Halloween Memories

This week on Topic Tuesday our wonderful organizer, Jeff Adkins, has suggested writing about our favorite Halloween memory. This one has me kinda perplexed. Don't get me wrong. I love Halloween. It's probably my favorite season, but I don't have a favorite memory. Nothing that stands out from all the rest. Not like a favorite Christmas where a long awaited present was received, or a birthday where you got everything you wanted.

I have memories of Halloweens past. I remember the haunted house we went to when I was around 14 or 15. There were four of us, five if you count my sister. It was my best friend, Angie, her brother, Davy, his best friend, David, and me. Davy and David were the same age, 12 or 13. They were both taller than us, weighed more, too. (There is a point here...I promise.)

We waited in line to go inside. David was standing in the back of our group. He kept moving forward  getting closer and closer to my sister. (You have to understand something here. My sister. She's 14 years older than I am. It was more like having a second mother than a sister.) David kept announcing he wasn't going in last every time he moved. Finally, my sister made eye contact with him before pointedly looking down. When she looked back up, she told him if he stepped on her foot one more time, he wouldn't be going in at all. The rest of us watched the interaction waiting to see what would happen. David maintained eye contact as he replied he still wasn't going in last.

That was more impressive than the haunted house.

Trick-or-treating as a kid wasn't the easiest of feats. I didn't live in a neighborhood. There was one house on my street where I could go. My dad would take me to my aunt's house on the street to the east of where we lived. Then I would go to the neighbors on either side of my aunt, across the street to my uncle's, and Mr. Virgil's house south of the field next to my uncle's house. Those were the only places I went as a kid. There weren't any other houses.

When my sister bought her house in the subdivision she lives in, I was 12. I was on the cusp of being too old to trick-or-treat. I went for a few years with my niece and then with my nephew when he came along, but I had stopped dressing up.

These are the only memories which stand out in my childhood of Halloween. What are yours?

Check out the rest of the usual suspects here.

Topic Tuesday where I refused to decide

This week's Topic Tuesday post, as suggested by Kage Alan, is an either/or kinda deal. The topic is "What 5 Halloween films are your favorite and why" or "Which 5 Halloween films scared the bejesus out of you and how"? I decided to do both. I could pick, but why should I?

Halloween is probably my favorite holiday, or season, or whatever you chose to call it. I don't have the money to do what I'd really like...you know, go batshit crazy with decorating and such. My kids would love it if I could, I'm sure. I'd love to have a haunted house. Not a "haunted" house...I already have one of those, but a Halloween haunted house. My kids would love that, too. LOL

Anyway, back to the real reason we're here...Topic Tuesday.

What 5 Halloween films are your favorite and why?

(In no particular order):

1.  Salem's Lot (1979)--I loved the novel, adore King, and what more do you need in your scary movie? It's got the creepy house at the top of the hill overlooking the town, the servant of the dark lord willing to do the dirty work while he waits for his master to arrive, and the towns people who fall like Lemmings under the vampire's sway. Two thumbs way, way up for this one!

2.  Rose Red (2002)--This was a TV mini-series, but it rocked! Once again a Stephen King creation written specifically for television. Rose Red is a house with a long, convoluted history of deaths and disappearances with the premise of the film being an unorthodox college psychology professor, along with a group of psychics, gaining access to Rose Red for a weekend in an attempt to prove the existence of paranormal activity. Yeah, this can't go wrong, right? It's a King, and he spins a tale of creepy and "what if" in a basis of reality with his house being modeled after the Winchester Mystery House in California. It combines several of my favorite things--creepy, mystery, and a touch of an actual haunted house.

3.  The Changeling (1980)--After the death of his wife and daughter in a horrible accident, composer John Russell rents a mammoth house in an attempt to write and overcome his grief only to discover he is not alone. The spirit of a murdered child haunts him, trying to revel the circumstances around his death decades previously. If you haven't seen this one, I think you need to check it out. The plot has the right amount of creep to have it on the "scare the bejesus" list with the seance playback, the ball on the stairs, and the wheelchair scenes, but I can watch it after dark and alone, so it can be on this list instead.

4.  The Other (1972)--Set in summer 1935, 9-year-old twins, Holland and Niles, live with their family on a Connecticut farm. When deaths begin to occur with the twins seemingly at the center, their grandmother takes matters into her own hands. It's a classic tale of creepy, and the epitome of good and evil. As you move farther into the story, you discover nothing is as it appears, and things are about to get real.

5.  The Haunting (1963)--Based on the novel The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, the movie follows the book surprisingly close. An eighty-year-old house with a history of violent death and insanity is the setting for a researcher, a psychic, a shy woman with paranormal history, and a relative set to inherit the property. The inhabitants experience supernatural occurrences with Eleanor, the shy woman, becoming the increasing focus of the house and the forces at work there. I love this movie. It's a 1963 release, but the creep factor is off the charts. When the...whatever it is...tries to get into the bedroom where Eleanor is, that is freaky! It might be a 1963 release, but the cinematography and camera angles make this movie.

This concludes my favorite five Halloween movies. Now, on to my list of scare the bejesus out of me.

Which 5 Halloween films scared the bejesus out of you and how?

(also, in no particular order):

1.  Hostel (2005)--This film is one I watched with a look of horror. The plot is three guys backpacking across Europe get more than they bargain for when they are kidnapped and taken to a factory to be the human specimens in a macabre business of torture and mutilation. I watched this film once. I couldn't stomach more than that. It was a combination of "HOLY OH MY JESUS. WHAT IF THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED?" and "OH MY GOD, I'M GONNA BE SICK." It is the height of blood and gore, and this could happen. That's enough to scare the hell outta me.

2.  The Exorcist (1973)--Ah, what to say about this film? As a person raised as a Catholic, this movie is THE movie I will not watch at night...alone...with my back exposed. Not happening. No way. Ever. I know it's the special effects which make this movie frightening for me. I've read the book. It didn't scare me. The movie? Every time. I'm not going to summarize this one. It's been around a while now, and most people know this one.

3.  The Conjuring (2013)--Okay, this one is a new release (out on DVD today, as this will post on Tuesday). It had just the right amount of creepy to make me jump in the theater, and the right amount of creepy to make me sleep with the light on. I have plans to purchase the DVD  but it's gonna go into the watch it only with others, in the daylight, with my back against a wall category.

4.  Event Horizon (1997)--This is a combination of gore and "oh *&^%".  The Event Horizon is an experimental spaceship capable of opening worm holes to travel through them. It disappeared on its maiden voyage and returned after a seven year absence bringing with it more questions than answers, and no crew to speak of. This one has a major creep factor for me for two reasons. One, the gore. Lots of blood and nasty business. Two, the "life-force". The idea of this intelligence being able to manipulate and control the members of the rescue ship is just plain freaky.

5. 

I've thought about this, and I can't come up with a number 5 on my scare the bejesus outta me list. I've tried. It's not working. There are none I can think of that fall into the category with these four movies which keep me awake, with the light on, and only able to watch them every so often. So, for now, my list will have to be a top four.

I've enjoyed this topic, and I have to say Thank You to Kage for the suggestion. I hope you enjoy my list and maybe you'll check out these shows if you haven't seen them already.

Be sure to check out the lists of the other usual suspects here, and see what their top fives are.

What I've learned...

This week on Topic Tuesday we're sharing what we learned. It could be any lesson from any time or experience. I've learned I am afraid of dying. I am afraid of my own mortality. It isn't death which is frightening. It is in the act of dying where there is fear.

On  September 29th, I spent approximately 13 1/2 hours in the emergency room in respiratory distress. That's a story on its on and if you're really interested, you can read about it here. 

I spent about 7 of those 13 1/2 hours with no medication beyond oxygen. (I'd already received the highest doses of medication I could be given.) I experienced what I feel was an epiphany. As I sat on a hard, plastic chair in the ER, I realized everything I was experiencing was exactly what it would feel like to die. I can't tell you how I knew it. I can't tell you why I knew it. I can only tell you I experienced the proverbial light switch turning on, and I KNEW this is what dying feels like. 

I realized as I sat there fighting for my next breath if I stopped, if I allowed the panic and fear to take me, I would die. I was not ready. I am not ready. Once again, my children saved my life. My children are the reason I fought for my life that day. 

So, my lesson learned is twofold. One, dying is where the fear lay not in death, and two, I'm not ready to die. I have a purpose, and a reason to be. 

To check out the other posts on our Topic Tuesday, you can go to Jeff Adkins wonderful website. 

Until next time,

Peace up!

If Grant could have a super power...

I have a few characters. Barely a handful that people may know. Fewer if truth be told. To say I'm fledgeling is a gross oversimplification. I am still an unknown. In the world of Logans, and Alans, and Scotts, and Yorks, I am smaller than a newbie. But I am here and so are my characters.
Today's Topic Tuesday question is (as one of your characters) What would your super power be?

I've considered this. I've turned it over and over. I've asked ALL my people. First, no one wanted to answer. They are all happy with being who they are. They have no desire for something to make them stand out for any reason. They live, love, and play as themselves. They all informed me it's what you do with what you have that matters, not what you wish you could do.

So, I begged. What else was I to do? I told them Jeff would be put out with me if I didn't come up with something. (They each thought that rather humorous and had a fine chuckle over it. At least until Mama Vaughn jumped on them. They listen to her. Me...not so much.)

I whined and cajoled. Begged some more, and pleaded. I promised things you couldn't imagine if they would simply stop being hardheaded and help a sista out. Once again...that was funny. Finally, Grant stepped up. Thank the Goddess for the older, mature crowd. I'm positive he grew tired of hearing me cry.

When asked what his super power would be, Grant informed me it wasn't a super power per se, but longevity. If he had a longer life expectancy, perhaps he wouldn't have such an issue with the age gap between he and Wilson. It wouldn't be such a battle within himself to start a long term, meaningful relationship with a man 20 years his junior.

I can understand his sentiment. He's reached his halfway mark in life. At 45, he's seen and done more than Will has in 25 years. He is afraid. It takes a brave soul to step to the edge and take the leap. 

Check out these characters and what their power would be:

Jeff Adkins, Jp Barnaby, Joelle Casteel, and Monique Thompson 

Respiratory Distress

Okay…so on my Topic Tuesday post (which I am aware wasn't posted until Thursday), I mentioned the reason for my post being late. I'm in the hospital. Been here since Sunday morning, EXTREMELY early. About thirty minutes before the alarm went off for me to get up and started on day five of an eight day work week, I was holding my rescue inhaler in one hand while I held my chest with the other.

My husband drove me to the emergency room where they took me back and started me on an hour long breathing treatment. I'm accustom to steroids and the jitters they give you. I'm an asthmatic. I carry my inhaler with me always.

Aerosol rescue inhalers are very beneficial. They can be the difference between living and dying. The inhaler administers a puff of steroid medication which enters the lungs and dilates the bronchioles (the air sacks contained in the lungs) allowing air to deliver oxygen to the cells of the body. (It's a lot more complex than I'm making it sound, but this isn't an A&P class, and neither of us signed up for the long haul with this post.)

When the lungs are restricted in some way, the medicine is ineffective and professional health care may be your best bet. As with myself on Sunday, the inhaler was ineffective. I now know the whys, but let's return to the scene of the incident, as it were, and I'll bring you up to speed.

So, I'm in the ER receiving what probably was the equivalent of six tubes of medicine.

**For those not familiar with breathing treatments, the medicine is placed in a machine known as a nebulizer, which turns the liquid medication into vapors. This process allows the medicine to be inhaled into the lungs where the restrictions are occurring. If the planets are aligned in just such a manner, or you aren't apparently as ill as I was, this will do the trick. For the professional-sounding, technical terms, you can go here.

The dose of medication should have been enough to have me back to normal. Unfortunately for me, I was beyond this level of treatment. They administered round one of medication, came back, listened, and ordered round two.

To say I had a "wheeze" when I inhaled or exhaled would be an understatement…an EXTREME understatement. People could hear me in the hallway outside my room. One nurse referred to it as "singing" because she'd barely clear the doorway and I whistled like a freight train.

Next up was round two of ANOTHER shot at stopping this wheeze and getting me able to breathe again. So, there I sat with a mask covering my mouth and nose while this machine turned the medicine into the vapor I inhaled with every miserly breathe I drew.

**If you've never heard someone wheeze, you may be sitting there reading this wondering what in the name of William Thomas Henry I'm talking about. Well, here's a place to read about a "wheeze."

Now, let's jump back for half a second. I said these medicines are steroids. They are. Not like the steroids body builders take, but a steroid none the less. Steroids will hype you up! Some people are more affected by them than others (as with most things, reactions are different for everyone.)

Imagine the shape I was in at the end of two hours of steroid inhalation treatments. I couldn't stay still. I had a twitch in my leg. My hands were shaking. I had energy to burn! BUT…I still couldn't breathe quite right.

After about three to four hours in the ER, they gave me an option.

**People. Take a moment here. Remember this. Medical professionals should NOT give you an option if you don't appear to be well enough to leave. I'm not saying you can't leave against medical advice, but it shouldn't be an option you are given if you don't appear to be better.

My options were:  1) take ANOTHER breathing treatment, 2) stay to get admitted, or 3) go home. Guess which option I chose, people. If you went with number 3, you are ahead of the curve. I was jittery. I don't like hospitals on a good day, and I thought it would get better. I wasn't breathing with ease yet, but I thought I'll be better at home. This will work. I'll have meds. I'll rest.

I must have looked like a hot mess when I got off the bed and into a wheelchair to go out to the car. Every person involved in my care in the ER asked me repeatedly "Are you sure? You really want to go home?"

**<DZS> This one's for Papa Richie. He would've appreciated this. I can appreciate it now that I'm able to breathe again. <DZS>=Dorothy Zbornak Stare  (Lord, I miss the Golden Girls!)

Asking someone hyped up like a Meth-head on crack about anything is probably NOT the wisest move on anyone's part. It was especially true in my case. I got in the car with some tightness in my chest. Not much, but enough. We drove home. I thought I'll be fine as long as I can get home. I can rest and the meds can work their magic and it will be SHUPER! Yeah…'bout that. Not so shuper.

We got home; I got worse. Noticeably worse. I had my inhaler in my hand again. It wasn't working. I probably was working on a nice fat overdose on all these meds. I'm not positive. What I do know is the prescription says two puffs every four hours as needed. If I hit it once, I hit it thirty times in the twenty to forty minutes we were home with me vacillating between going back to the hospital and staying home.

**Once again, people. If you find yourself in a situation where you are having difficulty breathing, don't wait. Don't question it. Just go. Get checked. Be seen. And for the love of all that might be reasonably holy…DON'T GO HOME if you are given an option to stay and be treated properly.

This second trip to the ER was UNBELIEVABLY difficult.

**Let's jump back once again. (I know…I'm flighty. Don't.Judge. LOL) I'm claustrophobic. Not a little. Not mildly. I'm talking seriously claustrophobic. I will fight to get out of a tight place. Injury to myself and others becomes unimportant when I feel closed in.

Now, imagine riding in the front passenger seat of a 2008 Dodge Charger. The windshield slants in. It feels like a cramped space. You feel like you can't breathe. (Do you see where this is going?) I rolled my window down. I needed to feel the wind in my face. It made the close, cramped car not feel so cramped.

It's probably about twenty minutes from where I live to the opposite side of town where our hospital is located. This trip felt longer than the first one. It wasn't. It just felt like it. This happens when you feel as if you are suffocating.

**Let me take a second here to tell you a little about what happens when you feel like this. You panic. Panic is NEVER a good thing in this circumstance because when you panic, your chest tightens and you can't breathe. Being unable to breathe is already the crux of the problem. We don't need to add to it!

So, I'm fighting wave after wave of panic attacks. I'm talkingto myself to keep from crying, to keep from getting out of the car, to keep my head on straight enough to get back to the hospital where HOPEFULLY they will be able to make me better. (Don't say it…I shoulda stayed. I know. I didn't so here we were for round two of You-can't-breathe-and-you-think-you-are-dying.)

This go-around had me in the waiting room while I gasped like a guppy. I had to wait to be registered. I had to wait to have my vitals checked. I had to wait to have my SpO2 checked.

**Quick note…your SpO2, or your oxygen saturation level, is considered normal if you range between 95-100%. My level was hovering somewhere around 92%. Not good. Or at least, not good for me.

I didn't wait long. I mean, I probably could've been left to flop in the floor since it was an emergency room, but I wasn't whisked away by the lovely people who emerge from the hidden areas of the hospital quickly, either.

They re-registered me. They parked me in the hallway to wait for ER personnel to come retrieve me. They were kind enough to put me in the same room I previously occupied a mere hour, hour and one half earlier.

The FIRST words out of the mouth of the woman who retrieved me were, "(Insert ER nurse's name whom I can't remember) called it. She said you'd be back in about an hour." Turned out, I was going to hear this statement a lot over the next hour.

The doctor said basically the same thing when he came back in. The respiratory therapist practically SANG it when she came in. "I knew you'd be back. I told everybody you would be. You're wheezing so badly, I can hear you from the hallway."

**Now, I'm no expert here. Far from it. BUT if you are in an emergency setting, and you have a patient who sounds so badly with a respiratory distress, do you even offer discharge to this patient? I wouldn't. And don't point out that I'm the one who went home. I know what I did. But I also know, I'm not the trained professional. You OFFER me the option to go home…guess where I'm going.

By this point, it's about 10:45 a.m., and I'm getting hooked back up to every monitor they use in the ER. Heart monitor,SpO2 , BP cuff…the whole 9. As soon as all of these minor details are handled, I'm getting another breathing treatment. This one is supposedly the crème de la crème of breathing treatments because it's only a ten minute treatment. Anybody wanna guess what didn't work?

**Let's recap real quick. I've had two, hour long breathing treatments and a ten minute breathing treatment. I'm wired for sound. Guess who can't have any more of these types of drugs for several hours. Bingo!

They drew blood. They called my doctor. They waited for the on-call for my doctor to call back. The on-call ordered a CT scan. They waited for the results of said scan. They called the doctor back. The doctor had them call in a pulmonary specialist. They called the specialist. They waited for the specialist to call back. He was briefed. Then a decision was reached.

**Let me put this in perspective…when I went back into the same room in the ER, the clock read 10:45 a.m. When I went upstairs, it was between 7:30 and 8:00 p.m. I had no further breathing treatments in this time. I received no medications of any kind.

I had been given the most medication I could receive at this point. So, I fought my panic attacks, begged to live and not die slowly as I felt may be happening, and tried my damnedest to not fall apart and make my life worse than it was.

Finally, I was admitted. Now, when I tell you I was admitted, I don't mean the put me in the bed and hauled me up to a floor. Oh no. The nurse came in with EVERYONE else on this team, and said, "We're going upstairs to I.C.U., and I need you to get in this bed."

**I couldn't sit in the bed. I felt even worse in the bed. I panicked when I tried. I, instead, decided to sit in the only place available…one of two plastic chairs. I leaned forward with my back straight, hands gripped around the rail of the bed, and my forehead against the pitiful excuse for a mattress while I spent HOURS fighting with myself.

My only response was "I'll try." I stood slowly, making my way to the bed for the trip upstairs. The nurse told me she knew it wasn't going to be easy. She understood, but they got ticky in I.C.U when you brought them patients in wheelchairs.

I made it. Three hallways and a five-floor elevator ride later, I was upstairs with a new team. Two nurses and a respiratory therapist specific to I.C.U. started working on me practically the minute I hit the door.

Apparently, whatever my problem was it needed to be treated aggressively, and they did. About thirty minutes after being moved upstairs, the breathing treatments they were administering began working. Relief at last!

I spent the next seventeen hours in I.C.U. under the constant watchful eye of the very dedicated, very hands-on staff. Around noon on Monday, they unleashed me on the floor. I was going to a regular room. I'm on a critical care floor, similar to a cardiac floor, because of the severe distress I had been in and the extent of the illness I was experiencing.

My diagnosis, according to my pulmonary specialist (whom I love, by the way), has been 1) acute bronchitis with a touch of pneumonia, 2) acute bronchitis with walking pneumonia, and now, 3) acute bronchitis and acute pneumonia.

My butt was SICK! I'm on day five of my hospital stay with the possibility of going home sometime tomorrow. They are attempting to get me back to what is referred to as "base line". This means when I came into the hospital on Sunday, I didn't use oxygen at home on a daily basis, I only had rescue inhalers for emergencies, and my level of health was on the norm for my age.

This is my goal, what I'm aiming for. I'm hoping to go home soon. Hospitals are not fun, but I want to walk out in a better condition than what I walked in with. More later on this whole process as I process it myself.

Until then,

Peace Up!

***Update:  I forgot to mention one thing.  During the 2nd trip to the ER, they also gave me an epinephrine shot after the breathing treatment. They were attempting to reduce the moisture in my lungs. I had too much fluid, or mucus, and this was causing restrictions in my breathing. Needless to say, that didn't help either.

Topic Tuesday: What book helped make you a reader?

It's that time again…Topic Tuesday. First, I know I'm kindarunning late. What the hell's new about that, you may ask. Well, this week I'm writing from the (not so beautiful) view of the 5thfloor (cardiac unit) of Memorial Hospital in lovely Gulfport, Ms.More on that mess later.

This week's Adkins Topic Tuesday addition is:

What is the book that made you a reader?

I think this is a great question. What book made me a reader? What book made me want to pick up a book, and turn the pages? Don't get me wrong…I read as a child. Golden Books stories,The Ghost on Windy Hill, some of the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew mysteries, but I wasn't an avid reader.

No book held me captive. No book took me away when I read. I read because I had to read, not because I wanted to read. My sister read to me every night, or most every night. My bedtime stories were The Watchers and Phantoms by Dean Koontz, The Moon Pool by Abraham Merritt, and The Hobbitt by J. R. R. Tolkien, to name a few.

The first time I picked up a book because I wanted to read it was late spring/early summer 1984. The movie Firestarter had been released at the movies, and my sister took me to the show. Iloved the movie. I could not stop talking about it. I was bouncy.Ain't gonna lie. LOL

My sister said "It was okay, but the book is WAY better." Now, you have to understand my sister. First, she's fourteen years older than me, and this made our earlier years together a mother/daughter relationship more than a sibling one. We were always together and I was the baby. So, she was really another parent. (And that's a story no one really wants to hear. LOL)

I loved my sissy. Wanted to be way cool like my sissy. My sister is an avid reader and has been since childhood. She read the complete works of Shakespeare in 5th or 6th grade because she needed something to read. (Tell you anything? Lol)

I asked "Do you have it?" My interest was piqued. I wanted to READ this book. I had to have it. I craved it like a thirsty man craves water.

In typical Lemmie fashion, she reeled me in. "I should. Do you want to look when we get to the house?"

My bouncer was in overdrive at this point. We were ten minutes from the house, tops, and I wanted to be there that instant. I didn't want to wait. I didn't want to do the speed limit. I didn't want to wait behind slow people who were keeping me from THIS. BOOK!!

Didn't they understand? The superest, most wonderful, GLORIOUS book in the world was waiting for me. I didn't have time for this. I needed to be home, looking for the book. I had several bookshelves and boxes to go through to find what I was needing.

I raced inside as soon as we got back. I tore into the bookcase, moving things out of my way in my search. Lemmiestrolled in more sedately. She knew she had me. "Need help?" She exuded indifference. Hell, she'd read the damn thing. She didn't need it like I did.

"Where's it at?" Mind you, I'm still pulling books off the shelves in my mad hunt.

I swear to you. She reached into the bookcase and the FIRST book she pulls out is a hardback book with a stark white cover. At the bottom of the book is a depiction of flames in an overlay of a female face, or more precisely, a nose and mouth in the flames and bright green eyes in alignment above the flames.

I disappeared with the book, and only immerged when someone insisted I participate with the family. I don't remember now how long I took to read that book. At that point, it probably would've taken me a week. Today, I can plow through a book like a wildfire in the middle of a dry spell…just ask Logan.(LOL. Love ya, Red!)

Anyway, I'm sure you've listened to me ramble on long enough now. Thanks for stopping by the find out what book started me reading. Check back next week, and we'll discover together what new ideas the World's Greatest Promohomo has cooked up for our enjoyment.

While we wait, you may want to hop on over to see what these wonderful authors had to say about their first real book experience:

Kage Alan, Joelle Casteel, Monique Thompson, and Jeff Adkins.

I'll get back to the reason behind my current incarceration another time. Maybe it will be an extra post sometime soon. When I feel up to it…or when the damn hospital stops restricting the webpages on their *^&#^%@ WIFI.

Until then,

Peace Up!