FWF Kellie Elmore

Annie looked beautiful when we first landed in the Caribbean for our honeymoon. We did nothing but eat and drink, and relax in the sun. I had worked 80 hour weeks back home, this was heaven.

We went snorkeling in the afternoon to see  glowing yellow and orange striped fish, in the aqua water. The only decision we had been what to order at the swim-up bar in the pool, a lime drenched mojito or a sweet mai thai served with a wedge of pineapple and a fake red cherry.

Dinner was late and I ordered a bottle of champagne and we ate roasted vegetables,  chicken with spices and loaves of thick, crusty bread. There was dancing so we decided to join other people.  Annie wore a bright flowered dress and soon after Annie suggested we go for a swim, we both loved water, especially Annie. We raced into the water, holding hands.

I admit I wasn’t as good as a swimmer as she was, I loved watching her as she laughed and I could see her head, like the flash of an automatic camera, her blond hair in the warm waves, happy she was having fun.

After about twenty minutes I called to her to come back in, I was getting tired of waiting and started yelling for her to come back, I still heard her laughter but it wasn’t funny anymore to me. “Annie, come in,” I shouted as I was approaching the shore.

Scuba diver. Found at Plongée sous-marine & obt’d Image:Plongeur bouteilles.jpg id’d there as (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As I sat on the sand, I saw other tourists looking puzzled and  they pointed first to me, then to Annie. The tide was getting rough.  I kept yelling over to her but she would wave and keep going.

I talked to the people on the shore and told them my story. Someone went inside for help, I was getting nervous. The manager offered the use of his own boat and lifeguard. I knew Annie would be mad but I was so worried that they raced into the water on their boat, if she ran into trouble or was possibly sick.

I sat on the beach, like a statue, rocking back and forth. I could not stop crying. Someone offered a blanket, another endless cups of strong black coffee. I saw the coast guard and his team looking with flood lights.  A whole day went by. Finally, the coast guard said they would have to end the search. Someone had called the police as well as emergency vehicles. I was so weak from crying and not sleeping, I could barely speak.

“I’m sorry Sir, there is no body in that water.” We searched everywhere, scuba divers with advanced equipment came and we found nothing. She was not on the property at all, last night we did not let anyone in or out of our community and she definitely is not in the water. I’m so sorry, Sir.”said the head of police.

Finally, I let out a blood curdling scream, “she’s out there, you have to find her” but they shook their heads firmly. Later, everyone walked me to our room and the manager unlocked the door. I looked around, inside, there was not a single item of Annie’s, not her clothing, her make up, her tooth-brush, nothing of hers was there. I saw them look at each other, frowning.

“What did you do to her?” I screamed to the hotel and the police. She WAS here, ask anyone, at dinner, at the scuba diving lessons.” They started to cuff my hands.

“We did, Sir, we did that last night, there never was anyone with you named Annie, you arrived alone checked into this room alone and stayed by yourself. We even called the airlines and you were flying alone there was not an Ann or Annie on the flight.”

I fought with them, I told them she HAD been here but they insisted on taking me to the hospital to get checked out. “But what about Annie? I sobbed. “Perhaps she is waiting for you at the hospital” one police offer said, they gave me a shot and I let them take me, to see Annie, so that they would believe me.

I’m still at a hospital, a different one. Here they also said Annie was not real, over and over again. They call me delusional but even now, after all these months I know that Annie had been with me, for real, even if she had only been in my mind.

That counts, right?

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

Eppiglottitis: Asked and Answered

Throat Diagram (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

To my fellow Eppiglottis Sufferers,

Here are some answers to questions you have asked me:

1) YES you CAN get Eppiglottitis AGAIN and I’m sorry. ( I have had it twice )

2) There is no way to prevent it. If you found a way, please contact me immediately.

3) Yes, it causes unbearable pain.

4) I  worry as soon as my throat tickles much less hurts.

5) “Calling Eppiglottitis A Bitch Is A Vast Understatement” is my most sought after and popular blog post.

6) No, I never had my throat/breathing problems/occur  but if you have trouble breathing,

go to the Emergency Room or call for an ambulance. Do NOT take chances.

7) No, you cannot “SEE IT” looking down your throat. It is below the throat and a doctor will have to “scope you.”

(don’t ask.) Okay, fine, he or she will have to thread a tube through your nose so the doctor can see what is happening down there.

The first time I had it my ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist) said “How the hell did you get THAT?” Gee, thanks, Doc.

8) Yes, I too, live in constant fear of getting it again.

9) Other doctors? I have been told if I get it again (UGH) to see an Infectious Disease Specialist.

10) It hurts so MUCH because it is incredibly painful to swallow and you have to swallow, lying on your stomach and spitting into a bowl is an idea but not a solution.

11) I feel your pain and your anxiety and I hope this will be an Eppiglottitis free year for us all.

12) Yes, I do have Fibromyalgia and an auto-immune disease (Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis) but apparently there is NO connection.

13) and Yes, if there is interest, I will consider starting a group on-line.

Feel free to keep those questions coming and to share your own miserable experiences, believe me I can relate to them all!

GOOD LUCK FOR A PAIN FREE WINTER!

*Where MY Wild Things Are

mischievious max (Photo credit: massdistraction)

Just call me Max, because tonight I live in my own storybook. I’m in a cranky, bad mood and while no one sent me to my room, I almost wished they had. It started off with not knowing where my husband was, he was missing. He didn’t leave a note but he could have left one word on a napkin and that would have been fine. He also left our whining dog, prowling around the house while I was trying to rest and get a little sleep because I felt extra crummy. It wasn’t fair.

It was a bad day for Fibromyalgia and chronic pain, my jaw hurt so much, I had ear pain and TMJ and a headache and no one cared. I wasn’t able to sleep because my dog was annoying me. She wouldn’t even settle down on the bed, up and down, up and down she jumped and I was too tired and achy to get out of bed to put her in the crate. Friends tell me I’m in a Fibro Flare but all I know is that I feel worse, much worse. The weather gets damp and now it’s pouring buckets like my expectations and mood, dumping down on the roof, bypassing the dirty, leaf-filled gutters and ending up in big, thick, muddy puddles. I don’t have rain boots and I can’t play anyway anymore.

I ended up eating a tuna sandwich standing up, alone, in the kitchen, with one foot crossed over the other and I ate it so fast that I didn’t enjoy it one bit. I even gave the dog, “the whining one” some of it. Just as I am shoveling down the sandwich, Mr. Last Minute Ambulance Aider comes strolling in with his fake, perky voice and I feel even angrier. I march up the stairs with the rest of my crappy dinner and the dog follows me for food, not for compassion. My only hope at feeling better is getting to eat the two last bites of the brownies that we saved and I am NOT going to share.

The last two weeks haven’t been good at all, okay, they sucked.  I had the hospital procedure and the horrific mammogram both done this week and I know it’s over but maybe not over one hundred percent because now I’m fuming inside like a chimney with an angry orange fire.  A new friend that I met over the summer,” sisters in spirit,” never sent me a birthday card when I thought for sure she would and I miss not having a dad. I believe in the good in people and then they disappoint me. At the same time a new friend thinks I should self-publish my blogs into a book with photographs. What? It came out of left field for me too. I guess we need to learn about balance sometimes.

My daughter is away at college and is sick again and I hate that. I offer to come up there or asks if she wants to come home but she says “No” and I worry, no matter how old they are and then I say out loud ” I wish you weren’t in college so far away.” I probably should have kept my mouth shut too but I couldn’t.

I am going to sneak down to the kitchen and at the end, I do announce taking the two brownie bites because after all, my husband wasn’t exactly doing a bad thing. They didn’t even taste good. I know that this stupid, horrible, unjust day will look much brighter in the morning when the sun shines, when my jaw stops hurting, after a good night’s sleep. All I’ve been doing is whining, I guess my dog and I have a lot in common.

*Based on the enchanting book:Where The Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

Carry on Tuesday – Life isn’t about what happens to you, it’s about how you handle what happens.

Cardiac ICU (Photo credit: Sam Blackman)

It was Father’s Day, our baby was nine months old and my husband and I had driven from Massachusetts to my parents’ condo in upstate New York. It was our first Father’s Day with our son and after two and a half years of infertility treatment, nothing made us happier than spending time with our boy. I felt blessed that I had finally gotten pregnant and every night I thanked God for this beautiful boy. I had been dealing with shots and blood tests and sonograms and depression every single day and night for over two years.

We had eaten brunch altogether, my sister and her husband and kids had arrived as well, my father seemed unusually quiet. I felt something was wrong; all those times my mom had complained I was “over-sensitive” I was just good at picking up vibrations. My mother looked concerned. Finally, my dad admitted he wasn’t feeling well but refused to go to the doctor. He did not fall over with stabbing pains, he felt bad, his chest hurt but his skin color was not right, it was almost gray and that upset me the most.

We had always had a special bond and he wasn’t listening to my mother or anyone else. I knew, in my heart, in my gut, that something was very wrong. He said that he would drive to the hospital and my mother agreed but there was no way that was going to happen. He refused an ambulance. Finally, I was so upset that I burst into tears and begged, I begged him to let me drive him and my mom to the Emergency Room in Danbury. I sobbed, “Daddy, do it for me” and he said okay.

When we arrived his blood , an EKG administered and a very superior and obnoxious young resident came in and in clipped tones told him, “You are a very, very sick man.” My father was in complete denial and refused to believe him. Apparently he had suffered a major heart attack and was admitted to the hospital. We stayed until we were literally thrown out of the hospital and heard an announcement that my car was just about to be towed. We drove back to their condo not knowing what to do. I remember my mother saying “you saved his life.”

Life isn’t about what happens to YOU, not always, it’s about how you handle what happens when situations arise. It was very late, Sunday night. My husband had to go back to work in Massachusetts, my son was nine months old and we had never been separated. There was no offer from my sister and her husband and I knew my mother could not handle this alone. We had a family history of that. In my heart, I knew what needed to happen. It turned out that my in-laws took my son back to their house, my husband went back to our house and I stayed with my mother to help with my dad. At the time there seemed like there was no other choice. The next morning we found out that he had 90 percent blockage in five arteries. He was indeed, a very sick man.

They moved him to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital and in a few days he had open heart surgery. I visited with my dad and had to say good-bye before they wheeled him to surgery and it’s probably one of the hardest things I have ever done. I cried, I couldn’t stop myself and my father knew me too well, a tear slid down his cheek as well. My dad and I are so alike. My mom and I waited the entire day in the hospital, over six or seven hours, pacing the halls, waiting for his doctor to tell us the news. I couldn’t eat a bite of food all day. Seven hours later the surgeon came out and the news was great, he had gotten through the surgery and we could see him the next day. Imagine my shock, when the next day in ICU he was sitting up, shaved and wearing his glasses!

I never thought I could leave my son, my beloved first-born but sometimes, deep inside you, you know the right thing to do. I have never been sorry that I made that decision. My father lived through the operation and I remember he came home on July 4th, Independence Day.

That night I drove home in the dark, yelled “Hi “to my dear husband, dashed up the stairs and took my sleeping baby, now home, in my arms. I stood there, rocking him back and forth for a very long time.

Women experience different symptoms from men: check out this wonderful website: http://www.myheartsisters.org by Carolyn Thomas