The Hospital: Part Five

If I had to choose to describe my hospital experiences, it wouldn’t be a Taylor Swift song.  I would choose “Some Nights” by fun.

“Well, that is it guys, that is all - five minutes in and I'm bored again

Ten years of this, I'm not sure if anybody understands”

The Hospital: Part Four

One thing I didn’t like about Dr. Clawson is she was always admitting me to the hospital. If there was any question about my health and my blood levels she would admit me to the hospital more often than not. Normally when I am admitted to the hospital we walk across the sky walk connecting my doctor’s office to the hospital. I liked walking the skywalk and looking out over the city. I would look out and see Weber State University and watch cars pull in and out of the parking lot. Watching the cars fascinated me, I wondered about the people in those cars. Is that a doctor pulling up, coming in to save a life or perform a surgery? Is it a nurse who is pulling up after dropping her kids off to school, who will now be comforting her patients? Or is it patient who is feeling as sick as me who is parking? Is that a family member leaving after a long night holding a vigil over their loved one? There are so many people in the hospital, with so many different roles to play, so many different stories, and so many different struggles. Looking out the window was a good way for me to delay the inevitable. I would mosey across the walkway, getting in the way of busy doctors, nurses, and other health care professionals, rushing about to whatever patient or meeting they needed to get to next. My parents would urge me along down the highway towards my impending doom.

The inside of the hospital looked just like the outside, white. White walls, white tiles, with various silver medical instruments ready for the medical professionals to use on patients. Today I don’t walk down that walkway, instead my dad carries me out to the car again and drives me to the new hospital. Although this hospital is bigger than my old hospital, somehow it doesn’t seem to tower over me quite as threatening as the old hospital did. This hospital has a softer brown color to the outside of it and looks more friendly and inviting. The inside looked warm and inviting with an open ceiling that showed all the floors. The fourth floor was the pediatrics floor and was where we headed. If we had time I would sit down with my dad on a bench or a chair and my dad would feel my arms for good veins and then put EMLA crème on them and covered the crème with a Tagaderm band aid. Butterflies would fill my stomach as my arms were prepared for the eventual needle. The EMLA crème sickly sweet smell mingled with the faint dried glue smell emanating from the Tagederm. The anticipation built up with every passing moment. I hoped and prayed every time for some miracle to prevent me from having to get an IV or blood draw. I always hoped and prayed that someday they would figure out a way to deliver my medication and run tests without having to poke me. The miracle never happened.

I would be assigned to a hospital room and then lay on a hospital bed. Hospital beds are lumpy, the sheets are itchy, the blanket is itchy, and the pillow is lumpy. I like how the beds can sit me up so that I can see what is going on while using less energy. Less energy is good. A nurse comes in my room and takes off the Tagaderm and cleans off the EMLA crème. She feels my arm for a vein and after finding a good one asks me if I want her to start the IV now or after she counts to five. It was a mistake to ask me that. Now I can begin my master stalling plan. I automatically start saying “Count until five.” And then as the nurse gets ready to start the IV I continue to say “No, not yet. Count until five again. Five more minutes. I’m not ready yet. Wait a little longer. I don’t want to do it.” I would stall, whine, cry, bawl, kick, scream, bargain, hit, hyperventilate and do anything that I could to prevent the IV from being started. It didn’t matter how low my blood levels were and how tired I was the moment a needle entered my hospital room I would enter “fight or flight mode”. And as I put off the IV start, the anticipation would build more and more with every passing moment. My stomach would drop, my arms would tense and tingle as I anticipated the pain. My breath would become more shallow and would quicken. Panic always set in. To me getting an IV started was pure torture and what made it worse is that it was torture that I wasn’t allowed to fight. I would beg for the smallest needle possible and never believed the nurses when they told me they were giving me the smallest needle possible. My parents would try to hold me down and calm me down, but they always ended up telling the nurse to go ahead with the IV start regardless of my protests. Partly because I would fight so hard and partly because my veins were so tiny I almost always got poked more than one time to try and start an IV or get a good blood draw. I never trusted anyone to get my IV started or to draw my blood. Today I got my IV started with all the fight, anticipation, and panic that normally accompanied my IV starts. After my IV was put in I always kept my arm as straight as possible so that my IV wouldn’t come out.

And then I slept.

Finally.

The Hospital: Part Three

My dad walks down the long hallway, past the drinking fountain. Breathe in. Breathe out.

My dad carries me through the familiar door of the office and set’s me down on one of the chairs while he goes and checks in at the front desk. I don’t even try to stay upright or keep my eyes open. The waiting room was filled with other children playing with the toys making the beads go up and around the different mazes that intertwined. The red line spins around the blue line. The green beads travel along the red line and the yellow beads travel around the blue line. Some of the beads travel quickly, smoothly down the line. Some of the beads travel slowly and choppy, the line no longer smooth or something inside the bead catching along the line slowing it down. I have played that game many different times. The waiting room is circular with brown carpet and tan walls. The front desk wraps around half of the waiting room and beyond the front desk are rows and rows of shelves with patient files.

My file is about an inch and a half to two inches thick, filled with records of all my time in the hospital. My file is too big for an eleven year old girl. I go in and out of consciousness, my dad strokes my hair and a nurse grabs my file. My name is called. My dad picks me up again. Am I even breathing? I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want to sleep. My dad carries me into one of the waiting rooms. The room is white and at the very top near the ceiling is wallpaper, in some rooms its teddy bears and other rooms its puppies pictured. There are two chairs in each room, a table with paper on it, a chair for my doctor, and a magazine rack. Usually I’ll look at the magazines with my dad while we wait for the doctor to come in. But my doctor, Doctor Clawson, walked right in today.

Doctor Clawson has been my doctor since I was three or four years old. Dr. Clawson worked with my aunt Kate and lived right next door to my aunt Jane. She was a little bit older than my parents, probably in her late thirties, with pale skin, dark hair and eyes, and she was skinny. Dr. Clawson was recommended by my aunt Kate because she had worked with someone else who had my blood disorder before I moved to Utah. I like Dr. Clawson much more than I liked any of the nurses who worked for her. In my mind she would order the painful tests and treatments but she never actually performed them so she was a lot less scary then the nurses. Dr. Clawson was more consistent in my care then my nurses and took more time getting to know me then the nurses did. Dr. Clawson even gave my parents her cell phone number (back in the day when few people had cell phones) and her home phone number so if my parents ever had questions, or if I got sick, day or night, they could contact her and get her the help I needed. I didn’t realize what extraordinary care she gave me until I was much older. The first time I had to get a different primary care doctor I was shocked when he did not spend as much time getting to know me and when he didn’t give my family his cell phone and home phone number. I didn’t realize that most other people spend more time with and bond more with their nurses than their doctors because Dr. Clawson spent more time with me. Dr. Clawson was amazing. When she would examine me she would check my liver, my heart murmur, my skin color, and my blood level to see how sick I really was.

Dr. Clawson ordered my “finger prick”. I had finger pricks all my life. It allowed the doctors to check my blood level but was not nearly as traumatizing or painful as a regular blood draw. When I was younger I used to have EMLA crème put on my fingers to numb them but now I always tease my nurses and tell them that my fingers will be numb forever and they could pick any finger they wanted to for my pricks. Then they would squeeze my fingers like they were oranges being squeezed for all of their juice. After they had drained my finger of all its blood they would test it. Dr. Clawson came back to tell my dad the results. “Her blood level is at 4.8. As you know her normal level is 8. She has never been this low before. We need to get her to the hospital right now. Today they are opening the new hospital so I’ll call over there and get you admitted.” My heart sunk. That means more needles. Needles are the bane of my existence.

I don’t want to go to the hospital and be poked and prodded.

I just want to sleep.

Why can’t they just let me sleep? I don’t even care about going to the new hospital. I just want to sleep.

The Hospital: Part Two

The hospital towered over me. To me the hospital looked like a prison. It was tall and white washed in the front, with rows and rows of windows. I had walked past the concrete bench in front of my doctor’s office more times than I cared to count. Usually there was either a creepy homeless man smoking a cigarette or an old woman with her walker sitting on the bench. When I was younger I would hold my breath as I walked past the man smoking. I would even plug my nose because I was terrified of dying of second hand smoke. The woman with the walker would be waiting for her ride or her car from the valet. My parents usually parked the car themselves and then we would walk into the hospital from the parking lot. But today we used the valet. And I didn't walk past the bench today. Because I was really sick.

It's funny because even though I'm only eleven I know that there are many different kinds of tired and not enough words for the types of tired. There is the type of tired you feel when you are sleepy, there is the type of tired you feel after running around on the playground or in PE, and the tired you feel when you are sick. My mom says that the tired I feel when I'm sick is called feeling lethargic. Today I feel lethargic. Asking me to walk from the car to the doctor’s office today is like asking me to climb Mount Everest or run a marathon without any preparation or training at all. It’s about as likely to happen as well. I step from the car onto the curb. My head feels heavy and I struggle to keep my head up. Each step takes more energy than I can muster. My head fills with fog as I lift each leg and try to plant my foot on the ground. I lean against my father, barely able to stay upright. I am able to take about ten steps before I have to stop. I am completely out of breath. I sit down on the concrete bench. I throw up. The exertion from those ten steps is just too much. I struggled for each breath. In. Out. The taste and smell of bile would be overwhelming if I could just breathe. In. Out. I just want to lay down. I just want to sleep. The concrete bench looks like a comfortable bed. My eyelids droop. I want to sleep. And breathe. In. Out. My dad decides that is enough. He lifts me up and over his shoulder, briskly walking away from my throw up covered concrete bench, through the sliding doors that always loudly wooshed open and close, and stopped at the old elevator. On my left was the door that led to the surgical center. My aunt Kate works at that surgical center and usually after my doctor’s appointments we would go visit Kate if she was working. I didn’t have the energy to wonder if she was there today or if I would get to see her after my appointment.

On my right was the pharmacy I had gone to many times to get medicine. While my parents would go up to the counter to fill my prescription I would wander the aisles of the pharmacy, looking at all of the bright colored packages. I wondered what was the difference between the boxes in red and blue and the bottles in pink and white. Today I don’t notice the pharmacy, I just want to sleep. Will I ever be able to catch my breath? In. Out. My dad steps into the rickety old elevator. He’s talking to me as the rickety elevator climbs the five stories up until we reach my doctor’s office. I don’t pay attention to what he’s saying. I just want to sleep. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The Hospital: Part One

I write about hospital experiences like Taylor Swift writes about break ups: over and over again until everyone around me is sick of it.  Like Taylor I write to process the emotional experience I have had. My experiences in the hospital are tied to strong emotion like Taylor’s break ups are tied to strong emotion.  The emotion involved makes the memories all the more clear and easy to access.  Unlike Taylor I have not made millions of dollars from my experience probably because a yellow girl singing about needles being repeatedly stuck in her arm just isn’t as appealing and easily identifiable as a pretty girl singing about what a jerk her boyfriend turned out to be.  Unless that girl is using drugs...but that is an entirely different story. 

Untitled: Part Three

“So I’m supposed to be completely ok with the fact that Mary disrespected and disobeyed me last night when she went out with him when I specifically told her not to? I’m supposed to say ‘Oh well such is life’ and not give her consequences for her actions? I’m supposed to allow her to completely disregard any rules that she doesn’t agree with? This complete disregard for rules is something new for this ‘older’ Mary and I will not stand for it.”

“I agree that she needs to respect and obey us. But do not tell me this is a new problem. Remember what happened after you gave her that lamb?”

He smiled sheepishly as he remembered. How could he forget? They had given her the lamb on a Friday evening and she had tried to take the lamb with her everywhere. She never left its side if she could help it. That evening she cried and cried and cried when they told her the lamb had to sleep outside in its shelter and she had to sleep in her bed. She spent every waking moment outside with the lamb because her mother made it clear that lambs do not come inside. That first day back to school on Monday was difficult. She begged and begged to be able to take the lamb to school. “Daddy let me take her to school. She’ll be so good and I will too. I’ll keep grass with me to feed her so that she won’t get hungry and she’ll just stay with me the entire time. Pretty please Daddy.”

“Mary, lambs don’t belong at school, lambs belong at home.”

“Please Daddy. It’s show and tell today. Don’t you think she’ll be perfect for show and tell?”

“I’m sorry she can’t come to school.” But Mary didn’t listen. Mary always walked to school with the neighborhood kids but on that particular day she pretended to forget something and snuck back home. She untied her little lamb from the fence and walked him to school. Mary’s father could still remember the phone call he received from Mary’s teacher.

“Hello, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes.”
“This is Ms. Johnson, Mary’s teacher at school.”

“How are you Ms. Johnson?”

“I’m fine Mr. Smith but you see we have a slight problem with Mary.”

“What is it?”

“Well, you see Mr. Smith, she brought a lamb to school.”

“What? Oh I’m sorry Ms. Johnson. I told her that the lamb had to stay home and that lambs aren’t allowed at school.”

“Yes well she did bring it to school. If I could have you come pick it up…”

“Of course, of course. And I will talk to Mary about this don’t you worry.” I went to Mary’s school. When I got there Mary was sobbing.

“Mary, you know that you weren’t allowed to bring your lamb to school. And you know that I have to take her home with me now, right?” She nodded, breathing quickly through the sobs.

“I need you to take a minute to calm down.”

“But…Daddy…I’m…going…to…miss…my…lamb…”

“I know, I know. She’ll miss you too. But she’ll be at home waiting for you after school today and every day for a long time. Just like I always am. Ok? But you still have to go to school.”

“Ok. I love you Daddy. I love you lamby.”

“Love you too baby. We’ll talk about this when you get home.”

“Ok so maybe this wasn’t the first time she has ever deliberately disobeyed me. But we punished her then, do you remember?”

“Yes. But don’t act so shocked and hurt now when she breaks the rules. She has always broken the rules for the ones she has loved.”

“Do you really think she loves him?”

“Yes. Just like Mary loved that lamb. Just like Mary still loves you. Mary loves that boy.”

Untitled: Part Two

“How’d it go honey?” Mary’s mother asked as her husband walked in the kitchen. She had her favorite apron on and flour dusted her hair. The room was filled with the smell of baking bread and she was whipping up some honey butter to go with it. She glanced up from her bowl.

“It was like talking to a wall. Except not because this wall was screaming and crying at me. But she sure listened and reasoned as well as a wall might. Who the hell is this girl? I feel like I don’t even know her anymore? This is not my little Mary.”

Mary’s mother sighed as she put the mixing bowl and spoon down “Honey, she’s not little Mary anymore.”

He sat on the bar stool across from his wife, feeling the anger begin to rise this time directed at his wife “So you agree with her? You’re on her side? You support her actions? Her deliberate disobedience? Her rebellion?”

“No I don’t agree with her. You know I don’t. And I’m not on anyone’s side. Don’t try to make me pick sides. I’m on this family’s side.”

“Then what are you saying?”

She took his hand. “I’m saying that Mary has always been your little girl in more than one way. I’m saying that you two are too similar.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you two are both stubborn. And you both think you are right. And you both refuse to back down from an argument. And you are both emotional. That is why you have spent the past four hours arguing and what good has it done? You are both more upset than you were to begin with. And neither of you have changed your position. You are exactly in the same place you started four hours ago. She’s banished to her room and you’re moping around in the kitchen.”

He paused for a moment “I’m not moping”

“Yes you are. I’m saying that she is wanting to grow up and you are refusing to let her. I’m saying that she is not the same little Mary that begged you for that little lamb, more than ten years ago. And you have to accept that.”

“But that is the Mary that I know best. Do you remember that Mary? Not even four feet tall yet. Her hair always in pigtails or ringlets. And I would sit over there on that couch and read my paper. And she’d climb up on my lap, scrunch down the paper, and grab my face with her little hands, and put her nose next to mine. And she said ‘I want a baby lamb’. This repeated every day for a year. ‘Daddy, I want a baby lamb.’ I’d tell her we couldn’t afford it, that they were too much work, and that there wasn’t room for them with all of the horses…”

“But eventually you caved.”

“Of course I did. She was my little girl. And do you remember how on her sixth birthday we made her close her eyes and we walked her outside and brought her right up next to that lamb. We grabbed her hand to stroke the fur before she opened her eyes.”

“She squealed with delight.”

“I’ll never forget the look that she gave me. I was her hero…”

“And now you’re afraid that you won’t be that hero anymore. It’s a scary thing but you can’t be so terrified when a boy enters her life. It happens. It should happen. It’s supposed to happen. It’s going to continue to happen from here on out. You’ll always be her daddy. But your relationship is going to change as she gets older and you are going to have to accept that.”

“But I don’t want our relationship to change. Do you remember when she was five years old, she would follow me wherever I went.”

“I know. You were her world. She was your little girl. But you relationship is going to change. Your choice is whether you will push her away because of the changes and push her completely out of your life, or if you will accept the changes and maintain a good relationship with her. The choice is yours.”

Untitled: Part One

“Do you even give a damn anymore, Mary?” Mary’s father asked her exasperatedly. They had been arguing for hours now and they had gotten nowhere. He had screamed, she had cried, he had cried, she had screamed, the argument had circled round and round as pointlessly as a Ferris wheel with just as many ups and downs, highs and lows. Now they had reached the lowest of the lows. Mary sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chin, rocking slightly, her red eyes highlighted by smeared mascara that dripped down her face. She didn’t answer him, she didn’t look at him. Her head throbbed and exhaustion overwhelmed her. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into her unmade bed and sink into a deep oblivion of sleep. But she knew it wasn’t over. Her Father wouldn’t give up this easily. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She tried to think of something new to say, a new way to state what she had said a thousand times, something that would finally make him see. The last four hours were a blur, all she knew is that she kept repeating the same words over and over again and he would do the same. There was nothing else to say. Nothing had changed.

“Give a damn about what dad? There are some things I give a damn about and there are some things that I don’t. You’ve got to be specific.” She said slowly, opening her eyes as she chose her words carefully. The room was just beginning to cool as the sun began to set on the sweltering summer day. She could hear the crickets outside her window, as she scanned her room, the room that had stayed so much the same throughout her childhood. She still even had the same comforter she had gotten when she was five years old, the one she had insisted on with the lambs with the pink collars on them, prancing happily around on a green background. Her eyes rested on her father and she noted that he had changed since she was five. He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows rested on his knees, his head in his hands as he stared at the floor. His hair which had once been unbelievably dark now hinted with grey. His hands had hardened from years of hard work in the sun and the dirt. The years showed on his face, not quite as smooth as it once had been. His eyes were worn. But one thing had not changed, he was still lean and lanky, almost too skinny, like a man who was battling some terrible disease.

He looked up at her and their eyes locked. Mary thought she could see something in those blue eyes, those eyes she knew so well, she had never seen before, pain. And it killed her. He broke the gaze. “I can see this is going nowhere. This needs to stop. For tonight. At least. I’m done.” He shook his head frustrated “But you will not be going out tonight.”

“Dad I…”

“No. That’s final. You will stay in this room all night. I don’t care what you do in here. You can sleep. You can read. Whatever. But you will not leave. If I hear that precious Ram truck of yours start up I swear I’ll sell it. Do you understand me?” Mary knew that voice. She knew he was done and even if she argued she wouldn’t get her way. But she couldn’t help it.

“Dad. I’m not five anymore. I’m sixteen. You’ve got to let me grow up.”

“Not tonight I don’t.” He left her room, slamming the door behind him.

The Sixth Grade: Part Seven

Tensions began to escalate between Hailey and I. Hailey began to hang out more and more with “the twins” and fall into destructive behavior. She had always had a dark side, but I wanted her to come to the light more than anything. I was an emotional wreck. I had been humiliated at my birthday party, my dog had died, my grandfather was getting surgery for cancer, I was having a hard time fitting in at church, and I was really worried about Hailey. We began preparing for the transition to the junior high school and choosing our classes. Soon the stress from all of the change and emotional turmoil I was going through proved to be too much.

I blew up.

I screamed at Hailey. I told her how stupid she was being. How self-destructive she was being. How she was capable of doing so much good but she couldn’t do that if she kept down the path she was on. More than anything I unleashed on her all of the pent-up anger, frustration, pain, and sadness that had been building inside my body, inside my soul. I screamed.

I couldn’t handle it anymore. I walked away from her. I grabbed Thaina, Faith, and Janessa and told them that I thought we really needed to pray for Hailey. In that moment, I knew I couldn’t save her. I knew I couldn’t save myself. But I focused on her. I knew that Christ could save her. During the recess after lunch I talked Thaina, Faith, and Janessa into praying for Hailey right there and then. Under the shade of the three trees that had sheltered my play for years, I knelt down and pulled my friends down with me. First I said that we should all silently say our own prayers. I closed my eyes, folded my arms, and began to pray internally. I asked God to not let Hailey run away from home. I asked God to convert her to the church. I asked God for something to go right. I asked God to change Hailey. I asked God to make her life better. I asked God to heal Hailey’s heart. Then I asked Janessa to pray for us all like Jehovah’s Witnesses do. She offered a beautiful heartfelt prayer to God on our behalf. And then I prayed for all of us. I prayed with all of my heart. Please God, bless Hailey.

After a day or two Hailey and I were able to work out our differences. Hailey realized that I was hurting because of things that didn’t have anything to do with her and I realized that as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t control her. We came to an uneasy peace.

A week before school got out, my parents sat Mason and I down for a family meeting. We had never had a family meeting before but I wasn’t too worried about it. I hoped that we would be getting a new puppy. Mom and Dad explained that Dad’s work had asked him to change stores that he managed and that the new store was in St. George. I wasn’t too worried about it, Dad had changed stores before and it had never affected me before. But then Mom and Dad explained that St. George was five hours away and that we would be moving. They said we didn’t have a choice, either Dad could take the job or he’d be out of a job.

My world fell apart again in that instant. For the third time in less than a month, my life was shattered. Move? New school? New friends? No. I wanted to go to Junior High with my friends. We already had classes picked out together. I didn’t want to make new friends. I liked my current friends very much. Leave the only place I could ever remember living? My church? My cousins? No. Anger and determination grew inside me.

I wouldn’t move.

They couldn’t make me.

Did they realize they were ruining my life?

My life was over.

First Coconut.

Then Grandpa’s cancer.

Then fighting with Hailey.

Now this?

No.

I could never recover from this. Mom and Dad continued to explain that we would be moving as soon as possible but that we weren’t allowed to tell anyone that we were moving until after school was out.

My mind couldn’t comprehend it. We were moving in a few weeks, and I was not allowed to tell my friends and say good bye. Were we just going to disappear? I wanted to say good bye. None of my friends or school teachers would know what happened to me. How could we move so quickly? How could I not mention it to anyone?

The last week of school killed me. I devised plan after plan on avoiding the move. I longed to tell everyone how mean my parents were, making me move. I wanted my friends to know what was going on, to feel bad for me, to help me find a way to foil this evil plot that was going on. But I didn’t say a word.

After school got out I told Hailey I was moving. She couldn’t believe it either. We had always known that we wouldn’t be able to always go to school together, but we’d always imagined that she would be the one moving, not me. My parents put the house up for sell. They sold it four days later. They bought a house in St. George one day after that. My dad moved down to St. George and we waited out the month and a half before we would move down there with him. The summer passed quicker than usual, and before long it was July 24th, moving day. Thaina, Hailey, and my friend Jessica came over to say good bye to me as my Mom and Grandmother finished packing up all of our belongings and loading them into the moving truck. I cried. During the five hour drive to my new home I raged. I sulked. I rolled my eyes with all of the sarcasm my newly teenaged body could muster.

My life was over.

My childhood was over.

The Sixth Grade: Part Six

In the LDS church, once kids turn twelve they are moved from the classes and activities meant for kids to the classes and activities meant for teenagers. This is a big rite of passage. In my class of kids my age, I was the very first one of my friends to turn twelve. I was so excited to begin hanging out with the teenagers, it meant that I was practically grown up. Every Wednesday night there was an activity for the teens to do. Most weeks the activity was segregated by gender, but once a month the activities included both genders. My first activity was one of those activities. I was so excited for the activity, feeling so grown up. But when I got to the activity, I quickly became lonely. All of the girls were older than me, and they were all in junior high or high school, and not very interested in hanging out with a little elementary school kid like me. Luckily for me, Johnathon Nolan was there.

Johnathon was my age and had moved into the neighborhood a few years earlier. He came from a huge family and he and his best friend Michael were inseparable. I had known them for a while but we had never really hung out before, because you know, boys have cooties. Johnathon turned twelve a month or two before I did and he was in elementary school with me. Johnathon was a small boy, short and skinny with pale skin and dark hair. His best friend Michael was a good foot taller than him but just as pale and gawky. They looked like cousins and acted like brothers.

The activity was a compass scavenger hunt that took us all around the neighborhood. Everyone took off racing at the beginning of the race, determined to be the first one back with all of the clues. I took off running initially, but quickly became tired and fell behind the rest of the group. My pace slowed to a walk and I watched as the distance between me and everyone else increased, swallowing the lump in my throat that had inexplicably formed. The sun was beginning to set as I walked down the familiar street, past the Berger’s house not quite to the Miggin’s house. Up ahead I saw someone waiting for me to catch up. Johnathon. We walked side by side, talking, no longer worried about racing the rest of the world. Over the next few weeks Johnathon, Michael, and I began to hang out more and more during recess. Johnathon always seemed to know where to find me. I fit in with Johnathon when I didn’t seem to fit in with anyone else. I had never noticed before, but he was actually pretty cute.  In a nerdy kind of way. 

The Sixth Grade: Part Five

My twelfth birthday was fast approaching as the school year began to draw to a close. My birthday was on a Thursday and my family decided to celebrate my birthday on Saturday. My family had a tradition where we only had birthday parties every other year and this year was a year where I would have a party. I was excited. I decided on a themed party “A Day of Dozens”. I created my own invitations on my computer and invited a dozen friends to the party; Thaina, Janessa, Faith, Hailey, Annie (who was a new girl to school but had quickly become the most popular girl in the entire school), as well as some other girls from my class, church, and some cousins. My mom and I substituted a cake for a dozen donuts, and we ordered a few foot long sandwiches for lunch. Mom had several games ready for us to play as well. Preparations began early on Saturday, cleaning the entire house, making sure we had all of the party favors and food ready. My beagle-mix Coconut ran around excitedly, sensing something was happening but not sure what. Before my guests arrived that afternoon, Mom picked up Coconut and put her outside. She sat on the porch near the glass door, whining and scratching the door, begging to be allowed in to participate in the festivities.

One by one the doorbell rang and I enthusiastically greeted my friends bearing gifts. We waited in the kitchen while everyone arrived, munching on the lunch my mother had prepared for us and chatting about school and boys. As more and more people arrived, Coconut begged louder and louder to come inside. We all felt so bad for her. We all concluded that we wanted her to join the party. After assuring Mom that everyone agreed, we opened the door and Coconut bounded in happily, enthralled by the yummy smells and loving all the attention we gave her. She had stolen the party.

We happily filtered down the stairs to the living room where we were ready with various party games. We played a party game for a little while before opening presents. We all sat down on the new leather sectional. Hailey and Thaina sat on my left, Coconut snuggled up next to me on my right, and everyone else sat too my right as well. Before we started opening presents, Mom asked everyone if they were still ok with having Coconut there. Everyone enthusiastically said yes, so with a slightly worried look on her face, she allowed it. I opened a present from my annoying younger brother, Mason, then I opened one from Thaina and one from Hailey. Annie declared that it was her turn. She picked up her gift which had been placed in the middle of the room with the rest of the presents. She leaned over Coconut to hand me the gift and give me a hug. Before I could even see anything Coconut spun around yelping and bit Annie in the lip. Right on the lip. Thirteen preteen girls let out a collective high pitched scream, usually reserved for boy band concerts or scary movies. Mom jumped up and grabbed Annie and rushed her upstairs to the bathroom, with the rest of us screaming, crying, and trembling right behind her. Dad grabbed Coconut who was quietly whimpering and shoved her in her cage. Mom worked to stop the bleeding while dad got the rest of us down stairs to give them some room. Parents were called and everyone but Annie was picked up. In one of the longest car rides of my life, Dad, Mom, Mason, Annie, and I drove the five or ten minute drive to Annie’s house.

I was mortified. The most popular girl in school just got bit by my dog at my birthday party. How would I ever face her again? How would I ever face my classmates again? Everyone would hate me. We drove into her driveway. My mom talked to Annie’s mom and explained what had happened and said that my parents would pay for any medical bills and that animal control had been called and that Coconut would probably be put down.

What?!?!

That was the first time I realized that Coconut might be killed for what had happened. My sobs renewed. When we got back into the car, I asked my mom if it was true. Would Coconut really be put down? She explained to me that it was what usually happened when dogs bite people, because there is always a fear that they will bite again.

I couldn’t believe it. Not my Coconut. I had fallen in love with her the second I saw her. Out of the whole litter of puppies that my cousins’ dog had, Coconut was the one that my little seven year old self saw and had to have. I had talked Mason and my parents into Coconut, when they had liked another puppy named Lucky. I had chosen her name too, because she had a white spot on her neck that looked like a piece of Coconut. It felt like we had just gotten Coconut. I couldn’t believe she would be killed. I loved her so much.

The animal control guy showed up at our house. I couldn’t stop crying. He said that we wouldn’t have to put him down unless he bit someone again. But my parents decided that they didn’t want to take that chance. I did everything I could do to talk them out of it. I begged them to just give Coconut away to someone else. I listed every reason I loved her and she needed another chance.

A week later I came home from school and Coconut didn’t come to greet me like she always had. I found my Dad home and asked him if she had been put down today. He said yes. He asked if I wanted to talk about it. I said no.

The Sixth Grade: Part Four

Hailey soon became friends with the twins Amber and Misty. These girls were trouble with a capital T. They had a grunge look, their faces already filled with acne scars even though they were only twelve, and a hardened view of life. Just talking to these girls and you got a bad feeling. I didn’t like these girls and I let Hailey know about it. These girls once invited both Hailey and I over to their house. They lived about two blocks away from me, right next to the park that was across the street from the elementary school. Their house was small, and extremely cluttered. Pictures were all over the walls of random things I couldn’t really make out. There was so much to look at that I was overwhelmed. The house smelled funny, a sickly sweet smell I could not quite place. Upstairs between Misty and Amber’s rooms was a picture of a five leaf plant that caught my attention. I felt uncomfortable there and did everything I could to get out of there as soon as possible.
Hailey got very angry about being in Utah and began obsessing about getting to Colorado. She started talking about running away from home. I always tried to talk Hailey out of running away. Amber and Misty encouraged her to run away, they even tried to convince her that she should walk to Idaho and live with their uncle until she had enough money to get to Colorado. Hailey would tell me about her plans to run away, the day she planned to leave. She would make me promise not to tell anyone, even once she was gone. She wanted her mom to worry and to experience that pain. I told her I wouldn’t tell, but I always told my mom and if she had really left, I knew I would have to tell her mom her plans. Misty and Amber also encouraged Hailey to start using the drugs that they were using. Hailey was falling into a hole of negativity and teenage angst and I hated to see her fall.

The Sixth Grade: Part Three

Hailey was always confused as to why none of us could hang out on Sundays. She got very bored, so one day she asked me if she could go to church with me. I was in shock. “You want to come to church with me?” I asked, so excited I could hardly stand it.
“Yeah if it’s ok. Maybe I could sleep over at your house and then we could go?”
“I’m sure it’ll be ok, but let me go ask my parents.” I ran inside the house, Hailey following closely behind me. I figured my parents would be cool with Hailey coming to church with us, but I didn’t know how the sleep over would go over. My parents had always been very strict about sleep overs since I stayed up all night with my cousin Kacie at my grandma’s house when I was about five. We had a family party the next day and I got sick and threw up on my plate of food in front of all my family, there were even second cousins there. That had given my parents all the reason in the world to make a family rule that sleep overs could only occur once a month. I didn’t even have sleep overs that often, but every time I wanted to have a sleep over it was a battle with my parents. I had to convince my parents that I could handle it. My parents were convinced that I got sick every single time I had a sleep over, so it was an uphill battle every time. And I didn’t know how they would feel about a sleep over that would stretch into Sunday, the Sabbath, when I wasn’t ever allowed to hang out with my friends.
Luckily I ran into my dad first. He was a little more likely to give the go ahead then my mom was. I explained that Hailey wanted to go to church with us and asked if she could sleep over. I had my argument ready, wouldn’t it be so much easier if we didn’t have to go pick her up across the street before driving all the way down the street to the church? So much easier. But I didn’t even need to use my argument on my dad, he agreed right away.
Success!
Then my mom came in and I told her that dad said Hailey and I could have a sleep over. She was not as easily persuaded and she was not happy I had gotten approval without her knowledge. Every argument I feared was brought against me, plus the added disadvantage of mom being mad at dad for giving me permission without consulting. I pointed out that I had already told Hailey it was ok and eventually Mom resentfully relented. But I knew I was on thin ice if something went wrong. Hailey and I would have to be on our absolute best behavior or life was not going to go well for me.
We went to sleep at a reasonable hour, avoiding the wrath of my mother. I woke up in the morning super excited for church. I was certain that this was the first step to Hailey’s conversion and baptism. I had explained to her the night before that she would need to wear a dress to church. I really didn’t explain anything else to her. I didn’t even think to, everything seemed so normal to me because I had grown up going to one church, this church, and it was always the same.
We showed up at church and entered the chapel for sacrament meeting. Our deacons and teachers passed the sacrament out to us, and Hailey did not know for sure if she should take the sacrament or not. I didn’t know either, so she took the sacrament. She was very confused because sacrament meeting was very different then mass that she was used to attending. When sacrament meeting ended she was shocked that there were two more hours of church to go. Two whole hours. I think she had been so bored out of her mind during the first hour that the idea of two more hours was more than she could handle. So we took her home. It was really surprising to me that instead of being instantly inspired and recognizing the truth that she was bored and unimpressed. I couldn’t understand it. My parents did their best to explain to me the differences between mass and sacrament meeting and why Hailey would not instantaneously become converted.
Hailey also came over to my house during general conference. My mom liked having me around to listen to general conference as much as possible. General conference is when everyone in the church meets together via television and hears the direction from a prophet, like Moses. It is a very important part of our religious instruction. It only occurs twice a year and is a chance to receive lots of great advice. But I really didn’t find it super interesting at such a young age. The only part I loved was listening to the prophet, President Hinckley, the leader of our church. He was over ninty years old, had a shakey old voice, and emmenated love from his very being. So when Hailey came over, I made her listen to President Hinckley. Surely a cute little old man would convert her to the gospel. She ended up just thinking that we were weirder and weirder.

The Sixth Grade: Part Two

I dragged my mom across the street and knocked on the door. A woman who was about my mom’s age opened the door. She was a little shorter and heavier than my mother and was wearing a white tank top. Her long hair was in a half ponytail. My mom introduced us and we quickly learned that she had a daughter who was my age. Her name was Hailey. We were quickly introduced and we went up to Hailey’s room. Hailey had wavy dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes. Hailey’s room was filled with boxes, their contents spilling out over the room.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Alaska”
“Wow! What brought you to Utah?”
“My step-dad is in the air force and got transferred to Hill Air Force Base.”
“Are you Mormon?” I blurted out excitedly. Hailey gave me a weird, confused look.
“Umm… no…” She hesitated.
“Yes!” The strange look continued so I asked “Do you know what Mormon’s are?”
“No.”
I was practically jumping up and down with excitement and Hailey was looking at me like I was crazy. “Really? Oh ok, let me explain. I’m a Mormon. It’s a religion.”
“Oh ok. I’m a Catholic.” She continued to look at me like she was a little confused as to why we were talking about our religions.
“Awesome!” My first catholic friend and my first conversion! Hailey and I continued to chat about her home back in Alaska, school that was starting up again in a few weeks, and other topics that eleven year olds like to talk about. Eventually my mom called me to go home.

Hailey and I became fast friends. We ended up in the same class at school and we spent a lot of time hanging out after school. Sometimes we would hang out at my house, sometimes at her house, and sometimes we would walk down the street, around the corner, past the elementary school, to the gas station. We would walk the aisles talking before selecting the perfect pack of gum to buy. We would sit outside of my house listening to Avril Lavigne and sit on the curb, picking the tar off the road. Hailey told me about how her family was from Colorado, her dad was out of the picture, her step dad was in the Air Force which is why she had moved to Alaska and Utah and she couldn’t wait until her family could move back to Colorado. She also told me about how her family, generations back were from Czechoslovakia and she wanted to learn Czech, and she was convinced that someday she would someday move back to her homeland. She had been told that her great-great-great-grandparents were royalty, the King and Queen of Czechoslovakia, and she was sure that someday she would be able to unite the land and take her royal right as a princess of the land.
In school we became friends with Janessa, Faith, and Thaina. Janessa was an African American who had converted from Mormonism to Jehovah’s Witness, Faith who was a white Mormon like me, and Thaina who had moved from Brazil and was also Mormon. Considering we were living in Utah it was a pretty diverse group of friends. We would hang out every recess, past the soccer field but not quite to the baseball diamonds, by the “three trees”, the only trees in the whole field, that seemed to stretch into the sky forever. The trees were almost directly across from my backyard, which was against the school field. We would “hang out” by those trees, because we were eleven and twelve years old, much too old to “play”. We hung out through the fall and winter.

Sixth Grade: Part One

During the summer between fifth and sixth grade my parent’s invited the Mormon missionaries over for dinner. We were already Mormon, but as is part of the culture we invited them over to show our support for them. My mom made her homemade chicken enchiladas and the missionaries seemed to love them. After we ate my mom’s yummy dinner the missionaries asked if they could teach us a lesson. We of course agreed. This was the first time I really remember receiving the “every member a missionary” lesson that is often given and seldom listened to or understood. I distinctly remember them challenging my family to pray for one month to have a missionary experience and that if we did, we would have one by the end of the month. I with my childlike simple faith took up that challenge. Thus began one of the most difficult years of my life.

As long as I had lived in my house, I had never known the neighbors who lived across the street. I could see their house perfectly from my bedroom window; it looked just like all the other houses on my street. The house had various occupants, moving in and out over the years, but I never got to know them. I knew my next door neighbors, and the neighbors who lived down the street, and the neighbors who lived around the corner but not the neighbors across the street. That was until Hailey moved in.

I took the challenge to pray for a missionary experience for the next month extremely seriously. I didn't doubt that I would have a missionary experience, in fact quite the opposite, I expected that whoever the blessed person was that would be a part of my missionary experience would quickly become converted to the gospel and thank me and praise my name forever and ever for leading them to truth and light. I prayed every single day and waited expectantly for something big to happen. As is always the case in a good story, I had to wait until the very last day of the month for something big to happen. It was the evening of the last day of my prayer experiment, after dinner I looked out my window and saw that a family was moving into the house across the street. Excitedly I called to my mom and raced down the stairs.

“Mom! Someone is moving into the house across the street! Can we go over and introduce ourselves?”

“Sure.”

What Might Have Been

When darkness surrounds me

I think back on years that have gone by

Past by quickly and all the things I didn’t do

The things I never do the things I never did

The thing I never say the things I never said

If I go back far enough I may even think of you

I understand now why the change was necessary

Needed to save me from myself from my friends

Better chances down south but one question still

Remains after all these years

What might have been if I had been allowed to stay

If I hadn’t been forced to leave could we have been

Something more that we were slowly becoming

Young, lost, all alone I wondered what I’d do

You came and took my hand showed me the way

Made me laugh in a month of tears

Growing older, change soon to come I couldn’t see it

Change of place, change of pace

Old falls apart new begins to bloom

You’re everywhere

Just when I need a friend you’re there

I wonder if it could be something more

New I don’t dare ask

Now I never ask

If I’d stayed, would I be braver

The only thing I want to redo

Is me and you

The Things I Wrote: Poetry

Walking down a buzzy street I’ve walked

a thousand times

Earphones glued to my ears

 like a marriage

 The music my constant companion

defending me from awkward passing

hellos with strangers

 keeping me feeling separated from the scene around me so

 I can observe fade into the background

pretend to cease existing

cease feeling

 cease being

 cease breathing

 cease beating

Music louder drowns out the chaos of a

buzzy city a

buzzy street  a

buzzy mind

Music played over and over and over

 fades what do I hear?

 Beep, beep beep, beep. 

Earphones melt away in my hands.

 Beep, beep beep, beep. 

The sound quietly drowns out the rush of the cars

Screaming by never knowing the

Beep, beep beep, beep.

I wonder if our words sound the same way to them

as their conversations sound to me

White, buildings, brrr,

Usually I hear the conversations

Green, trees, warm

Mesmerized I walk

Beep, beep beep, beep.

Lasts only a moment

Music glues my ear again.

The Things I Wrote

I took a writing class this past semester.  A creative writing class.  Not my first.  Maybe my last.

For the class I was assigned to write two creative nonfiction pieces, two poems, and two fiction pieces.  I ended up writing a few more poems in the process because they are way easier to write. And my fiction pieces borrowed from real life.  The events they are inspired by may even be recognizable to some of you. While I was writing my fiction pieces, the thought came to me that I should share my pieces on this blog.  I'll shorten up my nonfiction and fiction pieces and publish them in segments.  It will give me a good chance to edit my work as well, which is arguably my least favorite part of writing.  Ok maybe publishing is my least favorite part.  I can't decide.

These pieces are just glimpses into how I viewed my world in the past few months.  I may or may not feel the same way now as I did then.  And I tend to use a ton hyperbole.  It adds to the drama.  If you think anything I've written is over-dramatized  it probably is.  I'm ok with it.  I hope you are too.