Category Archives: Personal Memoirs

conspiracy, Personal Memoirs, Politics, QAnon and others, Secular Wings, The Unknown Journey, Trauma Talk

The Stairs Collapsed

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You are on the never-ending staircase of this is true, but not quite true, it’s partially true and it could be “fully true” if only you would see that I am right and you are wrong.

QAnon and conspiracy theories.

Is it an emergency? Without hesitation, I triage and deal with it. The doctors said I didn’t have a heart attack. It’s been a few years of no contact. She’s desperate for attention. I smile as I walk into the Unit. I immediately read her monitor. She’s had a heart attack. I listen to her and eventually sitting at her bedside, I tell her she’s had a heart attack. Then she tells me that’s what my sister (also a former R.N.) said. Short story. Sister gets her moved to a hospital she worked in. It helps to know your former boss has a Cardiologist husband. Diagnosis, heart attack. Stent inserted.

I’m on Chapter Nine now. The book is titled The Quiet Damage: QAnon and the Destruction of the American Family, by Jesselyn Cook. In one of those “who knows why” moments I picked up the book again and started reading. From the inside book cover: “The riveting story of five families shattered by pernicious, pervasive conspiracy theories, and how we might set ourselves free from a crisis that could haunt American life for generations.”

The heart attack happened approximately twenty-three years ago. By this time in her life I actually had serious concerns. Well, I always had serious concerns dating back before I entered school. Aside from that, she was doing things and behaving in ways that left me feeling like I was crazy. I use to have the same feeling in church. I’d hear the sermon and look around and wonder if anyone else noticed the craziness. Is it me? I’d wonder.

She was doing QAnon-like stuff and beliefs before QAnon was a thing. She kept most of it to herself. You’d have to be paying attention (I was) to catch a little of it here and a little of it there. It wasn’t unusual for her to come to me. It almost always ended up in an argument. Though she’d yell at me and tell me she’s not fighting. Could have fooled me. I realize now she always needed me to side with her. I had to choose my path wisely.

A few years before Covid hit, I had noticed what seemed to be blips in her memory. She was under considerable stress with dad’s illness and a life-long unhappiness. With encroaching age and stress, one could understand I’d reason. A daughter’s attempt to juggle cognitive dissonance. I started to mention my concern to some family members. Alzheimer’s runs in the family. Early signs? I wondered. There was the time she didn’t know for several minutes who my one sibling was. Another time, she asked me three times in a row, the name of the friend I had mentioned. I bravely but gently asked her if she had noticed any memory issues of late. She looked at me like I was a stranger and she was in a novel she knew nothing about. I eased any angst over by saying, you know, as we age, we do tend to forget things. I know I do. It went over her head. I wondered, is this manipulation on her part. A way to get attention? I later came to understand, it could be both. Narcissism and dementia. Her personality was holding. Her memory, not so much.

Then before we know it, the globe is enveloped in a pandemic. There she was, alone. Dad had died prior to Covid and she was already way down in the mix of conspiracies. She was primed and ready to go. And no matter how adept I was at triaging, I could only fail with this emergency.

Blue Gown Moments, Christian Years, Personal Memoirs, Secular Wings, The Unknown Journey

Our Better Angels

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Religious &/or spiritual belief doctrines of good vs. evil/ the end-times.

I use to believe in angels. They were supernatural beings that had a place in Christian belief. The idea being, they helped God out with all sorts of things. I never knew if they were created beings. Genesis doesn’t list them in the creative order. Scholars may disagree. Alas, I am not a scholar.

I was comforted by the thought that I could conjure them whenever necessary. Protection on icy roads. Battling demonic influences. Helping out with miracles, big and small. I never thought of my dead relatives &/or friends as angels, though that idea existed among some Christians. Grandma is now an angel watching over me.

After a week or so in hospital, on bed rest for spinal issues, I was given permission to walk the halls. I had been able to walk to and from physio, but anything over that, no. So, when I was given that freedom, I did my best to walk and gain some strength back. Are you the young girl with the bad neck, one of the patients asked? I see you walking by my room. I often had a neck collar on for support.

One afternoon, I could hear a patient calling for help. It was an elderly woman’s voice. A familiar voice. I had experience in geriatric nursing. Her pleading was loud and I simply knew I could probably calm her enough until the nurses made their way to her. There was nothing else I could do for her because of my own neck and back, but I was able to comfort her as she had slipped out of her geriatric chair and constraints, onto the floor. If you know me, you know, I had to fight my own will, to NOT pick her up. Safety first for both of us. I stood at the end of her bed.

We chatted a bit. No, I am not able to pick you up. Well, I heard you calling for help, so I came to see you. Yes, the nurses are on their way. No, I’m sorry. I can’t pick you up. I can stay here though if that helps. I’m a patient and I have a bad back. So, I’m not allowed to help you up.

Are you an angel? she asked. Are you an angel sent to help me?

An angel? No. I’m not an angel. (I knew this woman was a Christian.)

She wanted to know why I was helping her. Why would I do that? I reminded her that I heard her cries for help and I simply came to help her until the nurses arrived.

We had other conversations. Mostly of her complaining. I believe she had the right under the circumstances. The nurses arrived, and carried out their duties. This would not have been the first time she slid out of the chair. It wouldn’t be the last time.

Today, I don’t believe &/or think in terms of supernatural angels. I think angels are actual human beings here on the earth who help other human beings. I will allow room for that. :)

Gardens, Healing, Personal Memoirs, Personal Recovery, The Unknown Journey, Trauma Talk

Sandy Bumps

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I can feel the sandbar beneath my young feet. An unexpected moment this morning as I sit here before the sun rises or the snow continues. I allow myself to just remember that feeling. Of my curiosity as to how that happens and what is a sandbar and how is it way out here so far from shore. Is this safe?

It’s a fleeting moment really. But a happy one full of wonder. I felt safe probably because I was far from shore. If only I could stay here and not go back.

I was around 60 years of age when it suddenly occurred to me that I had to embrace me, despite the trauma, in spite of my pain and fake it until I make it as I use to teach in aerobics. For my birthday, we went shopping for a rose bush. I needed something that spoke to me and to help me remember this moment. I found it in the Love and Peace rose. Almost ten years later, it continues to give life, love, peace and remembrance.

A few years later, my therapist helped me understand that I am safe. It wasn’t an easy “get” to tell you the truth. She didn’t say: Look Zoe, you are safe. It didn’t happen like that. She let me come to it on my own. She allowed me to realize, OMG, I’m safe! I’m safe and have been safe but my mind, my body, my heart didn’t know it. I had been waiting for the people back on shore to find their own safety, believing if they could just get there, then I’d finally be safe too. All those years of waiting.

Personal Memoirs, The Unknown Journey

Just six

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We were six year old evangelists for our religions. My friend was Jewish. Me, Christian. We didn’t know anything different. We certainly did not choose it. We were who we were. Born into it and knew nothing other than it.

I remember playing in the basement with her. I think we may have had on our roller skates. We got to comparing our faiths. Jesus is God. Jesus is a prophet but not God. Fascinating. Short conversation but at six we knew the basics. :)

Many years ago, I had a nightmare. My family, was in two long lines. The men were being separated from the women. Girls went with moms. Boys went with dads. As the lines separated out into a Y I looked at them as they walked away. Heavily grieving, I knew instinctively that I would never see them again. I knew we were dead.

I once asked my grandfather if we had any Jewish ancestors. He simply said, it is possible. Now, I don’t know if that is true, the possibility, but he was raised Unitarian Universalist and seemed to accept everyone. He didn’t seem like he was uncomfortable at all.

Recently, I was talking with a friend, who shared with me her Jewish ancestry. The family was doing research and found this hidden truth. I say, “hidden” because she had learned that many Jewish people hid the truth, changing their names, in order to fit in and avoid persecution. This is what happened in her story. No one ever caught on until all these years later. I shared how I had asked my grandpa about possible Jewish ancestry. Then I shared how I had asked my two aunts if they had ever heard of Jewish ancestry. They hadn’t and they were a bit shocked that grandpa had answered, possibly. My friend then said, well, that was often the response. People hid it. That’s the point. Why would the aunts know?

I’ve always been horrified by the holocaust.

Blue Gown Moments, Personal Memoirs, The Unknown Journey

Walking on water

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Before I knew it, I’m being asked to advocate on behalf of the O.R. nurses. I’m the junior nurse, and they are asking me? All I could think is, if you are willing to put up with that, it’s on you. I’m looking out for me and what I can control. I’m a baby really. In my early 20’s. I’ve been there for three months!

Every day the boss walked into the lounge and would assign one of the coffee drinkers, to make the coffee. I was not a coffee drinker. I watched this song and dance for around three months, when the devil that got ahold of me, spoke up and said to the boss: Do you get up every morning and ask your wife to make your coffee?

Okay, did the oxygen just leave the room? I thought the nurses were going to die and need resuscitation.

I sat there with my feet up. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. And, he made the coffee. From that day on, being a coffee drinker himself, he became part of the coffee drinker-maker rotation.

No wonder the nurses thought I walked on water.

Blue Gown Moments, Personal Memoirs, The Unknown Journey

When it hits the fan

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As the surgeon reached for an instrument and found it wasn’t immediately available, he turned on the O.R. Tech. She stood still. He yelled for them. It wasn’t her fault they were unavailable, immediately. They were on the shelf. As the circulating R.N. (in charge) I quickly threw them up onto the sterile table. He continued to verbally harass the technician.

I finally (being in charge at that moment of the O.R. environment) told him it wasn’t her fault and to stop blaming her. He replied, I don’t give a F*** who’s at fault. I said: I will not tolerate your abuse. As I walked out to hail the Supervisor, just outside the doors, the surgeon said: I don’t give a F***. So, I reported the incident to the Supervisor and told him I’ll be in the lounge and will return when he’s cleaned up the mess.

Well, the sh** hit the fan as I put my feet up for a rest. This surgeon despised the Supervisor (who is the one that would never allow the instruments to be opened until asked for.). And, the Supervisor couldn’t stand this surgeon.

After the two cleaned up their mess, I returned to the O.R. as if nothing had happened. It’s interesting looking back. This very surgeon once asked me why I was different than the other nurses. I didn’t bother asking for clarification. The other nurses were abundantly submissive. It was based on survival. I simply responded to him that it’s because I knew they were not God.

When I finally resigned due to ongoing health problems, I spent my last weekend on call with this surgeon. In an uncharacteristic moment, as I was assisting him on a minor surgery, he apologized to me for his behaviour. Admitted that he was wrong and wondered what I was going to do now and would I be back. I told him I’d like to get my degree and come back to be in charge. He didn’t know my reason for leaving. He then suggested I not waste my time with the nursing degree and do medicine. Pre-med, then med. I had already known that they thought I was doctor material but a part of me wasn’t sure that was a compliment. And, I told him so. He sighed, somewhat humbled. Despite the desire, to return to school, my health and family life needed me here.

Personal Memoirs, Reposting, The Unknown Journey, Trauma Talk, Zoe's favourites

So Many Moments

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Originally written November 2007 on my previous blog Eve Garden God under another pseudo.  No longer using that pseudo as I figured it actually might be/is someone’s real name. Reposted here in 2008. Minor editing done.

Moments In Time

Like a magnet steadily drawn to steel, I walked to the plate glass window at the end of the corridor. I look out towards the building and those steps. Already unable to break free, drawn back in time, I find myself cocooned in the narrow tunnel of a fined tuned memory.

Step by step, with the heaviness of feet immersed in cured concrete, I stop, half way up the stairs. Before me is the entrance to the building. I can’t move. Time stands still. Everything inside my being tells me, You are not suppose to be here. Like a butterfly trapped in a jar, the fluttering thoughts, the inner wisdom of a then only eighteen year old tries one last time to reason: There’s been a mistake. This is not your destiny. You are someone else. You are an athlete, you are a teacher, you’re suppose to teach, it is your life, your every breath, leave here now…just stop here, turn, and go.

In a few short moments, the butterfly resigns itself to the uselessness of the moment. The lid to this jar has been twisted tightly. There is no getting out.

With every step, heavier then the last, I kept going and entered through the doors. Numbly aware now, that I had never really been in charge of this destiny, as it had been somewhat dictated by circumstances beyond my control. Common for many of us.

So, I walked into a world that was not mine. It was not my choice. To stay would bring it’s own agony. To go home and declare, I will not, would have brought another agony. I chose one agony over the other, knowing there really was no choice for me.

May I join you? I ask. We sit in a full auditorium as we wait for the class to begin. My body continues to beg, Get out now. My heart wants to cry. My mind tells all the parts to get their acts together, the decision was made half way up those stairs, It is too late.  

Blowing my nose, blinking away the tears, I force myself back to the present. Part of me wants to stay back there in time, to take with me the sense of courage and control I own now as a mature adult, to face that moment in time, with the understanding I now possess.  I want to go back and stop on those stairs.  I want to stop and change direction, if not just for the sheer joy of honouring the “real me.”  To feel the rush of the empowering adrenalin, of breaking through that sealed jar, opening my cramped wings in order to freely fly, even knowing, it would have been seen as rebellion.  In this moment in time, where again, time stands still, I know, it’s time to make peace with that destiny.  I lovingly twist open the jar lid.  A butterfly instinctively spread its wings and flew out and away from the window, through those halls that knowingly surrounded a lost butterfly during those years, and I smile.