There was only one instance where I can remember my father being affectionate toward me. I was very young, 6 or 7 or 8. It was in the evening, and my dad, sister, and I were watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Even though it was supposed to be a kids movie, i remember crying my eyes out when the fat kid got stuck in one of the tubes. I tried hiding my tears by turning away and burying my little face into a couch pillow. I remember my dad coming over to me, and asking me what was wrong. I just felt sorry for the fat kid who was crying because he was stuck in the tube.
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
There was only one instance where I can remember my father being affectionate toward me. I was very young, 6 or 7 or 8. It was in the evening, and my dad, sister, and I were watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Even though it was supposed to be a kids movie, i remember crying my eyes out when the fat kid got stuck in one of the tubes. I tried hiding my tears by turning away and burying my little face into a couch pillow. I remember my dad coming over to me, and asking me what was wrong. I just felt sorry for the fat kid who was crying because he was stuck in the tube.
Monday, May 17, 2010 – My Day of Infamy
Curses and Blessings.
Exactly three years ago (at 6:00pm), I was walking down Nicollet Mall in downtown Minneapolis. It was a nice sunny day, just like today. I received a voicemail. It was from my now ex-wife. I remember her words, “Steve, I’m calling to tell you that I moved out. But, I still love you. <blah, blah, blah, blah>
She did this by deceiving a youth pastor from our church, the very one we got married in, by telling her that I knew about the move.
I remember having very mixed feelings — Relief and Doom. When I got home that night, I found the house to be totally gutted (almost). I distinctly remember racing up the stairs crying, “WHAT DID I DO??? WHAT DID I DO??”
I wrote about this last year on Mother’s Day. Here’s the link to the full story.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
I got to see Austin again yesterday. According to the divorce decree, my “parenting times” have to be supervised. That’s because I failed to get a new psychological assessment within 30 days from the decree (which came out on May 8, 2008). Judge Jay Quam ordered that because Sara (not her real name), characterized me as a nut case.
Nevertheless, now that I’m back (sort of), I have signed up with this organization called “Perspectives” in St. Louis Park. My first time seeing Austin was in November, just a week or so before Thanksgiving. The sessions are only an hour long from 3 – 4 (that will gradually increase).
It’s been so tough getting over there from Burnsville because I don’t have a car or license yet. I have had to rely on others to drive me there. I’m getting so tired of asking people for rides. I hate being such a burden. Yesterday, I got there really late. I’m supposed to be there at 2:30, but the place is so tucked away and hard to get to. Since I never drive, I don’t pay much attention and so we got lost.
In any event, it was only 3:05 and I still had most of the time to spend with my son. I couldn’t believe how talkative he was this time! He’s really feeling more and more comfortable with me. We just sat on the floor and watched Ratatouille and he was obsessed with this Wac-a-mole tower thingy. For almost the entire time, he just kept pounding the little plastic mole trying to hit the bell. He even asked me if he could take it home with him.
I asked him if he had a tricycle or anything. He told me that he doesn’t but that Taylor (his “sister”), has one AND a bike. (I wasn’t sure up until then how old she was, meaning, I didn’t know if his mommy had been pregnant again or not.) Evidently, Austin’s “other daddy” (that’s what he calls him), is a divorcee as well.
I can’t wait for the whether to get warmer so we can run and play outside.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Because of last week’s bad biopsy results, I had to make another appearance at Northwestern Hospital for ANOTHER biospy. I also scheduled a few other appointments that I was expected to get taken care of.
6:00 – My good friend, Dave Westergaard came into the room that he had so graciously allowed me to sleep in for the night. He lives in Highland Park, IL which was only a 20 minute drive to the hospital! Usually, I have to rely on my family in Rockford to drive me. But, since it’s a good 1.5 or 2 hour drive, we have to get up extra early in order to get to the cath lab between 6:30 and 7:00am.
7:03am – Dave let me off at the curb on 201 Huron Street at the door that I usually go through, and I dutifully went straight up to the 8th floor. The check-in nurse, whose desk is so strategically placed right next to the elevator bank so that you can’t avoid you, recognized me immediately! A very, very cheery woman, the first thing she said to me was, “Where’s your mom?” (My mom is pretty popular around that place too.)
I had a brand new nurse assigned to me this time, Denise. She was very, very friendly, but didn’t realize how familiar I was the place, the people, and the procedures. (I even informed her that she forgot to ask me when the last time I ate was!)
I brought my laptop with me, but just felt so, so drained that I just didn’t have the energy to break it out. The demands that other people have been placing on me have just been enormous! It seems as though everywhere I turn, someone is trying to insert a spigot into any available spot on my body. It’s much like the nurses who have had to scour my arms to find a spot on a vein that fights the needle. I had to force myself to relax, and to stop thinking/worrying about the stressors that constantly plague me. I’ve been finding that my life is nothing but a series of crises, one, two, or three at a time connected by life-squeezing wormholes.
So, I just slept until it was time for the biopsy.
9:30 – Biopsy. I was escorted into the sub-zero temperature cath lab, stepped right up onto the super skinny table, stripped naked by 2 gorgeous nurses and then sedated. The next thing I knew, I was back in my parking spot in the holding area.
12:55 – I had to race over to the 626 building to meet with Dr. Stoser from the infectious disease department. Evidently, my donor had been exposed to a dangerous virus called CMV, but I had not. Consequently, I have been taking an anti-viral medicine called Valcyte (which costs nearly $3000 per bottle!). They would like me to discontinue me from it, but I have to very closely monitor my health and get lab work done every two weeks.
2:00pm – I had to go over to the Galter pavilion in order to have a procedure done that I never had done before. It was called a “DEXA Scan” — the purpose of which was to measure my bone density. (Prednisone, one of the powerful steriods I’m on, has a lot of beneficial effects, but also, a lot of negative ones. Although it’s helping to prevent mst y heart from being rejected, it also likes to erode my bones.)
Luckily, I was able to con my father to drive in to the city to pick me up. He left at 2:30 and didn’t get there until 5:30. I just sat in Au Bon Pain restaurant on the second floor and then in the lobby getting some work done.
Introduction
Protected: What She Did to Me
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Tuesday, October 27, 2009
I am in the middle of experiencing several one-year anniversaries right now.
One year ago right now, I was an indefinite resident of Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago. Except for the occasional visit from family members, I was spending most of my days totally alone.
It was tough. I was on the docket to receive a heart transplant, but just never had any idea if and when it would occur. My life was hanging by a thread and surrounded by uncertainty. My dying heart was a huge, grotesque remnant of what it used to be.
Lying in that hospital bed, day in and day out, tubes, needles, and wires keeping me both alive and yet, also imprisoned.
I was put on anti-depressants because of all that I had gone through. I had to FORCE myself, everyday, to keep my spirits up. Although my son was being prevented from seeing his father, I knew that I needed to make sure I did everything I could to stay alive for his sake. I knew only TOO WELL the pain of having a father who never cared enough about his son. I was never told by him that I was loved. He never apologized to me. He was (and still is) a domineering figure who demands deference and obedience, even though he doesn’t deserve it.
I REFUSE to let my son believe that his father didn’t truly love him. He doesn’t know how many nights I cry myself to sleep wishing that *I* could be there every day for him. I’m appalled, frankly, that I’m perfectly available every single day to watch him, and would do so at no cost to anyone. But, I know it would only be an uphill battle with her.