Boo Who?

“…she really almost died, was closer than not to death…because they had no qualms over torturing her to death…”
(a statement made by a detective to me over the phone this morning about Boo…)

It was times such these that prompted the creation of my blog to begin with…because I have ZERO support in the harsh real-time of everyday Real Life and was at my wit’s well tattered end, and desperate to relate to somebody (ANYBODY!) in regard to my tragic experiences in motherhood. So…with that being out of the way and written, I am once again: thrown abruptly into that very desperation for support.
My daughter has been hospitalized in Arizona; with injuries and occurrences that proved newsworthy (see previously posted article here). She had surgery this morning on her arm (broken in two places) and remains in the ICU at the hospital at present. The most heartbreaking part about her current status of “safety” is that it is as good as wasted on her; she will disappear once more from trauma recovery in the hospital – she ALWAYS does…it will not be long before she finds herself in a newly created but eerily similar situation – it NEVER is when she is left to her own devices, whatever those may consist of, anyway.
For ME – a surviving victim of a near-death throat slashing that ended years of sadistic torture and domestic captivity, intentionally CHOOSING to return to an environment that even holds the slightest possibility for the unfolding of oppressive or violent events is unfathomable and incomprehensible. When removed from the role of her fierce and worried mother, the lack of any lessons learned from handfuls of horrible circumstances Boo has miraculously survived so far becomes haunting. My inability to relate to her thinking or motivations grows by the day and, in turn, so does my dislike for the character she owns. I was almost murdered by her father – I came very close to being murdered successfully by his own hand…but, this was the crux of many unspeakable physical injuries and sexual assaults that I had endured throughout our marriage – it was my own boiling point that is inevitable for any “battered woman” who is hostage to a violent sadist. I saw it coming. I knew it had been looming overhead when it was. I had various emotional attachment elements that I allowed to narrow my thinking and ability…Boo knew her most recent abuser just a few days…
And again, here I am right back at that loss for any figment or thread of understanding…my chest feels hollowed out anew…my struggles feel so in vain…my only child defines a testimonial mockery of my own survival and ongoing recovery from torturous violence and evil (who so happened to be Boo’s father). The contrast between Boo and I in the presence of any self-preservative behaviors is so starkly sharpened that I wait for it bleed me dry.

“Every rule has an exception. Especially this one.”

Anomalous”, an “exception”, a “phenomenon”; these are all things I have been called in the medical community throughout my recovery from a near-fatal attack over ten years ago.

The “anomaly” came into play during the initial sweep of MRSA that ran through the ICU and burn units, claiming the lives of two patients and yanking many others into the circling of the proverbial drain for months afterwards; I was, once again, somehow spared death at that time as well, despite the many open wounds that left me like a sitting duck for the infectious riptide. Immediately following exposure to the initial strain of MRSA, twelve out of nineteen of the patients there, in my particular unit, broke out with the Shingles (a strain of it that is STILL with at least two of them, to date). Again, I was “unscathed”. It’s important to keep in mind while reading this, that I was unconscious for the better part of 3 ½ weeks straight upon arriving and being rushed into emergency maxiofacial/vasculature surgery – it’s not as if I even had a clue as to what was happening afterwards, in the unit. I wasn’t putting up any conscious fight against anything…that entire period is dark for me, and I carry no recollection of it now. Either way, it was then that I received the medical file label of “immuno-anomalous”; a label that has stuck with me ever since that time – only to be elaborated upon by other surgeons, doctors and various medical professionals in the days to come.

Next was something wonderful: ‘Raynaud’s Phenomenon’.

This is a very strange condition in which cold temperatures or strong emotions cause microvascular spasms in the fingers, nose, and/or toes. Doctors rarely see this condition – it has a very, very rare (identified, at least) occurrence in the world; thus, is difficult to get properly diagnosed, much less treated. I nearly lost all ten of my toes on two separate occasions due to Raynaud’s;

  • Once, before getting it diagnosed accurately, when a doctor came through on his rounds and basically told me that my toes were so gangrenous that they would need to be amputated;
  • Again, before getting it properly diagnosed, another doctor came through on his rounds and said that they wouldn’t need to amputate, because my toes were shriveled into raisins anyway, and would soon “come off on their own” (that was on my birthday, by the way). Happy fucking birthday – you’re toeless!

Either way, I managed to keep my toes – all of them – to the absolute shock and surprise of all of us…I’M still not even sure how that happened without medical interaction – my toes DID literally look raisins for about a week. But – “phenomenally, they bounced themselves back to bloodflow…”, according to the treating physician at the time. And so, was born: “the Phenomenon”.

Lastly, but most sticky, has been “the Exception to Every Rule of Medicine”; a quote, verbatim, about me from a seminary speech made at Stanford Hospital during a retirement celebration thrown for my original reconstructive surgeon – one amazing individual – when he was asked if I was the reason behind his “early retirement”. So many other people from the Medical community were there to hear an esteemed and well-respected old-timer say such a thing, that I will likely NEVER live it down.

Dirt Naps in the Desert: I’m TRYING.

When I began (for the very first time on my own) writing the actual events leading up to the moment “The Ripper” cut my throat in our front yard fifteen years ago – with an audience of law enforcement, emergency response teams, and neighbors watching in disbelief, something very uncomfortable happened. The triggering event that eventually had the Police called out to our home in the wee morning hours had been something that I managed to block completely out of my existence, somehow – which is absolutely dumbfounding to me, in retrospect. When I began writing about it (Dirt Naps in the Desert) and had a conversation with someone who was there when it all went down (Jackson: the EMT who actually rode in the ambulance with me that day – who literally breathed his own life into me to keep me alive when I stopped breathing for myself, and who has become closer than I believe my Father and I could’ve ever been – due to our strange way of initially becoming somewhat “intimately” with each other), the recollection hit me like tanker from a blindside…it was intense and raw…and it hurt like a Son of a Bitch to start chewing around.

The pain from this re-recollection is immense and even caused me to stop with my written account completely, because I was just as appalled all over again by this memory of the thing that set me into an outdoor display of truly psychotic rage:

Screaming and crying and breaking everything I saw, yelling at the top of my lungs that my husband was “a MURDERER!!!”

I was not giving a fuck during this vague time in my memory, I was in despair and I was shocked beyond description and heartbroken and full of self-hatred; so much fucking guilt and regret and sadness, remorse…

I was screaming, “I’m sorry Sarah!!!” and throwing dirt into the air.

It was 5:00am and freezing cold outside, I’ve been told – – – but I never noticed either element at the time. I will keep writing…it’s just really, really hard to think on for too long at a time, I guess…not healthy for me yet…unable to process it thoroughly at present…but I will keep trying with it, I promise.