Just another M.D., who knows nothing more than he’s been told to know

The old elevator dings my arrival to the second floor of the medical facility in Anderson, SC. I take a deep breath in a futile attempt to stop the pessimistic thoughts repeating over and over in my head, “Just another M.D. who knows nothing more than he’s been told to know. Eager to tell me that I don’t know my own body, or that all my issues are in my head or have nothing to do with each other.”

“Calm down Tara,” I tell myself, “You’re just here to get established with the practice. It’ll take 5 minutes; they will ask about your gut and family history, and it’ll be done. They are just people trying to get by in this world the best they know how.”

I walk the length of the hallway and am greeted by a sweet-faced young lady who calls me, “Darlin’”.

Living in South Carolina has been good for my faith in humanity for the most part. People are truly kind. I am weighed and guided back to the room where I will meet with my new Gastroenterologist. I tell the nurse that I am just there to get established because my last Gastro was not my favorite human being. She laughed and said, “Oh, you’ll love Dr. B! He asks all the right questions.”

I smile and thank her. Most nurses like their doctors but that doesn’t mean the patient will.

Within a few minutes a doctor with a huge grin enters the room, “Mrs. Jackson? I’m so sorry to make you wait. I’m Dr. B.”

I immediately begin my evaluation of him. He young. Like, really young. Maybe JUST out of his residency. He’s short; but everyone is short next to my 6ft tall frame. He wears a HUGE genuine smile, and based on the varied opacity of his teeth, I see he likely makes some dietary choices that are common in young southern men. But I can feel that he’s good. Like, it’s hard to explain, but his energy is clean and good.

He sits down and says that he’s glanced over my medical history but wants to go over it face to face. I begin to tell him my history of having Celiacs Disease and the process of being diagnosed. I mention that shortly after my diagnosis I was able to connect my panic attacks to being “glutened” and how 10 years ago, the gut brain connection was not recognized so my doctor at the time laughed at me for the “self-diagnosis” and told me to go see a nutritionist because there was nothing more he could do for me. Celiacs has no treatment, no drugs to prescribe, and doesn’t make any money for the doctor.

He took a breath and stopped me, “So, what did these panic attacks feel like?”

I gave him a puzzled look; he’s asking me about my panic attacks? “Well…” I described to him the best I could what my experience had been years ago before removing gluten completely from my diet.

“So…” he says.

Here comes the disconnect. The dismissal. I keep myself from rolling my eyes out loud.

 
He continues, “When you were having these panic attacks – did you get this rash that you have now? The one on your chest and neck that was not there when I entered the room, but have been watching develop and climb up your neck for the last 5 minutes?”

“Ummm… Yes.”

I was suddenly so confused. I have spent years explaining away the red-hot welt like “flush” that shows up when I am nervous or excited or angry or passionate … or have had wine or any sort of alcohol. Or when I am stressed or eat something my body doesn’t like, even though it liked it just fine the previous week and didn’t react. I told him it mostly shows up with any strong emotion, but sometimes, I can’t explain why it’s there. I just figure that was me and I was cursed to wear turtlenecks to job interviews for the rest of my life so that people don’t get distracted by it.

He types something in his computer and for all my medical knowledge and ability to read people, I can’t make the connection between this flush and my celiacs that he’s obviously made. “How are you connecting these two things in your head?” I ask.

He sits back, “Well, there is a rare syndrome I’d like to run a test for. It’s called Mast…”

I interrupt “Mast Cell Activation?!”

He looks surprised. “Yes. Mast Cell Syndrome. You’ve heard of it? I’d like to order a test for you.”

My jaw hits the floor.

Who is this guy? He has an M.D. behind his name, specializes in the gut, but is calling out a hive like rash he can plainly see crawling up my chest and neck and throwing around terms like Mast Cell Activation Syndrome?!

I smile. It’s probably a stupidly silly smile because I am almost giddy and at the same time, confused to be sitting in front of a doctor that might just understand more than I have given him credit for. “I’m intrigued. I know about MCAS, because I had an employee who was diagnosed with it, but I have never looked at it for myself.” I pause as I dig deep into my brain to retrieve the MCAS info I learned years ago, “But you’re right, it might just fit.”

Tempering Excitement.

Why do I always forget that the day after an emotional high... there is always the low energy recovery? Is it just because the high isn't there anymore? And is it just me?

It may actually be a conditioning thing for me. I began to notice growing up that whenever there was anything good happening to me, my mom would work to ruin it - I don't think she realized this was her pattern. But it became so glaringly apparent after high school, she was dating a millionaire who offered to help me get to California to attend the Brooks Institute for Photography. I never asked, nor did I imply anything - he offered and I immediately declined. He put rules and timelines on his offer that seemed fair and I told him that the only way I could accept the offer was if he ran it by my mom to make sure she was ok with him helping me. That evening was one of the worst experiences of emotional and physical abuse by her that I can remember.

My pattern of keeping my excitement at bay became apparent to me when my son would ask if I was excited about "fill in the blank" and I never was. I don't remember ever deciding that this was the best course of action and I began to piece it together that I don't allow myself to get excited because showing excitement meant that someone would actively work to ruin it for me. And honestly, at 40 years old, I don't know how to get out of keeping my excitement tempered as a way to preserve the good.

In noticing this pattern, I have also learned that when I do get excited - or feel incredibly proud like I did yesterday (it was really great and made me think I could continue with my current job if I could get this type of feeling and acknowledgment of my hard work) the next day I am just... in recovery mode.

Today - I called out of work and am sitting at a coffee shop - watching the rain, listening to the hum of the people around me... realizing that I am, once again, in my pattern.

Part 1 :: ...broken, yet unbroken

I don't exactly know how, but I have come back across this blog of mine after years of it laying dormant. As I re-read, I came across a passage I wrote in December of 2016 titled: People Move On, Life Cycles through

There is a part of that piece that hit hard, “I'm not perfect, and would never want to be. If you're flawed too, you become real to me. Sometimes, just sometimes, you find a girl who probably should call herself a man because she isn't like all the other girls.”

Jesus – If I only knew then how hard that would hit 6 years later. How broken, yet unbroken that sentiment makes me. How well I knew myself, yet didn’t truly understand about myself until earlier this year.

That particular passage was written when I had men lying to me – over and over and over – my husband included ( I'll call him “B” from here on out) – and always about MINOR things that there was no need to lie about. He and I were in a rough spot in our marriage. So rough, that we had talked divorce – admitting that we loved one another, but we just weren’t happy. Like not even a little bit happy. In order to release some of that caged animal feeling, I had begun to chat online with men who were also unhappy in their relationships. Many of them tried to take it further – sending me unsolicited dick pics, which is often when I cut off the communication. That simply wasn’t what I was looking for. I craved conversation. Connection. You know, that new part of a friendship or relationship where you talk about anything and everything. You talk and talk and talk. You hear and you learn and you connect.

I know most men don’t find value in that when there is no opportunity for a physical relationship (total stereotype, I know) – but there was no need to lie to me about anything. Literally – it was the lie that changed my perception of the person, not the act they were lying about. “If you're flawed too, you become real to me.” This statement couldn’t be more apt. Not that I want a flawed person to fix. In fact, I DON’T want to fix your flaws. Not even a little. I don't want to change anyone. I accept you for who you are. Even if it’s not someone I would be, or actions that I would take.I want someone who is REAL in their flaws. Is REAL in their understanding that as humans, we falter. We make mistakes. We make bad decisions. And we can make better decisions and learn from our mistakes.

2016 and 2017 came and went and B and I eventually chose to stay together. We bought a house. We lived through man-made viral chaos that shut the world down and we survived all the fallout that came from that. We left a purple state for a much more red one, meaning that I left my promising career for an area that would not as easily support that career. We CHOSE to embrace these decisions for the health of our family. For the mental and emotional health of our son and for our own happiness and freedom.

B had been working from home before the world shut down, so with our move to another state, he was able to continue with his job, maintain his placement within his company, and keep his connections with his coworkers… including one who I always had a strange feeling about.

Her comments bordered on inappropriate for a work relationship – but, he was ALWAYS honest with me about her. What she said, what they talked about. How her infant daughter always perked up when he took the lead within an online work meeting and was discussing the next steps - her daughter loved his voice and she had no hesitation in telling him how her daughter reacted to hearing him speak. She lived a few states away, so I was never really that concerned

But I have this weird 6th sense thing when it comes to people in my life

I have recently learned it’s because I am a child of trauma – a child of both physical and narcissistic parental abuse. It’s a coping mechanism that was developed as a way to pick up on signals in order to protect myself (and my brothers) from danger. My whole life and perceptions of the world actually makes a lot of sense now that I know who I was raised by and how that experience shaped me.

One day, about 6 months after our move, he casually referred to her as his “Work Wife”. I think he noticed my discomfort with the term, because he said, “That’s what she called herself today.” I felt the surge of fear rise and told myself to evaluate it, because he has never given me reason to not trust him when it came to the REAL stuff. The important stuff. He had literally NEVER lied to me about anything important. All his lies were very very white and unimportant and if I confronted him, he always came clean without hesitation – which is why my feelings surrounding this woman never made sense. The red flags flying everywhere seemed silly. I asked him point blank, very detailed and uncomfortable questions, and he had all the answers. He had the answers, and I had no indication that any were not plain truths. I told him to be careful with her because her intentions were not innocent.

He hugged me and told me not to worry, he would never do anything to put his relationship with me at risk.

So, I worked hard to put my issues down. I knew they were MINE. Not his… MINE. But not before accepting a job as a Photo and Video Producer for a Lawn and Garden tool Company - because in the back of my mind, I knew that I needed a backup plan. Something wasn’t right, and I needed to be able to financially take care of myself. My newly opened photo studio wasn’t cutting it. I had never been in such a vulnerable place, and it was making me uncomfortable. At least we had never opened a joint bank account. I had learned to trust too much - and while that was supposed to be a good thing, it sure didn’t feel like a good thing.

I officially started the job on January 4th, 2022.

February 13, 2022

It had been a beautiful, sunshine filled warm southern winter day. The three of us, myself, my husband and our 9 year old son. We’d been out most of the day, running errands, playing at parks, and on the way home, he suggested we stop at a Redbox and pick up a movie to watch. I agreed as we pulled into the CVS parking lot where the Redbox machine was located, he put his Jeep in park and hopped out to approach the Redbox. As he waited in line, our son unbuckled his seatbelt and was asking me a million questions. I happened to notice that B’s phone was still in the car.

I don’t know why I suddenly got the urge to check it. We have one another’s lock codes. We do that because, at least the theory is, that we don’t have anything to hide from one another. I literally never snoop on his phone. Why would I? Remember, I have this eerie 6th sense and can always tell when something is up. There is no need to snoop.

As my son chatters in my ear from the back seat, I look up and see that B is still waiting for his turn at the Redbox. I grab his phone, type in his code and swipe to his messages. Hers is the most recent message. I opened it, knowing that I would only see work chatter plus maybe an inappropriate comment or two from her that he’d already told me about. Without scrolling, that’s exactly what I see. But then I notice at the bottom of the message screen, what looks like the top edge of a photo.

I place my thumb at the bottom of the screen and drag up to reveal the rest of the image…

There below a text response from him calling her beautiful, was the very naked image of a very pale woman with paper thin eyebrows, black eyeliner rimming her mascara-less eyes, a large forehead, box dyed black hair, and a very square body type with mommy breasts and the furthest thing from the curves that B always told me he loved about me.

I already knew her face because I had researched her. I had already found her address in Oklahoma, her former address in Massachusetts, her phone number, her significant others phone number and name, her social media accounts - I knew a lot more about this woman than anyone knew. I’d listened when B told me what they talked about and I’d saved notes as a “just in case”. People really don’t know how easy it is to get information and how it’s never really erased. I knew the photo I was seeing was HER and not some meme or whatever excuse that he was going to come up with.

The world suddenly sounded like I had put my head under water - the blood was pounding through my body. I knew my son was in the back seat, likely trying to see what I was looking at - all kids have a screen obsession now. Thinking back on it, he actually got strangely quiet at that moment. I don’t know if it was because he was confused about what he saw on daddys phone (if he saw anything), or because he felt the very dramatic shift in my energy. Whatever it was, he sat back in his seat and buckled back up.

I kept scrolling.

I saw the hard dick pics he sent her that morning, prompting her to send the nude photo. I remember noticing the timestamp as my ears were ringing and my body was on high alert. I was home when he sent that photo. I scrolled further to see that these weren’t the first images they had shared and often they were when I was home. I saw the conversation where he was sitting out on our back patio a few days before, telling her he had a lap she could come sit on. I remember him sticking his head in the door that day and asking me to come sit with him afterwards. I did. We flirted. I remember noticing that he was in a good mood.

These photos, videos and chats had all gone back for months and he’d not covered his tracks even a little.

Suddenly, it popped into my head that just a few days prior, when I expressed concern over something he had told me about their interactions, he had held his phone out to me and said, “Honey, there is nothing to worry about. Here, you can look through our texts and see that there is nothing to worry about. She’s just someone I can complain to about the stupidity at work.” He knew what was on his phone. He knew he had not deleted anything, and he KNEW I wouldn’t take that phone to look through as he had offered it to me.

He KNEW I trusted him enough to not look.

My head shot up to see where he was in the process of getting a DVD from the Redbox. As he pulled the DVD from the machine, I knew I needed MORE information and I knew I needed to gather it on my own - because I wasn’t about to trust anything he told me. I backed out of her messages, returned the phone to the app it had been on, and set his phone down. He opened the door of the Jeep, but before he got in, he stopped short and said, “Whoa, what happened?” My blood was still pulsing, my ears were ringing and I was trying to hide my physical response of intense shaking.

He climbed in the car and put on his seatbelt and looked at me, “Is everything ok?” He could feel the shift in me. I put on my best smile and said, “Nothing. Did you get the movie?” I could tell I wasn’t fooling him - but I was committed to pretending everything was ok for now. He looked at me with concern, but didn’t say anything more about it.

We went home, made dinner, watched a movie – all the while I was doing my best to act normal and make a plan about how to get more information on my own. He knew I wasn’t ok, but he didn’t press it. I guess he thought I was just in a sudden mood and maybe was blaming it on the fact that the start to the work week was impending.

He’d had a few drinks over the course of the evening, so I knew he would fall asleep quickly that night and I could swipe his phone and look all I wanted.

But he didn’t fall asleep quickly. He tossed and turned. I laid there next to him, waiting.

Finally 1 am hit and I knew he was asleep enough that I was able to take my time researching when the lying actually began - because I was positive it was fairly new. Who sent the first inappropriate pic? And how far had it gone? Had they talked on the phone outside of work - masturbated with one another? Were there plans to take this any further?

One benefit to having a mother who had married and divorced 5 times was that I knew the process of divorce. I knew that in situations like this, I needed all the facts and proof that I could get.

I took screenshots and sent them to myself, making sure to delete the screenshot AND the texts of the screenshots sent to me from his phone. I placed them in a password protected file within my phone. My body shook violently the whole time and I was concerned that this would wake him - but I was thinking clearly. I was planning the next steps. Deciding whether to play dumb and allow it to continue so that I could gather more information. My adrenals were exhausted as adrenaline pulsed and I knew this was the end of us.

And I was thankful.

I was thankful because we hadn’t been an "US" in a long time. We were always amazing partners in life and in parenting. In planning for the future and making sacrifices. But we were never really lovers. We never clicked that way. We never had sexual chemistry. I was experienced, he wasn’t. I was willing to play and experiment, he somehow saw that as him not being able to satisfy me. He was safe in so many ways... but that also meant his ego was fragile in bed and he lacked willingness to explore life outside of his safe upbringing and what was expected of him by others. The pressure to be “good” was a major driving force in his life - and not even in a religious way - simply because he didn’t want to disappoint his parents who are easily the most good, honest and non-judgemental people I have ever known.

We worked so well together - literally amazing friends who never had to direct the other when things needed to get done. I had put myself away a long time ago in order to be a wife and mother – and to pursue that white picket fence lifestyle you are supposed to want. That was what is supposed to make us happy.

But I wasn’t happy, and I knew I was the wild weird girl who the good guy was in love with.The gypsy-heart wanderer had chosen to have an amazing child and a career and a home, and I couldn’t destroy that for them. I had decided to put me aside for them, and I had truly adjusted to that. I would instead suffer through because they were happy, and it was two to one.

But this situation meant I had a reason to leave that wasn’t selfish. I was thankful.

…and so angry.

I returned his phone to his bedside table and tried to sleep.

I couldn’t understand my anger. I had actually imagined what I would feel if this ever happened in my relationship. And I honestly always thought that I would take it in stride and move on. But I was angrier than I had been in a long time, and I wasn’t done investigating – so I knew I had to put the anger down and wait to deal with it later.

Laying there, I began to realize that the anger wasn’t at the pictures. A dick is a dick. A saggy boob is a saggy boob. There are millions of them out there to see. It wasn’t an issue of who was prettier, or younger. It wasn't an issue of love. It wasn't even the "relationship.". We had actually talked about what it would look like if we ever wanted an open relationship. Or if we ever wanted to invite someone else in. We knew we weren't there yet, but I wanted him to know that I didn’t judge - and I had always felt that it was impossible for ONE PERSON to satisfy everything for another and that never meant there was less love.

I know, i’m weird, But let’s refer back to this quote again:

“I'm not perfect, and would never want to be. If you're flawed too, you become real to me. Sometimes, just sometimes, you find a girl who probably should call herself a man because she isn't like all the other girls.”

I am NOT LIKE OTHER WOMEN. And I don't say that in a nonchalant way. I LOVE that part of me, and men have seemed to love that about me as well. I don’t do drama. I don’t do lies. I don’t do clingy. I will happily give you freedom to be you. My rules are simple: Don’t lie, and don’t intentionally hurt me. That’s it! If I decided I don’t want whatever it is in my life, I won’t ask you to not be you, I will choose instead to do what’s best for me.

Let's re-read the opening line from that post in 2016: 

"The crash and burn happened when the lie was brought to light."

It was the lie. Not the events that were lied about. I actually find what he did to be very "normal." I know men are visual and ... well, dumb. They are made to procreate. They are driven by sex. Their reason for being on this earth is to spread their seed and to protect their tribe. They absolutely CAN say no to an offer, but it takes a hell of a lot of willpower. They are made that way and our current societal expectations make that difficult for both men and women who don’t understand primal drives.

(This is in no way giving a man permission to cheat. That’s not what I am saying - but biologically - I don't judge.)

That morning the alarm went off and I crawled out of bed only having managed a few hours of sleep - if that. I went to get ready to leave for the job that I only took because I knew I needed a way to provide for myself should something like this happen. The job that I lost sleep over and stressed about, but paid well.

I emerged from the bathroom to find B sitting on the bed - obviously emotionally broken. He looked at me and said, "I'm sorry."

I knew I had covered my tracks - so I asked him what he could possibly be sorry about.

There was a long pause as he evaluated me and the next words he wanted to come from his mouth.

"I know you know about me and C. I know you know. And I am sorry."

We know each other. We met over half our lives ago. We know each other.

I squared my shoulders and said, "Yes, I know. And we can't talk about this now, I have to go to work."

…to be continued

Cigarettes and Memories

... she lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply, ignoring the absolutely gorgeous man sitting next to her.

"When did you start smoking? You don't smoke." He stated as he waved down the waitress for another drink.

"I only smoke on two occasions," she said. "One: When I am so stressed out that i can't handle it anymore, and two, when I want to be laid, but know that I am not going to get any. I don't consider myself a smoker."

"So, which is it?"

She was trying not to let on that she liked his attention on her. "Which what?" she asked, taking a sip of her beer and noticing how flat her hair looked in the mirror behind the bar.

"What is the reason that you are smoking tonight?" He was looking at her intently. She was still just as beautiful as he had remembered. Why hadn't they ever gotten together?

"Oh, the latter."

He was silent for a second. He had hoped that was going to be her answer, but he hadn't thought of what he would say if she had admitted to it. "Who says you aren't going to get laid tonight?" She seemed a lot more determined now than she used to. But there was something else that had changed, and he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

She tossed her head back in feigned aggravation and looked at the ceiling. "Oh come on. You know our history. You offer, I smile and accept and then run like mad. You know as well as I do that it will never happen. Hell, we've both been of legal drinking age for years, and this is the first beer we've had together. Trust me, even if I wanted it, it wouldn't happen."

What was he supposed to say to that? She was right. In fact, he practically had to chase her down the first time they spent more than two minutes talking in passing. Spend the night together? Ha. She was right, it would never happen. She'd run. Then he stopped, it had happened once, that they had spent the whole night together. Yeah, that was the night he had pretty much chased her down, they stayed up all night talking. Nothing else.

"You know, I don't get it. Why is it that we never got together?" he finally asked.

"Didn't you just hear what I said? I run!" She hissed, feeling the blood rush.

"No, what is the REAL reason? Why do you run? Hell, I've been nothing but nice to you. Remember the time when you were at your locker..."

She cut him off. " I don't know. Every time that you offered to see me. To meet me after the show, to hang out after school. To... to... every time, I was so excited that you asked me. You, the big man on campus that every girl hoped to have a chance with. You wanted to see me. ME! I was a nobody in high school. A NOBODY. It didn't ever make sense to me that you, Mr. "I could get anyone I want", you asked me. I wanted so bad to actually spend time with you, but then when we were supposed to meet, I couldn't make myself go. It... it just...and now, now look at me. "

He turned in his bar stool to stare at her. "What? You're not making any sense. A nobody? You were never a nobody. And in case you didn't notice, every man in the place has been staring at you all night. "

"I was. At least, I always thought that I was. I don't want to talk about it anymore. It just never made any sense. And they're staring at me because I am a frekin' amazon and I wear heels anyway. I think it shocks them to see such a tall woman in this lil ol' bar." She put out the rest of her cigarette, feeling calm. "Hey, I'm going to head to the lady's room,  you mind ordering me another Guinness?"

She walked to the bathroom. God, seeing him made her remember things. Things she had forgotten. She smiled a bit. " Fuck! Take a deep breath" she thought. Their first kiss suddenly came back. She couldn’t figure out how she had let herself forget that. Everyone saw it. Everyone. But no one gave her shit for it either. She looked in the mirror. Her eyes, she thought, had always been her best feature. So green. "Ok, you're ok. Go back out there and make this happen. You've still got it. Just smile, and it's done."

Demeanor

In the days leading up to our initial Air Force evaluation, he pushed us as hard as he could. He had a thing about wanting to see the walls "sweat." If someone screwed up, if someone whispered hurry up, if someone failed at their nightly duties, he'd scream "get on your face." A deep booming voice that left no room for question.

There were many times we'd spend 45 minutes to an hour "pushing": push ups, squat thrusts, sit ups, leg lifts, pyramid push ups ... all on linoleum flooring that soon became a shallow pool of our sweat. Someone would whimper and he'd add on another 25 push ups. Someone would half ass a squat thrust, and we'd start over. He said wanted to be able to wipe his finger across the wall and have condensation from our sweat drip from his finger. There was pleasure pulling at his lips as he described what he expected of us.

Our TI in training couldn't watch. He would leave the room. I know he never said it, but I think he thought it was too much.... for women. If we'd been a troop of men, i'm not sure he'd have looked on us with such pity.

While marching, if someone would get out of step, we'd drop to our faces, gear and everything, and push.

In the middle of it all, I thought that my body couldn't do anymore. I wasn't sure my face would separate from the pavement at the next command of his voice. But it did every time. Somehow, I found the strength.

Until the week that my body physically gave out - refusing to comply with his demands.

It didn't hurt, it just didn't work.

I wasn't going to quit.

I told myself that if I could make it through Basic Training, then I could do ANYTHING.

I already knew I had control of myself mentally. If I put my mind to something, I knew I would come out on top. Physically, I knew there was room to improve. I didn't do so bad on my run, but my TI had worked us so hard the days leading up to our first eval that I only did 6 push ups and 20 sit ups. The next morning, I couldn't do single sit up. Not one.

Physically, I was broken.

It was our running day. We double-timed it back to the dorm after a medical appointment - where despite proof of blood titers to measles and other so called vaccine preventable diseases, each trainee walked down a line of medical professionals, getting multiple vaccinations in each arm. Take a step forward, get a shot. Take another step forward, get another shot ... back at the dorm, we quickly changed and went out for our laps. We were running. And we kept running.

I was having a hard time keeping up and my TI began running next to me, telling me that if I didn't keep up, I was going to pay for it. I was suddenly his focus and I knew that was the worst thing you could be in basic training. I didn't respond, but not because I didn't want to, because I couldn't.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't focus my eyes.

I could barely see. There was a darkness slowly closing in. I was watching it happen.

All I could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other. I had to control my body. I couldn't let it fail.

He screamed and he threatened. His body intruding on my space - huge and ominous. His presence threatening. "Just put one foot in front of the other." I thought, "One, and then the other. The ground will catch you. Keep moving."

Suddenly his intrusion retreated and he asked if I was OK, concern in his voice. I somehow managed a nod as all of my focus was on keeping my body upright and my feet moving. He asked, "Are you sure? I don't think you're okay."

I kept running.

He physically had to stop me from putting one foot in on the pavement, then another, over and over again.

"You're not okay, you need to see the medic."

I was moved to medical hold. They told me they were sure I'd had a cardiac event and needed to do further testing. My TI rolled his eyes dismissively when I came back from the medic with a slip saying I was being moved to the 319th.

It took them 5 weeks to diagnose me with exercise induced asthma; a disqualifying diagnosis for the Air Force.

My doctors and the TI's in the 319th told me that they weren't sure that they would have been brave enough to volunteer for the military during a time of war, and that simple fact "makes you special."

So I was separated from the Air Force, put on a flight and sent home.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When put in a tough situation, you learn how to survive it, or you succumb to it.

No one, in my whole life has ever frightened me the way that my Training Instructor did. It took me nearly 2 weeks of not being in street flight and recovering in Medical Hold, to stop jumping at every little noise.

I have NEVER been that frightened by anyone; I was that girl who at 8 years old, called 911 when her step father was beating her mother in the living room. I was that girl who stared him down when he lunged at her to take the phone. I was that girl who planted her feet and refused to move - challenging his actions - causing him to retreat, waiting for the police who put out a warrant for his arrest.

I don't cower and I don't fear people. But he scared the shit out of me. Day after day. It was his confidence. His poise. His demeanor. The fear I felt took me by surprise. I felt helpless. To take a 6 ft tall, confident woman who was comfortable in putting ANY man in his place, and break her spirit...

It was his job. And he was good at it.

(Originally written December 10, 2007. Revised 2/21/2020)

Not my face

A few years ago (8+), I sent in a post card to PostSecret with the following words: "I just wish I had my own face. Sometimes I think God sent me here as a do-over because my mom didn't do what she was meant to do this lifetime. He needed someone to get it right."

I don't think they ever published it, and who knows if it was on display anywhere. Those close to me know that my relationship with my mom is not great. Never has been actually. So it's hard to see myself now at 35 because it's really the age I begin to remember my mom's face at, and seriously, we could be twins. I've had random strangers walk up to me saying they know me, and I tell them it's not me they know, it's my mom. It's really crazy. 

So that's something I have to work on - loving me for me, and knowing that I am not my mother.

#socialmediatherapy

Mansplain it to me, dear.

On Sunday I opened the hood of my car to replace the air filter only to find that my coolant reservoir was low.

I drive a 2016 30k mile car show this shouldn't happen. I'd thought that I'd smelled that telltale sweetness intermittently anyway.

I always find it funny talking to techs, because there is this culture that assumes woman know very little about cars and it's unlikely that we could understand the complexity of the machinery.

He was instantly skeptical that I had a leak since my car had never overheated. He also EXPLAINED to me that the reservoir can look low if the car has been running since the engine pulls coolant in to cool it. 

As he's mansplaining to me, I'm smiling inside because this dude is clueless that I was a service writer in a past life. 

I put on my most innocent face, nod and ask sweetly if he'd just have his guys check it out for me.

 
An hour later he comes back and says, "Man, you've got a good nose on you. There is a leak, a small one on the return line." 

I smiled, "Glad you found it." 

He said, "I'm surprised you knew you had a leak since the car didn't overheat and its such a small leak." 

"Yeah, well, I was a service writer in my previous career." 

He stopped for a second... "OH!!! I guess that explains it."

... Fill the feeling

It's lonely here, but I am not alone.
You're a light in the dark, and reminder of everything I've always wanted.
But how can I trust it?
Give it all up?
Believe it is what we want it to be.

My heart aches for the idea
My feet want to chase the dream
But does anyone ever get what they always wanted?

Could it be real?
Or another fake, trying to fill the voids we are feeling?
I can only put one foot in front of the other
Quietly trusting

Again

... instead of loving and accepting

All these societal rules imposed on us about how we SHOULD behave and how we SHOULD think - enforced over and over again by those living within the society. Enforced by their judgments, fear and lack of understanding of WHY the person would break said rules.

The reason(s) someone rebels or breaks rules is because they are lacking fulfillment or because they are protecting others. And I don't think correcting either of those things is wrong.

Is fulfillment and total happiness something we should suppress? Be ashamed of? Is protecting someone wrong? The hurt feelings of associates comes from dishonesty. The dishonesty comes from fear of judgment and persecution by the system and those in it. Heinous crimes/cheating/lies are really a need to fulfill something deeper - like a need for love or acceptance, among other things - and if we are provided those things, then there is no need to rebel or lie. 

But instead of loving and accepting unconditionally, we judge and laugh at from the outside, without having the whole story which leaves little trust by the individual to open up and ask for what they really need. And the cycle continues - because society has us trained/controlled well.

Keep them dissonant. Keep them fearful. Convince them that different is wrong. Do these things and we won't have to control them, they will control each other.

Valuable Lessons - Christmas Expectations

Yes, I am here to challenge your perspective. Welcome to the show, I'm here all week... or lifetime, whichever is longer. Please leave your expectations at the door as new ideas are much more easily absorbed without them.

Just finished a debate with a coworker about managing children's Christmas expectations. He was telling me that they didn't know how they were going to handle their daughters meltdown since she will not have a large Christmas this year. I asked him if she was aware that his car just broke down and that sometimes money goes towards the good of the family and not the wants of ONE individual.

He said that I was crushing my sons childhood expectations early by not providing a big Christmas for him at 4 years old.

I asked, "What expectations? He's four, and if he begins NOW knowing that Christmas is NOT about presents, then that sets the tone for the years to come. He already knows that in order for Santa to bring him more gifts, he has to give other children the gift of donating the toys he doesnt play with anymore. Christmas is NOT about presents, it's about PRESENCE. It's about family and love and being with one another."

He looked at me like I had three heads and I stated that I am beginning my son early on a road of self-awareness and kindness towards others, not expectations of the world to just hand him whatever he wants, "As an adult, that's not how it works. We dont just go out in the world and expect everything to be handed to us." How the world treats us is a reflection on how we treat the world. If you go out there and demand and throw tantrums, no one is going to treat you well... and if they do out of fear of your tantrums and demands, well then eventually someone like me will cross your path and set you straight... and that's never fun as an adult.

Teach them valuable lessons early and then you don't have to correct behaviors once they've set in. I am not going to do the easy thing and satiate him with gifts and TV time. Thats not what being a parent is about. Is this the easiest way to spend your days with a young child? No, but which is more effective? Redirecting a 4-year-old, or a teenager who thinks they know everything?

My son will not be raised to be a victim of the world, but instead to mold his world based on his actions and reactions.

Failure to conform

I feel too fucking old
And I'm too fucking independent
I like who I am
...I sometimes wish everyone else did too

Breathe it in

She lay in the field, watching the clouds passing in the sky. The weather had finally warmed enough that she was able to wear her favorite red sundress, and her skin welcomed the suns rays. The breeze blew quietly through the tall grasses, rustling them softly and sending the dandelion seeds dancing across the sky. She was happy to finally have some time to breathe. Her life had been crazy the last few weeks and she had wanted nothing more than an afternoon by herself to do just this, to lie in a field and inhale the warmth of the late spring. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. There was no scent she loved more than that of warm grass in the late afternoon hours. No scent she loved more, other than the scent of his skin.

She could remember lying in this same field with him, pressing her lips to his sun-kissed skin, sipping on her favorite wine. The thought made her smile. They meant so much to one another, but circumstances always kept them apart. They had agreed long ago that they would cherish the moments they had together and respect the paths that they walked separately.

Thinking of him, her hand immediately went to the charm she wore on a silver chain that he had given her one summer. It was a teardrop, a tiny silver teardrop charm that puzzled her. She could never figure out why he had sent it to her. Yes, it was sad when they parted ways, but they always knew they'd see one another again. So when it showed up on her doorstep, she spent hours trying to figure out why he had sent her such a beautiful, fragile looking charm… at least, she had assumed it was he that sent it. There was no other man who would have sent her an anonymous gift.

As she held the little metal charm, she took another deep breath, with the hope of releasing a little more of her tension from the past weeks. Her eyes shot open, sensing something else on the wind, something familiar, something happy. She sat up, scanning the horizon. Could it be? Was he back? Her heart raced a little knowing that her intuition never failed, her eyes searching for that familiar form, that familiar walk.

“Lookin’ for something?” she heard from behind her.

She swung her head around, flipping her hair against the breeze. There he was, sitting under their tree, not 15 feet from her. All she could do was stare; he was just so beautiful. His shirt slightly unbuttoned, she could see his chest at he got up and walked over to her. Her heart skipped a little beat at he sat down beside her, leaning in to whisper something. He tucked her hair behind her ear and moved in so close that she could feel his breath. “I’ve missed you.” He pulled back, staring into her eyes, and smiled at her. She still had no words. Nothing that crossed into her conscious seemed relevant in this moment. He ran his fingers through her hair and she closed her eyes, reveling in the moment. He kissed her left cheek, then her right, and then kissed both of her eyelids. Eyes closed, she smiled a little and took another deep breath, breathing him in.

Despite the late afternoon sun on her skin, she had goose bumps. He went on to kiss her left temple, so softly, moving down to her neck. She knew his intentions were to just enjoy her presence, to take in her beauty. He never made her feel less than beautiful. Less than perfect. He continued softly kissing her neck moving down to her collarbone. At this moment she was happy she had chosen to wear her favorite sundress, where he had complete access to her collarbone and shoulders.

She opened her eyes and looked up towards the sky, extending her neck. He read her perfectly and continued caressing her neck with his lips. She smiled, watching the clouds pass, happy. He was here. She was here. Nothing else was important.

…for only a second

Somehow I ended up at his wedding. He always joked that it would be funny if the next time we saw each other would be at the other ones wedding. Well, here I am... and it's not funny. It's heart-wrenching.

How did I end up here? It's like I opened my eyes and I was with him at the altar. I know I am not the one marrying him. She is. The only other girl he's ever loved. The girl that he essentially replaced me with... simply because we couldn't have each other.

I was happy for him. I always have been. But I never had any intention of showing up at his wedding. Why would I ever want to torture myself that way? Why would I want to tempt him and cause him to question his decisions?

I suddenly realized that he was staring at me. Holding my hands in his. The guests had all taken their seats and seemed clueless that a woman who was not the bride was standing at the altar, holding the hands of a groom that was not hers. All I knew is that I had to find some way of excusing myself.

But how? I have always loved this man. The only reason we stopped being together was a change of countries. A move. A desire to further educational goals. We never stopped loving each other. Then he moved on and fell in love and so did I. And then I got engaged... and I don't ever remember him telling me that he was going to marry her.

I took a deep breath to tell him that I had to go, but before I could get the words out he said, "Just kiss me. One last time." he pleaded. "Kiss me and I will leave with you and I won't marry her."

My heart pounded. "I can't." I realized how weak I sounded and repeated myself, hoping to convince someone. Anyone. "I can't."

He leaned in, "Please, I love you. And we are here, together now. I won't marry her... please don't marry him." His lips touched mine, for only a second. I could feel myself melting. I could feel myself considering his proposal, for only a second. Then I realized what I was doing. I love him, yes, but I couldn't do this. I couldn't ruin lives for a "what if," for a "possibility." I moved out of his embrace. "I can't."

I left the altar, the guests still unaware of my existence. As I fled the mountaintop, I heard the music begin and the guests gasp at the beauty of the bride walking down the aisle toward her groom. I stopped, for only a second, wanting to look back. I heard somewhere that in the movies, when lovers stop to glance at each other as they are leaving, then you know that they will be together. This wasn't a movie. I never glanced back.

People move on. Life cycles through.

The crash and burn happened when the lie was brought to light.

I'm not perfect, and would never want to be. If you're flawed too, you become real to me. Sometimes, just sometimes, you find a girl who probably should call herself a man because she isn't like all the other girls.

I understand the carnal need, I have that need myself.

I understand the conquest. I am a conqueror.

I understand the feeling of being trapped. I'm a caged animal more than I am not.

Where they get it wrong with me, is lying to me about it all.

... there are some lies that are not known to be lies, even by the man who told them. They think they know what they want, until they find out differently. The challenge then is convincing me it wasn't a lie to begin with.

I don't judge them for who they are/were. I am not perfect. I don't expect you to be. Society has it all wrong... IT judges you for who you are.

I judge you for the lie I was told in order to fit in to that society.

Placing Blame in the Pertussis Outbreak: Religious Rights or a Faulty Vaccine? Written by Tara M. Jackson

“The devil is in the details.” We hear it said, often glossing over the words, but how does it apply to the recent Pertussis outbreak in Henderson County, where 34 individuals have been diagnosed, and over 1,000 have been exposed to a “potentially deadly” bacteria? This outbreak has suddenly created an echo across the state for removal of religious exemptions, blaming the unvaccinated for the spread of the illness, and begging to take away the rights to religious choice.

If one were to consider the surface information, the average takeaway from media soundbites, it makes sense to call for the removal of religious exemptions. After all, it has to be the unvaccinated who are responsible for the resurgence of Pertussis. Logically, if you get vaccinated, you can’t get sick. Right?

In an Asheville Citizen-Times article titled, “OPINION: The dangerous loophole in our vaccine legislation,” author Nikki Pritchard calls for the resurrection of a failed bill introduced in 2015 that would have removed the states religious exemption option, leaving only medical exemptions in North Carolina when it comes to vaccination. Even though the law clearly states “bona fide religious belief,” it’s been suggested that those utilizing this exemption, are in fact, not religious at all – and instead, taking advantage of a loophole in the system. The conversation of religion and which ones “count” in the vaccine debate doesn’t come in to play according to the law.

So why do the details matter here? This call to action made me wonder if the religious exemption was really at fault. What are the vaccination rates for this illness and why is there such an outbreak in a community like Henderson County? In the 2014-2015 school year, among students utilizing exemptions to enter kindergarten, Henderson county had one of the lowest rates in the state, coming in at 1.4%. So, to protect those at risk, the magic number to achieve the theory of Herd Immunity is 95%, then school age children are more than covered. A pertussis outbreak of this magnitude should be an anomaly.

According to the December 12th “Pertussis Outbreak Situation Report” by the Henderson County Health Department, 34 individuals countywide have been currently diagnosed, while exposing approximately 1,000 other individuals. Since the Henderson County Health Department cannot confirm the vaccination status of those diagnosed, stating via phone call on December 11th that they are not "collecting that information," I turned to the Center for Disease Controls website to find more information as to why those assumingly vaccinated against the illness are still contracting it. As stated by CDC documents, “Vaccinated children and adults can become infected with and spread pertussis; however, disease is typically much less serious in vaccinated people.” (a)

So I pose the question: With a current high vaccination rate among school-age children, and the CDC stating that even with the vaccine, people can become infected with the very illness they are trying to avoid, what would removing a religious exemption do to lessen the rate of Pertussis outbreaks? Why are those individuals who are fully compliant with the CDC’s recommended vaccine schedule still contracting the illness?

With more digging, I came across an article by the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases from 2013. (b) As stated in the article, “Based on an animal model, the study conducted by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and published November 25, 2013, in The Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, shows that acellular pertussis vaccines licensed by the FDA are effective in preventing the disease among those vaccinated, but suggests that they may not prevent infection from the bacteria that causes whooping cough in those vaccinated or its spread to other people, including those who may not be vaccinated.” (c)

If that’s true, then what about the ever popular GlaxoSmithKline's commercial with the unvaccinated Grandma turning into a Wolf as she spreads Pertussis to her newborn grandchild? Based on that study, wouldn’t it suggest that if Grandma gets the shot, she’s more likely not to show symptoms while still culturing the bacteria – and then possibly spreading this highly contagious bacteria to those she’s intending to protect?

Another study published in 2012 by Maxwell A. Witt, Paul H. Katz, & David J. Witt; titled, “Unexpectedly Limited Durability of Immunity Following Acellular Pertussis Vaccination in Preadolescents in a North American Outbreak” concluded that, “the current schedule of acellular pertussis vaccine doses is insufficient to prevent outbreaks of pertussis. We noted a markedly increased rate of disease from ages 8–12 years, proportionate to the interval since the last scheduled vaccine.” This study suggests that these outbreaks are not due to use of exemptions, but rather a failure of the vaccines themselves. (d)

These studies are being published in one medical journal after another, each one pointing to the failure of the vaccine. They are easy enough to find and understand.

Based on the multitude of studies conducted over the last 20 years since the introduction of the current versions of the pertussis vaccination, the information suggests that pertussis outbreaks are not occurring due to the use of religious exemptions, but instead due to a failing vaccine. More information needs to be collected, analyzed and openly published and shared as to why vaccination itself is causing the spread of the illness – quite probably by the silencing of symptoms, which under normal circumstances would cause a person to stay home until they were healthy, as to not spread the illness to those most vulnerable.

The ultimate detail it seems is this study, where researchers stated the following: “This disease is back because we didn’t really understand how our immune defenses against whooping cough worked, and did not understand how the vaccines needed to work to prevent it... Instead we layered assumptions upon assumptions, and now find ourselves in the uncomfortable position of admitting that we may [have] made some crucial errors. This is definitely not where we thought we’d be in 2017.” (e)

Why call for the removal of a choice, in this case, religious and protected by state law, when said removal does nothing to change the reason such outbreaks are occurring? Instead of placing the blame on the very small percentage of families who utilize exemptions, why don’t we put pressure on our healthcare providers, the CDC, and the pharmaceutical companies to find better alternatives to a faulty vaccine?

As it stands, what we are left with is a false sense of security via a “one size fits all” shot, which still poses risk as indicated on the insert; effectively blindsiding us when our children and loved ones are diagnosed with a highly contagious illness. Instead of providing the public with easily accessed and unedited information about vaccinations, they are allowing people to believe that in order to be safe and healthy, they must allow exemptions to be removed.

This problem will not be solved by removing rights and blind adherence to an incredibly successful marketing campaign. This problem will be solved in the details – and with more knowledge, information and education by medical professionals and the public.


References:
(a) http://www.hendersoncountync.org/health/documents/communicable_disease/pertussis/12-12-17MediaSitRep.pdf
(b) https://www.niaid.nih.gov/news-events/fda-study-helps-provide-understanding-rising-rates-whooping-cough-and-response
(c) http://www.pnas.org/content/111/2/787.full.pdf
(d) https://academic.oup.com/cid/article/54/12/1730/452864
(e) https://www.bu.edu/sph/2017/09/21/resurgence-of-whooping-cough-may-owe-to-vaccines-inability-to-prevent-infections/


UPDATED 12/20/2017

Allow me to introduce myself...

My name is Tara, and I am a rule breaker....

Hi Tara!

Cheesy? Yeah. Ok, I'll try not to go there, but I can't make any guarantees. 

I love to write, I am a photographer and I am ridiculously in to health. But not your Standard American health. You see, I am a Celiac, I've been injured by Vaccinations, and I KNOW that eating low fat will kill you. There is very little "Standard American" in the way I live my life and raise my son. 

This Blog will be a place to mostly share my Writing and Photography - but don't be surprised if I go on a tangent or two from time to time. 

And if you're having a conniption based on what I have said here - Take a deep breath, consult your "doctor", and continue on with your "Standard American Life" without question or forethought. Or, you can take a deep breath, accept that we're all wonderfully different, and consider for a second that there are other options out there.  

*Namaste*

Originally Titled: "Her"

... he had kissed her so passionately that first night. She hadn't been kissed like that in so many years. It felt as if he had never left, never boarded that plane. And now tonight, she felt so blind in her confusion. Once again, over the same man.

She had grown so much since the last time they had been together, she was no longer that lost child that she used to be. She knew she was stronger, more reliant on herself. A man could no longer make her feel lost, "but he could break my heart all over again." she thought.

She knew that the silent tears she was shedding were good. She hadn't been able to cry by herself in a long time. Someone always had to make her cry lately before she could let go of anything. She hadn't heard from him in a few days, and she didn't want him to think she was too attached; after all, he did have a plane ticket home sitting with his luggage. Yet she craved hearing his strong European accent call her "beautiful" like he always did. She thought about dialing him, but knew better. He would call her when he was ready. She didn't want to smother him like so many women did to their men when they know hes leaving.

Her thoughts turned to the here and now. She wanted to live in her fantasy world for another week. She was not about to think of what would happen once he boarded that plane. That was so unlike her, to not worry about the future. She ALWAYS worried about the future. But not now. She dreaded that thought. At this point, her plans did not exist past April 12th.

Again she thought of their first night back together. They laid there, holding each other, as she tried to catch her breath. Then the tears came. She had tried to hide them. God, how she had missed him. She tried not to think of how temporary this situation was, but the more she tried not to think about it, the more the tears came. She told him she knew how temporary it was, but she was happy for what they had right now. He said, "We'll see."

She whispered that she was sorry. He shook his head and held her. Held her while she cried, and she was almost positive that he tried to wipe away a tear or two of his own without her noticing.

She forced her thoughts back to the present. There was no way that this was going to last. Unless they married. Foolish. She knew she was being foolish. He had been talking about his friends trying to get jobs here, and how the only way it seemed that they could, was to marry the American that they had been dating. "Sure, the wedding would have happened eventually; but it probably happened a little sooner than it normally would." See, he had been the one talking about it; twice. She knew he was right. She knew that the only way to keep him, was to marry him. She wasn't sure that he was even thinking that way. He was too driven in his own life. That's probably why they got along. Ambition.

...And she would say yes. He knew she would say yes. She knew that he knew. There was really no other option other than continuing to live their separate lives, and find a way to make enough money to travel the 6 hour time difference every few weeks. She knew she would be happy to marry this man she adored, but then what? Yes, she loved him, but not only that, she adored this man. She had told others that she loved them, but she knew that it meant something when this was the only man she had ever adored. He always made her smile. Somehow, he would always make her smile.

That's when the tears really came. "God damn it!" She said out loud.

She pulled into her parking spot. She had so much to do. She hadn't even begun packing for the week long trip she was about to take that would undoubtedly end with tears. She turned off the cars ignition, and sighed, "Home again."


Written April 3, 2007