Halloween Fetes

     It's Halloween, so I decided to find something interesting to post about. Here are a few old newspaper articles  that I found.

        

    This one is from a Pascagoula Mississippi newspaper called The Chronicle. In 1963 there was a Halloween event called "Holiday on Ice." It was at the Indiana Coliseum, the best seats in the house cost $3.30, and apparently the place was packed. It was opening night and all was going according to plan... until the final act. 

    A propane tank used for cooking hot dogs and popcorn exploded. It come up through the concrete floor under the seats and threw people like ragdolls. 

    Bodies were hurled 40 and 50 feet through the air onto the ice where chorus girls had pirouetted a moment before. Mink stoles lay among torn bodies, crumpled popcorn boxes and empty beer containers. In point of numbers killed it was the greatest tragedy in Indianapolis history. 

    

64 people died and 341 were injured
    

    I had to look up the word 'fetes' as I'm not familiar with it. It's really just another word for festival or celebration.
    

This one just has me  confused and wanting more information. It's from The Seattle Star, 1922.

    Knocked to the floor by a coffee pot hurled by his wife, Sam Funes, 43, shoe stand proprietor, was taken to the city hospital Tuesday night, after a Halloween celebration at the family home. Funes was treated for several lacerations on the head and released.

    So he was a professional shoe shiner. I wonder what sort of thing he'd being doing for work today. The real question is whether it was an accident or on purpose. Did he deserve it?

   

    This one could've been deadly but they was it's described and how I see it in my head is like a cartoon.  It comes from the Newark Evening Star, 1913. 

    A boy saw one of those huge cable spools at the top of a hill and decided he was going to see what would happen if he let it loose. The only thing holding it was a block of wood, so he just waited until no one was looking, removed it, then ran like hell. 

    The spool started slowly, but as the great cylinder, six feet in diameter and weighing a thousand pounds, rolled on, its momentum increased.

    Just before it reached Twelfth street, crowded with motorcars and pedestrians, it was traveling thirty miles an hour. Then it crashed against a water plug, when it stopped.

    The hydrant was snapped off at the base and the rushing water shot into the door of a saloon. Four girls on the sidewalk were within ten feet of the plug. Their dresses were ruined. Several men were also soaked.

    Why don't we call them saloons anymore? It just seems so much better than a 'bar.' 

    

        

     Without kids around or anywhere to go Halloween just isn't that exciting. I've made some cupcakes and got food coloring for some spooky cocktails. If it's not too cold and wet I'll probably have a fire outside or maybe watch a horror movie. 

    Trying to come up with something witty or even interesting to end this one on is trying to drive me insane. I just hope that you enjoyed the short stories, have a good day of your own and that you stay curious.

More Complications

     When I woke I had a tube in my mouth and my arms were tied to the bed. I didn't like the tube and somehow managed to lean forward enough to and pull it out. Then I went back to sleep. Things are really blurry for me after this point, apparently it's an anesthesia thing. I remember a bunch of family coming and talking to me, that's about it. 

    When I started to really come around the doctors started telling me more about my surgery. My colon had been completely removed and I now had an ileostomy. I had a bag attached to my lower right abdomen for poop to empty into. Even though I just had major surgery I felt better than I had in months. I had finally gotten some sleep and a break from pooping. 

    I was so swollen from all the fluids they pumped me with that my knees could barely bend, but of course you have to get up and walk after surgery. Again, I felt better than I had in a long time and my spirits were way up, so the doctors thought I could handle hearing about my surgery and what dealing with this bag was going to be like. 

    It turns out that my large intestine had gotten really swollen to the point where it began to clot and blood could not longer move in or out. 

    I've been searching over an hour now for the name of this condition. All I could find at first were a million different sites talking about priapism, when an erection lasts too long. Finally I got the wording right and found a name for it, intestinal ischemia, on the Mayo Clinic site. I skimmed through just to be sure it was the right thing, and at the bottom it says: 

   

When to see a doctor

Seek immediate medical care if you have sudden, severe abdominal pain. Pain that makes you so uncomfortable that you can't sit still or find a comfortable position is a medical emergency.

      Now I'm getting upset all over again. I remember being at the doctors office rocking back and forth, standing up, sitting down, getting into a fetal position, every which way I could think of just to try to get into a comfortable position. And the doctor sent me home with prednisone and Gatorade. It was almost two MONTHS before I had emergency surgery. 

    Looking back at that visit I can see how stupid I was for not just going to the ER. But I was 24, not in my right mind and scared that I would be paying off medical bills the rest of my life. I had no idea there was assistance for people with no insurance or that I could get Medicaid. (I thought it was the same as Medicare and it was only for the elderly.) 

    But the fucking doctors! They went to medical school, they're supposed to help people, they should know better! 

     I digress.

    My large intestine (colon)  had died and had to be taken out. But the surgeons had plans for me, a j-pouch. I'll explain more about that another time, but basically I was going to have two more surgeries over the next six months and go on to lead a relatively normal life. They were to be in three month intervals, so for now all I had to do was heal and learn to live with this temporary crap bag. I hated the crap bag.    

Water Sucks. It Really, Really Sucks

    It's laundry day and I have several loads to do. I also needed to do some errands and grab some things from the store.  My first load didn't drain well during the spin cycle, I thought maybe my husband had stopped it for some reason. I just decided to set it to spin again and went about cleaning the counters. When my husband came inside I mentioned it to him and he said he hadn't touched it. I shrugged it off, put in another load and went off to my errands.

    While we were out we got a phone call from my step sister who is living with us, she wanted to know where to find the mop and some shitty towels. I guess she must've spilled something. We finished our shopping and went home.

        When we got to the house the kitchen was in disarray and soaked towels were everywhere. It was like there had been a flood, she had soaked up a ton of water before we even got there. She was probably freaking out, can you imagine being at someone else's house and having some crazy shit like that happen? 

    I digress.

    The water had come up and out of the sink drain and went all over the kitchen.  I have a big-ass one tub sink, too, that's a lot of water. Then I remembered the washing machine. 

    My husband got out a plunger and took to the sink. Almost immediately water spewed from the back of the washing machine and up towards the ceiling. Eventually the plunging worked out the clog and we started to clean up the rest of the water. It's a good thing I have lots of old towels.

    I'd been wanting to clean the cabinet under the sink for a while and since it was now soaked there really wasn't a better time. I took everything out, got rid of the stuff we don't need and mopped up the best I could. By the time I was finished it was time to make dinner, chicken cordon bleu; I'd never made it before.  It has ham in it and I had leftovers so it seemed like a good idea. 

    I can get pretty stressed the first time I try a recipe so started gathering the ingredients.  I just wanted everything I'd need right there and ready to use.  This recipe calls for breadcrumbs and I keep those in my lazy Susan. This one is built in to the cabinet and has two solid plastic shelves on top of each other, common I think. But... both shelves had turned into swimming pools. The damn water had made it's way across the counter and into both of the levels somehow. 

    I started pulling out everything, ramen, the bread crumbs, brownie mix, peanut butter, etc. Everything not in plastic was soaked. My husband had to get the Shop-Vac and suck up as much water as possible. I had to throw out an entire trash bag of soaked food. By the time I got finished doing that it was 7:15 pm and I'd had enough. I told my husband that I didn't care what we ate for dinner but I wasn't making it; chicken cordon bleu will have to wait. He got pizza. 

    Now I'm sitting here at my chicken table, with a laundry basket full of cleaners and things that go under the sink, while a fan tries to completely dry the shitty wood it's made from. I've got a load in both the washer and the dryer, normally that would be the last of it. Tonight I'll have to do all of the towels and rugs so they don't mildew, hoping all the while that the water goes where it's supposed to. I really hope it does because all I have left are hand towels and blankets!    

    I'm not really sure what the point is in me telling this story. Maybe someone will read it and be able to relate, or maybe they'll be glad it wasn't them this time. Anyway, stay curious. 

    Just after writing this a friend of mine told me his dog died today. As hectic and annoying as my day was, I'm now so grateful that too much water was my biggest issue. Rest in peace little guy.  

Complications

    Like most people, my life has complications. My first big one started when I was 24. It's about to get  shitty, and I do mean literal shit; you've been warned. It all started on a particularly warm February day. I need to back up a bit here...

    I used to spend most of my summer days outside tending my lawn and flowers. I couldn't get enough. I also have horrible seasonal depression. Once the leaves start to fall my sadness for winter starts. So when that warm day came I couldn't wait to be outside. I wanted to see what was starting to bud and make plans for future days in the sun and dirt. 

    As I'm walking around (With no jacket on!) I feel a bit of warm wetness in my panties. It was strange and not at all normal, but I had better things on my mind and let it go. After a few seconds I'd forgotten about it. I really wanted some rose bushed, and was trying to find the perfect spot for them, when I felt that warmth wetness in my panties again. This was really abnormal so I decided to go inside and see what was going on. 

    It didn't feel like I'd gotten my period because there were no cramps, plus it wasn't my time. I went to the bathroom, pulled down my panties and saw poop. Like baby poop. It was just a small amount, like if I'd just started my period while I was asleep. I cleaned myself up and got some new panties on, all the while trying to figure out why this had happened. I didn't feel ill and I'd never felt the need to go. I ended up just thinking it was a freak thing and I'd eaten something that didn't like me.

    Nothing happened like that for a few weeks but then I started having diarrhea daily. I felt totally fine. I was eating normally and was just as active. It had warmed up enough for me to actually start some flower beds and pick a place for the veggies to go. I was glad that winter was definitely over and spring was almost officially here. And the pooping started to happen more often. Again, I still felt fine otherwise.

    As time went on the diarrhea got more watery and more often. I started have pain in my lower left side and my appetite dropped.  One of the most odd things that happened was that I didn't fart anymore. It was like it got stuck in there and wouldn't come out unless I was on the toilet and pooped first. Trapped gas is really painful, especially when it starts to move. 

    This all happened way more gradually than it seems on paper.  (I have to tell myself that for my ego; I can't be that naïve.) I had no insurance and not much money to spare, but by June I had to go see someone about this shit. 

    The clinic I went to was one that's based on your income; I'd never been there before. I remember telling the man, whose name I don't remember, my symptoms. He didn't seem too concerned or engaged in the whole thing. When I told him about the farting he actually looked at me like it was TMI and irrelevant. He ordered some bloodwork and some poop tests. I didn't go back to that place again; I felt like hell and didn't need to be looked down on by the one who supposedly wanted to help me.

    The poop tests... I was given three plastic tubes. They were shaped like a mixture of those cups you pee in and the vials they put your blood in. They size was somewhere in between.  For three days I had to collect poop and add them to these specimen containers. I don't remember exactly what the directions were, but I had to add poop from one day into all three containers. On the second day I added poop to just two of them. I don't remember the last day or if I'm even remembering right. I'm sure I had to bounce back and forth between containers and do a little mixing though. It was unpleasant, sure, but I really wanted some answers. 

    The next week I went to the beach. We'd rented the house months before and my husband needed a vacation.  I was going to the toilet 15-20 times a day by this point and my ass was seriously irritated and chafed,   It was miserable except for the hot tub, it took away all the pain. This was the last week of June.

    After that place first place I went to one with similar payment options that felt more comfortable. By this time my symptoms were getting particularly bad. I was in constant pain and using the toilet at least 20+ times a day.  I remember being in so much pain during that first visit that I couldn't even communicate with the doctor. I was rocking back and forth and changing positions just to try to find a comfortable one. My husband did most of the talking. I had a ton of bloodwork done, was given prednisone, and told to drink Gatorade mixed with water. 

    By this time I was going so much that I was having trouble making it down the stairs at night before the liquid poop just started coming out of me. Between the pain and bathroom breaks I was barely sleeping an hour at a time. We had to put a mattress just outside of the bathroom door so I could basically just lay there until I had to get up again. I was barely living and in need of help, but who can afford quality healthcare at 24? 

    The prednisone was definitely a love/hate relationship. I gave me energy because it made me obsessed with food... but I was completely obsessed with food. I would be eating one thing and thinking about what I'd get to have next. Spicy food could not get spicy enough, and it all tasted amazing. I still had pain but it was manageable, I was still really weak but I could function. I really needed that break, I don't think I could've lasted much longer without it. But you can't stay on prednisone for too long; I had to be weaned off and all of my symptoms came back with a vengeance.

    Some test came back and said I had inflammatory bowel disease. I had no idea what that meant. I immediately began searching online to find out all I could about IBD. I learned there were several different kinds but only two could've really pertained to me, ulcerative colitis and Crohns disease. So I kept reading and learning. I wanted to know what I had, why I had it and how the hell to make it stop hurting me so bad. The doctors said I need more tests before I could really be put on any medication and I was almost completely weened off the prednisone. I was miserable.

    By August I still had no answers. I was skinny, in pain, pooping 30+ times all day and night, my ass was raw, I was barely sleeping, and now my mouth was so full of ulcers that I couldn't eat; it even hurt to talk. I was dying. 

    My older sisters (Not Mrs. Ronas, lets call her Teach because she's a teacher) birthday is on the 6th of August and she came to see me. Apparently I looked so awful that she couldn't stand it anymore. She made me get into the car and go to the University of Virginia hospital. I think this may have been a joint effort between her and other family members, I'm really not sure because life was a blur at this point. 

    When I got there they immediately started running all kinds of tests. I remember at one point yelling at a young female doctor for wanting to do the same tests that I'd had done at the other place already. I don't know why I got so angry or how I found the energy to do it, but I've felt guilty about it ever since. (I'm almost positive that this same woman is now my primary digestive health provider, but I'm too embarrassed to bring it up.)  After that they gave me some kind of tranquilizer thing and continued with tests.

    I have no idea how much time I spent in the ER, but my family members just kept showing up. I guess I was probably falling in and out of sleep because I was so exhausted, but a new family member would come talk to to me every so often and tell me who all was there. It was really odd, I don't feel that important but I was too tired to think about it too much.

    The next thing I remember was being in a smaller room with about ten family members, some of which don't get along, and like six doctors in white coats. They wanted me to sign papers were telling me that I needed surgery asap. I, again, got angry and yelled about how it wasn't fair that I had to make this decision before getting some sleep. Some of the coats left, but one man stayed (I still have no idea who he is) and got down to my level. He calmly explained to me that if I didn't have surgery I was probably going to die. So I cried, signed the papers and fell back asleep.   

    

Its Been a While

      I started this blog years ago because I needed something to do with my life. I put so much time and effort into finding things I thought others would be interested in, but no one was looking.  I started to try and say things simply and not go into too much detail because I thought people would be more likely to read things that were shorter and more fun. That didn't happen so I stopped writing.

    I have to admit that so much has changed but also stayed the same. I'm bored and unfulfilled in life. I need something. Maybe this blog will interest someone and they'll become a fan. I won't be counting on it. Mostly, though, I feel the need to just express myself before I explode.

    I don't have any real friends. I'd have to say that my closest friend in the past 20 years has been my cat, Kit. I had to have her put down on February 22 2021. She was 16 and it was just her time. I still feel like she's here and expect her to walk into the room at any moment. She always wanted to be in the bathroom with me and I still leave the door open for her when I shower.  

    Since then my closest friend has been my younger sister. She may get bored and read this at some point so I feel like she needs a code name or something...  Lets call her Mrs. Ronas. She made that name up when we were kids. She couldn't actually read yet, but she was making up a story based on the pictures. Hopefully she remembers and it embarrasses her a little. :) 

    We did NOT get along as kids. I'm pretty sure she hated me and I was for sure jealous of her. I felt like she took my moms favor when she was born and it really bothered me.  She tells me that it wasn't the picnic I imagined, but that's a whole HUGE other story. As adults we've gotten closer though. We both love our cats like we birthed them and she has her own Kit name Jugga.  

    I'm not really sure what the point of this post is other that to say that I'm back. I don't know how often I'll post or what they'll even be about. I just hope that this time around it feels more like it's for and about me and my interests. 

    Until I find something to write about, stay curious.