in this situation and allows him to give back to society in a net positive way.”

It’s like this man doesn’t think his son has done anything really wrong. I know he’s a father who loves his son and love is blind, especially where our children are concerned but this man is in absolute denial.

What do you think is a fitting punishment for Brock Turner’s choice to rape a woman?

4 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
dislocated elbow, broken bone, slip and fall

Have you ever felt like Samuel Jackson’s character Elijah Price in Unbreakable? I have; I do right now. A week ago today, in a fluke of epic proportions and yet another lesson in bad footwear, I lost my footing in a waterlogged yard and fell, not once but twice and something broke. Put it this way, on the second fall, I was pretty sure that if I had taken my coat off, I would have seen the bones in my arm completely out of their respective positions.

If you’ve been following along for the past couple of years, you know that I broke my leg at my sister’s wedding so severely that I had to have surgery to put my leg back together again. It’s what I affectionately refer to as my Humpty Dumpty Frankenstein leg.

A couple months later, I had to have a second surgery to remove 2 of the screws because all of the physical therapy in the world was not going to allow those screws to let me walk without a limp. It helped and I had an amazing surgeon through the entire ordeal so shout out to Dr. Beuchel who can perform surgical miracles and has the most pleasant bedside manner.

3 months later, my gallbladder decided it wanted in on the fun and I had 2 acute attacks in as many weeks. But since I was a week out from a Disney trip (the same trip I had cancelled the previous October due to the break) I went to Disney with a bum gallbladder and a restricted diet that nearly starved me to death and subsequent removal of a gallbladder that we found was not situated in the usual place. Thankfully, Disney is very accommodating to all diets but there were no Dole whips on that trip I did, however, find the soy shake at the Sci-Fi theater and the ratatouille at Be Our Guest to be uncannily delicious.

A year later, the swelling in my leg had finally gone down enough to remove the outer plate and screws from my leg. This was necessary because I was having pain wearing anything above a flat. I just had this surgery over Christmas break. It’s been feeling great, other than a little tenderness from the accompanying scope I had to remove all the built up excess scar tissue that was causing mobility issues. I was looking forward to going to Disney next month unencumbered. Then the unthinkable happened; a series of almost comedic if not almost deadly unfortunate events.

I went outside. The snow had all melted and I saw that Monday night’s storm had left a giant tree branch atop the girls’ trampoline. Afraid it might tear it, I got dressed went outside and tried to remove it from the netting. Let me explain, this is completely out of character for me. I usually leave all manual labor to the Big Guy because 1) I don’t particularly like it 2) I am accident prone and still, I did it anyway. The first mistake, going outside.

This was not well thought out. I still had my pajamas on. I threw on the first pair of comfy pants I found folded and pulled on my jacket and UGGS. Second mistake, UGGS. They are now in the flip-flop category of shoes that will never be worn again.

I went outside and saw that I could not move the log but instead of going in the house and accepting defeat, I soldiered on. I went to the front of the house to find something for leverage. Mistake number 3 and 4, not quitting and walking to the front of the house.

I spied a shovel by the front door and thought, hmm, this will work for leverage. I stepped off the front porch (next mistake) put my foot into the waterlogged, muddy yard and went down like a ton of bricks. When I went down, my first thought was, “OMG, the plate is out and this leg can break again. OMG, I broke the leg!!!”

I was at this point wailing like a baby and jumped up immediately. This was my 5th and fatal mistake because I immediately fell right back down, this time with my left arm outstretched searching for salvation but none was to be found.

I heard a pop and I knew, if I pulled off my jacket to look, the bone would be jutting out in the wrong direction. Covered in mud, I gingerly, while full on screaming and hyperventilating because at this point I might have been insane, pulled myself up to my feet. I was shaking uncontrollably and frightened. The pain was indescribable. I had to make it into the house without falling again but first I had to make it all the way to the back of the house, without losing my footing again because of course, the front door was locked. Instead of walking 50 feet in excruciating pain, I got to walk 500 feet.

dislocated elbow, broken bone, slip and fall

I made it, slipping and sliding and crying and screaming the entire way. It was around 9 in the morning so no one was around. I called my husband, who works on the other side of town, and told him to meet me at the hospital and I called my brother who lives a few blocks away and sobbed my way through telling him what had happened and asked for a ride to the ER.

By this time, I think my body was going into shock. I was shaking uncontrollably and feeling faint and vomity just like the time I broke my leg. Everything was hurting. I was just trying to get dressed and cleaned up before I couldn’t move at all. Swelling tends to do that to bone trauma.

Finally, we made it to the Emergency room where I had to wait for about ½ hour before they could get me back. After another 5 hours and several x-rays, they sent me home with a splint and the news that my arm was broke. However, they said they couldn’t see the break because of the swelling and they wouldn’t do an MRI. I had to follow up with my orthopedist. I left in pain and frustrated.

dislocated elbow, broken bone, slip and fall

Thursday, I saw the orthopedist. The verdict is that when I fell, I dislocated my elbow which, thankfully, went back into place on its own. While dislocating my elbow, the trauma from the impact and all the pushing and pulling taking place during the dislocation, I chipped part of my bone off. My doctor didn’t seem too worried about that. I, however, am concerned but thrilled that I don’t have to wear a cast to Disney this year or have surgery.

dislocated elbow, broken bone, slip and fall

I do have a horrific bruise and swelling to contend with today. I have about 3 months of recovery in front of me that includes another week or two of intense pain, a month of wearing a sling and a whole lot of physical therapy. But no cast or surgery, so I am thankful for the small wins.

Tomorrow, I’m going to buy some vitamin D and calcium because apparently, I am up for the role of Elijah Price in M.Night Shamalyns next installment in the series and I really don’t want to be.

The moral of the story kids? Beware life’s slick spots and make good footwear choices!

1 comment
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
American Heart Association, Hands Only CPR

Disclosure: This is a sponsored post written in partnership with the Anthem Foundation, however, all opinions are my own.

Do you travel a lot? I do and I love it, however, I hate layovers. They always seem to be either too short, where I find myself running through the airport breathing like I’m having an asthma attack to make my flight or too long, where I feel like I’m sitting around wasting my time when all I want to do is get to my destination. I’m all about a good journey but sitting in an airport feels like wasting precious time.

Sure, short layovers make for a good YouTube video but it’s not exactly fun for the poor person running through O’Hare bobbing and weaving trying to make their connection. It’s not particularly healthy for some of us. We’re not all marathon runners, most of us are average middle-aged parents living in the land of the biggie-sized and the home of the sit around and binge watch all day. One time trying to make my connection to a flight to L.A., I was convinced that I was going to have a heart attack right there in the airport. By the time I got on my flight, I was doubled over out of breath and all red in the face.

Speaking of heart attacks and long layovers, did you know that now people can learn Hands-Only CPR through Anthem Foundation supported training kiosks in about five minutes while they wait for their flights in many U.S. airports?  I had no idea this was a thing. Pretty awesome, right?

Each year, more than 350,000 cardiac arrests occur outside the hospital, and about 20 percent occur in public places such as airports. Hands-Only CPR has been shown to be as effective as conventional CPR for cardiac arrest when it occurs in public, and CPR can double or triple a victim’s chance of survival.

The interactive kiosks are designed to train large numbers of people on this simple, lifesaving technique. Each Anthem Foundation- supported kiosk has a touch screen with a short video that provides an overview of Hands-Only CPR, followed by a practice session and a 30-second test. With the help of a practice mannequin or a rubber torso, the kiosk gives feedback about the depth and rate of compressions, as well as proper hand placement – factors that influence the effectiveness of CPR.

Travelers can also select Spanish from the kiosk’s main touchscreen. The Spanish language capability along with closed captioning in Spanish is available on all Anthem Foundation-supported kiosks at airports.

Hands-Only CPR has two steps, performed in this order: when you see a teen or adult suddenly collapse, call 911. Then, push hard and fast in the center of the chest until help arrives. Remember anyone can save a life.

I can’t think of a more productive way to spend my layover than learning how to save someone’s life. Just as I can’t think of a worse way to spend my layover than by standing around helplessly watching as someone else dies from a heart attack, maybe some poor out of shape mom, like me, who had to run through the airport to make her flight.

 

0 comment
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Donald Trump, RNC, presidential election, Republican

Donald Trump’s Republican National Convention Nomination acceptance speech was about 79 minutes too long. That man with the Oompa Loompa skin tone and crazy road kill hair has got the floor and the Republican nomination. This horrible joke has gone too damn far. I took me 2 days to watch it because I was so flabbergasted by the words coming out of his mouth, I had to keep pausing and digesting. They were more outlandish than I ever could have imagined and, quite frankly, terrified me.

You know that old Jeff Foxworthy skit, “You Might be a Redneck”? Well, if the thought of Donald Trump being the president of your United States doesn’t frighten you to your core, then you might be a racist. He’s already successfully built a wall, he has divided the United States; the sane from the insane, the love from the hate, those of us who respect all human life equally and those of us who do not.

He wants to keep people out. He’s all about shutting out refugees seeking shelter from other governments and political asylum. But where will those of us who can’t live under his tyrannical regime flee to when our complacency allows this buffoon to take office? Who will take our poor wretched and hungry?

Donald Trump, RNC, presidential election, Republican

I can’t even watch him talk. Every smirk is so condescending. Is it just me or has Donald Trump actually assumed the identity of his SNL caricature? He is so unpredictable and outrageous, he has given the seedy underbelly of the American People carte blanche to be as hateful and prejudiced as they want to be and that makes him the most dangerous man alive today.

Donald Trump has shown us who he is since he began campaigning. He has made no excuses for his misogynist, bigoted, racist and xenophobic ways. He has embraced them. Why don’t we believe him when he tells us who he is? Why do we not take him seriously? This is how the second Hitler will end up in the Oval office. This is how we set the hands of time back 100 years. This is how we undo progress and to be quite honest, I’m pretty sure that this could be the way the dinosaurs died. What I mean is that Donald Trump is the end of society, tolerance and human respect and dignity. He Is the breathing embodiment of pure hatred.

Donald Trump, RNC, presidential election, Republican

Donald Trump is a weird dude, with tiny jazz hands that makes funny faces and has crazy hair but make no mistake, he is no joke. He is just dangerous enough to destroy this country and take all of us with him. How can you not see that?

I watched his RNC nomination acceptance speech and it was disturbing and duplicitous. The man has two sides to his face and he is talking out of both of them. He is scrambling to kowtow to his voters by using terms like “Make America One Again” and “Make America Great Again.” The only problem is that when he says “One” I think he means white and when he says “GREAT” he’s implying that currently it is not. He fancies himself the great white hope and he certainly is not, not in my America. He terrifies me.

Donald Trump, RNC, presidential election, Republican

Here are a few Donald Trump quotes from his acceptance speech,

“Together we will lead our country back to safety, prosperity and peace”

He says this with a straight face as he is actively inciting hatred and separation.

“We will be a country of generosity and warmth but we will also be a country of law and order.”

Purge anyone? Lynching? Build a wall. Jazz hands. Cha cha cha. If you are not reading between the lines, you are blind.

 “Safety will be restored.”

“We cannot afford to be so politically correct anymore”

Code for let’s all be openly racist, misogynistic, bigoted and xenophile assholes. Genocide, anyone?

“There will be no lies. We will honor the American people with the TRUTH and nothing else.”

When the crowd went wild chanting “USA” as if they were at a Nazi Party youth rally, Donald Trump did his best impression of my grandma doing the running man challenge. I half expected him to raise a hand in the air for his idol Hitler and wave it around like he just didn’t care. Because he doesn’t. Donald Trump cares about no one other than Donald Trump.

“Nearly 180,000 illegal immigrants with criminal records ordered deported from our country are tonight roaming free to threaten peaceful citizens.”

Is it just me or did you hear a banjo playing softly in the background too? Boy, you sure do have a purty mouth. Why does he hate brown people so much? What have we ever done to him? Latinos are to Trump what the Jews were to Hitler. Do you know how scary that is to me as a Latina?

“The number of new illegal immigrant families who’ve crossed the border this year already exceeds the entire total from 2015. They are being released by the 10s of thousands with no regard for the impact of public safety or resources.”

Donald Trump, RNC, presidential election, Republican

The crowd of racists goes wild chanting..build that wall (the mein fuhrer is silent but it’s there). THEY? We here you Mr. Trump and we know exactly what you mean when you say they!

Excuse me while I throw up in my mouth a little bit. What’s with the teeth sucking? Also, now he brings up one immigrant who murdered a woman newly graduated from college. Dirty immigrant murders beautiful Caucasian with 4.0 GPA, of course, because we’re all criminals and they’re all perfect. Because the borders are open.

Then he goes on to quote numbers of unemployed African Americans and Latinos, basically referring to POC as a scourge on American society. This man has something against anyone a darker shade than paper white.

Donald Trump, RNC, presidential election, Republican

Trump keeps talking about how he’s going to “fix that” but doesn’t tell us how because it’s not that simple, if it were doesn’t he think one of the previous presidents would have tried to wish or pray it away?

“This is the legacy of Hilary Clinton; death, destruction, terrorism and weakness”

He can point out all the problems but he has no real solution. What’s the solution? Give me a plan that doesn’t entail just building a wall and bad mouthing Hilary Clinton and President Obama.

“Our plan will put America first!”

America is code for white people, you know that right?

“The American People will come first, once again!”

“My plan with safety at home which means safe neighborhoods, secure borders and protection from terrorism. There can be no prosperity without law and order.”

Donald Trump, RNC, presidential election, Republican

Now he thinks he’s Wyatt Earp and this is the old west. He wants to blow people up if he isn’t locking them out. He is all about the guns and all about law and order. He is also about being a dictator and anyone who doesn’t see that is willfully blind and ignorant.

“Every day I wake up determined to deliver a better life for the people all across this nation that have been ignored, neglected and abandoned.”

Oh he’s talking about the white America who blames loss of jobs on immigrant workers who’ve taken their jobs.

“These are the forgotten men and women of our country…but they’re not going to be forgotten long. These are people who work hard but no longer have a voice. I am your voice.”

Donald Trump, RNC, presidential election, Republican

1% meet 99% and if you think he’s going to be “your” voice, I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you. This man cannot be anyone’s voice. How can he represent a people, an America, that he is so far out of touch with?

He spent most of his speech bad mouthing Hilary Clinton. That was his platform. He didn’t speak about how he was going to make America great while in office. He had no plan just wishes and pandering.

“The powerful can no longer beat up on people who cannot defend themselves.”

Isn’t he one of the powerful doing the beating up?

“Nobody knows the system better than me, which is why I alone can fix it!” Narcissist much?

“An attack on law enforcement is an attack on all Americans!”

Yet, he fails to mention what instigated the entire domino effect. Racist cops with itchy trigger fingers in a country who loves it guns more than its children. He made no comment on the senseless deaths by guns only on the attack in Dallas on cops.

He’s dubbed himself the law and order candidate and when I see all of his supporters clapping with shit eating grins on their faces, I just imagine some macabre scene out of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and instead of those creepy family members standing around clapping while grandpa tried to bash in that girl’s head with a cattle hammer, Trump’s “Americans” are clapping and smiling as they have their purge night against all the minorities in this country.

“Only weeks ago, in Orlando Florida, 49 wonderful Americans were savagely murdered by an Islamic terrorist.”

Every time he even tries to say the word LGBTQ out loud, it sounds like it’s getting caught up in his mouth. Is it just me or do you feel like there are a lot of words unspoken in Mr. Trumps speech. I am reading between the lines (I’m picking up what he’s throwing down) and it isn’t good for any of us.  He’s fear mongering. Look at all the bad shit that’s happened to us, want it to happen again? Build a wall. Law and order. But he never explains how he proposes to get from chaos to his coveted law and order.

“This time they targeted LGBTQ community and no good. We’re gonna stop it.” Who writes his speeches, a 9-year-old boy? Whoever it is, he should fire them immediately. As the crowd chants, “Help is on its way!”

We’re supposed to believe he’s the white knight to save us all?

“We must immediately suspend immigration from any nation that has been compromised by terrorism until such time as proven vetting mechanisms have been put in place, we don’t want them in our country!”

Them and they are code words for people of color.

“I only want to allow individuals who will support our values and love our people. Anyone who endorses violence, hatred or oppression is not welcome in our country and never ever will be.”

“Americans will finally wake up in a country where the laws of the United States are enforced.”

“Americans want relief from uncontrolled immigration, which is what we have now. Communities want relief.”

“It is time to show the world that America is back. Bigger, better and stronger than ever before.”

If none of this scares you, you are not paying attention. If Donald Trump gets into office, he will break America. Make no mistake, he is dangerous. This is not a joke. He will destroy the American we love.

Even if you don’t love Hilary Clinton personally, is it worth not voting or voting Republican and bringing into office the next Hitler? You have to stand up for your America and for your children and do what’s right. Do we want to be the nation that becomes the cautionary tale? No , we don’t!

Vote like your life depends on it, because it just might this time around.

Register to vote here.

Donald Trump, RNC, presidential election, Republican

Do you love him or hate him? Why?

What are your thoughts on Donald Trump as our next President?

 

1 comment
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail

What is a vaginal cuff ? Everwonder what that even means? I’ll be honest, I never even heard of the word before I got one. I can tell you that it is not anything like an ear cuff. It’s not a piece of jewelry. It is not an accessory of any sort. It does not adorn or make anything look fancy. It’s a procedure that is done when your uterus and cervix is removed. Basically, it’s a separation.

I’m on day 6 of recovery from my hysterectomy. I’m sure that you are all tired of hearing about it and I’m sorry but it happens to be the giant squishy elephant in the room at his time. Yes, it was squishy and big (like a softball) and apparently, the damn thing was so heavy my body decided my cervix should dilate a centimeter to help my body expel of this thing.

READ ALSO: Take this Uterus and Shove It

Basically, just like my misplaced gallbladder, my uterus didn’t look as was expected. That’s exactly what you want to hear after having the beast removed from within the fruit of your loins.

How do I feel? It’s the number one question everyone keeps asking and I keep telling them that I feel exhausted and sore. After all, I have 5 incisions in my frankenstomach now. In addition to the butcher marks from when they removed my gallbladder, my stomach looks like you can play a game of connect the ugly scars. I have become a carnival game for small children. And yeah that hurts.

But what really hurts is that it feels like I’ve done a zillion sit-ups. I guess that is what happens when they are tugging away trying to remove an organ the size of a freaking softball from the walls inside your body cavity. Oh, and did I mention that my vagina has been sewn shut?

READ ALSO: Last Period Ever

I found this out after surgery. No, it’s not like they sewed my face shut at the lips. No, it’s more like they sewed my mouth shut at the back of the throat only… between my legs. Are you getting the picture? Apparently, a few IRL people don’t because they keep asking me if I’m “really” supposed to be in bed and I’ll probably be healed in a couple of weeks. Obviously, they know more than my doctor.

See when they remove your uterus, your fallopian tubes, leave 1 ovary …they also remove your cervix. Its purpose is for the transit of babies from uterus to the outside world. As I will be having no more babies. I no longer need the cervix. Leaving it behind would be of no benefit, require yearly paps and the only purpose it would have is for me to get to play the delightful game of will she get cervical cancer or not for the rest of my life. So, they took it.

Well, like I asked my husband (not to be too graphic, as I am not a doctor) so what happens when you ejaculate? I mean, I love you Big Guy but I don’t feel particularly healthy about your sperm just roaming around my upper chest cavity like ghosts in an old house. That’s when I read up and was graphically explained while high as a kite on Percocet about a vaginal cuff. Sounds like a fashion accessory, right? I assure you that it is not!

READ ALSO: Having a Hysterectomy before the Fibroids Kill Me

What happens ( if you don’t want to know….stop reading here) when they remove your uterus and cervix and all the goodies inside ( save my left ovary who was left behind like a sacrificial lamb to stave off menopause) they have to cut the cervix free from the vagina. Yes, cut, it free from the VAGINA!

Remember your 8th-grade anatomy, it goes labia ( hello, come in. Welcome to my vagina. ) Vagina ( the grand foyer of your lady parts…it’s where you spend time getting to know one another…enjoying one another’s company), then comes the cervix ( mine was super deep and I like to think of it as the long walk to the back room) the uterus is where the magic ( and babies) were made. That’s where the babies grew and to be honest, as deep as my cervix was, I’m surprised I had any kids at all. They were determined. Those are my champion, long-distance swimmers.

READ ALSO: The Poor Man’s D & C

So, now that you know what the set-up is. In my scenario, you now come into the fun room ( the vagina) and then the rest of the house has not only been sealed off but removed. That bitch has been condemned; vacated and torn down.

I have a zillion questions going through my head. Will my husband still fit? He’s a Big Guy. Is it going to be too crowded? Will it hurt? Will things still work like they are supposed to?

Aside from all of this, I have people who have never had a hysterectomy telling me how I’m supposed to be feeling and how fast I’m supposed to be feeling and asking me if I actually feel as bad as I appear to be. Am I really supposed to be in bed?

I want to shout, “No, I’m just doing it because I’m lazy.” That’s the answer I feel like they want. I feel judged for trying to recover.

Well, I’m not a gynecologist and the people who are asking me aren’t either, but my doctor was pretty adamant that I take it easy as to not rip any stitches and end up back in the hospital. But hey, I’m sure this stranger’s cousin’s sister’s friend who was the janitor in the hospital knows better.

Basically, I feel like I’ve had a c-section minus the baby. Instead of pulling out the baby, the removed my entire uterus. It hurts. It’s uncomfortable and I’d appreciate it if certain people would quit questioning if this major surgery is “really that bad”.

 

3 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail

This website uses cookies to improve your experience. We'll assume you're ok with this, but you can opt-out if you wish. Accept Read More