lockyer's Open Salon Blog

25 questions - Trost and myself

Fri, 24 Sep 2010 14:09:37 -0400

1. Lingerie & pajamas. Bullshit. What do you really sleep in?

Anything cotton, mostly pajama pants and camisole tops. My husband negotiates for sleeping in the nude and jokes it's the cure for all things. If I have a headache his response will be "You know the cure for that? Sleeping naked. Apparently this is a cure for all things from blisters to overdrafts!

2. What’s the one thing in your refrigerator you’re damned angry about if someone touches it?

That Thing I Wanted and didn't tell anyone about because I forgot.

3. What’s the one thing you do so well that when you’ve done it, you stand back and say, “YES!”

Nothing. But I do many things well enough to say, "Cool!"

4. What’s your one piece of clothing that you want to wear everyday and you would if you could and not get stared at?

My black low rise Ariat riding britches - those specifically, that one pair!

5. What scares the shit out of you?

One of my kids dying

6. What is your favorite physical feature? The one you look at and think, “damn, that’s good!”

I like my collar bones

7. Have you ever actually read the Bible?

Yes but not recently, I once thought that becoming an Episcopal Priest was my calling and then I realized I was hearing someone else’s echo.

8. Who is the most overrated celebrity / personality / politician / human being to ever walk earth?

Most people described as a celebrity or personality are overrated - I don't waste time thinking about who has the least value

9. What is your favorite physical activity?

Riding Horses

10. What is the worst concert you’ve ever seen? And folks, if you can name more than one - rethink your definition of worst. Worst. Go.

The Ramones playing my college homecoming - it was tragic

11. You control the world’s radio station for the length of one song. (One song for God’s sake. One. Draw your line.) What tune do you play?

Bohemian Rhapsody

12. First kiss. Yeah, we know your Mother kissed your head. We get all that. First real - OMG that shook my knees - kiss. You tasted - you wanted more.

Randy - In the Boston Mountains after building trail on my 17th birthday. The stars were amazing and so was he.

13. You can have anything to drink on earth. What one beverage is your favorite?

Walmart brand lime water - weirdly good!

14. What film do you love so much that when you view it you follow the dialogue in your head?

None - just not my thing. I will see things more than once but not THAT much

15. Okay. You’re damn tired. It’s been a long day. You want to go to bed but you don’t have any sheets on it. Do you make it? Or throw yourself on it?

Make it!! OMG why wasn't it made? The sheets are clean so I have to have a shower as well!

16. Who is the funniest person ever?

My sister!

17. If you could have one more look at a person, who would you choose?

My Grandfather - such a force in my life and missed greatly!

18. There are no health issues: no diabetes, no cholesterol, no high blood pressure. We don’t have to gnaw fiber. You can eat what you want without consequence. What’s for breakfast?

Just coffee - donuts later if we can have breakfast for dinner!

19. Yeah. You can have him/her and there are no consequences. Who? Who is your ideal partner?

My husband, no kidding.

20. What is your deal breaker in a friendship (not a romantic relationship)?

Continual dishonesty - once as a mistake or a minor thing OK. If we are talking about habitual - the deal breaker.

21. If you could effortlessly change one aspect of yourself, what would you choose?

The genetic short stick I am handing on to my kids.

22. If you can banish one thing from the earth - what would you chose? And come on - let’s let beauty pageant contestants handle hatred, poverty, and racism. What one thing do you want removed without consequence?

Roaches

23. What’s the best product? What item do you recommend to people?

iPhone - put an little i in front of anything and I'm a goner!

24. If you could, would you live on a desert island? In a monastery? Do you like solitude or do you like people surrounding you?

I like selected people around me - assholes unwelcome. Oh ... and bring your kindle. We can share!

25. What is your best childhood memory?

Time spent with my sister - we laughed in the face of the crazy!

Don't touch the knife

Fri, 24 Sep 2010 13:09:04 -0400

I have no idea why I did it. So many people in my life have gaped at me in unadulterated shock at my stupidity while words of comfort roll off their tongues. "No one knows what they would do in a situation like that", "There was so much happening so fast, you just panicked" and finally "Everyone makes mistakes." Those things might all be true however the reality is that most people don't touch, move and hide a knife used in a stabbing. It's just not an action that makes sense regardless of the scenario. I have no history of criminal activity, beyond buying drugs when I used, and had nothing to gain by interfering with evidence. So why did I do it? I don't know.

I was in the Methadone clinic with a patient when the new take-charge staff member burst in and announced we were on "Standby". Great but we had no procedure that included being on "Standby" and I didn't have a clue what this guy was on about. In the parking lot chaos reigned as patients and witnesses were screaming about a stabbing and the vicious beating that precipitated that kind of violence. The girl who had been attacked was howling in pain and clutching her head and face as our nurses began treatment waiting for EMS to arrive. The stabbing victim was gone - driven to the hospital by his girlfriend. Patients and witnesses were all over staff attempting to give statements and staff were attempting to stop other people from leaving the scene. Needless to say with the nature of what goes on in the world of someone with a long history of drug use the interaction with law enforcement has not always been positive. People have outstanding warrants or are simply freaked out and want to get out of there. As a Counselor at the clinic as much as I wanted to leave that wasn't an option for me. Since the boyfriend of the girl who was almost beaten to death was my patient I didn't have to stand over the puddle of blood to protect that bit of evidence. Thank goodness for small favors!

Detectives began to swarm and people were seemingly excited to make statements. Being part of the chaos, where drug users feel most comfortable, was seductive to most standing outside. My patient had briefly gone inside to try and get his medication but had rejoined the detectives outside and fingers were being pointed at him. The man who had been stabbed, also a patient, had been attacking him as well. My patient denied he had stabbed anyone, but I knew better and the entire event was becoming very surreal. It felt like hours had gone by and yet it was only 25 minutes or so. The parking lot was baking hot and after the Ambulance left with his girlfriend my patient literally wilted against a Sheriff's car. Given the opportunity by the Detective to give a truthful account - with no negative impact for delay so far - my patient asked me what to do. "Call your lawyer and continue to make the Next Right Choice" - such an AA directed thing to say. Making choices based on honesty and doing the right thing, not trying to hide from consequences. When following that paradigm events usually work out for the best. I should have listened to myself.

When we got to my office - the detective had no problem letting him go alone as he was only a witness at that point - my patient admitted to me that he had indeed stabbed the man beating his girlfriend. She had been working for him as a call girl. Wanted to get out but owed him money. She refused to work to pay it off and he was going to "beat her out". Why our parking lot I don't know but I imagine the amount of cocaine the stabbing victim did on a regular basis didn't help him control an already on edge temper. I had to meet with detectives in another office to discuss the events and weakly joked that he please not hide the knife in my office because my husband is here on a green card and we can't afford trouble. In all sincerity my patient said he would never do that and that the knife was hidden on the top of a storage cabinet in the hallway. Oh..

While meeting with the Detectives all that I could think of is the knife. Where it was. That it was. That it had been used in a crime. I had never even thought about what that would be like having that knowledge. I don't even watch CSI! Meeting done, Lawyer called and Methadone dispenced to my patient who has been taken into custody on an outstanding warrant. Only an hour and a half after the initial cry of "Standby" and the clinic was quiet. Other staff members were elsewhere and I was thinking about this knife - too much. My patient had described it as a small pocket knife that he carried on a regular basis. I imagined something that would fit into the palm of my hand. Compact. Every day. It was on the top of the storage cabinet outside the copy room and using that as a cover I ran my hand over the top to see if I could feel it. Nothing. I was frustrated because the need to see the weapon was growing. With no one around I used the stool that was sitting there to be able to see the top of the cabinet and there it was.

The pocket knife was so much bigger than I imagined, 4 inches long, and before any other thought went through my head my hand was on it and hence my fingerprints. I thought my chest would explode. WHAT THE HELL HAVE I DONE! I didn't know what to do. Wipe off my prints? Call other staff member? Faint? How do I explain this? How do I keep my job? FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK. Without any thought I walked to my office just down the hall and dropped the knife behind my bookcase. What to do now? I knew my patient stabbed the other patient. I knew where the knife was, I touched the knife and I hid the knife. In making the next right choice my patient admitted to the stabbing and told the Detectives where he had placed the knife. A little old crime scene investigator came in to find it and asked if he had been alone at any time. Why yes - he had been in my office. In many ways I wanted him to find it behind the bookcase but he really wasn't the best search man ever. Just as well. My prints were on the knife so ......

In the end I had to admit the knife was in my office. To back the plea of self defense the weapon needed to be matched to the wound. At no point was my moving of the knife to protect my patient but if moving that knife was going to put him at any risk it was a no brainer as to what my next right choice needed to be. Once I admitted to what I had done the lead investigator sat with my while I wrote my statement. He was "Good Cop". Another Detective, "Bad Cop", came in to berate me for wasting time in finding the knife. It had taken me a very short time to admit what I had done, I was terrified, and frankly I already knew I was screwed so I told him to FUCK OFF. I didn't need "Bad Cop" because good cop was getting all they needed without being a prick. I will have to ask my mother if she dropped me on my head as an infant!

The moment that will never leave my head is when the crime scene investigator pulled the knife from behind the bookcase and flipped it open. The blade was 4 inches long and red with blood. Real human blood on a blade that had been inside of another human being. I stood pressed against the wall and felt sick. Sick for the girl who was beaten for wanting to leave prostitution, sick for where drugs take people, sick for my obsession and how disconnected it was from the personal crime of stabbing. All of it made me sick.

I am a phenomenal drug counselor. I know this because everyone through the hierarchy who has ever worked with me wrote reports supporting my continued employment. It took two weeks to finally decide to terminate me and I feel the best decision was made. Until I am able to process why I did it, why I touched and moved the knife, I need to take a break from working in that particular context. I'm not sure if I will ever work in a Methadone Maintenance clinic again, how much as an addict in recovery I was adversely effected by patients abusing the system. I do know that if I continue to do my best making the next right choice I can move forward. I have been honest about what I did with the people around me, other addicts aloholics, and my family.

It is true that we don't know what we will do in any given situation until we are in it. I never would have expected myself to react in that particular way but I did. I have certainly learned a big lesson - when it comes down to the brutal reality of life I may do incredibly stupid things but it's OK. I don't know yet how all of this will shape me into the person I will be in the future. What I do know...That when people say "Just don't do it again!" it makes me smile just a little bit.

No 5k for my vagina

Thu, 15 Apr 2010 16:04:15 -0400

There was a time when the word cancer was whispered. Woman would gather in the kitchen over coffee and a cake that one had brought and discuss the news of the week. Greta was visiting relatives in Great Neck. Nancy was going to a resort in the Adirondacks with the children and Bob would go up on weekends. Did you hear? ........ Lori's mother has ...... Cancer.

The very word Cancer, with a capital "c", would have the weight of a anvil but would always be said in hushed tones. In recent years that has no longer been the case. We discuss it openly. Prevention, treatments, cures and even living in remission for years. Cancer is no longer a word that is whispered.

In 2006 Farah Fawcett was diagnosed with anal cancer, and in 2007 became the face of a potentially stigmatizing condition that can be the result of infection with the human papilloma virus (HPV), a sexually transmitted infection. I was impressed that she could be so open about discussing cancer that can often be linked to promiscuity but also to a part of the body that is very private. She was able to educate so many people about the prevalence of HPV and in an article about Farrah there was a quote that I loved.

"This was not necessarily the result of a sexually transmitted disease, and if it is, so what?" said Dr. Otis Brawley, chief medical officer of the American Cancer Society. "We need to not stigmatize this disease and the people who have it." Rock on Doc Brawley!

When it comes to anal cancer the reality is that the word anal isn't really a word that gets whispered either. We talk about being anal, people being assholes, getting your thumb out of your ass, stick it up your ass, buttholes, anal leakage....I think I have made my point. I don't want cancer on my anus, but then who does, but saying anus isn't too hard.

Instead I got cancer on my vagina. On my vulva to be exact. Vulvar cancer. All of a sudden I am back to whispering. I'm that woman sitting at the kitchen table clutching a cup of coffee - wishing for cake because no one brought one - and whispering vagina. When did I suddenly become so reticent about saying vagina out loud? Why does no one but me know where the Vulva is? No - it is not that boxy but safe car on the driveway outside! When my children were little we taught them all the proper names. Penis and vagina, not pee-pee or ho-ha. Frankly it just never came up in public so it wasn't an issue, but if it had we would have been proud to talk penis and vagina! We were proud to talk about clavicle and patella so as far as I am concerned it was right on the same level.

There are similarities between Vulvar and Anal cancer - in 1/3 to 1/2 of cases of Vulvar cancer in younger women HPV appears to play an important role. Both remain fairly rare with about 4000 cases of vulvar cancer diagnosed each year. Treatment is invasive and interferes with basic function. There are no 5ks or ribbons for either.

My "Gusband" makes me laugh and reminds me of the most important thing I will get out of this. Vaginal rejuvenation! It is all the rage and I will be able to get the best of the best! Just think - I have discovered a way I don't have to whisper the word vagina and an entire population who will adore discussing my labia. The Housewives of the OC!

Bloody denial

Sat, 27 Feb 2010 22:02:20 -0500

Four years ago today things were not going according to plan! I needed to be making cupcakes for Charlie’s birthday tonight. This wasn’t good. My stomach was rolling and waves of dizziness forced me to sit in the tiled hall by the side door with a greyhound on a 12ft leash. There was no way that I could physically stand in the driveway to wait for him to pee.

My cunning plan was to curl up on the tile floor, trying not to vomit, while the dog did his business. I remember a buzzing sensation coming over me while I watched Ranger pick his way over the snow. It wasn’t a familiar feeling and something told me this was not a good thing. Reality started to slip away a bit - kind of fuzzy and far away. I knew I had to stay conscious because there was a dog on the other end of that line. I rolled over onto my knees, pressed my forehead onto the tile and rocked back and forth. No way was I passing out!

Dragging on the leash I got Ranger into the house, the door closed and sweat started to pour off me. I hadn’t been feeling right all morning. Not my usual “I don’t feel good” - which is code for the horrendous lifecycle of hangovers that happens to the chronic alcoholic. It was an unwell that went deep enough to stop me from starting my day with the usual glass of vodka and a glass of wine so things were far from “normal"!

I had gotten that dog inside and hopefully I had already sorted out the other. I vaguely remembered having started this process with the other Greyhound but with the sweat really dripping off me and my stomach starting to clench it stopped mattering. Just as I hit the sink I started to vomit and in that weird way felt so much better - and so much worse. The sink was full of blood. It was so bright red and against that white ceramic sink it made it even more shocking. It became one of those Do Over moments. The ones where as they are happening you are realize just how craptastic they are and that the potential ramifications are not going to be good no matter what so all you can this is Please can I have a Do Over? One of those.

In a heart beat retching began again and my mind was filled with thoughts that were simply the very definition of denial….

“OK…I’m going to feel better in a minute. Just throw up, rest a minute and thenI need to make the damn cupcakes!”

“Maybe I won’t have to call Martin. I’m going to feel better in a minute and then it will be a birthday and presents!”

The sweat started to build again and I started to throw up more blood. Some was fresh , some wasn’t and my hope that this might end remained alive. If there was dark blood then maybe this would stop and I wouldn’t have to call my husband. He wouldn’t have to know. This could be like the time I woke up on the kitchen floor not knowing how long I had been there. I had been a train wreck then too.

Earlier in the fall I had walked the kids to school on a beautiful morning and come home to do laundry and write. The path between my study and the box of wine sitting in the fridge was well worn as I meandered back and forth tweaking dialogue or crafting plot points. Somewhere along that path I didn’t make it back to my study because I regained consciousness flat on my stomach in the middle of my kitchen in a puddle of my own urine, feces and vomit. I must have decided that the floor of my kitchen was as far as I could go. That making it to my bathroom was not going to happen so it was all exits no waiting and then I proceeded to pass out. Attractive. I didn’t call my husband . I just threw away all those clothes, showered, brushed my teeth very well, and walked with the dogs down to get the kids from school.

So looking down into the sink after this second wave of blood I was desperately hoping this was a case of clean up and move on like that occasion. Always under the delusion that all will be well if only I could manage well. What an illusion it is ….. And so very powerful. A new wave was building and this was triggered by me simply shifting my weight as I leaned on the sink. I was getting worse by the minute and my instincts were now screaming for me to get a phone and now I began to wonder if I should even call Martin or just go straight to 911. The decision was taken out of my hands when my 15 year old came home from school and did for me what I could not do for myself - he acted like an adult and called for help from his father.

I continued to be unreasonable.

“I’ll be fine”

“This will pass, it’s nothing serious”

“I need to make cupcakes for Charlie! She’ll be so upset”

The real issue was that I couldn’t drink. I was beginning to withdrawal pretty hard and I wanted a drink - I physically needed a drink. Even though I was bleeding internally, throwing up blood, knew I could bleed out - the need for a drink was so intense - the addiction was telling me to try and do anything to get a drink. What a nightmare! Martin forced me to get into the car because it was quicker then an Ambulance!

When we arrived at the Cleveland Clinic events began to blur. The withdrawal was increasing and my mind was swinging out of control. Physically my blood loss was impacting me at this point in odd ways. I was so physically sick that being taken over the lip of the elevator made me throw up and they give you that tiny little kidney shaped bowl. Who invented that? Then I had to have a nasal/gastric tube to get the blood out of my stomach. Don’t ever let someone do this to you when conscious - seriously just don’t.

By the time I was placed in my room they were waiting to sober me up and get me stable to cauterize the ulcer I had created in my stomach. My daughters birthday had been lost in the mess made by my drinking. Like so many other events in her life - and the lives of our other two children. She didn’t get cupcakes that night. I had four transfusions, treatment for dehydration, management for withdrawal and all the attention that addicts love! ME. ME. ME. As Usual.

I had to tell the doctors the true extent of my drinking - because I didn’t want to have a seizure. I was afraid I would die. At that point it was a box of wine a day plus a quart of vodka. My consumption would grow to in clude another quart before the end 7 months later - on my older sons birthday.

Prior to release from the hospital for the bleeding ulcers the team of doctors came to meet with me - an intervention I guess. They each told me not to drink again, that it was a very bad thing for me. It was the teams belief that I was very close to death. As if this was news to me. They were very caring and very kind - but this is addiction. I said "Yes, I understand". But but death was no more on ther other side of the door right now so I was scared anymore. I drank again as soon as I was able.

Today on the fourth anniversary of that day we are spending our daughters birthday - actually it's on the 29th but what can you do - at her horse show. We will be watching her compete at the farm she trains and we keep our money. We will be there as a family.

And she gets a very goofy cake tonight!!

I’m Elizabeth and I’m an Alcoholic. I have been sober for 3.47 years, or 41.58 months, or 1,266 days, 0o 30, 3077 hours

But really the person who has the most sobriety is the person who got up earlies this morning.

Bob Marshall is a little BM

Wed, 24 Feb 2010 23:02:25 -0500

Nature has taken it’s vengeance on my children. Bob Marshall pronounced last Monday that the number of children born subsequent to a first abortion with handicaps has increased dramatically. According to Mr. Marshall - a great scholar of the Old Testament - this is because the first born of all creatures is the special gift to the Lord. The Lord is punishing my kids.

That’s just not very nice!!!

In May 1987 I was preparing to graduate from Temple University. It wasn’t going to happen in June because I was running a just bit late. To prevent an "Attitude of Entitlement" my Grandfather had cut me off financially and against my will I was forced to work three jobs to put myself through school. While this was “the best thing to ever happen to me” I had to transfer to a cheaper school which slowed me down! I was engaged to a fantastic man living in London and our wedding would take place three days after graduation and we would then be winging our way back to England for Graduate school. The world stopped when I missed a period.

Seriously!? Can this be happening. My Grandfather is an OG/GYN - I know better! I am on the pill!! CRAP! My thoughts raced. So did the fiancé - we were panicking, but there were options for us.

Neither of us wanted a child. Neither of us were prepared to be parents. We had taken precautions. For us abortion was the correct choice and while it wasn’t a pleasant experience by any means I have never regretted it. According to Bob Marshall and the Old Testament I was Dead Wrong and my offspring are paying the price!

Tomorrow my husband and I are driving to Raleigh NC to UNC Hospitals to see the Cleft Palate Team that has overseen our daughters care since 1996. One of the factors in returning to the United States was her surgical care. Charlie was born in Coventry UK with a full cleft of her soft palate. We had no warning as this type of cleft often doesn’t show up in a level one scans and we had no reason to believe we had a high risk pregnancy. How were we to know that my first abortion would lead to The Lord punishing our child? It wasn’t included in “What to Expect When You Are Expecting”!

When Charlie was lifted out and we were told she was a girl we were overjoyed! Already the proud parents of a 5 ½ year old son, having a daughter was perfect. Born by Cesarean, Charlie was taken into a side room by a midwife while I was stitched up, but they didn’t bring her back. Time went by, and time went by. Still more time passed, and we began to worry. We couldn’t see her and in 1996 in a British hospital we had very little control over what happened in that room. We were not going to see that infant until they brought her back. The midwife slipped back in to the delivery room because she knew we would be frantic at this point, and very kindly told us that Charlie had what she believed was a cleft of the soft palate. She thought it was fairly big but couldn’t be sure because our little darling wasn’t being terribly cooperative about opening her mouth. This set the pace for the following 14 years since! Charlie was doing well and we would be able to see her when the senior pediatric registrar had examined her. Well...fuck.

We had already been thinking of leaving Great Britain. My husband is a Physicist but couldn’t find a job in the same city, or even country, in which we owned a house. He was living in Glasgow, Scotland and I was living in Coventry, England. This seemed even more unworkable with a child that couldn’t even suck. No soft palate - no ability to suck. It took 2 ½ hours to feed Charlie and she had to eat every 3 hours. She would get exhausted so I would have to undress her and flick the bottom of her feet to keep her awake. I was working full time and looking back 14 years I don’t know how I did it! I do remember curling up on the floor of my office and sleeping occasionally!

It took us 6 months to prepare to leave England and despite everything - being highly educated, three of us being American citizens, and Martin and I living together for 7 years - and being married for 18 months - we had to be sponsored to come into the US. My own country! Go figure! We finally arrived on August 31, 1996 - when Charlie was 6 months old. She had to have palate repair at 9 months for good speech development, and we had no jobs and no medical insurance!! No pressure.

We were extrodinarily fortunate that Martin was able to get a fantastic job with a large company with excellent medical coverage within 6 weeks of our arrival in the US. Thank God - wait the same one who is punishing our child for that first abortion of mine? I’m confused!

At 9 months Charlie had her first palate repair and she did look kind of punished. She looked scared moments before surgery as they took her away because she didn’t understand that we had searched for the best surgeons to rebuild what nature had not given her. She looked really pissed off too because she didn’t like the strangers dressed like spacemen and frankly the entire place smells funny! It’s also cold. Operating rooms are cold! Yep feeling punished Bob!

In those first post surgical hours my daughter didn’t look so much punished as she looked vulnerable. It was heart wrenching and unavoidable and with it came the knowledge that this surgery would not be her last but the first of several throughout her childhood and adolescence.

Tomorrow morning we hit the road with Charlie - who very much looking forward to her evaluation. She has known these doctors almost her entire life and they have take great care of her. We are planning what will be one of her last revisions. She’s really looking forward to this one because being able to blow French fries out your nose is just not a marketable skill - although at her last horse show she found it is an awesome party trick!

Ask my daughter if she feels punished and she will laugh in your face although she will tell you she is “structurally unsound”. Her thoughts on abortions are pro-choice - either way as appropriate to the individual and she believes that Bob Marshall is a “Douche-Nozzle”.

Bob Marshall has recanted his statement about handicaps as punishment and the links to first abortions claiming he was misunderstood - but anyone who has read his words or heard what he said directly has be left with no doubt to his meaning. That he lives in a world of an angry unforgiving God is frankly very sad. What a world that is. Punishing, harsh, and full lies and hate. What is most disgusting is that his world craps all over mine. Mostly it is the kind of crap that is unimportant. Like bird shit on my windshield. Annoying but easily wiped off or a little dog shit on my shoe - just scrape it off on some grass.