The Recluse (Part V)

See links to previous posts in this series at the bottom of the page.

Estelle is in rare form on this early July morning. In fact, any long-time neighbor who might happen to see her standing defiantly on her front porch with hands on her hips as she glares at the Hernandez home next door would be shocked. She is always mindful of who is out-and-about and did everything she could to not be seen for more than a second. Estelle is definitely beside herself as she prepares for an unwanted confrontation. Caravana fretfully, tries to distract and comfort her by rubbing her legs and meowing but Estelle is in vigilant mode; unaware of herself and his presence. She’s had enough! That unattended child next door, that little Alisha, had spied on her for the last time! When Mrs. Hernandez came home this afternoon she was going to get a piece of her mind! Estelle mumbles to herself, “How ridiculous for an eleven or twelve year old child to be home alone all day! It just proves that religious people have no common sense no matter how perfect they think they are!” It riles Estelle to see that little family pile into their car every Sunday morning, rain or shine, to go to church but during the week, leave that little girl home alone with nothing to do but bother her! She was definitely going to let them know about it!

With a set plan of action in mind, Estelle and Caravana go back inside the house and Estelle tries to focus on her work. However, instances of catching Alisha spying on her over the last couple of weeks keep bubbling up in her mind. Anger is meant to block all other thoughts and prepare the threatened one for battle with super-focus on the enemy. Estelle is very angry and simply can’t think about anything else but the events that have violated the safety of her privacy and her pending confrontation set for this afternoon. She gives up on work after several failed attempts to accomplish anything cohesive and begins pacing in her office. Her pacing turns to wandering from one room of her house to the other. This tear Alisha made into the fabric of Estelle’s cloistered world is fostering greater tearing and in each room she enters, unwanted, long denied memories assault her. Images of daily life with her mother overwhelm her and exhausted she enters her bedroom, closes the door, and collapses on her bed. Estelle’s room doesn’t look like a magazine. Everything here is a scattered eclectic mess. A room cluttered with objects from childhood mixed with her adult things and nothing ordered into any cohesive purpose. Undeveloped would probably be the best word to describe the décor of this room in this perfectly decorated house.

Estelle curls into a fetal position with Caravana spooning himself into her stomach. She mindlessly caresses him while in a transfixed trance, overwhelmed by images and feelings of the past. Those memories are so intense that if she tries to move she won’t be able to because her body is shut down, giving all its energy to her overloaded, flooded brain. Flash after flash of instances when Estelle so desperately needed her mom to be there for her. A mom who was always present, who she could see and touch, but was emotionally absent. Emma had been so overwhelmed with herself that she seldom even saw her little girl. Estelle wonders if her mother had ever really known what she looked like. In this moment of sensory overload and the emotional flash-backs accompanying it, Estelle feels the full weight of abandonment and suddenly, understands why. She’d spent her entire childhood in a state of emotional abandonment! She acknowledges herself as an invisible child whose emotional needs went unmet. In fact, all of her childish needs were secondary to the gaping need of her mother. This paralysis she experiences is the frozen terror of a child left all alone in the world.

With a vehement surge, the chocolate eyes of Alisha Hernandez fill Estelle’s visual field. A child left all alone; a child whose eyes hold the same cold hunger as the eyes of Emma. Those eyes that see others as interesting or uninteresting objects to be moved this way and that for pleasure or to fill needs. Objects that when failing to produce pleasure or serve a useful purpose are then discarded without a thought. “The eyes of a cold-hearted queen” Estelle thinks out loud and in an instant, understands that ‘Queen and her personal servant’ was the description that best fit the relationship she once had with her mother. Another flood of memories come; memories of a desperate little girl trying so hard to please her mother, make her happy, and make her notice her existence. She feels that deep sadness that often overwhelmed her as a little girl and that deep, insistent desire that someone, anyone, especially her mother would notice she was hurting and ask her why. No one ever asked that question and Estelle longs for it now with the same intensity of pain she carries with her every day, in silence.

“Caravana! You are the only living creature who has ever cared about me!” The old, white tom cat responds by stretching, gently patting Estelle’s face with his paws, and then lifts himself up to lick her tears. Estelle’s tears are rolling now. A deep fount of long-stored-salt-water bursts open and the normal mute-hush, of this ghostly house, shatters in the crying shrieks of an abandoned child.

Estelle falls into a debilitated sleep that lasts until ended by the sharp slam of a car door.

 

To be continued.

Part I: https://joyindestructible.com/2016/01/16/the-recluse/

Part II:  http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/01/23/the-recluse-part-ii/

Part III: http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/01/30/the-recluse-part-iii/

Part IV: http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/02/14/the-recluse-part-iv/

 

Isolation Splendor

Welcome! To my virtual bubble;

This special place I’ve worked hard to create.

It’s free from all pain and trouble!

I sit, I scroll, I click, I sift, new reality I replicate!

High-Definition-Photo-Shop-double,

A slick profile, the Me I want to be; a duplicate.

Perfection that hides all the stubble,

Of the imperfect me, and allows me to insulate,

From all suffering outside Me bubble!

Ingenious, I’m sure you agree?

 

Welcome! But beware! Don’t say what I won’t hear!

I will block you, disengage, and ignore!

I will start scrolling, searching, find what I will hear!

Validate my opinion, make me feel more…

Sure of world created in my image; to isolate fear;

This bubble I digitally painted as reality tore,

Became too much to handle so, now find me here;

Denying all sorrow, ignoring a bloody war!

Suspending the truth, in chosen ignorance sheer!

I see you’ve done the same?

 

My bubble pops! Outside-in! Reality is over-ride!

One pop and crash then another pop and another!

Giant bam virtual crash! We run but we can’t hide!

From sin or sorrow or ignore blood of our brother!

Virtual images of gods tossing nature’s God aside?

Will delete! When flood-gates open and smother,

In consequences, those who truth and sin denied!

Splendor of virtual isolation lost…

 

Enter that world of feel and touch!

Experience truth’s painful cost..

Hugs, sun, love! We missed so much!

 

 

 

Sustaining Joy

Every day new worlds rise! And old worlds fall apart.

I am told this is only, a matter of perception.

What do you do when your world is taken all apart?

Is good attitude, a positive thought of deflection,

Able to override calamity? Or mend a tattered heart?

Is faith only energy? Form of magic imagination?

 

I believe that true faith hurts and bleeds very red.

Because when Lazarus died, “Jesus wept”.

Then He called him and raised him from the dead!

I know that in Jesus, my sad soul is kept.

Though my old world crashed down upon my head!

Jesus is here with me; my need is met.

 

Herein lies my joy! Whether I be happy, sad, even mad,

If I be abandoned, crushed, battered, or stoned,

Should persecution come, the enemy steal all I’ve had!

Jesus paid the ultimate for me; my sin is atoned.

Even though in this world I find little to make me glad,

He understands; in my heart never be dethroned!

There He rests, keeps me warm, when all’s gone so bad.

 

 

 

 

Hey, Mr. Tecalote’!

Hey Mr. Tecalote’! (lock, load, click!) You are still just a buzzard circling under another name!

You can hide behind your acronymic letters: BLM, EPA all day long…

But still you are a vulture! Though you are now bigger in number you play the same old game!

A scavenger that feeds on the carcasses of the weak and the strong…

It’s time for you to go home now! To your land where the Babylon towers scrape the sky tame!

Purple Mountain Majesty, Field’s Fruited Grain, land where I belong!

It’s much too dry out here to hydrate your delicate skin; sun- sand abrasion leaves you lame!

Hear this Tecalote’! That which leaves you weak made us very strong!

We cling to God and we pack a gun, for centuries we’ve settled, live, and thrive in the same!

And I’m wondering, “Who the heck made you king?” Your way is wrong!

Environmental-dream -fallacy! Who puts food on your plate? Gas in your car? It’s not a game!

Misuse our land for your power? You will in the future sing hunger’s song!

Crush the workers, the creators of wealth; break the back-bone of this nation; all your shame!

In New Methico there is a new harsh saying; a “Breaking Bad” cynical-song…

In this empty desert there are lots of holes and there is one waiting especially for you to claim…

Tecalote’ en su compadres, narco traffickers! Starved out! Meek are strong!

 

Reference Key: Tecalote’ is Spanish for buzzard, vulture, or scavenger. Historically, in New Mexico it is a peasants term used for those who rule over them by oppression. New Mexico’s history is ancient and we have seen many Mr. Tecalote’s come and go. It is a statement of defiance and endurance.

“There are many holes in the desert” is a newer common expression derived from the Narco-culture over-riding everything now. I use it to reference the estimated 100,000 Mexicans murdered in Northern Mexico, during the past ten years in the drug and human trafficking war over trade routes into the U.S. It is also, a reference to those refugee/immigrants who died in the desert trying to cross over to a better life after their agricultural economy was crushed by NAFTA. It is a reference to all who’ve died in New Mexico as a result of trafficking and as the result of using drugs. Tecalote’s and traffickers are well-known bed-fellows and together they dig holes and fill them with the bodies of people no one cares about but they are also, digging their own graves and will end up in the same holes.

 

 

 

 

 

Rare Disease Awareness Day 2/29/16: Cryoglobulinemia and Me

This is a hard post for me to write. I don’t like to write about my health. Cyroglobulinemia has stolen a great deal of my life from me but I am determined not to allow it to become my identity. However, February 29th has been set aside as a day to remember those who suffer from rare diseases, in hopes of igniting understanding, research, and new treatments for those going through the ordeal of being subjected to a poorly understood or unknown disease. I’m not likely to ever meet another person in my community who is Cryoglobulinemic, my doctor has never treated anyone else with this disease and probably, never will. One of the most disconcerting things about my disease is the look on the faces of health workers when they ask me how to spell, Cryoglobulinemia and then explain it to them. In many ways, I have been forced to become my own physician and most often, I know more about Cryoglobulinemia than any doctor, nurse, or physician’s assistant that I go to for help.

Cryoglobulinemia is an autoimmune blood disorder. Cryoglobulinemia Type I is a primary disease, meaning it exists by itself for no known reason. Mixed Cryoglobulinemia, Types II and III is associated with other autoimmune disorders, some cancers, and most commonly, with Hepatitis C. I have Mixed Cryoglobulinemia associated with the Hepatitis C virus I carried for thirty-three years. I endured 40 weeks of a horrendous chemotherapy treatment and cleared the virus. My Cryoglobulinemia went into remission (I thought I was cured) but returned with a vengeance about three years later. I’ve been sick for over a year now but still remain hopeful that I’ll find a way to put it back into remission.

Cryoglobulins are part of everyone’s immune system but my body makes too many of them, they are deformed, and they don’t die and clear the blood-stream as they should. Instead, they clump together along the walls of my blood vessels, where white-cells attack them and cause inflammation in the blood vessel walls. The result is a type of Leukoclastic Vasculitis. When any part of my body falls below 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, the cryoglobulins begin to gel and clot, which acts to further impede the blood flow already diminished by the vasculitis. The results are rashes called purpura, welts, hives, and bruising of the skin. Inflammation in connective tissue causes myalgias and joint pain. Nerves are affected and can be damaged in the long-term due to impeded blood flow. Nerve trunks may also, become inflamed. Though text books generally, limit Cryoglobulinemia to medium to small blood vessels, with the effects on skin and joints, there is no body system immune to the ravages of Cryoglobulinemia. It can cause organ damage and the most common death related directly to Cryoglobulinemia is kidney failure, when the kidneys become clogged with cryoglobulins and can no longer function. The reality for those of us with this disease is living with the complete unknown of what to suspect next because what is written in most text books is only observation, derived by those doctors monitoring their Cryoglobulinemic patients. As our disease progresses, their knowledge increases.

My life as a Cryoglobulinemic is ruled by temperature. If I am to survive and decrease my pain, I must stay warm. My ‘normal’ body temperature runs about one degree below what is considered normal for human beings so, I begin at a deficit. I start to feel uncomfortable at any temperature below 75 degrees. I don’t feel cold, I feel pain, and when the first pains began, I didn’t associate it with the temperature. If my core is warm but my arm is exposed and falls below body temperature, I first feel pain as tingling in my skin that deepens to an ache. If left exposed, I develop a rash, hives, or painful welts. These sometimes, pop open and bleed, leaving small ulcers. Welts and hives often leave iron deposits that leave permanent brown spots on my skin. I sometimes, develop painful nodules in clogged blood vessels that can pop and bleed under the skin, leaving small and large bruises. Sometimes, the bruises leave iron deposits too. My skin however, is the least troubling aspect of my being a Cryoglobulinemic. I have peripheral poly nerve damage in my hands and feet and because of impeded blood flow, I have had nerve pain in almost every area of my body. Pain in every form: itching, tingling, crawling, shooting, stabbing, throbbing, burning, jolting, blinding, deafening, don’t touch me, pain. The pain ebbs and flows with the amount of inflammation in my body. Some of the damage can heal between flares but sometimes, the damage is permanent. I have permanent numbness in my hands and feet. I have new numbness around my left eye as a result of this current flare. I also, have bouts of vertigo because of the effect of inflammation on the inner ear. These are my major complaints. There are many more. I ignore the ones I am able to ignore as I attempt to treat the symptoms that are more demanding and a bigger threat to my quality of life.

The most debilitating aspect of Cryoglobulinemia is how it isolates me. In the spring, summer, and early fall, I can go outdoors but I have to avoid public buildings with air conditioning. When the weather gets cold and if I’m careful, I can go from the house to a warmed car and public buildings with good heating systems. When the temperature drops below 55 degrees, it’s best if I stay home. When it drops below 40 degrees, it’s dangerous for me to leave my home. Breathing cold air robs me of valuable, core, body heat that takes time to replenish, causes the cryoglobulins to gel in my lungs, resulting in wheezing and coughing and robbing my entire system of needed oxygen. I feel weak for several days after an exposure to cold. Though my husband and family never complain, I’m sure my house feels stifling to them. Unable to socialize very often and being sick for over a decade now, leaves me with few friends and no way to make new friends. There was a flurry of attention when I was newly, diagnosed but people go on with their lives and a hard reality of a long illness is being forgotten. People don’t mean to. It is just part of it.

At this current moment, I’m taking Prednisone, which for me is a miracle that can’t last. It relieves the inflammation, my pain vanishes, I can see, hear, and the vertigo is still. I can’t take Prednisone as a long-term treatment. The main-stay, current treatment for Cryoglobulinemic Vasculitis is Retuxin. It is very expensive and administered through infusions in a clinical setting. Due to changes implemented through Obama-Doesn’t-Care, my access to good insurance is blocked, even though I must purchase health insurance or be fined. I pay a very high premium, for catastrophic insurance with a $5,000.00 deductible, with no set co-pays, and estimated coverage that fluctuates in cost to me, on a daily basis. I am not being penalized because I have a chronic disease; I am offered only, substandard insurance because my husband and I are self-employed. The only way I could obtain the kind of insurance I need would be to work for the government or a large corporation. By law, I am forced to participate in a system that regards me as a secondary kind of person, who must pay to help provide coverage for others that is denied to me. I am considering paying the fine and using the money I spend on monthly premiums to help pay for the medication I need even though, the idea seems crazy to me. I find myself in what seems an impossible situation and I have some tough decisions to make. In the meantime, the stress is causing my body to produce more cryoglobulins.

I am part of a good, online support group, where I can converse with others who suffer as I suffer. It helps, as our slogan states, to know “You are rare but not alone.” Not because I am made happy by others suffering as I suffer, or worse, but because of the validation that comes only, from those walking a similar path. I also, think of others who suffer from rare diseases unknown to me and even unknown to science, who are suffering and needing answers. I do have Cryoglogbulinemia to thank for giving me a great deal of time to spend alone with God and I don’t know how I would manage any of this without Jesus. I also, have my dear, devoted husband who does so much for me. I have my children, and grandchildren, and my closest friends. I have the dear people here on WordPress, who give me daily encouragement, kindly read my writings, and make me feel I am still in the world. I would rather be well and out doing things under my own steam but I am grateful to God and the kindness of others that enables me to endure and not give up hope. Because Jesus lives, my joy is indestructible.

If you want to know more about Cryoglobulinemia, or wish to donate to research, visit, Alliance For Cryoglobulinemia at http://allianceforcryo.org Please, on the rare leap-year day of February 29, 2016 take a moment to remember those suffering from a rare disease. Cryoglobulinemia is only one of many.

Testify!

Father, touch me with your Spirit!

Stir the stagnant waters of my soul;

Lord, I pray, lift me so far above it!

On Spirit’s wing, transcendent goal;

Help me live beyond mortal limit!

In this life and beyond Death’s toll;

Here, now, in my eternal minute?

Cleanse my lips with a burning coal!

Let my words be blessed benefit,

To all called to the tally of Your roll.

Those the Father called to acquit;

Mercy gratis pays final Death- toll!

By Grace I’ll stand that final audit;

Testifying Jesus! Lover of my soul!

 

Virtual

These words I tear from my flesh and bone,

Then fashion to set afloat on digital streams;

Can you feel them?

The Recluse (Part IV)

Part I: http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/01/16/the-recluse/

Part II: http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/01/23/the-recluse-part-ii/

Part III: http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/01/30/the-recluse-part-iii/

The sound of pouring rain and a crash of thunder startle Estelle from the depths of a familiar, re-occurring dream. Haunted and chilled to the bone, she wraps herself in a blue afghan she picks up from a bedroom chair and tries to peer through the window to ascertain the mood of the day. Grey, thick clouds and pounding rain, that promise to remain for several hours, are a validation of Estelle’s grief. She welcomes the flood as she stands, face and hands pressed against the cold glass, tears streaming her face as the cascade of falling water washes the world outdoors. In this moment of commonality with the outside world, Estelle feels a slight waning of her constant isolation. Flash-backs of her dream pierce her waking consciousness in images, feelings, desires, and memories that she knows should be pieced together. She recognizes the need to solve her inner puzzle but recoils in the same instant, overwhelmed by the painful, enormity of it.

Estelle turns away from the window and as the lace curtains float back into their familiar place, she looks around this room she created in remembrance of her mother. It’s beautiful; full of expensive, precious things but leaves Estelle feeling utterly empty and abandoned. There is no pain like the pain of abandonment and no act more life-threatening to a child than to be abandoned by their mother. “But why do I feel this way? My mom was always present, my dad provided for all of my physical needs. I have no reason to feel this kind of despair but this is my over-riding emotional state. I am abandoned. Alone! Stuck! No one cares and I don’t know how to connect with anyone or make them care.” This room is where her familiar nightmare always began; in the heart of this house, dedicated to Emma, with secrets lurking to be avoided in every room.

Estelle falls into the embrace of a softly, upholstered, bedroom chair, wraps the afghan tighter, and squeezes a small pink cushion to her chest. Closing her eyes, she allows her mind to follow the path of her ‘house dream’. She leaves her mother’s room, heads down the hall, and in her mind turns to the right to enter her dad’s former room. The old door needs re-hanging and squeaks as it opens on a cubical sparsely filled with shabby furniture and no decorations. Everything in the room is either brown or a non-descript neutral that blends so invisibly that color isn’t considered by any beholding eye. Estelle is startled and a bit angered by this imagery. She knows she redid this room! How did it go back to its original state? With frustration, she moves across the hall and opens the door on her own room and finds it full of boxes, packed, but scattered in disarray. The bed is covered with cartons and Estelle can barely, make her way into the room. She manages to suck herself in and negotiate a path to the opposite wall and the window. As she pulls back a heavy, navy-blue curtain, she confronts something very strange. Her bedroom window opens into an entirely, alien, broken-down passageway that she feels compelled to enter.

As Estelle steps through the window, she is propelled by a force she doesn’t understand while making her way through fallen roof beams and shards of broken glass covering the floor. Suddenly, she reaches a white door that swings open on a secret house she knows but has also, forgotten. Relief washes over her as she arrives inside with the thought, “I am home.” She rushes to explore every room; some of them lavishly furnished, some very odd with useful purpose shrouded in mystery. At the end of her exploration lies the most befuddling detail of all; the house suddenly opens into a shopping mall, full of people, and Estelle finds herself as one of them. This is point when Estelle always, wakes up and if she ever traveled further in this old dream, she blacked the memory of it out.

Estelle emerges from within herself and looks again at her mother’s room, feels herself at the heart of her mother’s house, and matter-of-factly, re- accepts her isolated reality. Her tears have ceased and the rain has stopped; but thick clouds promise more rain later. She pats the pink pillow back into place, neatly folds the afghan, and smoothes the wrinkles from the Queen’s bed before going to take her shower. She turns back for a quick look before shutting the door, “Good-bye for now, Momma. Rest well.”

Feeling clean and refreshed, wrapped in a thick mint-green robe, and toweling her hair, Estelle steps inside her office. She really must get some work done, even if she has to stay up all night. She loves her job and is glad she is able to lose herself in designing online advertising. Her creativity is her only real connection with the outside world and she loves to think about how her ads touch the people who view them. Though the intent is to sell, Estelle regards her work as art. Her ad campaigns are a way for her to communicate who she is and contribute to the world. Safe behind her computer screen, the world and its masses of people seem manageable. She feels a surge of self-confidence as she sits down at her desk and prepares to dig in.

Remembering her dream again, Estelle looks around at her Dad’s old room, which she reclaimed as her office, with a re-assured chuckle. No brown or neutral left in here and no squeaky door. The walls sport light lavender paint, with dark, hard-wood floors, and furnishings in cream. Sheer, lime-green curtains lay softly over the window to peacefully, filter the sun-light. Everything in this room is tasteful, feminine, and beautiful. Estelle intentionally, placed her desk beside the window to enjoy the ambiance of green-filtered light as she works. This day’s thick clouds allow very little natural light so, Estelle flicks on her desk-lamp as she sinks into her comfortable office chair. As is her habit, she looks through her window to the outside world before settling in and with a start, notices those familiar, chocolate eyes watching her from the window next door. Those hungry eyes… like the bottoms of Hershey’s Kisses, lock with Estelle’s green eyes for an instant, and then quickly vanish with the precocious little girl who owns them.

Estelle is first perturbed at the feeling of invasion, and then finds herself laughing at Alisha’s guilty, child-like response. She pulls down the shade to block any further view, in resolute purpose, to lose herself and all painful thoughts in her work. Absorbed in abstract ideas of color and the psychological effect of words, the disturbing thoughts triggered by the previous day fade into the familiarity of a happy task. Caravana rubs her ankles and contentedly settles on his favorite stool nearby, curling and settling for a long nap. All is as it was before except for the sudden mental flashes of those big Hershey eyes and the nagging thought that there were more disturbances to come.

To be continued.

At the Heart of Joy

There’s no joy to be found in a side-step with Truth.

If you want to destroy love, make sure to tell lies.

To thwart peace, you must practice deceit.

Hope dies in a self-centered thought.

Death solves no problem in life.

Death begets death.

Life begets Life.

 

Happiness fleeting pursue as a temporary joy, consume.

The passion of romance rises and falls with the moon.

Beauty can be deceptive, the mask of hate and evil.

Vain-glory, insatiable black hole of soul.

Death is destined to swallow itself.

Life cannot die.

Life fills Death.

 

There’s a hunger within all that material gain can’t satisfy.

A need for love, forgiveness, guidance, and eternal Life;

Peace with God, the Father and inner peace with self.

Hopeful purpose found in Christ-centered thoughts.

Enlightenment: Truth’s beauty to satiate the soul.

Light consumes Night.

Life triumphs Death.

 

Truth is the pain of healing that brings joy when obeyed.

To promote Divine Love, make sure you honor Truth.

To ensure peace, practice honesty with integrity.

Spread hope by serving God and then all others.

Life is the solution to our struggle with Death.

Jesus embodies Life.

Jesus is Eternal Life.