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I have been feeling a little down here lately. I know it’s only because my daughter has grown up and moved off to Tennessee with her boyfriend and my new grandson. The only time I got to spend with Lukah was the day he was born. I spent the night at the hospital with her that very night to help her with her new child. Seeing as she’s a 1st time mom and all. I had to go to Suboxone clinic the next afternoon, so I didn’t get to stay that next day entirely. To make matters more worrisome for this momma, I was told she was getting a blood transfusion. (Like 1 hr 1/2 half before I actually left) I can honestly say I knew she needed one also. Her poor little body had never been through that much excruciating pain. I could see she was very pale within hours after giving birth. It was all natural. No emergancy c-section or anything like that. She was shivering so badly her teeth were actually chattering together. (Literally making noise as they clincked together). I helped her a couple of times getting to the bathroom. Her skin was hot as fire and don’t you know my hands were cold as ice. So when our skin made contact it actually hurt her. Then she said, “I’m so cold.” Then this Momma replied back, “No your body is in shock from what you just went through. With me knowing that first hand it was no surprise she needed blood. She lost quite a bit giving birth. More than the norm. So they say. Even knowing I was leaving her in trusted hands with people that actually knew their job, upset me.
While she was going through her contractions, she yelled out very loudly. This only happened once though (Her yelling that loudly). One of the nurses on staff came into the room and had the nerve to get onto my child during this process. Telling her that she heard her out in the hallway. My daughter actually apologized. I wanted to pop that nurse in the mouth with what she said to my daughter in her next breath. Her words verbatum, “It’s a mental thing Mercedes, and your going to have to be more quiet.”
OMG! When I tell you I about lost my shit! How dare she? Where does she even think she gets the nerve to tell a NEW mom, that all the pain she’s experiencing is a fucking mental thing?! She’s never experienced this before.
Let me tell you guys though!! My daughter beasted her way through that 37 hour labor, and delivered a precious baby boy. Lukah! Meaning “light”. (I didn’t personally look it up, a teller at my bank told me)
8lbs 21in long. She was a trooper you guys. No narcotic pain meds until the very end of her labor/delivery. Hardly any after either. None until the next day I know. Now, tell me she ain’t a beast!
She has the worst time swallowing any type of pill no matter the size, or texture. So, naturally when given a pain pill the next day, it was difficult for her to take. Instead she chose trying to take a motrin. For stomah cramps of course. She gagged terribly with just one coated pill. Over the counter medication people. They left her room, only to return a few hours later with another pain pill for her to try taking again. Finally with round she scored at getting it down.
I’ve never been more proud, and honored at the same time, to be blessed as a grandma, and as a mother. I used to always think I’d never be around to see myself being a grandmother. I just never thought that far ahead I guess.
But here I am. In all my splendid glory. Typing away at these keys to get all this out of my head.
Awaiting to look at my phone knowing I’ll see another video ciip or picture of my precious Lukah. So close yet so far away.
I Love My Family
I'd rather read a good book, VS watching the movie made from it on TV. Most thoughts on that are 'why'. Well, my answer for that is that there aren't any limitations to your imagination. Therefore, when I'm reading an action packed thriller that I can't put down or stop turning the pages of is because the details are written by the author describing the scene/situation with such clarity, that I think it's far better than what anyone can visibly see on TV. That being my opinion only, I'm sure millions and billions of avid readers out there agree with me 100% on that reason alone. I've always had an active imagination growing up. I'd use the almost empty cans of shaving cream my dad would give me, as the whipped cream on top of the mud pies I made.Of course dad got the first one. After all, he did give me the topping. I was very versatile also. I was the biggest tom boy of a little girl you'd ever see one day. To dividing Barbie clothes between me and my older sister (when I was lucky enough to get her to play with me). I had to play by her rules though. Perks of being the older sibling I guess. I loved playing with the Hot Wheel's cars in the dirt. Making race tracks and underground tunnels I'd dig out for them. Sometimes my dad would be outside with me showing me all kinds of different things I could pretend to do when playing cars. I have one day in particular that stands out among the rest. It was when I learned to do the underground tunnels for the cars to go through. He showed me by taking a simple stick off the ground and using it like a tool to push the dirt out from one side to the other. It wasn't a tunnel without keeping the top part intact. I acted like there was a cave-in, and then accidents, crashing the cars together. No one ever got hurt in my imagination though, just the cars got hurt. Growing up with a sister 6-years older than me taught me lots of things, both good and bad. If I kept her secrets, she kept mine. And the only reason I even had any secrets was because she allowed me to. I got to sneak and smoke in her bedroom at night after our parents went to bed. I had to be very quiet because I got caught most of the time. But I was always caught by our momma. And then all she made me do was get back in bed. I came from a poor family so anything name brand wasn't known to me for a long time. I was bullied and made fun of all throughout my school years. It doesn't matter which year you pick. From the 1st grade, all the way through high school. I know that's terrible to have to admit, but I think it'd be even worse having to admit to being the bully. I swore to myself I'd never treat anyone the way those kids treated me and made me feel. It bothered me so bad I'd dream about standing up for, and actually fighting over other kids getting bullied. I woke up all of a sudden one morning after punching the lights out of a bully in my dream. When I really punched the headboard and made my knuckles bleed. Come on! When a child is taking on the burden of other bullied kids, you know that's a heavy burden to bear. It was also very hard on me. I never talked about it to my parents though. Yeah, they knew. But back then no one really knew what to do about that problem like they do now. Or, well, think they do. I've been in counseling since starting school. I can't remember a day going by without me seeing the school guidance counselor. Shout out to Mrs. Reeves though, at Lone Oak High School. She made the biggest impression on me as far as wanting to help other kids like me. The bullies were actually the kids who came from well-to-do families. Kids who never knew what it was like to experience the disappointment of being told 'No'. Or that there wasn't enough money to buy what they wanted. Kids that figured there wasn't anything better to do except make fun of the less fortunate to get them through their day or to have a conversation piece. The anger and hatred that built up inside of me was, and still is undescribable. The thoughts they caused me to have. Picturing the tables being turned and the bad things said back to them, bad things being done back to them. It only made me feel better on the inside. I've been asked by numerous doctors in my life if I'm suicidal. I've answered no, being completely honest each time. But never have they asked if I've felt homicidal! I know, scary right? The outcome of such thoughts is what triggered the start of mass school shootings. Coming into adulthood was strange territory for me as well, and actually caused me a lot of uncomfortable times, knowing things I knew I could now do but never felt comfortable ever talking about. Even with my sister, the person I was closest to, I couldn't open up and freely talk about anything of the sexual nature. I guess because bad things have happened to me on more than one occasion when I was still very much an innocent child. With me hiding such horrid things from my parents, along with everyone else, I felt I couldn't talk about the good kind of sex either. Man did that ever set me back, keeping me immature of certain things I should've known already but didn't. Because in my mind I was still that child who was hurt in a bad way. They were called 'Red Touches' back then. What we were taught to call them in school anyways. Then just when I was becoming independent and living on my own, learning to stand up for myself in a way that would make my sister proud of me, I lost her. That caused me to go into a deep depression I didn't come out of for many years afterwards. March 29, 2003 changed my life forever. I lost my 2-year old nephew that night to a raging house fire. My sister passed 17 days later in the burn unit in Vanderbilt, Tennessee. However, if you've read 'My Story', a post on my blog. Then you'll know that in order for me to know what I now know, and to be the person that I now am, all of the bad shit had to happen first or else I wouldn't have caught and held onto the message so vital for me to have acquired in my life. Helping the less fortunate. Being someone's somebody they can depend on being there when they need them the most. After receiving confirmation that my nephew didn't suffer, not for one second in that house fire... Was I able to let that burden go, only to let in that oxygen, that life support I desperately needed to save myself from a lifetime of misery. Even though I know my sister, Jennifer, isn't physically here to cheer and root me on. I know without a shadow of a doubt, her and Lil Jesse (my nephew) are both doing so from Heaven today, and everyday that follows. If you're suffering from addiction of any kind and you want or need someone to talk to I'm a damn good listener! My contact information is listed on my contact page. Please call, reach out for support. You're not alone no matter what negative thoughts are telling you that you are. God is always there for you as well. If you'd like to learn more about Jesus and how He died to save us, don't hesitate to ask. I'll share what I know is all good, and positive about God. Whom I choose to call my higher power. If you don't believe in God, then the subject will not be pushed. EVER! If you're battling mental health issues and feel alone like no one knows what you feel like. Then I'm here to tell you there's billions of people out there that will share with you that they too, feel just like you do. Hit me up on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. All of my accounts should be connected to my website. If you're waiting on me to respond and it's been a while since you tried getting in touch with me, then by all means be more persistent and bug the shit out of me. Make me see your messages. I will eventually and I'll always reply when I can. This is the best I think I've written in this 'about me' section. It's the most I've opened up publicly I know that. I'm open minded, I keep it 100 all of the time, even if it's something I don't like myself, or for others, I still have to keep it 100 with myself in order for me to keep it that way with everyone else. I hope this told everyone a little bit about me, maybe more than I originally intended. But it's all accurate and up to date with where I'm at in my life right now. Thank you all and God Bless
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