Tina Gerow's Blog, page 13

Social Media Etiquette

I’ve been meaning to turn this into an online class for a while now, but writing and some other things keep taking precedence, but I still see the need for this every single day, so decided to blog about it.

My biggest social media presence is on Facebook, so this is where I see most of the etiquette “breaches.”

Social media is about interacting – thus the word “social.”  It’s not just about shoving your book or product down everyone’s throat until they unfriend you or block you.  If you do that you’re not using social media correctly.

Trust me, readers and others in the industry will remember you and your author brand – either for good or for bad.  If you’re one of those over pushy, rude authors, they will remember you, but not in a good way!

I’ve had several readers tell me they enjoyed my books and now that they’ve “gotten to know me” better on Facebook, Twitter or at a convention or book signing that they are my fans for life.  But that’s because I use, not abuse social media.

So let’s get to some examples of what NOT to do!!

First is friending – there’s nothing wrong with friending other authors or even readers.  In fact, that’s a big part of Facebook.  But when they accept your friend request and you immediately post on their wall a hello ALONG with a link to your book or newest blog post or both….that’s annoying and a bit overkill.  Many will unfriend you right away – especially other authors, but some will give you another chance….maybe.  If they want to find out more about your book they can and will go to your page or website.  If you’re using your social media correctly, all of that information can easily be found in your profile.  So when they receive your friend request and check out your page to decide to friend you or not, they will have access to all of that information up front.  If they want to look, they will.  So if you want to post a quick, “Thanks for accepting my friend request, I look forward to getting to know you.”  That’s fine, but leave out the links or shameless self promo.

Messaging – I get these all the time and I cringe every time I see one.  I get people who message me with excerpts of their newest releases or works In progress or links to their latest blogs.  Put these in a status update so if people want to click on them to see more they will.  DON’T start messaging everyone on your friend list with this unless they specifically ask you to.  And most other authors won’t!!!  The same goes for asking people to “Like” your Amazon pages, like your other FB pages (other pen names, author pages etc), click to vote for you or your books in contests etc.  Those are for statuses so people who are interested can click to find more information.  Don’t clog people’s In Boxes with those.  These things are also great additions to your author newsletters.  Make sure you’re using the right medium to the right audience for all of your updates.

Comments – DON’T put links to your books, appearances, websites etc in comments sections of other people’s posts unless they specifically ask for it or it’s actually relevant.  If I put out a status that asks for anyone with a new fantasy release to let me know where to find it and you have a new fantasy release, then, yes, paste a link for me in the comments section!!!  If I post in my status that I’m going to be signing at a certain venue, don’t paste your latest release in the comments section to let people know you’ll be there too!  That information is for your own status!  If I wanted to use MY status to promote you being there as well I would’ve mentioned you in the first place!!  That’s rude and totally self serving, and you’ll be lucky if your comment is only deleted and you’re not unfriended.

Are you getting the idea yet that you should do your promotions on your own page?  And don’t just do promotions…also engage with others.  Talk about what’s going on in your writing life or maybe even your personal life, if you’re comfortable.  Let people get to know you, don’t be the annoying sales person who does nothing but tout your product!!

Other People’s pages – We’ve touched on this, but there’s another social media “sin” that crops up quite often.  Authors will go directly to other people’s pages and shamelessly post a link to their latest release, blog post or review.  This is a direct attempt to advertise to that author’s fan base regardless if you meant it that way or not.  If I want to promo your book, blog etc on my page, then I will.  Don’t be rude and post it on my page without permission!  I have and will again promote other authors on my page – usually authors I’m a fan of or have become friends with through either personal interaction at local chapter meetings or conferences, or social media interaction, or purely by reading their books.

Twitter – The same rules of politeness apply on Twitter.

Are you getting the idea that you don’t steal someone else’s thunder or limelight but you tout your own ON YOUR OWN PAGE????

Also, the publishing industry is actually quite a small community even though there are so many of us in it.  It’s never a good idea to talk badly about someone on FB or Twitter.  I try never to say anything bad about other authors, agents, editors, publishers etc on social media.  I don’t even share the pictures that slam on hugely popular books or authors without my take that “We probably all wish our books were successful enough to be slammed on like this one….”  And you know what?  We do!  Remember that when you slam on a wildly successful book or movie…  I’m grateful for their success because it opens doors for the rest of us, and I hope one day to have that kind of recognition for my craft…and I’m sure all of you do too.

So what SHOULD I do on Social Media? You ask…

You should interact with people.  Chat and be yourself, comment (thoughtfully) on other people’s posts or statuses, but don’t forget to be supportive and polite.  If you wouldn’t like someone commenting that to you, then don’t comment it to someone else!  If you enjoy another author’s work, then by all means, friend them on FB and follow them on Twitter and interact – without being creepy or stalking

I’m sure there is much more to say on this topic – so one of these days I’ll still probably work up an online class for this, but that’s enough for now.  It’s time to get back to my WIP.

Filed under: Social Media, Writing Life Tagged: Author Social Media Use, Professional Authors, Writing Life

Is it okay not to write?

I know everyone’s knee jerk answer to that will be, “No way! If you want to be a writer, you have to write…all the time, every day, consistently…end of story.

But wait. There are some exceptions and it does involve trusting your body and mind to tell you when those exceptions need to take place. I’m a firm believer that things like writer’s block are just ways that your body and mind are trying to tell you they need a break, fresh inspiration or for you to relax and come at things from a different angle.

By the same token, when writing becomes a chore that you dread doing every day, it’s time to take a break. Remember back to when you started writing. You probably had dreamed about writing for a very long time if you’re anything like me. You fantasized about sitting down to write and loving every second of it while wonderful stories spilled from your mind down to your fingers and out onto the page. You imagined it being fun, fulfilling and exciting to do. And it still can be. But too much of anything and your body will cry foul – that it needs a break.

I recently hit such a patch just around the holidays. Things were crazy and I didn’t have much emotional energy left over for my characters. It wasn’t that I didn’t think about them and that plot ideas for my story didn’t still spill through my head, but the thought of sitting down to write made me even more tired, when I know on “normal” days the thought of sitting down to write excites me and puts a spring in my step.

For several years I dreamed of getting to stay at home full time to write. I imagined all I’d get done and how easily the books would flow. Fast forward a few years and I’m writing full time, but I should’ve been more specific with my dream. Yes, I’m writing full time, but I had to go through 7 emergency brain surgeries to get to this point where I can’t work in traditional jobs while I’m healing. And even writing is now difficult and a chore sometimes for me to do. I just physically and mentally don’t have the stamina I used to and not just for writing – for everything in my life. Now that doesn’t stop the fact that I’m grateful to be writing full time and I try to take advantage of that fact as often as possible. But if I don’t let myself rest and give myself a break then my body revolts and let’s me know that it’s in charge and not me.

I know some of you are going to say that in those circumstances maybe breaks are okay, but in normal circumstances writers must write – all the time, every day. And while I don’t disagree that that’s a good goal. It’s also a good way to burn out.

Write as much as you can. Become disciplined about it and you’ll be very thankful that you did. Your writing will improve, agents and editors will notice and you’ll finish more stories in a quicker timeframe. But sometimes – and your body and mind will be able to tell you when – sometimes you just need a bit of a breather.

And you’ll be amazed how much a few days or even a few weeks off will help you reinstall the wonder and the pizazz back into your writing and your attitude about writing. Now I’m not saying to let yourself get out of the habit of writing. Maybe you could continue to write something every day. I write out a list of 10 blessings and why they are blessings every morning. It may not be the paranormal romance I usually write, but it forces my mind to work and keeps me in the habit of sitting down at my computer and writing something every day. Or you could write a paragraph. I’ve done this before on my self allowed vacations. I just sit down and write a paragraph and keep them all in one big word doc. Several of those have turned into new story ideas and even new books, so it’s not wasted effort and keeps the creative juices flowing.

But by giving myself permission to take a break and not feel guilty over it, I’m allowing my body and my mind to take a vacation and recharge, and believe me, they will show you appreciation once you come back to it. The first few days while you get back into your groove might be a bit of a challenge, but you’ll soon be back in the habit and the flow and surprised at how much easier and how much more fun writing is at that point.

So go ahead, every now and then, set a time limit and then give yourself permission to take a writing vacation. Just a tip – DON’T do this during a writing deadline. It might sound like common sense, but during a deadline you’re going to have to gut it out and meet your deadline. After all, writing is your job (even if it isn’t your full time job) and you are expected to be professional and meet your commitments. Maybe AFTER you meet your deadline would be a great time for a mini vacation – not to mention a yummy butterscotch martini or two!

In any case – happy writing!

Filed under: Writing Life Tagged: Writing Life

Common Sense Relationship Commandments

I'm not sure what's going on in the Universe, but over the past two weeks I've found myself asked more relationship advice than I've been asked for over the past YEAR.  Now to add another level of amusement to that, my own relationship status on Facebook recently changed to "It's Complicated"…and it REALLY IS…lol!  I always wondered what would have to happen to make someone change their status to that, and now I know…rofl!

Anyway – I guess in spite of my recent complicated relationships, I do have enough life experience and common sense to know what I WANT and NEED in a relationship – which is very similar to what most people WANT and NEED, so I can at least speak intelligently on the subject.  And since I've been asked for so much advice individually, I figured there might be more people out there who might benefit from these pearls of snarky wisdom that I learned the hard way through the schools of hard knocks, observation and gut intuition.  So, here we go…hold onto your hats, and remember, these are just my opinions, if they help you or speak to you, use them with my blessing and well wishes.  If they don't, then just let them leak out of your brain and back into the Universal Consciousness
So, first let's start with the stuff that most of us WANT:
When I say my daily affirmations around my romantic relationships, I always say this sentence:  "We have a happy, honest, trusting, passionate, loving, empowering, fulfilling, equal partnership, best friend & lover, soul mate, very affectionate and committed relationship where we can both be our true selves with the other person and be totally accepted and loved for who we are".  And really, that's what I want, and what I think most people want.  But in order to get that, we have to make sure we follow some common sense rules that I see broken all the time!
So, in light of that, here are some relationship commandments:

Thou shalt assume positive intent with your partner.  What this means is that you give them the benefit of the doubt in things, and don't automatically assume negative intent.  After all, if you're in a relationship, you should care deeply about this person and there's a certain amount of trust inherent in that.  That does NOT mean that if you walk in and find your partner butt naked in bed with another person that this isn't exactly what it looks like!  And don't let them off the hook that easy.  I'm sorry, but I wouldn't buy the, "I tripped and fell naked inside your best friend, who also happened to be naked" excuse here.  But, unfortunately, I know lots of people – both women and men who have bought that kind of reasoning.  There's assuming positive intent and then there's letting yourself be a doormat.  Use common sense and go with your gut!

2.  Game playing does NOT a good relationship make.  This means all the 'buying yourself flowers in an effort to make him jealous', 'spraying yourself with another woman's perfume to make her "appreciate you more", "leaving stuff at his apartment so you have an 'excuse' to call him, 'pretending to get calls or texts from other men to make him realize that you're a 'hot' commodity and everything else that falls into this 'game player' category is total manipulation and bull, and has no place in a mature relationship that encompasses all the good traits I listed above in my affirmation.

3.  
Thou shalt not hit or abuse in any way your partner!  This is what it sounds like – no physical abuse, but also, no mental abuse and definitely no sexual abuse.  This would include mind games, manipulation, guilt trips, and plain old hitting etc.  Now, I've told every guy I've ever dated that if he ever hit me, I was gone – no second chances, no do overs etc.  Gone and done.  Period.  I grew up in an abusive household and I know that has no place in my adult life, and I don't want my son around it either.  There's absolutely no excuse for this kind of behavior.  None.  If you have anger issues, get them taken care of.  Don't take them out on someone else.  Get yourself healthy and THEN find a relationship!

4.   
 Thou shalt still remain your own separate person once you enter into a relationship.  We've all known those people who when they enter into a relationship, they suddenly cease to be their own person – and become an amalgam of them and their new partner.  Now a certain give and take in a relationship is expected and healthy, but totally giving up who you are – in essence becoming a "chameleon" of the person you're with is not only unhealthy for both of you, but also extremely annoying to the rest of the world at large.  I know a few women who are "relationship chameleons" and to be honest, I have very little respect for them.  I don't feel sorry for them – even though they end up unhappy in all their relationships – they have a choice and choose to give up their personalities to become what they THINK the other person wants.  Don't let this happen to you!  You CAN and SHOULD remain YOU in a relationship.

5.  
Thou shalt openly and honestly communicate at all times – i.e. Say What you mean, Mean what you say and carry through with what you say you will!  This should be a no brainer, but sadly, I know many people who break all of this…often.  In any relationship honesty and good communication are extremely important, but in a romantic relationship – they are absolutely imperative.  I'm not saying to keep a notebook of everything your partner says so you can remind them every time they mess up (which will lead into our next  commandment), but be a good communicator and be straightforward and honest – your partner and your relationship will be better off for it.

6.  
Thou shalt not "keep score"  You know what I mean.  Many people have a mental tally list of each time their partner messes up or does something wrong.  This is NOT a good way to keep a healthy relationship going.  People make mistakes and if they are truly sorry and make amends, then make up, and LET IT GO.  I.e.  Forget about it and don't continually bring it up.  I'm not saying that everything is forgivable – it's not.  And it's up to each individual what is a deal breaker to them and what is not.  But keeping score will only eat away at your relationship like acid until it crumbles around you in ruins.

7.  
Thou shalt be an equal partner in your relationship.  This one is important.  I know a lot of people, both women and men who want the other person to always take care of them, make the decisions etc.  If that's the kind of relationship you truly want, then I wish you well – but I've been in relationships like that and I only ended up miserable.  I want a partnership.  I want both of us to have an equal say, both of us to pull equal 'relationship weight' and both of us to be just as invested in the relationship as the other.  I took a sociology class at Arizona State where we talked about "The Principle of Least Interest" – which means the person with the least interest in the relationship has all the power.  I'm sure we all know how it feels to be that person with less power in the relationship…and it sucks.  But what most people don't realize is that it also sucks to be the person with the most power in the relationship because that means you're not very interested in seeing the relationship succeed, and you should probably end things and find another more healthy relationship.  By the same token, if one of you is always the one who contacts, initiates sex, asks to see the other one, always does the calling, planning etc – that's not fair on either side and will wear at the relationship and both of you over time.  Respect yourself and your partner enough to make sure you have an equal partnership relationship – you'll both be happier for it.

8.  
You and your partner and not static beings.  Leave room for growth and change.

In any relationship, but especially in romantic ones, people are going to change over time as they experience new things and grow.  There has to be room for this within the relationship and both parties have to feel safe enough that as they grow and change their partner will still love and accept them.

9.  
Thou shalt not change your relationship expectations mid stream and be angry with your partner because they don't adhere to them!  In my first marriage, he was attracted to me because I was so different from the girls he grew up with.  I was independent and outgoing, an overachiever and a doer.  But once we got married and had our son, he magically expected me to transform into someone who no longer wanted to work outside the home, a gourmet cook who did crafts and kept a meticulous house, and got my entire sense of self worth from my house, my family and my "homemaker" accomplishments.  Yeah – you can imagine how well that worked out.  He changed expectations mid stream and was disappointed when I didn't adhere to them.  People don't work like that.  And while relationships bend…they also break.  Be honest about your expectations up front and don't expect your partner to magically transform to meet your new ones.  This doesn't mean that if your partner is an alcoholic that you can't ask and expect them to get help and get clean and sober.  But that leads us to our next commandment.

10.  
Thou shalt fix your own issues Before you subject another person to them!  If you have anger issues, abandonment issues, jealousy issues, addiction issues or whatever – go get help and work through your baggage BEFORE you subject some other poor soul to that.  We all have baggage, triggers, hot buttons etc, but do your due diligence up front and work through your own "crap" and you'll have much happier relationships.  Because what happens is both of you bring your baggage, triggers, hot buttons etc into the relationship – and a lot of time, your "baggage, triggers, hot buttons" etc – don't play nicely together.  Those are your defense mechanisms and they come automatically until you work through the issue that causes them.  For example, because of my abusive childhood, I have an issue with people lashing out at me – I shut down.  I've gone to counseling and I'm a LOT better with this, but even to this day – if someone lashes out at me, I shut down and they've lost the argument – I've already stopped listening.  That's my trigger and my defense mechanism.  I've had relationships where we both needed to learn to NOT trigger each other just so we could have time and opportunity to communicate and work out whatever we needed to talk about.  It CAN be done with patience and love and understanding.  But we all know people who have TONS of personal issues – baggage, we usually call it, that they take with them from relationship to relationship and they end up leaving a trail of pain and destruction behind.  Things would be better all the way around if they spent some time working through their own baggage so they don't keep dragging it with them.

11.  
Sex is NOT a manipulation tool.  It's a beautiful physical expression between two (or more…yes, I went there…lol) people who care for each other.  But we've all known people who use it as a punishment (by withholding) or a manipulation tool (will only put out if their partner does X…etc.)  This makes sex a tool and not a sharing, intimate experience that brings you closer like it should be.  So repeat after me:  "Sex is not a tool to manipulate my partner"!!   By the same token, you should take equal part in initiating sex.  And my total rule of thumb is:  Anything between two consenting adults is fair game.  Just make sure that  - yes, you're both consenting ADULTS and that you both consent to whatever it is you're proposing doing.  Then from there – feel free to get as freaky as you BOTH want…and enjoy!  If you need some ideas – my author website is http://www.cassieryan.com – for a list of the Smoking Hot books  The Seduction Series has quite a few fun ideas, as does the "Succubus" series

12.  
Thou shall make your partner and your relationship a priority in your life.  This does NOT mean that your new partner takes precedence over the well being of your children, your job, your existing friendships or family relationships etc.  But this does mean that they need to be prioritized in there with all the rest of these things.  If your partner feels like they always come last in your life – they most likely won't be your partner for long.  Relationships are living things and need time, love and attention.

13.  
Thou halt always be mindful of the children in any relationship!  As I mentioned above, I had an abusive childhood.  I've been a step kid, had stepfathers, step siblings etc.  There were many times where I felt like I no longer mattered and that I had fallen to last place on my mom's priority list.  For that reason, I'm very mindful of my son when I enter into new relationships, and I'm very mindful of the children of anyone I date.  I know how it feels to have someone new come into your life, and I know how jarring it can be when you feel like you're suddenly cut off from your parent because this new person has usurped your place in their life!  Try to take a look at things from your child's point of view and make sure they still feel like they are an important part of your life and that they still have access, love and support from you, or their parent.  If you're the 'new step parent' or even the new girlfriend or boyfriend – be mindful that the kids were there first, and there's a certain inherent priority that SHOULD come with them being their parent's child.  That doesn't mean that if they are little hellions and their parent doesn't rein them in that you have to just sit back and take it!  See my commandment above about open communication!  But being a child means there are a lot of things you are powerless about in your own life – and new relationships for your parent can be scary and jarring.  Try to make this as pain free for them as possible!

14.
 If you're unhappy in your current relationship, then listen to your gut and take appropriate action.  We all know someone that constantly bemoans how unhappy they are, but never want to do anything to change it.  There are ALWAYS options…even if you don't like what they are, and life is too short to be miserable!  So put your big girl panties or big boy boxers on and FIX IT!  This may involve openly communicating with your partner, seeking 3rd party help like counseling or even deciding to end the relationship and leave.  Respect yourself enough to choose to be happy and make the hard choices that will help you get there.

15.
 Thou shalt respect yourself enough to know you deserve a happy relationship.  There are some people out there who either consciously or unconsciously think they don't deserve a happy relationship.  Respect and love yourself enough to know that EVERYONE deserves to find happiness and a happy relationship is just part of that!  If you can't get to that point – it might be time for that third party help to work through your past issues that are keeping you from seeing how worthy you are!  Don't let the past dictate who you are.  YOU dictate who you are to the future!

I'm sure I could keep these going to 100, but I learned the hard way and I'm sure a lot of you have too, so if there are any I've missed, please feel free to comment and add  And to everyone – I wish you a happy, honest, trusting, passionate, loving, empowering, fulfilling, equal partnership, best friend & lover, soul mate, very affectionate and committed relationship where you can both be your true selves with the other person and be totally accepted and loved for who you are!
Blessings & All Happiness…

Tina

Common Sense Relationship Commandments

I’m not sure what’s going on in the Universe, but over the past two weeks I’ve found myself asked more relationship advice than I’ve been asked for over the past YEAR.  Now to add another level of amusement to that, my own relationship status on Facebook recently changed to “It’s Complicated”…and it REALLY IS…lol!  I always wondered what would have to happen to make someone change their status to that, and now I know…rofl!

Anyway – I guess in spite of my recent complicated relationships, I do have enough life experience and common sense to know what I WANT and NEED in a relationship – which is very similar to what most people WANT and NEED, so I can at least speak intelligently on the subject.  And since I’ve been asked for so much advice individually, I figured there might be more people out there who might benefit from these pearls of snarky wisdom that I learned the hard way through the schools of hard knocks, observation and gut intuition.  So, here we go…hold onto your hats, and remember, these are just my opinions, if they help you or speak to you, use them with my blessing and well wishes.  If they don’t, then just let them leak out of your brain and back into the Universal Consciousness
So, first let’s start with the stuff that most of us WANT:
When I say my daily affirmations around my romantic relationships, I always say this sentence:  “We have a happy, honest, trusting, passionate, loving, empowering, fulfilling, equal partnership, best friend & lover, soul mate, very affectionate and committed relationship where we can both be our true selves with the other person and be totally accepted and loved for who we are”.  And really, that’s what I want, and what I think most people want.  But in order to get that, we have to make sure we follow some common sense rules that I see broken all the time!
So, in light of that, here are some relationship commandments:

Thou shalt assume positive intent with your partner.  What this means is that you give them the benefit of the doubt in things, and don’t automatically assume negative intent.  After all, if you’re in a relationship, you should care deeply about this person and there’s a certain amount of trust inherent in that.  That does NOT mean that if you walk in and find your partner butt naked in bed with another person that this isn’t exactly what it looks like!  And don’t let them off the hook that easy.  I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t buy the, “I tripped and fell naked inside your best friend, who also happened to be naked” excuse here.  But, unfortunately, I know lots of people – both women and men who have bought that kind of reasoning.  There’s assuming positive intent and then there’s letting yourself be a doormat.  Use common sense and go with your gut!

2.  Game playing does NOT a good relationship make.  This means all the ‘buying yourself flowers in an effort to make him jealous’, ‘spraying yourself with another woman’s perfume to make her “appreciate you more”, “leaving stuff at his apartment so you have an ‘excuse’ to call him, ‘pretending to get calls or texts from other men to make him realize that you’re a ‘hot’ commodity and everything else that falls into this ‘game player’ category is total manipulation and bull, and has no place in a mature relationship that encompasses all the good traits I listed above in my affirmation.

3.
Thou shalt not hit or abuse in any way your partner!  This is what it sounds like – no physical abuse, but also, no mental abuse and definitely no sexual abuse.  This would include mind games, manipulation, guilt trips, and plain old hitting etc.  Now, I’ve told every guy I’ve ever dated that if he ever hit me, I was gone – no second chances, no do overs etc.  Gone and done.  Period.  I grew up in an abusive household and I know that has no place in my adult life, and I don’t want my son around it either.  There’s absolutely no excuse for this kind of behavior.  None.  If you have anger issues, get them taken care of.  Don’t take them out on someone else.  Get yourself healthy and THEN find a relationship!4.
 Thou shalt still remain your own separate person once you enter into a relationship.  We’ve all known those people who when they enter into a relationship, they suddenly cease to be their own person – and become an amalgam of them and their new partner.  Now a certain give and take in a relationship is expected and healthy, but totally giving up who you are – in essence becoming a “chameleon” of the person you’re with is not only unhealthy for both of you, but also extremely annoying to the rest of the world at large.  I know a few women who are “relationship chameleons” and to be honest, I have very little respect for them.  I don’t feel sorry for them – even though they end up unhappy in all their relationships – they have a choice and choose to give up their personalities to become what they THINK the other person wants.  Don’t let this happen to you!  You CAN and SHOULD remain YOU in a relationship.5.
Thou shalt openly and honestly communicate at all times – i.e. Say What you mean, Mean what you say and carry through with what you say you will!  This should be a no brainer, but sadly, I know many people who break all of this…often.  In any relationship honesty and good communication are extremely important, but in a romantic relationship – they are absolutely imperative.  I’m not saying to keep a notebook of everything your partner says so you can remind them every time they mess up (which will lead into our next  commandment), but be a good communicator and be straightforward and honest – your partner and your relationship will be better off for it.6.
Thou shalt not “keep score”  You know what I mean.  Many people have a mental tally list of each time their partner messes up or does something wrong.  This is NOT a good way to keep a healthy relationship going.  People make mistakes and if they are truly sorry and make amends, then make up, and LET IT GO.  I.e.  Forget about it and don’t continually bring it up.  I’m not saying that everything is forgivable – it’s not.  And it’s up to each individual what is a deal breaker to them and what is not.  But keeping score will only eat away at your relationship like acid until it crumbles around you in ruins.7.
Thou shalt be an equal partner in your relationship.  This one is important.  I know a lot of people, both women and men who want the other person to always take care of them, make the decisions etc.  If that’s the kind of relationship you truly want, then I wish you well – but I’ve been in relationships like that and I only ended up miserable.  I want a partnership.  I want both of us to have an equal say, both of us to pull equal ‘relationship weight’ and both of us to be just as invested in the relationship as the other.  I took a sociology class at Arizona State where we talked about “The Principle of Least Interest” – which means the person with the least interest in the relationship has all the power.  I’m sure we all know how it feels to be that person with less power in the relationship…and it sucks.  But what most people don’t realize is that it also sucks to be the person with the most power in the relationship because that means you’re not very interested in seeing the relationship succeed, and you should probably end things and find another more healthy relationship.  By the same token, if one of you is always the one who contacts, initiates sex, asks to see the other one, always does the calling, planning etc – that’s not fair on either side and will wear at the relationship and both of you over time.  Respect yourself and your partner enough to make sure you have an equal partnership relationship – you’ll both be happier for it.8.
You and your partner and not static beings.  Leave room for growth and change.
In any relationship, but especially in romantic ones, people are going to change over time as they experience new things and grow.  There has to be room for this within the relationship and both parties have to feel safe enough that as they grow and change their partner will still love and accept them.9.
Thou shalt not change your relationship expectations mid stream and be angry with your partner because they don’t adhere to them!  In my first marriage, he was attracted to me because I was so different from the girls he grew up with.  I was independent and outgoing, an overachiever and a doer.  But once we got married and had our son, he magically expected me to transform into someone who no longer wanted to work outside the home, a gourmet cook who did crafts and kept a meticulous house, and got my entire sense of self worth from my house, my family and my “homemaker” accomplishments.  Yeah – you can imagine how well that worked out.  He changed expectations mid stream and was disappointed when I didn’t adhere to them.  People don’t work like that.  And while relationships bend…they also break.  Be honest about your expectations up front and don’t expect your partner to magically transform to meet your new ones.  This doesn’t mean that if your partner is an alcoholic that you can’t ask and expect them to get help and get clean and sober.  But that leads us to our next commandment.10.
Thou shalt fix your own issues Before you subject another person to them!  If you have anger issues, abandonment issues, jealousy issues, addiction issues or whatever – go get help and work through your baggage BEFORE you subject some other poor soul to that.  We all have baggage, triggers, hot buttons etc, but do your due diligence up front and work through your own “crap” and you’ll have much happier relationships.  Because what happens is both of you bring your baggage, triggers, hot buttons etc into the relationship – and a lot of time, your “baggage, triggers, hot buttons” etc – don’t play nicely together.  Those are your defense mechanisms and they come automatically until you work through the issue that causes them.  For example, because of my abusive childhood, I have an issue with people lashing out at me – I shut down.  I’ve gone to counseling and I’m a LOT better with this, but even to this day – if someone lashes out at me, I shut down and they’ve lost the argument – I’ve already stopped listening.  That’s my trigger and my defense mechanism.  I’ve had relationships where we both needed to learn to NOT trigger each other just so we could have time and opportunity to communicate and work out whatever we needed to talk about.  It CAN be done with patience and love and understanding.  But we all know people who have TONS of personal issues – baggage, we usually call it, that they take with them from relationship to relationship and they end up leaving a trail of pain and destruction behind.  Things would be better all the way around if they spent some time working through their own baggage so they don’t keep dragging it with them.11.
Sex is NOT a manipulation tool.  It’s a beautiful physical expression between two (or more…yes, I went there…lol) people who care for each other.  But we’ve all known people who use it as a punishment (by withholding) or a manipulation tool (will only put out if their partner does X…etc.)  This makes sex a tool and not a sharing, intimate experience that brings you closer like it should be.  So repeat after me:  “Sex is not a tool to manipulate my partner”!!   By the same token, you should take equal part in initiating sex.  And my total rule of thumb is:  Anything between two consenting adults is fair game.  Just make sure that  - yes, you’re both consenting ADULTS and that you both consent to whatever it is you’re proposing doing.  Then from there – feel free to get as freaky as you BOTH want…and enjoy!  If you need some ideas – my author website is http://www.cassieryan.com – for a list of the Smoking Hot books  The Seduction Series has quite a few fun ideas, as does the “Succubus” series 12.
Thou shall make your partner and your relationship a priority in your life.  This does NOT mean that your new partner takes precedence over the well being of your children, your job, your existing friendships or family relationships etc.  But this does mean that they need to be prioritized in there with all the rest of these things.  If your partner feels like they always come last in your life – they most likely won’t be your partner for long.  Relationships are living things and need time, love and attention.13.
Thou halt always be mindful of the children in any relationship!  As I mentioned above, I had an abusive childhood.  I’ve been a step kid, had stepfathers, step siblings etc.  There were many times where I felt like I no longer mattered and that I had fallen to last place on my mom’s priority list.  For that reason, I’m very mindful of my son when I enter into new relationships, and I’m very mindful of the children of anyone I date.  I know how it feels to have someone new come into your life, and I know how jarring it can be when you feel like you’re suddenly cut off from your parent because this new person has usurped your place in their life!  Try to take a look at things from your child’s point of view and make sure they still feel like they are an important part of your life and that they still have access, love and support from you, or their parent.  If you’re the ‘new step parent’ or even the new girlfriend or boyfriend – be mindful that the kids were there first, and there’s a certain inherent priority that SHOULD come with them being their parent’s child.  That doesn’t mean that if they are little hellions and their parent doesn’t rein them in that you have to just sit back and take it!  See my commandment above about open communication!  But being a child means there are a lot of things you are powerless about in your own life – and new relationships for your parent can be scary and jarring.  Try to make this as pain free for them as possible!14.
 If you’re unhappy in your current relationship, then listen to your gut and take appropriate action.  We all know someone that constantly bemoans how unhappy they are, but never want to do anything to change it.  There are ALWAYS options…even if you don’t like what they are, and life is too short to be miserable!  So put your big girl panties or big boy boxers on and FIX IT!  This may involve openly communicating with your partner, seeking 3rd party help like counseling or even deciding to end the relationship and leave.  Respect yourself enough to choose to be happy and make the hard choices that will help you get there.15.
 Thou shalt respect yourself enough to know you deserve a happy relationship.  There are some people out there who either consciously or unconsciously think they don’t deserve a happy relationship.  Respect and love yourself enough to know that EVERYONE deserves to find happiness and a happy relationship is just part of that!  If you can’t get to that point – it might be time for that third party help to work through your past issues that are keeping you from seeing how worthy you are!  Don’t let the past dictate who you are.  YOU dictate who you are to the future!
I’m sure I could keep these going to 100, but I learned the hard way and I’m sure a lot of you have too, so if there are any I’ve missed, please feel free to comment and add  And to everyone – I wish you a happy, honest, trusting, passionate, loving, empowering, fulfilling, equal partnership, best friend & lover, soul mate, very affectionate and committed relationship where you can both be your true selves with the other person and be totally accepted and loved for who you are!
Blessings & All Happiness…Tina




Filed under: Uncategorized

A journey through love & acceptance…rather than intolerance and hate.

This is cross posted from the Aphrodisia Author's Blog, but I figured my 7 brain surgeries one had been up long enough and it was time for a fresh post  I'll try to be better about getting back into blogging

But here goes:

As someone who writes not only romance, but also HOT, erotic romance, I've had my fair share of self righteous people trying to tell me I'm immoral, bad, a bad mother, or going to go to hell for what I do. I've always written those people off as not realizing what huge hypocrites they are, since I'm sure they are entirely blameless in their own lives (yeah – right…) I've never been ashamed of what I write and what I do. If people don't like it – they don't have to read it, unlike those people who try to brow beat me with their warped version of morality, I don't shove my books down people's throats. I have quite a fan following without doing that, and for those who try to shame me into their idea of morality – just so you know – Jesus has quite a fan following without your help also…lol! As does God.

I recently had two people very close to me come out as gay, and I've gotten to see first hand another cross sections of this hate and intolerance. Now, let me say that most people in our lives have accepted it quite readily and still love and support them both, which we all appreciate! However, they've been offered numbers for counseling so they can get "fixed", and some other insensitive things. Let me say for the record, neither of them are BROKEN in any way! So Therefore they don't need to be fixed. They are purely being brave enough to acknowledge their own feelings, who they are, and what they want out of life, not to mention what makes them happy. I'm extremely proud of both of them, and want them to be happy, no matter what form that takes. And as close to the situation as I am – if I don't have an issue with it, I don't see what right anyone else has to have one!

There have also been a very few people who have offered their condolences to me or to them. And while I understand it's a complicated situation in some respects. I mean what I've said since this entire thing came to light – I love them both and want them to be happy. I'm just happy they've both been brave enough to be honest with themselves and the world at large. They are both amazing people, and if the outer world doesn't see that – then it's the world's loss. When people start accepting other people for who they truly are and not who they want or expect them to be, the world will be a much better place.

This is not a political statement or anything like that – this is purely an opinion that love and acceptance, not intolerance and hate are better for everyone – individually, and as a larger consciousness. If anyone truly tries to argue against that, I think they've lost their argument from the outset – at least with me.

I know my posts aren't usually controversial – well, maybe sometimes just because I tend to be outspoken, but I think since I've seen both sides of this issue first hand – especially more recently, it has become something of a hot button with me.

Also, I know not everyone lives locally and has gotten the full scoop – I've received several emails, tweets and texts from people wanting to make sure I'm okay and they are okay. So for those – yes, all three of us are happy, healthy and enjoying life. Thank you!!

May all of you experience love, happiness, acceptance and inclusion in your lives, and may you be brave enough to share those same things with others! 

Cassie Ryan

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Sexy, Supernatural, Sensuous

www.cassieryan.com

www.butterscotchmartinigirls.com

Seducing the Succubus – Available Now

The Demon & The Succubus – Available Now

A journey through love & acceptance…rather than intolerance and hate.

This is cross posted from the Aphrodisia Author’s Blog, but I figured my 7 brain surgeries one had been up long enough and it was time for a fresh post  I’ll try to be better about getting back into blogging

But here goes:

As someone who writes not only romance, but also HOT, erotic romance, I’ve had my fair share of self righteous people trying to tell me I’m immoral, bad, a bad mother, or going to go to hell for what I do. I’ve always written those people off as not realizing what huge hypocrites they are, since I’m sure they are entirely blameless in their own lives (yeah – right…) I’ve never been ashamed of what I write and what I do. If people don’t like it – they don’t have to read it, unlike those people who try to brow beat me with their warped version of morality, I don’t shove my books down people’s throats. I have quite a fan following without doing that, and for those who try to shame me into their idea of morality – just so you know – Jesus has quite a fan following without your help also…lol! As does God.

I recently had two people very close to me come out as gay, and I’ve gotten to see first hand another cross sections of this hate and intolerance. Now, let me say that most people in our lives have accepted it quite readily and still love and support them both, which we all appreciate! However, they’ve been offered numbers for counseling so they can get “fixed”, and some other insensitive things. Let me say for the record, neither of them are BROKEN in any way! So Therefore they don’t need to be fixed. They are purely being brave enough to acknowledge their own feelings, who they are, and what they want out of life, not to mention what makes them happy. I’m extremely proud of both of them, and want them to be happy, no matter what form that takes. And as close to the situation as I am – if I don’t have an issue with it, I don’t see what right anyone else has to have one!

There have also been a very few people who have offered their condolences to me or to them. And while I understand it’s a complicated situation in some respects. I mean what I’ve said since this entire thing came to light – I love them both and want them to be happy. I’m just happy they’ve both been brave enough to be honest with themselves and the world at large. They are both amazing people, and if the outer world doesn’t see that – then it’s the world’s loss. When people start accepting other people for who they truly are and not who they want or expect them to be, the world will be a much better place.

This is not a political statement or anything like that – this is purely an opinion that love and acceptance, not intolerance and hate are better for everyone – individually, and as a larger consciousness. If anyone truly tries to argue against that, I think they’ve lost their argument from the outset – at least with me.

I know my posts aren’t usually controversial – well, maybe sometimes just because I tend to be outspoken, but I think since I’ve seen both sides of this issue first hand – especially more recently, it has become something of a hot button with me.

Also, I know not everyone lives locally and has gotten the full scoop – I’ve received several emails, tweets and texts from people wanting to make sure I’m okay and they are okay. So for those – yes, all three of us are happy, healthy and enjoying life. Thank you!!

May all of you experience love, happiness, acceptance and inclusion in your lives, and may you be brave enough to share those same things with others! 

 

Filed under: Uncategorized

A 1st person bird’s eye view journey through 7 brain surgeries and back through recovery….

For me, November 17, 2010 started out pretty much like a normal day.  I had no way of knowing that it would end my life as I knew it for quite a while…

I woke up early and went to a chiropractor appointment, stopping by Office Max on the way home to print out several copies of a handout for the talk I was doing that evening at a book signing at a local Borders.  The day unfolded just like any other as I gathered my bookmarks, “signed by the author” stickers and other items I’d need for the signing.

I ate a light meal on the way out the door and hugged and kissed my son and husband goodbye, smiling as they wished me luck at the signing.  As is my habit, that night I left early and programmed the address into the GPS in my car.

I arrived about 45 minutes early, parking in the parking garage across from the entrance to the Borders Waterfront.  I armed my car alarm, noted where I’d parked and walked across the street with my “book signing” bag slung over my shoulder.  I quickly stopped at the front counter to ask for Jackie, the manager, to let her know I’d arrived for the signing.

Within minutes Jackie was there, guiding me over to meet the other author who was signing that night.  She introduced us, asked me what she could get me to drink and then left us to chat.

I asked the other author about her book, she asked about mine and I enjoyed the easy conversation that usually arises between two people who love the craft of writing.

Let me say now that at this point, I felt absolutely fine.  No headache, only that sense of anticipation deep in my gut that I always feel before I speak or do a signing – that anticipation of meeting readers and putting my work “out there.”

I’m not sure how much time passed, probably no more than ten minutes before Jackie returned with an iced chai and set it next to me.  I took a few sips and then sucked in a deep breath as the first wave of pain hit in my right temple and fanned out across my skull.  Confused, I glanced to my right convinced that someone had come up beside me and had started to chisel and hammer into my right temple.

I heard Jackie speaking to someone else – an employee?  Another customer was sick – possibly having a stroke?  She called 911 and I let the soft hum of voices wash over me as another wave of pain speared through me and my stomach began to roil.  I sat down hard in the nearest chair, and even the thought of taking another sip of chai made my stomach buck.  I swallowed hard to keep from throwing up onto the floor in front of me.

My skin turned suddenly clammy and I sucked in deep breaths in between the waves of pain that seemed as if someone was drilling into my skull from the inside out.

When Jackie finished her conversation and hung up the phone, she turned and I motioned to get her attention.

“I’m sorry, something is wrong.  I’m feeling like I’m going to throw up and I’ve got a horrible pain in my head – worse than any migraine I’ve ever had.  Something is very wrong, but I’m not sure what.  I need to call my husband to come and get me.”

I remember her answering, soothing words and soft questions.  She handed me a trashcan, and my stomach immediately responded.

I grabbed my cell and hit speed dial for my husband.  He answered and I told him I needed him to come and get me.  I filled him in, quickly telling him where I’d parked so he could find my car, and that I wasn’t sure what was wrong, but whatever this was it was my new ‘high’ on my personal pain scale and that something was very wrong.  He told me to hang in there that he was on his way and everything was going to be fine.  I hung up and looked up to find Jackie studying me critically.  I remember her telling me I was pale and sweaty and asking if she should call 911.

At first I recoiled at the idea.  It has been drilled into me that you only called 911 in an emergency.  Was this an emergency?  I wasn’t sure, and I was in too much pain to think straight.  Luckily she took it out of my hands.  She called telling the operator she had called a few minutes ago, but now had an author who was in great pain, clammy, and had just gone pale.  She mentioned that I had a history of migraines, but that this pain was off the charts and I let the words wash over me as the next wave of pain hit nearly sending me off the chair and to my knees.  I reached out for the trash can again as my stomach bucked in protest and I threw up again, the convulsions of my stomach making the head pain that much worse.

Time spun out having little meaning for me beyond the space in between times I threw up and waves of pain. I was dimly aware of the arrival of the EMT’s, and softly answered their questions about any medications I was taking—none–and that yes I’d had migraines in the past and had a prescription of Immitrex at home from my family doctor, but that I’d never visited a neurologist for them.

I have flashes of memory where they swung my feet up onto a stretcher, and then of being carried.  Then I was in a vehicle and it was moving.  I swallowed hard against another wave of nausea, calling out to the driver to warn them, but the waves passed quickly, unfortunately followed by another hard wave of pain in my head.  I know I moaned and clutched the right side of my head, rocking back and forth lightly to comfort myself.

I’m not sure how much time passed, only marked by large waves of pain and stomach clenching bouts of nausea.  But then, finally, I realized we’d stopped moving and I was no longer in the ambulance.  My husband’s deep voice sounded beside me and my tight muscles relaxed as I drank in the comfort that welcome sound brought.  He was here! He would make sure I was all right.  The fear that had begun to set in receded enough for me to think again, Then I remember only snippets – faces, lights, the sharp sting of needles in my arms, the cold touch of fingers encased in gloves against the skin of my face.  Impressions, sounds, smells…

Then the pain returned, consuming me.  My husband tried to calm me and kept telling me to be still.  I realize now that they were trying to do a Cat Scan, but that I wouldn’t hold still.  I begged him to make the pain stop.  He told me if I held still, they could figure out what was wrong and make the pain stop.  Irritated, I replied that if they made the pain stop that I could hold still.  I heard his quick huff of breath that told me my snippy comment was no more than he expected me to say and he murmured soothing nonsense words to me telling me that the pain would be gone soon.  His deep voice soothed me like little else could, but it didn’t stop the pain and I began lightly rocking to sooth myself again, ignoring the repeated requests to hold still.  I may have flipped him off, I don’t remember, but it seems like something I would’ve done at that point so I wouldn’t be surprised.

Here my memory skips forward and I either heard someone say it or I realized that I’m coming out of surgery.  I have a moment of panic since I’m not sure what type of surgery I had or had even needed, but I hear my husband’s voice in the next room and the panic recedes.  He wouldn’t have let them operate if it wasn’t needed.  Then there are a montage of faces leaning over me, people asking me questions or demanding I respond in some way, and lights overhead as I’m moved from one place to another.

I keep expecting pain—after all, surgery means pain, right?  But from the sluggishness of my thoughts and the slow response of my body to my mental commands I realize there are still some heavy drugs in my system from the surgery.  My first reaction is relief that there is no more pain to bear, and then disorientation as I struggle to fill memories into the great blank block of time left behind in my personal timeline from the surgery and the drugs.

Suddenly my husband is next to me holding my hand.  I squeeze his hand in mine, drinking in the comfort that provides and basking in his familiar scent as I battle back fear over what had happened.  I try to speak to ask him what happened, but my throat hurts as if I’d yelled too much, and I swallow hard against the discomfort.

He lays a calming hand on my cheek and tells me to relax, that it is all over.

I open my eyes and look up into his face.  His expression holds relief, not fear, which calms my own growing panic.  He leans close and quickly explains what happened using words that flow past me like AVM, brain bleed and others that didn’t really register at the time.  He made sure to tell me that it isn’t congenital so I don’t have to worry about my son having it.  He said it is like a birth defect and that 1% of the population has it.  He mentions brain surgery and I study his face, expecting him to crack a smile at any moment and tell me he’s kidding.

There was no way I’d just had brain surgery…was there?

Then I was moving—possibly in a wheel chair or even just in a rolling hospital bed?  Lights flash by overhead and the scenery changes on either side of me.  I’m out of a hallway and in some type of foyer.  I glance to the right where there are three figures who seem out of place in a hospital.  All three are dressed in black jeans and denim shirts and have large, round skeletal heads that remind me of bone tumbleweeds.

I have a quick thought of “damn, those are some really good drugs they’re giving me, ” before one of the figures winked at me.  I looked closer look and realized they had elongated canines – i.e. vampire teeth.  The spurt of unease that had started to slip through me dissolved as I realized I recognized these figures.

The first was my brother who had passed away in 2001.  The second was my stepmother who I’d lost just the previous year, and the third was my grandfather who had passed away back in 1989.  None of these three would ever harm me, no matter if they now possessed vampire teeth or not.

Thin logic, but hey, the drugs still pumped through my system and my slow moving brain didn’t cry foul at my thin logic, so I went with it J

When I become aware again, I was in a hospital room on a hospital bed.  As if summoned by my eyes fluttering open, my door opened and a nurse entered.

Our gazes met and she flashed me an encouraging smile.  “How are you feeling?”

I take a moment to evaluate before answering.  “So hot, so thirsty.  And I have to get up and go pee.”  I winced as only a raspy whisper emerged from my sore throat.  I tried to clear my throat and winced against the sudden flash of discomfort.

“You had a ventilator tube down your throat for quite a while, honey, so your vocal chords are swollen and irritated.  Keep trying and your voice will get better.

“And you have a catheter in, so go ahead and pee when you feel you need to.”

A quick moment of concentration centered around the discomfort of the catheter confirmed her words.

Damn, but I hated catheters!  When I’d been admitted to the hospital for emergency gall bladder surgery just after my son was born, I’d left the hospital with a string of urinary track infections because of catheters.  I wasn’t a fan.

My other discomfort came back reminding me how badly I wanted a drink.  “Thirsty, so thirsty.”

“We need to clear you for ice chips or thin liquids, honey.  Can you cough for me and clear your throat?  If the liquid goes down the wrong way and you aren’t able to get it out, it will sit in your lungs and give you pneumonia.  You don’t want that do you?”

“I bit back the sarcastic comment that sprang to mind.  “Is there anyone who would answer yes to this question?”  But I obediently cough and clear my throat, ignoring the pain as she praises my efforts.

She set a cup in front of me and told me to only take a small sip.

“What is it? I push out in a painful, raspy whisper.

“Water.”

She helps me sit up and I look down at the cup.   A feathery web of something shiny sits just on top of the liquid.  “What’s that?”  I point at the water and touch a fingertip to the clear froth floating on top.

“It’s thickened water, honey.  If it goes down the wrong way, it’s easier for you to clear out thickened liquids.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I was still thirsty so I reached out until I was able to close my fingers around the small plastic cup.  I lifted the cup to my lips and took a small sip.  Cool water hit my dry tongue an instant before a glob of a slimy substance triggered my gag reflex.  I coughed and the nurse scolded me to be careful about swallowing, but I hadn’t swallowed anything yet.  I concentrated and moved the tiny sip of water back toward my throat.  I tried to swallow, but my throat responded slowly as if it had forgotten how to do this.  I winced as pain shot down my throat and the sip of water went down the wrong way.

I coughed until it cleared as the nurse patted me on the back and encouraged me to continue to clear my throat to get all of the water out.

I cleared my throat again, the vibration of my vocal chords awkward and uncomfortable.

“Good, very good. Here’s a little ice.”

I opened my mouth and she slipped a spoon with some ice chips on it between my lips.

“Don’t chew, just let it melt on your tongue.”

The next thing I remember is sitting up.  I’m not sure where in the hospital I was, but I was no longer in my room, and a different nurse sat to my left.  I smelled food so we may have been in the dining room where the patients gathered to eat and socialize.  I turned to face the nurse, glad to note the absence of any pain.  “What’s the date today?”

There was a slight pause before she answered, “December 14th, honey.”

My pulse quickened.  I’d lost a few weeks?  “It’s my birthday today.”

A male voice to my right said, “No, it’s not.  You’re just not remembering right because of all the meds and surgeries.

“It is my birthday,” I insisted to the man who I now realize was one of the aides.

“Check her wrist band,” came the voice of the nurse.

The man lifted my wrist and the gentle bite and slide of the plastic strips against my skin told me he was searching for the information.

“She’s right.  It is her birthday.”

I bit back a scathing comment at his condescending tone.

“Do you remember how old you are today, honey?”  This from the nurse.

The answer popped immediately into my mind and I winced even as I confirmed with my gut that it was correct.  When had I gotten this old??  “I’m forty-two today.”

I waited for them to tell me I was wrong or recheck my wristband again, but nothing happened.

“Happy birthday, they finally said in near unison.”

“Not exactly how I’d planned to spend my birthday, I plan to fire my travel agent.”

I winced as some of my pent up snark escaped.  After all, it wasn’t their fault I was here.

They both laughed, and relief slid through me that I hadn’t offended them with my sarcasm.

The nurse lightly touched my arm and I turned to look at her.  “Do you remember your name?”

“Tina Marie Gerow”

“Who is the President?”

“Obama,” I answered without thinking.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Scottsdale Healthcare Osborn,” I remembered my husband saying.  I suddenly wondered where he was, and resisted the urge to interrupt and ask.

“Do you know what kind of a place this is?”

“A hospital.”

“Do you know why you’re here?  Do you remember what happened?”

“I was at a book signing, I began, and then told her what I remembered as she smiled and nodded.

“You look like you have a question, honey.”

“Do you know where my husband is?”

She nodded and smiled again.  “He left for work about a half an hour ago.  He said he’d be back around four this afternoon.

Warmth spread through my chest and expanded.  He was here and I missed him?” Moisture filled my eyes and blurred my vision.  I blinked to clear my vision and keep the tears from falling.

“He’s here every day, honey.  Usually with your son and your Dad.”

At the mention of my son, Darian, my tear ducts went into overdrive and a few tears escaped to slide down my cheeks.  He was only sixteen.  How scary it must have been for him to watch me go through all this.  A huge unseen fist squeezed my heart and an overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around my son and reassure him that I was all right filled me.

It took a minute for me to register that she’d mentioned my Dad as well.

“My Dad?”  More hot tears slid down my cheeks to fall against my arms and the aide pressed a wad of tissues into my hand.

“Yes, your Dad.”

“But he lives in Ohio and this happened nearly a month ago.”

The nurse smiled and nodded again.  “It’s great to have supportive parents.  And you’ve got an entire family of support.”

The aide cleared his throat and I turned to look at him.

“Do you remember your profession?”

I smiled as the answers came readily to mind.  “I’m an author, and a part time Starbucks barista.”

The aide’s expression turned dubious.  “Is she hallucinating?”

His gaze was on the nurse and not me so I didn’t bother to answer even though I chafed at his condescending tone.  His fingers closed around my wrist.

I snorted.  “That’s not going to be on there.”

“She really is an author,” the nurse surprised me by saying.  “We went to her website and read some excerpts.”  She laughed.  “Talk about steamy!”

The aide laughed.  “Really?  You’ll have to show me when we get downstairs.”

The aide tapped my hand and I turned to look at him.

“You’re also a barista at Starbucks?”

I nodded.

“Okay, how do you make a caramel macchiato?”

“Hot or cold, and what size?”

“Does it make a difference?”

I nodded, irritated with both his questions and his still-condescending tone.

“Hot, Venti.”

I smiled as the familiar recipe came easily to me.  After all, in my two years working at Starbucks, I’m sure I’d made thousands of them.  “Four pumps of vanilla in the bottom of a Venti cup,” I began.

“Wait, don’t Venti hot drinks get five pumps of syrup?”

“Normally, but for caramel macchiatos, each size gets one pump less.”

He studied me critically and I pulled my wrist away before he could try to check the information on my wristband.  However, I was pretty sure he was going to check my answer at the earliest opportunity.

“Then you steam the milk and pour it on top with some good foam to float the shots on.  Two espresso shots go on top and then some drizzle of caramel sauce in a zig zag pattern.”

“It only gets two shots?  I thought it got three.”

“That’s in the Iced Venti.”

He nodded without any disbelief or condescension in his expression this time.

I held out my arm.  “You want to check my wrist band?”

He chuckled and shook his head.

Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Suddenly uncomfortable and very thirsty, I realized how dry and pasty my mouth was.  I bit my tongue to try to create some saliva, but to no avail.  “So hot, so thirsty.”

The nurse laid a gentle hand on my arm  “Would you like to try some more water, honey?”

At the thought of more slimy water inside my mouth I gagged and coughed.  “That stuff tastes like drinking someone else’s snot.”

The aide laughed and the nurse clucked her tongue.  “Do you remember what I told you about what would happen if it goes down wrong and stays in there?”

I bit my tongue hard against a sarcastic retort, “Yeah, pneumonia”, I remembered. But wouldn’t I end up dying of dehydration first?  I glanced down at my arms to confirm that there was no IV giving me liquids.

The next thing I remember, I’m lying in a darkened room, the weak light filtering in through the window enough to illuminate the clock face, but not enough for me to make out much else.  From the lumpy mattress, the rock hard pillow and the stiff sheets, I assume I’m in a hospital bed, which makes sense if I’d recently had surgery.

My body aches telling me I’ve been lying in one position for too long.  I roll to the right and am caught short as something yanks hard against my left wrist.  Pain flares through my wrist and up my arm and I twist my wrist, surprised to find some type of cloth biting into my skin.  I reach out with my right hand to explore what has me in its grip, but my right hand is caught short as well.  Frustrated, I kick my feet, but the motions of both legs are stopped short as well.

I’m restrained?  Disbelief spears through me.  After all, I’ve spent my life as a rule follower, what could I have possibly done to warrant being tied hand and foot to a hospital bed?

“You pulled out your feeding tube and slapped a nurse.”

I startle at my husband’s voice.  I hadn’t realized he was in the room, or that I’d asked my question out loud.  “I did what?”

“To be fair, she was pestering you trying to get a response.  After the surgeries, they turned off your sedation every two hours to get you to respond to stimuli.  During one of those sessions, you pulled out your feeding tube and slapped a nurse who was bugging you.  They learned quickly after that to just reduce the sedation, not turn it off.”

“That would do it,” I murmured to myself as I gently pulled against the restraints, irritation at being punished for something I didn’t even remember doing burning through me.  I understood their reasoning, but I didn’t have to like it.

I must’ve dozed off then because when I woke up, my husband was gone, my left wrist throbbed from the run in with the restraints, my bladder screamed that it was overly full and a searing headache galloped over the top and right side of my head.  I groped around until my hand closed over the remote for the nurse’s call button.  I pressed the button and then set the remote away from me, wriggling to try to find a more comfortable position to lie in with the limitation of the restraints.  I glanced up at the clock surprised to realize more than an hour had passed since I’d last looked.

I tried to relax and close my eyes, but the pain in my wrist and my head and the discomfort of my too full bladder made it nearly impossible.  I know they said I had a catheter in, but it obviously wasn’t relieving the pressure.  Or I’d gotten another “fun” hospital urinary tract infection that made me feel like I had to constantly go.  L

My head throbbed and I glanced up at the clock, surprised to see that forty minutes had passed since I’d pressed the nurse’s call button.  I grabbed the remote and pressed the call button several more times wondering if my repeated efforts were just as useless here as they were on an elevator button.  I let my eyes slip closed as the throbbing in my head went into overdrive and radiated down my right jaw.  I tried to reach up to touch my face, but was stopped short by the restraint.

Frustration and helplessness burned through me and I tried to call out, but only a weak, raspy sound emerged.

Nearly ten full minutes later, fifty minutes after I’d first hit the nurse’s call button, someone finally came to check on me.  She was a different nurse than I remembered seeing before and listened to me with a quiet compassion that I appreciated, and I made sure to tell her so before she left.  She returned a while later with some meds for my headache and my wrist pain and loosened the restraints, although we were both surprised to find the one on my right wrist totally off.  I didn’t remember wriggling out of it, but she told me with a quiet laugh that I probably had.  She said the nurses on the floor called me Houdini because I had a knack for wriggling out of well-tied restraints.  She also told me she would have my urine tested for a UTI, which might be the cause of my discomfort.

I thanked her for her help and for listening to me.  After so many people speaking to me as if I were a small child over the past several days? Weeks? This one woman treating me as if I were a person, and an intelligent adult made all the difference and I made sure she knew how much I appreciated it.  She apologized for the long wait to get someone to respond and promised she’d check on me in an hour or so after she did her ‘charting’, which I assumed was the nurse version of paperwork – after all, every job had their own version of paperwork, I knew hers was no different.

The pain receded until I was finally able to sleep and the loosened restraints gave me just enough room to get comfortable in my small environment.  When I woke, the nice nurse from the night before was back, smiling down at me and asking if I was ready for something to drink.

My parched mouth confirmed I definitely was and she and I went through the throat clearing and coughing drill until she was satisfied I could get any liquid out that went down the wrong way.  Thankfully she brought me a cold Sprite poured over ice, blissfully unthickened, and she helped me sit up and then sip it through a straw.

The cold liquid felt divine going down my abused throat and I vowed to ask for Sprite with extra ice the next time I was thirsty.

“Are you hungry?”  We’ve got you on a pureed diet, but some things aren’t so bad that way.”  She brought me the menu and I glanced over the offerings doubtfully.  French toast and eggs caught my eye.  Those might not be too bad, especially with syrup and butter.

She smiled seeming to agree with me.  “I’ll put in the order for you.  Breakfast should be up in about twenty minutes.  I’ll check back in on you soon.

I glanced up to find my husband standing in the doorway.  The nurse filled him in on what had happened with the restraints, the pending test for the UTI, the okay for thin liquids and the pureed food before she left.

I filled him in on the feelings of helplessness and the long wait or a nurse to respond, also filling in how wonderful the nurse who had just left had been to me both last night and this morning.  He was concerned about the long wait time and understood my frustration, but said that he really liked that nurse too.  She had always been really great when he’d spoken to her as well.  He said she’d mentioned that I would be moving to a real room soon and had asked him if he’d like to come up and spend the night with me sometime.  They could bring in a sleeper bed for him.

Excitement curled inside my chest at the idea and I asked him if he was thinking about it.  He said he was considering it on a night when my Dad and Darian didn’t need him at home.

He did come up and spend a night and it was wonderful.  I could reach out and hold his hand, although I know he spent an uncomfortable night on that horrible chair/bed on the floor beside my bed.  I missed my own bed and my own pillow and my aching muscles agreed.  My husband promised we’d both go get massages when we got home, and to hang in there.

I was soon transferred to a regular room where the days became a blur of meals, meds and visitors and I began rehab therapy sessions—physical, occupational and speech.  I liked all three of my therapists.  They were compassionate, made me feel listened to and like a person and not just another patient, and encouraged me toward my goal of “getting back home to my guys.”  They always treated me like an intelligent adult and were never condescending or belittling.

A few weeks later one of the therapists asked if I’d like to move to the rehab floor full time where I’d have three hours of therapy a day.

I had already seen the improvements that therapy had brought and knew that the increase in therapy sessions would help me get better than much faster so I gave a quick affirmative and outlined my reasoning which earned a smile and a nod from Simon, my occupational therapist.

The move to the rehab floor was more a change of scenery than anything, but it also brought some unexpected freedoms.  They removed the Foley catheter, but I still had to ring for a nurse to help me get up and use the bedside commode or go to the actual bathroom.  After a week or so, they cleared my husband to be able to help me up to use the restroom and also to wheel or “walk” me around the floor with my walker after meals.  We could also now have patio privileges, which included heading down to the cafeteria as a family if we liked.  These new freedoms along with finding more nurses and aides who actually treated me like a person, and my increased mobility from therapy did wonders for my morale and each of the three therapists told me how quickly I was improving at each session.  I was excited by the quick progress and whenever I was asked what my goals were, I was reiterate that I wanted to “get home to my guys.”  I had several visitors over the next few weeks, writer friends, family and other friends, as well as a few phone calls—all of which raised my morale and my commitment to get better and back to my previous self.

One day my occupational therapist came to get me just after breakfast and as we did often in his sessions, we reviewed my goal—to get home to my guys—and he said he thought I was ready, and asked me how I felt about going home.

This was everything I’d been working for, so I was excited by the prospect.  My husband worked during the day, but my Dad was still in town and came to visit daily.  He’s retired and willing to stay with us for as long as I need him, so I wouldn’t be alone.  My son is home in the evenings after school and very willing to help also.

Simon told me he’d talk to the doctors and other therapists and see what they thought and get back to me.

I thanked him, but was afraid to get my hopes and have them dashed if it didn’t happen, so instead I tried to take a nap.

Just after lunch I glanced toward the doorway to find my good friend and fellow writer Cheyenne McCray smiling in at me.  She came inside and we visited for quite a while before Simon walked past my door again and said, “How about Thursday to go home? We could do the family meeting on Wednesday with the family training right after that?”

“Thursday is great for me,” I called out as excitement and anticipation curled inside my gut.  I asked Cheyenne if I’d heard him correctly.  She confirmed I had and I grabbed the phone to call my husband who sounded just as excited as I felt.

Just like any other highly anticipated event, Thursday took forever to arrive, but it eventually did.

My wonderful husband took me to Olive Garden for my first “real” food outside of the hospital and even though nothing had tasted quite right since the surgery – Olive Garden lasagna was amazing!

I’ve been home for two weeks now, and I’m doing Outpatient therapy a few times a week.  I’m off the walker and onto a cane and I’m getting stronger every day.  I’ve lost a little peripheral vision on the left side, but don’t really have any other functional gaps other than that.  I’m very blessed and I’m thankful every day.  Looking back is still jarring.  I missed Thanksgiving, my birthday, my husband’s birthday, Christmas, and New Years, and I often miss my “old self” and my “old abilities”, but I’m determined to get back there and continue to work hard in therapy.

I took back boxes of signed books to the ICU nurses an the rehab nurses for being so great to me and will definitely go back and visit from time to time.

I’m so thankful for those men and women who were patient with me, compassionate and helped me on the road to recovery.  Portia, Christine, Kristin, Matt, Lisa, Manuel and many more. They made a very scary and horrible situation better and I’ll always be grateful to them.

A 1st person bird's eye view journey through 7 brain surgeries and back through recovery….

For me, November 17, 2010 started out pretty much like a normal day.  I had no way of knowing that it would end my life as I knew it for quite a while…

I woke up early and went to a chiropractor appointment, stopping by Office Max on the way home to print out several copies of a handout for the talk I was doing that evening at a book signing at a local Borders.  The day unfolded just like any other as I gathered my bookmarks, "signed by the author" stickers and other items I'd need for the signing.

I ate a light meal on the way out the door and hugged and kissed my son and husband goodbye, smiling as they wished me luck at the signing.  As is my habit, that night I left early and programmed the address into the GPS in my car.

I arrived about 45 minutes early, parking in the parking garage across from the entrance to the Borders Waterfront.  I armed my car alarm, noted where I'd parked and walked across the street with my "book signing" bag slung over my shoulder.  I quickly stopped at the front counter to ask for Jackie, the manager, to let her know I'd arrived for the signing.

Within minutes Jackie was there, guiding me over to meet the other author who was signing that night.  She introduced us, asked me what she could get me to drink and then left us to chat.

I asked the other author about her book, she asked about mine and I enjoyed the easy conversation that usually arises between two people who love the craft of writing.

Let me say now that at this point, I felt absolutely fine.  No headache, only that sense of anticipation deep in my gut that I always feel before I speak or do a signing – that anticipation of meeting readers and putting my work "out there."

I'm not sure how much time passed, probably no more than ten minutes before Jackie returned with an iced chai and set it next to me.  I took a few sips and then sucked in a deep breath as the first wave of pain hit in my right temple and fanned out across my skull.  Confused, I glanced to my right convinced that someone had come up beside me and had started to chisel and hammer into my right temple.

I heard Jackie speaking to someone else – an employee?  Another customer was sick – possibly having a stroke?  She called 911 and I let the soft hum of voices wash over me as another wave of pain speared through me and my stomach began to roil.  I sat down hard in the nearest chair, and even the thought of taking another sip of chai made my stomach buck.  I swallowed hard to keep from throwing up onto the floor in front of me.

My skin turned suddenly clammy and I sucked in deep breaths in between the waves of pain that seemed as if someone was drilling into my skull from the inside out.

When Jackie finished her conversation and hung up the phone, she turned and I motioned to get her attention.

"I'm sorry, something is wrong.  I'm feeling like I'm going to throw up and I've got a horrible pain in my head – worse than any migraine I've ever had.  Something is very wrong, but I'm not sure what.  I need to call my husband to come and get me."

I remember her answering, soothing words and soft questions.  She handed me a trashcan, and my stomach immediately responded.

I grabbed my cell and hit speed dial for my husband.  He answered and I told him I needed him to come and get me.  I filled him in, quickly telling him where I'd parked so he could find my car, and that I wasn't sure what was wrong, but whatever this was it was my new 'high' on my personal pain scale and that something was very wrong.  He told me to hang in there that he was on his way and everything was going to be fine.  I hung up and looked up to find Jackie studying me critically.  I remember her telling me I was pale and sweaty and asking if she should call 911.

At first I recoiled at the idea.  It has been drilled into me that you only called 911 in an emergency.  Was this an emergency?  I wasn't sure, and I was in too much pain to think straight.  Luckily she took it out of my hands.  She called telling the operator she had called a few minutes ago, but now had an author who was in great pain, clammy, and had just gone pale.  She mentioned that I had a history of migraines, but that this pain was off the charts and I let the words wash over me as the next wave of pain hit nearly sending me off the chair and to my knees.  I reached out for the trash can again as my stomach bucked in protest and I threw up again, the convulsions of my stomach making the head pain that much worse.

Time spun out having little meaning for me beyond the space in between times I threw up and waves of pain. I was dimly aware of the arrival of the EMT's, and softly answered their questions about any medications I was taking—none–and that yes I'd had migraines in the past and had a prescription of Immitrex at home from my family doctor, but that I'd never visited a neurologist for them.

I have flashes of memory where they swung my feet up onto a stretcher, and then of being carried.  Then I was in a vehicle and it was moving.  I swallowed hard against another wave of nausea, calling out to the driver to warn them, but the waves passed quickly, unfortunately followed by another hard wave of pain in my head.  I know I moaned and clutched the right side of my head, rocking back and forth lightly to comfort myself.

I'm not sure how much time passed, only marked by large waves of pain and stomach clenching bouts of nausea.  But then, finally, I realized we'd stopped moving and I was no longer in the ambulance.  My husband's deep voice sounded beside me and my tight muscles relaxed as I drank in the comfort that welcome sound brought.  He was here! He would make sure I was all right.  The fear that had begun to set in receded enough for me to think again, Then I remember only snippets – faces, lights, the sharp sting of needles in my arms, the cold touch of fingers encased in gloves against the skin of my face.  Impressions, sounds, smells…

Then the pain returned, consuming me.  My husband tried to calm me and kept telling me to be still.  I realize now that they were trying to do a Cat Scan, but that I wouldn't hold still.  I begged him to make the pain stop.  He told me if I held still, they could figure out what was wrong and make the pain stop.  Irritated, I replied that if they made the pain stop that I could hold still.  I heard his quick huff of breath that told me my snippy comment was no more than he expected me to say and he murmured soothing nonsense words to me telling me that the pain would be gone soon.  His deep voice soothed me like little else could, but it didn't stop the pain and I began lightly rocking to sooth myself again, ignoring the repeated requests to hold still.  I may have flipped him off, I don't remember, but it seems like something I would've done at that point so I wouldn't be surprised.

Here my memory skips forward and I either heard someone say it or I realized that I'm coming out of surgery.  I have a moment of panic since I'm not sure what type of surgery I had or had even needed, but I hear my husband's voice in the next room and the panic recedes.  He wouldn't have let them operate if it wasn't needed.  Then there are a montage of faces leaning over me, people asking me questions or demanding I respond in some way, and lights overhead as I'm moved from one place to another.

I keep expecting pain—after all, surgery means pain, right?  But from the sluggishness of my thoughts and the slow response of my body to my mental commands I realize there are still some heavy drugs in my system from the surgery.  My first reaction is relief that there is no more pain to bear, and then disorientation as I struggle to fill memories into the great blank block of time left behind in my personal timeline from the surgery and the drugs.

Suddenly my husband is next to me holding my hand.  I squeeze his hand in mine, drinking in the comfort that provides and basking in his familiar scent as I battle back fear over what had happened.  I try to speak to ask him what happened, but my throat hurts as if I'd yelled too much, and I swallow hard against the discomfort.

He lays a calming hand on my cheek and tells me to relax, that it is all over.

I open my eyes and look up into his face.  His expression holds relief, not fear, which calms my own growing panic.  He leans close and quickly explains what happened using words that flow past me like AVM, brain bleed and others that didn't really register at the time.  He made sure to tell me that it isn't congenital so I don't have to worry about my son having it.  He said it is like a birth defect and that 1% of the population has it.  He mentions brain surgery and I study his face, expecting him to crack a smile at any moment and tell me he's kidding.

There was no way I'd just had brain surgery…was there?

Then I was moving—possibly in a wheel chair or even just in a rolling hospital bed?  Lights flash by overhead and the scenery changes on either side of me.  I'm out of a hallway and in some type of foyer.  I glance to the right where there are three figures who seem out of place in a hospital.  All three are dressed in black jeans and denim shirts and have large, round skeletal heads that remind me of bone tumbleweeds.

I have a quick thought of "damn, those are some really good drugs they're giving me, " before one of the figures winked at me.  I looked closer look and realized they had elongated canines – i.e. vampire teeth.  The spurt of unease that had started to slip through me dissolved as I realized I recognized these figures.

The first was my brother who had passed away in 2001.  The second was my stepmother who I'd lost just the previous year, and the third was my grandfather who had passed away back in 1989.  None of these three would ever harm me, no matter if they now possessed vampire teeth or not.

Thin logic, but hey, the drugs still pumped through my system and my slow moving brain didn't cry foul at my thin logic, so I went with it J

When I become aware again, I was in a hospital room on a hospital bed.  As if summoned by my eyes fluttering open, my door opened and a nurse entered.

Our gazes met and she flashed me an encouraging smile.  "How are you feeling?"

I take a moment to evaluate before answering.  "So hot, so thirsty.  And I have to get up and go pee."  I winced as only a raspy whisper emerged from my sore throat.  I tried to clear my throat and winced against the sudden flash of discomfort.

"You had a ventilator tube down your throat for quite a while, honey, so your vocal chords are swollen and irritated.  Keep trying and your voice will get better.

"And you have a catheter in, so go ahead and pee when you feel you need to."

A quick moment of concentration centered around the discomfort of the catheter confirmed her words.

Damn, but I hated catheters!  When I'd been admitted to the hospital for emergency gall bladder surgery just after my son was born, I'd left the hospital with a string of urinary track infections because of catheters.  I wasn't a fan.

My other discomfort came back reminding me how badly I wanted a drink.  "Thirsty, so thirsty."

"We need to clear you for ice chips or thin liquids, honey.  Can you cough for me and clear your throat?  If the liquid goes down the wrong way and you aren't able to get it out, it will sit in your lungs and give you pneumonia.  You don't want that do you?"

"I bit back the sarcastic comment that sprang to mind.  "Is there anyone who would answer yes to this question?"  But I obediently cough and clear my throat, ignoring the pain as she praises my efforts.

She set a cup in front of me and told me to only take a small sip.

"What is it? I push out in a painful, raspy whisper.

"Water."

She helps me sit up and I look down at the cup.   A feathery web of something shiny sits just on top of the liquid.  "What's that?"  I point at the water and touch a fingertip to the clear froth floating on top.

"It's thickened water, honey.  If it goes down the wrong way, it's easier for you to clear out thickened liquids."

I wasn't convinced, but I was still thirsty so I reached out until I was able to close my fingers around the small plastic cup.  I lifted the cup to my lips and took a small sip.  Cool water hit my dry tongue an instant before a glob of a slimy substance triggered my gag reflex.  I coughed and the nurse scolded me to be careful about swallowing, but I hadn't swallowed anything yet.  I concentrated and moved the tiny sip of water back toward my throat.  I tried to swallow, but my throat responded slowly as if it had forgotten how to do this.  I winced as pain shot down my throat and the sip of water went down the wrong way.

I coughed until it cleared as the nurse patted me on the back and encouraged me to continue to clear my throat to get all of the water out.

I cleared my throat again, the vibration of my vocal chords awkward and uncomfortable.

"Good, very good. Here's a little ice."

I opened my mouth and she slipped a spoon with some ice chips on it between my lips.

"Don't chew, just let it melt on your tongue."

The next thing I remember is sitting up.  I'm not sure where in the hospital I was, but I was no longer in my room, and a different nurse sat to my left.  I smelled food so we may have been in the dining room where the patients gathered to eat and socialize.  I turned to face the nurse, glad to note the absence of any pain.  "What's the date today?"

There was a slight pause before she answered, "December 14th, honey."

My pulse quickened.  I'd lost a few weeks?  "It's my birthday today."

A male voice to my right said, "No, it's not.  You're just not remembering right because of all the meds and surgeries.

"It is my birthday," I insisted to the man who I now realize was one of the aides.

"Check her wrist band," came the voice of the nurse.

The man lifted my wrist and the gentle bite and slide of the plastic strips against my skin told me he was searching for the information.

"She's right.  It is her birthday."

I bit back a scathing comment at his condescending tone.

"Do you remember how old you are today, honey?"  This from the nurse.

The answer popped immediately into my mind and I winced even as I confirmed with my gut that it was correct.  When had I gotten this old??  "I'm forty-two today."

I waited for them to tell me I was wrong or recheck my wristband again, but nothing happened.

"Happy birthday, they finally said in near unison."

"Not exactly how I'd planned to spend my birthday, I plan to fire my travel agent."

I winced as some of my pent up snark escaped.  After all, it wasn't their fault I was here.

They both laughed, and relief slid through me that I hadn't offended them with my sarcasm.

The nurse lightly touched my arm and I turned to look at her.  "Do you remember your name?"

"Tina Marie Gerow"

"Who is the President?"

"Obama," I answered without thinking.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Scottsdale Healthcare Osborn," I remembered my husband saying.  I suddenly wondered where he was, and resisted the urge to interrupt and ask.

"Do you know what kind of a place this is?"

"A hospital."

"Do you know why you're here?  Do you remember what happened?"

"I was at a book signing, I began, and then told her what I remembered as she smiled and nodded.

"You look like you have a question, honey."

"Do you know where my husband is?"

She nodded and smiled again.  "He left for work about a half an hour ago.  He said he'd be back around four this afternoon.

Warmth spread through my chest and expanded.  He was here and I missed him?" Moisture filled my eyes and blurred my vision.  I blinked to clear my vision and keep the tears from falling.

"He's here every day, honey.  Usually with your son and your Dad."

At the mention of my son, Darian, my tear ducts went into overdrive and a few tears escaped to slide down my cheeks.  He was only sixteen.  How scary it must have been for him to watch me go through all this.  A huge unseen fist squeezed my heart and an overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around my son and reassure him that I was all right filled me.

It took a minute for me to register that she'd mentioned my Dad as well.

"My Dad?"  More hot tears slid down my cheeks to fall against my arms and the aide pressed a wad of tissues into my hand.

"Yes, your Dad."

"But he lives in Ohio and this happened nearly a month ago."

The nurse smiled and nodded again.  "It's great to have supportive parents.  And you've got an entire family of support."

The aide cleared his throat and I turned to look at him.

"Do you remember your profession?"

I smiled as the answers came readily to mind.  "I'm an author, and a part time Starbucks barista."

The aide's expression turned dubious.  "Is she hallucinating?"

His gaze was on the nurse and not me so I didn't bother to answer even though I chafed at his condescending tone.  His fingers closed around my wrist.

I snorted.  "That's not going to be on there."

"She really is an author," the nurse surprised me by saying.  "We went to her website and read some excerpts."  She laughed.  "Talk about steamy!"

The aide laughed.  "Really?  You'll have to show me when we get downstairs."

The aide tapped my hand and I turned to look at him.

"You're also a barista at Starbucks?"

I nodded.

"Okay, how do you make a caramel macchiato?"

"Hot or cold, and what size?"

"Does it make a difference?"

I nodded, irritated with both his questions and his still-condescending tone.

"Hot, Venti."

I smiled as the familiar recipe came easily to me.  After all, in my two years working at Starbucks, I'm sure I'd made thousands of them.  "Four pumps of vanilla in the bottom of a Venti cup," I began.

"Wait, don't Venti hot drinks get five pumps of syrup?"

"Normally, but for caramel macchiatos, each size gets one pump less."

He studied me critically and I pulled my wrist away before he could try to check the information on my wristband.  However, I was pretty sure he was going to check my answer at the earliest opportunity.

"Then you steam the milk and pour it on top with some good foam to float the shots on.  Two espresso shots go on top and then some drizzle of caramel sauce in a zig zag pattern."

"It only gets two shots?  I thought it got three."

"That's in the Iced Venti."

He nodded without any disbelief or condescension in his expression this time.

I held out my arm.  "You want to check my wrist band?"

He chuckled and shook his head.

Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Suddenly uncomfortable and very thirsty, I realized how dry and pasty my mouth was.  I bit my tongue to try to create some saliva, but to no avail.  "So hot, so thirsty."

The nurse laid a gentle hand on my arm  "Would you like to try some more water, honey?"

At the thought of more slimy water inside my mouth I gagged and coughed.  "That stuff tastes like drinking someone else's snot."

The aide laughed and the nurse clucked her tongue.  "Do you remember what I told you about what would happen if it goes down wrong and stays in there?"

I bit my tongue hard against a sarcastic retort, "Yeah, pneumonia", I remembered. But wouldn't I end up dying of dehydration first?  I glanced down at my arms to confirm that there was no IV giving me liquids.

The next thing I remember, I'm lying in a darkened room, the weak light filtering in through the window enough to illuminate the clock face, but not enough for me to make out much else.  From the lumpy mattress, the rock hard pillow and the stiff sheets, I assume I'm in a hospital bed, which makes sense if I'd recently had surgery.

My body aches telling me I've been lying in one position for too long.  I roll to the right and am caught short as something yanks hard against my left wrist.  Pain flares through my wrist and up my arm and I twist my wrist, surprised to find some type of cloth biting into my skin.  I reach out with my right hand to explore what has me in its grip, but my right hand is caught short as well.  Frustrated, I kick my feet, but the motions of both legs are stopped short as well.

I'm restrained?  Disbelief spears through me.  After all, I've spent my life as a rule follower, what could I have possibly done to warrant being tied hand and foot to a hospital bed?

"You pulled out your feeding tube and slapped a nurse."

I startle at my husband's voice.  I hadn't realized he was in the room, or that I'd asked my question out loud.  "I did what?"

"To be fair, she was pestering you trying to get a response.  After the surgeries, they turned off your sedation every two hours to get you to respond to stimuli.  During one of those sessions, you pulled out your feeding tube and slapped a nurse who was bugging you.  They learned quickly after that to just reduce the sedation, not turn it off."

"That would do it," I murmured to myself as I gently pulled against the restraints, irritation at being punished for something I didn't even remember doing burning through me.  I understood their reasoning, but I didn't have to like it.

I must've dozed off then because when I woke up, my husband was gone, my left wrist throbbed from the run in with the restraints, my bladder screamed that it was overly full and a searing headache galloped over the top and right side of my head.  I groped around until my hand closed over the remote for the nurse's call button.  I pressed the button and then set the remote away from me, wriggling to try to find a more comfortable position to lie in with the limitation of the restraints.  I glanced up at the clock surprised to realize more than an hour had passed since I'd last looked.

I tried to relax and close my eyes, but the pain in my wrist and my head and the discomfort of my too full bladder made it nearly impossible.  I know they said I had a catheter in, but it obviously wasn't relieving the pressure.  Or I'd gotten another "fun" hospital urinary tract infection that made me feel like I had to constantly go.  L

My head throbbed and I glanced up at the clock, surprised to see that forty minutes had passed since I'd pressed the nurse's call button.  I grabbed the remote and pressed the call button several more times wondering if my repeated efforts were just as useless here as they were on an elevator button.  I let my eyes slip closed as the throbbing in my head went into overdrive and radiated down my right jaw.  I tried to reach up to touch my face, but was stopped short by the restraint.

Frustration and helplessness burned through me and I tried to call out, but only a weak, raspy sound emerged.

Nearly ten full minutes later, fifty minutes after I'd first hit the nurse's call button, someone finally came to check on me.  She was a different nurse than I remembered seeing before and listened to me with a quiet compassion that I appreciated, and I made sure to tell her so before she left.  She returned a while later with some meds for my headache and my wrist pain and loosened the restraints, although we were both surprised to find the one on my right wrist totally off.  I didn't remember wriggling out of it, but she told me with a quiet laugh that I probably had.  She said the nurses on the floor called me Houdini because I had a knack for wriggling out of well-tied restraints.  She also told me she would have my urine tested for a UTI, which might be the cause of my discomfort.

I thanked her for her help and for listening to me.  After so many people speaking to me as if I were a small child over the past several days? Weeks? This one woman treating me as if I were a person, and an intelligent adult made all the difference and I made sure she knew how much I appreciated it.  She apologized for the long wait to get someone to respond and promised she'd check on me in an hour or so after she did her 'charting', which I assumed was the nurse version of paperwork – after all, every job had their own version of paperwork, I knew hers was no different.

The pain receded until I was finally able to sleep and the loosened restraints gave me just enough room to get comfortable in my small environment.  When I woke, the nice nurse from the night before was back, smiling down at me and asking if I was ready for something to drink.

My parched mouth confirmed I definitely was and she and I went through the throat clearing and coughing drill until she was satisfied I could get any liquid out that went down the wrong way.  Thankfully she brought me a cold Sprite poured over ice, blissfully unthickened, and she helped me sit up and then sip it through a straw.

The cold liquid felt divine going down my abused throat and I vowed to ask for Sprite with extra ice the next time I was thirsty.

"Are you hungry?"  We've got you on a pureed diet, but some things aren't so bad that way."  She brought me the menu and I glanced over the offerings doubtfully.  French toast and eggs caught my eye.  Those might not be too bad, especially with syrup and butter.

She smiled seeming to agree with me.  "I'll put in the order for you.  Breakfast should be up in about twenty minutes.  I'll check back in on you soon.

I glanced up to find my husband standing in the doorway.  The nurse filled him in on what had happened with the restraints, the pending test for the UTI, the okay for thin liquids and the pureed food before she left.

I filled him in on the feelings of helplessness and the long wait or a nurse to respond, also filling in how wonderful the nurse who had just left had been to me both last night and this morning.  He was concerned about the long wait time and understood my frustration, but said that he really liked that nurse too.  She had always been really great when he'd spoken to her as well.  He said she'd mentioned that I would be moving to a real room soon and had asked him if he'd like to come up and spend the night with me sometime.  They could bring in a sleeper bed for him.

Excitement curled inside my chest at the idea and I asked him if he was thinking about it.  He said he was considering it on a night when my Dad and Darian didn't need him at home.

He did come up and spend a night and it was wonderful.  I could reach out and hold his hand, although I know he spent an uncomfortable night on that horrible chair/bed on the floor beside my bed.  I missed my own bed and my own pillow and my aching muscles agreed.  My husband promised we'd both go get massages when we got home, and to hang in there.

I was soon transferred to a regular room where the days became a blur of meals, meds and visitors and I began rehab therapy sessions—physical, occupational and speech.  I liked all three of my therapists.  They were compassionate, made me feel listened to and like a person and not just another patient, and encouraged me toward my goal of "getting back home to my guys."  They always treated me like an intelligent adult and were never condescending or belittling.

A few weeks later one of the therapists asked if I'd like to move to the rehab floor full time where I'd have three hours of therapy a day.

I had already seen the improvements that therapy had brought and knew that the increase in therapy sessions would help me get better than much faster so I gave a quick affirmative and outlined my reasoning which earned a smile and a nod from Simon, my occupational therapist.

The move to the rehab floor was more a change of scenery than anything, but it also brought some unexpected freedoms.  They removed the Foley catheter, but I still had to ring for a nurse to help me get up and use the bedside commode or go to the actual bathroom.  After a week or so, they cleared my husband to be able to help me up to use the restroom and also to wheel or "walk" me around the floor with my walker after meals.  We could also now have patio privileges, which included heading down to the cafeteria as a family if we liked.  These new freedoms along with finding more nurses and aides who actually treated me like a person, and my increased mobility from therapy did wonders for my morale and each of the three therapists told me how quickly I was improving at each session.  I was excited by the quick progress and whenever I was asked what my goals were, I was reiterate that I wanted to "get home to my guys."  I had several visitors over the next few weeks, writer friends, family and other friends, as well as a few phone calls—all of which raised my morale and my commitment to get better and back to my previous self.

One day my occupational therapist came to get me just after breakfast and as we did often in his sessions, we reviewed my goal—to get home to my guys—and he said he thought I was ready, and asked me how I felt about going home.

This was everything I'd been working for, so I was excited by the prospect.  My husband worked during the day, but my Dad was still in town and came to visit daily.  He's retired and willing to stay with us for as long as I need him, so I wouldn't be alone.  My son is home in the evenings after school and very willing to help also.

Simon told me he'd talk to the doctors and other therapists and see what they thought and get back to me.

I thanked him, but was afraid to get my hopes and have them dashed if it didn't happen, so instead I tried to take a nap.

Just after lunch I glanced toward the doorway to find my good friend and fellow writer Cheyenne McCray smiling in at me.  She came inside and we visited for quite a while before Simon walked past my door again and said, "How about Thursday to go home? We could do the family meeting on Wednesday with the family training right after that?"

"Thursday is great for me," I called out as excitement and anticipation curled inside my gut.  I asked Cheyenne if I'd heard him correctly.  She confirmed I had and I grabbed the phone to call my husband who sounded just as excited as I felt.

Just like any other highly anticipated event, Thursday took forever to arrive, but it eventually did.

My wonderful husband took me to Olive Garden for my first "real" food outside of the hospital and even though nothing had tasted quite right since the surgery – Olive Garden lasagna was amazing!

I've been home for two weeks now, and I'm doing Outpatient therapy a few times a week.  I'm off the walker and onto a cane and I'm getting stronger every day.  I've lost a little peripheral vision on the left side, but don't really have any other functional gaps other than that.  I'm very blessed and I'm thankful every day.  Looking back is still jarring.  I missed Thanksgiving, my birthday, my husband's birthday, Christmas, and New Years, and I often miss my "old self" and my "old abilities", but I'm determined to get back there and continue to work hard in therapy.

I took back boxes of signed books to the ICU nurses an the rehab nurses for being so great to me and will definitely go back and visit from time to time.

I'm so thankful for those men and women who were patient with me, compassionate and helped me on the road to recovery.  Portia, Christine, Kristin, Matt, Lisa, Manuel and many more. They made a very scary and horrible situation better and I'll always be grateful to them.

A 1st person bird's eye view journey through 6 brain surgeries and back through recovery….

For me, November 17, 2010 started out pretty much like a normal day.  I had no way of knowing that it would end my life as I knew it for quite a while…

I woke up early and went to a chiropractor appointment, stopping by Office Max on the way home to print out several copies of a handout for the talk I was doing that evening at a book signing at a local Borders.  The day unfolded just like any other as I gathered my bookmarks, "signed by the author" stickers and other items I'd need for the signing.

I ate a light meal on the way out the door and hugged and kissed my son and husband goodbye, smiling as they wished me luck at the signing.  As is my habit, that night I left early and programmed the address into the GPS in my car.

I arrived about 45 minutes early, parking in the parking garage across from the entrance to the Borders Waterfront.  I armed my car alarm, noted where I'd parked and walked across the street with my "book signing" bag slung over my shoulder.  I quickly stopped at the front counter to ask for Jackie, the manager, to let her know I'd arrived for the signing.

Within minutes Jackie was there, guiding me over to meet the other author who was signing that night.  She introduced us, asked me what she could get me to drink and then left us to chat.

I asked the other author about her book, she asked about mine and I enjoyed the easy conversation that usually arises between two people who love the craft of writing.

Let me say now that at this point, I felt absolutely fine.  No headache, only that sense of anticipation deep in my gut that I always feel before I speak or do a signing – that anticipation of meeting readers and putting my work "out there."

I'm not sure how much time passed, probably no more than ten minutes before Jackie returned with an iced chai and set it next to me.  I took a few sips and then sucked in a deep breath as the first wave of pain hit in my right temple and fanned out across my skull.  Confused, I glanced to my right convinced that someone had come up beside me and had started to chisel and hammer into my right temple.

I heard Jackie speaking to someone else – an employee?  Another customer was sick – possibly having a stroke?  She called 911 and I let the soft hum of voices wash over me as another wave of pain speared through me and my stomach began to roil.  I sat down hard in the nearest chair, and even the thought of taking another sip of chai make my stomach buck.  I swallowed hard to keep from throwing up onto the floor in front of me.

My skin turned suddenly clammy and I sucked in deep breaths in between the waves of pain that seemed as if someone was drilling into my skull from the inside out.

When Jackie finished her conversation and hung up the phone, she turned and I motioned to get her attention.

"I'm sorry, something is wrong.  I'm feeling like I'm going to throw up and I've got a horrible pain in my head – worse than any migraine I've ever had.  Something is very wrong, but I'm not sure what.  I need to call my husband to come and get me."

I remember her answering, soothing words and soft questions.  She handed me a trashcan, and my stomach immediately responded.

I grabbed my cell and hit speed dial for my husband.  He answered and I told him I needed him to come and get me.  I filled him in, quickly telling him where I'd parked so he could find my car, and that I wasn't sure what was wrong, but whatever this was it was my new 'high' on my personal pain scale and that something was very wrong.  He told me to hang in there that he was on his way and everything was going to be fine.  I hung up and looked up to find Jackie studying me critically.  I remember her telling me I was pale and sweaty and asking if she should call 911.

At first I recoiled at the idea.  It has been drilled into me that you only called 911 in an emergency.  Was this an emergency?  I wasn't sure, and I was in too much pain to think straight.  Luckily she took it out of my hands.  She called telling the operator she had called a few minutes ago, but now had an author who was in great pain, clammy, and had just gone pale.  She mentioned that I had a history of migraines, but that this pain was off the charts and I let the words wash over me as the next wave of pain hit nearly sending me off the chair and to my knees.  I reached out for the trash can again as my stomach bucked in protest and I threw up again, the convulsions of my stomach making the head pain that much worse.

Time spun out having little meaning for me beyond the space in between times I threw up and waves of pain. I was dimly aware of the arrival of the EMT's, and softly answered their questions about any medications I was taking—none–and that yes I'd had migraines in the past and had a prescription of Immitrex at home from my family doctor, but that I'd never visited a neurologist for them.

I have flashes of memory where they swung my feet up onto a stretcher, and then of being carried.  Then I was in a vehicle and it was moving.  I swallowed hard against another wave of nausea, calling out to the driver to warn them, but the waves passed quickly, unfortunately followed by another hard wave of pain in my head.  I know I moaned and clutched the right side of my head, rocking back and forth lightly to comfort myself.

I'm not sure how much time passed, only marked by large waves of pain and stomach clenching bouts of nausea.  But then, finally, I realized we'd stopped moving and I was no longer in the ambulance.  My husband's deep voice sounded beside me and my tight muscles relaxed as I drank in the comfort that welcome sound brought.  He was here! He would make sure I was all right.  The fear that had begun to set in receded enough for me to think again, Then I remember only snippets – faces, lights, the sharp sting of needles in my arms, the cold touch of fingers encased in gloves against the skin of my face.  Impressions, sounds, smells…

Then the pain returned, consuming me.  My husband tried to calm me and kept telling me to be still.  I realize now that they were trying to do a Cat Scan, but that I wouldn't hold still.  I begged him to make the pain stop.  He told me if I held still, they could figure out what was wrong and make the pain stop.  Irritated, I replied that if they made the pain stop that I could hold still.  I heard his quick huff of breath that told me my snippy comment was no more than he expected me to say and he murmured soothing nonsense words to me telling me that the pain would be gone soon.  His deep voice soothed me like little else could, but it didn't stop the pain and I began lightly rocking to sooth myself again, ignoring the repeated requests to hold still.  I may have flipped him off, I don't remember, but it seems like something I would've done at that point so I wouldn't be surprised.

Here my memory skips forward and I either heard someone say it or I realized that I'm coming out of surgery.  I have a moment of panic since I'm not sure what type of surgery I had or had even needed, but I hear my husband's voice in the next room and the panic recedes.  He wouldn't have let them operate if it wasn't needed.  Then there are a montage of faces leaning over me, people asking me questions or demanding I respond in some way, and lights overhead as I'm moved from one place to another.

I keep expecting pain—after all, surgery means pain, right?  But from the sluggishness of my thoughts and the slow response of my body to my mental commands I realize there are still some heavy drugs in my system from the surgery.  My first reaction is relief that there is no more pain to bear, and then disorientation as I struggle to fill memories into the great blank block of time left behind in my personal timeline from the surgery and the drugs.

Suddenly my husband is next to me holding my hand.  I squeeze his hand in mine, drinking in the comfort that provides and basking in his familiar scent as I battle back fear over what had happened.  I try to speak to ask him what happened, but my throat hurts as if I'd yelled too much, and I swallow hard against the discomfort.

He lays a calming hand on my cheek and tells me to relax, that it is all over.

I open my eyes and look up into his face.  His expression holds relief, not fear, which calms my own growing panic.  He leans close and quickly explains what happened using words that flow past me like AVM, brain bleed and others that didn't really register at the time.  He made sure to tell me that it isn't congenital so I don't have to worry about my son having it.  He said it is like a birth defect and that 1% of the population has it.  He mentions brain surgery and I study his face, expecting him to crack a smile at any moment and tell me he's kidding.

There was no way I'd just had brain surgery…was there?

Then I was moving—possibly in a wheel chair or even just in a rolling hospital bed?  Lights flash by overhead and the scenery changes on either side of me.  I'm out of a hallway and in some type of foyer.  I glance to the right where there are three figures who seem out of place in a hospital.  All three are dressed in black jeans and denim shirts and have large, round skeletal heads that remind me of bone tumbleweeds.

I have a quick thought of "damn, those are some really good drugs they're giving me, " before one of the figures winked at me.  I looked closer look and realized they had elongated canines – i.e. vampire teeth.  The spurt of unease that had started to slip through me dissolved as I realized I recognized these figures.

The first was my brother who had passed away in 2001.  The second was my stepmother who I'd lost just the previous year, and the third was my grandfather who had passed away back in 1989.  None of these three would ever harm me, no matter if they now possessed vampire teeth or not.

Thin logic, but hey, the drugs still pumped through my system and my slow moving brain didn't cry foul at my thin logic, so I went with it J

When I become aware again, I was in a hospital room on a hospital bed.  As if summoned by my eyes fluttering open, my door opened and a nurse entered.

Our gazes met and she flashed me an encouraging smile.  "How are you feeling?"

I take a moment to evaluate before answering.  "So hot, so thirsty.  And I have to get up and go pee."  I winced as only a raspy whisper emerged from my sore throat.  I tried to clear my throat and winced against the sudden flash of discomfort.

"You had a ventilator tube down your throat for quite a while, honey, so your vocal chords are swollen and irritated.  Keep trying and your voice will get better.

"And you have a catheter in, so go ahead and pee when you feel you need to."

A quick moment of concentration centered around the discomfort of the catheter confirmed her words.

Damn, but I hated catheters!  When I'd been admitted to the hospital for emergency gall bladder surgery just after my son was born, I'd left the hospital with a string of urinary track infections because of catheters.  I wasn't a fan.

My other discomfort came back reminding me how badly I wanted a drink.  "Thirsty, so thirsty."

"We need to clear you for ice chips or thin liquids, honey.  Can you cough for me and clear your throat?  If the liquid goes down the wrong way and you aren't able to get it out, it will sit in your lungs and give you pneumonia.  You don't want that do you?"

"I bit back the sarcastic comment that sprang to mind.  "Is there anyone who would answer yes to this question?"  But I obediently cough and clear my throat, ignoring the pain as she praises my efforts.

She set a cup in front of me and told me to only take a small sip.

"What is it? I push out in a painful, raspy whisper.

"Water."

She helps me sit up and I look down at the cup.   A feathery web of something shiny sits just on top of the liquid.  "What's that?"  I point at the water and touch a fingertip to the clear froth floating on top.

"It's thickened water, honey.  If it goes down the wrong way, it's easier for you to clear out thickened liquids."

I wasn't convinced, but I was still thirsty so I reached out until I was able to close my fingers around the small plastic cup.  I lifted the cup to my lips and took a small sip.  Cool water hit my dry tongue an instant before a glob of a slimy substance triggered my gag reflex.  I coughed and the nurse scolded me to be careful about swallowing, but I hadn't swallowed anything yet.  I concentrated and moved the tiny sip of water back toward my throat.  I tried to swallow, but my throat responded slowly as if it had forgotten how to do this.  I winced as pain shot down my throat and the sip of water went down the wrong way.

I coughed until it cleared as the nurse patted me on the back and encouraged me to continue to clear my throat to get all of the water out.

I cleared my throat again, the vibration of my vocal chords awkward and uncomfortable.

"Good, very good. Here's a little ice."

I opened my mouth and she slipped a spoon with some ice chips on it between my lips.

"Don't chew, just let it melt on your tongue."

The next thing I remember is sitting up.  I'm not sure where in the hospital I was, but I was no longer in my room, and a different nurse sat to my left.  I smelled food so we may have been in the dining room where the patients gathered to eat and socialize.  I turned to face the nurse, glad to note the absence of any pain.  "What's the date today?"

There was a slight pause before she answered, "December 14th, honey."

My pulse quickened.  I'd lost a few weeks?  "It's my birthday today."

A male voice to my right said, "No, it's not.  You're just not remembering right because of all the meds and surgeries.

"It is my birthday," I insisted to the man who I now realize was one of the aides.

"Check her wrist band," came the voice of the nurse.

The man lifted my wrist and the gentle bite and slide of the plastic strips against my skin told me he was searching for the information.

"She's right.  It is her birthday."

I bit back a scathing comment at his condescending tone.

"Do you remember how old you are today, honey?"  This from the nurse.

The answer popped immediately into my mind and I winced even as I confirmed with my gut that it was correct.  When had I gotten this old??  "I'm forty-two today."

I waited for them to tell me I was wrong or recheck my wristband again, but nothing happened.

"Happy birthday, they finally said in near unison."

"Not exactly how I'd planned to spend my birthday, I plan to fire my travel agent."

I winced as some of my pent up snark escaped.  After all, it wasn't their fault I was here.

They both laughed, and relief slid through me that I hadn't offended them with my sarcasm.

The nurse lightly touched my arm and I turned to look at her.  "Do you remember your name?"

"Tina Marie Gerow"

"Who is the President?"

"Obama," I answered without thinking.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Scottsdale Healthcare Osborn," I remembered my husband saying.  I suddenly wondered where he was, and resisted the urge to interrupt and ask.

"Do you know what kind of a place this is?"

"A hospital."

"Do you know why you're here?  Do you remember what happened?"

"I was at a book signing, I began, and then told her what I remembered as she smiled and nodded.

"You look like you have a question, honey."

"Do you know where my husband is?"

She nodded and smiled again.  "He left for work about a half an hour ago.  He said he'd be back around four this afternoon.

Warmth spread through my chest and expanded.  He was here and I missed him?" Moisture filled my eyes and blurred my vision.  I blinked to clear my vision and keep the tears from falling.

"He's here every day, honey.  Usually with your son and your Dad."

At the mention of my son, Darian, my tear ducts went into overdrive and a few tears escaped to slide down my cheeks.  He was only sixteen.  How scary it must have been for him to watch me go through all this.  A huge unseen fist squeezed my heart and an overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around my son and reassure him that I was all right filled me.

It took a minute for me to register that she'd mentioned my Dad as well.

"My Dad?"  More hot tears slid down my cheeks to fall against my arms and the aide pressed a wad of tissues into my hand.

"Yes, your Dad."

"But he lives in Ohio and this happened nearly a month ago."

The nurse smiled and nodded again.  "It's great to have supportive parents.  And you've got an entire family of support."

The aide cleared his throat and I turned to look at him.

"Do you remember your profession?"

I smiled as the answers came readily to mind.  "I'm an author, and a part time Starbucks barista."

The aide's expression turned dubious.  "Is she hallucinating?"

His gaze was on the nurse and not me so I didn't bother to answer even though I chafed at his condescending tone.  His fingers closed around my wrist.

I snorted.  "That's not going to be on there."

"She really is an author," the nurse surprised me by saying.  "We went to her website and read some excerpts."  She laughed.  "Talk about steamy!"

The aide laughed.  "Really?  You'll have to show me when we get downstairs."

The aide tapped my hand and I turned to look at him.

"You're also a barista at Starbucks?"

I nodded.

"Okay, how do you make a caramel macchiato?"

"Hot or cold, and what size?"

"Does it make a difference?"

I nodded, irritated with both his questions and his still-condescending tone.

"Hot, Venti."

I smiled as the familiar recipe came easily to me.  After all, in my two years working at Starbucks, I'm sure I'd made thousands of them.  "Four pumps of vanilla in the bottom of a Venti cup," I began.

"Wait, don't Venti hot drinks get five pumps of syrup?"

"Normally, but for caramel macchiatos, each size gets one pump less."

He studied me critically and I pulled my wrist away before he could try to check the information on my wristband.  However, I was pretty sure he was going to check my answer at the earliest opportunity.

"Then you steam the milk and pour it on top with some good foam to float the shots on.  Two espresso shots go on top and then some drizzle of caramel sauce in a zig zag pattern."

"It only gets two shots?  I thought it got three."

"That's in the Iced Venti."

He nodded without any disbelief or condescension in his expression this time.

I held out my arm.  "You want to check my wrist band?"

He chuckled and shook his head.

Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Suddenly uncomfortable and very thirsty, I realized how dry and pasty my mouth was.  I bit my tongue to try to create some saliva, but to no avail.  "So hot, so thirsty."

The nurse laid a gentle hand on my arm  "Would you like to try some more water, honey?"

At the thought of more slimy water inside my mouth I gagged and coughed.  "That stuff tastes like drinking someone else's snot."

The aide laughed and the nurse clucked her tongue.  "Do you remember what I told you about what would happen if it goes down wrong and stays in there?"

I bit my tongue hard against a sarcastic retort, "Yeah, pneumonia", I remembered. But wouldn't I end up dying of dehydration first?  I glanced down at my arms to confirm that there was no IV giving me liquids.

The next thing I remember, I'm lying in a darkened room, the weak light filtering in through the window enough to illuminate the clock face, but not enough for me to make out much else.  From the lumpy mattress, the rock hard pillow and the stiff sheets, I assume I'm in a hospital bed, which makes sense if I'd recently had surgery.

My body aches telling me I've been lying in one position for too long.  I roll to the right and am caught short as something yanks hard against my left wrist.  Pain flares through my wrist and up my arm and I twist my wrist, surprised to find some type of cloth biting into my skin.  I reach out with my right hand to explore what has me in its grip, but my right hand is caught short as well.  Frustrated, I kick my feet, but the motions of both legs are stopped short as well.

I'm restrained?  Disbelief spears through me.  After all, I've spent my life as a rule follower, what could I have possibly done to warrant being tied hand and foot to a hospital bed?

"You pulled out your feeding tube and slapped a nurse."

I startle at my husband's voice.  I hadn't realized he was in the room, or that I'd asked my question out loud.  "I did what?"

"To be fair, she was pestering you trying to get a response.  After the surgeries, they turned off your sedation every two hours to get you to respond to stimuli.  During one of those sessions, you pulled out your feeding tube and slapped a nurse who was bugging you.  They learned quickly after that to just reduce the sedation, not turn it off."

"That would do it," I murmured to myself as I gently pulled against the restraints, irritation at being punished for something I didn't even remember doing burning through me.  I understood their reasoning, but I didn't have to like it.

I must've dozed off then because when I woke up, my husband was gone, my left wrist throbbed from the run in with the restraints, my bladder screamed that it was overly full and a searing headache galloped over the top and right side of my head.  I groped around until my hand closed over the remote for the nurse's call button.  I pressed the button and then set the remote away from me, wriggling to try to find a more comfortable position to lie in with the limitation of the restraints.  I glanced up at the clock surprised to realize more than an hour had passed since I'd last looked.

I tried to relax and close my eyes, but the pain in my wrist and my head and the discomfort of my too full bladder made it nearly impossible.  I know they said I had a catheter in, but it obviously wasn't relieving the pressure.  Or I'd gotten another "fun" hospital urinary tract infection that made me feel like I had to constantly go.  L

My head throbbed and I glanced up at the clock, surprised to see that forty minutes had passed since I'd pressed the nurse's call button.  I grabbed the remote and pressed the call button several more times wondering if my repeated efforts were just as useless here as they were on an elevator button.  I let my eyes slip closed as the throbbing in my head went into overdrive and radiated down my right jaw.  I tried to reach up to touch my face, but was stopped short by the restraint.

Frustration and helplessness burned through me and I tried to call out, but only a weak, raspy sound emerged.

Nearly ten full minutes later, fifty minutes after I'd first hit the nurse's call button, someone finally came to check on me.  She was a different nurse than I remembered seeing before and listened to me with a quiet compassion that I appreciated, and I made sure to tell her so before she left.  She returned a while later with some meds for my headache and my wrist pain and loosened the restraints, although we were both surprised to find the one on my right wrist totally off.  I didn't remember wriggling out of it, but she told me with a quiet laugh that I probably had.  She said the nurses on the floor called me Houdini because I had a knack for wriggling out of well-tied restraints.  She also told me she would have my urine tested for a UTI, which might be the cause of my discomfort.

I thanked her for her help and for listening to me.  After so many people speaking to me as if I were a small child over the past several days? Weeks? This one woman treating me as if I were a person, and an intelligent adult made all the difference and I made sure she knew how much I appreciated it.  She apologized for the long wait to get someone to respond and promised she'd check on me in an hour or so after she did her 'charting', which I assumed was the nurse version of paperwork – after all, every job had their own version of paperwork, I knew hers was no different.

The pain receded until I was finally able to sleep and the loosened restraints gave me just enough room to get comfortable in my small environment.  When I woke, the nice nurse from the night before was back, smiling down at me and asking if I was ready for something to drink.

My parched mouth confirmed I definitely was and she and I went through the throat clearing and coughing drill until she was satisfied I could get any liquid out that went down the wrong way.  Thankfully she brought me a cold Sprite poured over ice, blissfully unthickened, and she helped me sit up and then sip it through a straw.

The cold liquid felt divine going down my abused throat and I vowed to ask for Sprite with extra ice the next time I was thirsty.

"Are you hungry?"  We've got you on a pureed diet, but some things aren't so bad that way."  She brought me the menu and I glanced over the offerings doubtfully.  French toast and eggs caught my eye.  Those might not be too bad, especially with syrup and butter.

She smiled seeming to agree with me.  "I'll put in the order for you.  Breakfast should be up in about twenty minutes.  I'll check back in on you soon.

I glanced up to find my husband standing in the doorway.  The nurse filled him in on what had happened with the restraints, the pending test for the UTI, the okay for thin liquids and the pureed food before she left.

I filled him in on the feelings of helplessness and the long wait or a nurse to respond, also filling in how wonderful the nurse who had just left had been to me both last night and this morning.  He was concerned about the long wait time and understood my frustration, but said that he really liked that nurse too.  She had always been really great when he'd spoken to her as well.  He said she'd mentioned that I would be moving to a real room soon and had asked him if he'd like to come up and spend the night with me sometime.  They could bring in a sleeper bed for him.

Excitement curled inside my chest at the idea and I asked him if he was thinking about it.  He said he was considering it on a night when my Dad and Darian didn't need him at home.

He did come up and spend a night and it was wonderful.  I could reach out and hold his hand, although I knew he spent an uncomfortable night on that horrible chair/bed on the floor beside my bed.  I missed my own bed and my own pillow and my aching muscles agreed.  My husband promised we'd both go get massages when we got home, and to hang in there.

I was soon transferred to a regular room where the days became a blur of meals, meds and visitors and I began rehab therapy sessions—physical, occupational and speech.  I liked all three of my therapists.  They were compassionate, made me feel listened to and like a person and not just another patient, and encouraged me toward my goal of "getting back home to my guys."  They always treated me like an intelligent adult and were never condescending or belittling.

A few weeks later one of the therapists asked if I'd like to move to the rehab floor full time where I'd have three hours of therapy a day.

I had already seen the improvements that therapy had brought and knew that the increase in therapy sessions would help me get better than much faster so I gave a quick affirmative and outlined my reasoning which earned a smile and a nod from Simon, my occupational therapist.

The move to the rehab floor was more a change of scenery than anything, but it also brought some unexpected freedoms.  They removed the Foley catheter and I had to ring for a nurse to help me get up and use the bedside commode or go to the actual bathroom.  After a week or so, they cleared my husband to be able to help me up to use the restroom and also to wheel or "walk" me around the floor with my walker after meals.  We could also now have patio privileges, which included heading down to the cafeteria as a family if we liked.  These new freedoms along with finding more nurses and aides who actually treated me like a person, and my increased mobility from therapy did wonders for my morale and each of the three therapists told me how quickly I was improving at each session.  I was excited by the quick progress and whenever I was asked what my goals were, I was reiterate that I wanted to "get home to my guys."  I had several visitors over the next few weeks, writer friends, family and other friends, as well as a few phone calls—all of which raised my morale and my commitment to get better and back to my previous self.

One day my occupational therapist came to get me just after breakfast and as we did often in his sessions, we reviewed my goal—to get home to my guys—and he said he thought I was ready, and asked me how I felt about going home.

This was everything I'd been working for, so I was excited by the prospect.  My husband worked during the day, but my Dad was still in town and came to visit daily.  He's retired and willing to stay with us for as long as I need him, so I wouldn't be alone.  My son is home in the evenings after school and very willing to help also.

Simon told me he'd talk to the doctors and other therapists and see what they thought and get back to me.

I thanked him, but was afraid to get my hopes and have them dashed if it didn't happen, so instead I tried to take a nap.

Just after lunch I glanced toward the doorway to find my good friend and fellow writer Cheyenne McCray smiling in at me.  She came inside and we visited for quite a while before Simon walked past my door again and said, "How about Thursday to go home? We could do the family meeting on Wednesday with the family training right after that?"

"Thursday is great for me," I called out as excitement and anticipation curled inside my gut.  I asked Cheyenne if I'd heard him correctly.  She confirmed I had and I grabbed the phone to call my husband who sounded just as excited as I felt.

Just like any other highly anticipated event, Thursday took forever to arrive, but it eventually did.

My wonderful husband took me to Olive Garden for my first "real" food outside of the hospital and even though nothing had tasted quite right since the surgery – Olive Garden lasagna was amazing!

I've been home for two weeks now, and I'm doing Outpatient therapy a few times a week.  I'm off the walker and onto a cane and I'm getting stronger every day.  I've lost a little peripheral vision on the left side, but don't really have any other functional gaps other than that.  I'm very blessed and I'm thankful every day.  Looking back is still jarring.  I missed Thanksgiving, my birthday, my husband's birthday, Christmas, and New Years, and I often miss my "old self" and my "old abilities", but I'm determined to get back there and continue to work hard in therapy.

I took back boxes of signed books to the ICU nurses an the rehab nurses for being so great to me and will definitely go back and visit from time to time.

I'm so thankful for those men and women who were patient with me, compassionate and helped me on the road to recovery.  Portia, Christine, Kristin, Matt, Lisa, Manuel and many more. They made a very scary and horrible situation better and I'll always be grateful to them.

A new week with new challenges!

I'm very glad it's Monday, partly because I was sick all last week and this week signals the first day of my return to my normal routine (that doesn't involve regularly scheduled cold meds!)  But also because I've got some new challenges coming up this week that I'm really looking forward to!

The first isn't even really a writing challenge, but one of those parent milestones that just like a Hallmark commercial make me misty and nostalgic as I notice how fast time has whizzed by.  This Thursday I can take my kidlet down to the DMV to get his driver's license.  He's had his permit for the past six months and the kid really is a very good driver (don't say it too loud, don't want him to get cocky or anything…lol!)  He doesn't have his own car yet, but I remember how excited I was to get my driver's license, so I'm also excited for him.  (Although seriously – it doesn't feel like that long ago that I was 16 and getting mine!  Where the heck did all that time go???)

My second challenge for the week is that I'm teaching an online class through Savvy Authors called "Thinking Like An Editor".  This will be my first time teaching an online class, so I've got a little nervous excitement buzzing around.  I've given this talk before as an hour long presentation for writer's groups and at a few conventions, but I've never done it as an online class that lasted for two weeks.  I have my lesson plans all planned out, which very much reminded me of my days as a band director, and I've already posted my first lesson.  Now I just have to wait and hope I'm not on the forum all by myself!  (Okay, I already know two people who have emailed me to say they've signed up and I'm sure there are at least a few more, but you know how irrational fears go…lol!)

And most important (to me, anyway) is that I was so sick last week that I haven't written in nine days.  Ack!  I'm having withdrawal symptoms!  I'm not sure if anyone else has this issue, but it's hard to get my mind back in the habit of writing every day after having even a day or two off, let alone nine.  Which means I'll be going back to the beginning of the story and reading it over to get my brain back into my world of Succubus and mayhem.  Usually that gets things churning again.

My current project is tentatively titled Taming of the Succubus, which is the third book in the Sisters of Darkness Series.  Book 1, Seducing the Succubus, releases on October 5th and Book 2, The Demon & The Succubus releases April 2011.  So I'm really excited to get back to my third Succubus and get her moving because the Succubus for book 4 is already churning around inside my brain wanting her turn to tell her story!

Which reminds me!  I need to start making some flyers to pass around.  My book signing for Seducing the Succubus is coming up on October 8th at the Desert Ridge Barnes & Noble!  Hope to see you all there!

Until next time…

Tina

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