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We are homeless. Please help us save our belongings!

Our very best friend is helping us with our current homelessness crisis — losing our home and trying to save all of our belongings — by personally assisting with monetary and moving help, and also by putting together a GoFundMe.

I am also and directly pleading for help, not even for me, but for Alyssa and Ryan – please help us get this done by donating financially. We need roughly $300 between a storage unit rental and a UHaul rental. I have located several storage units, and we can rent a truck. But we need financial help. Please. I will show receipts and photos. We have until the 28th to get this done. Please. I can’t find the words now to express my emotions — fear, shame, helplessness, anxiousness, hopefulness, gratitude — but I promise that when this is all said and done and we can finally take a moment to breathe, I will write, and write honestly, openly, and extensively. But right now I can only focus on one thing: saving my family, and saving their belongings and prized possessions.

My PayPal address is

Thank you.

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We’re homeless. Can you help? Please?

As of yesterday my family became homeless. We’re a family of four: myself, age 33 (just turned 33 on 6/13), my 35 year old husband, our 12 year old daughter who is struggling with anxiety and depression after being sexually assaulted four years ago, and our special-needs (autism, Asperger’s, anxiety, and PICA) 10 year old son.
My husband is disabled due to anxiety, depression, Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, stage two NASH Liver Disease, Sleep Apnea, Delayed Sleep Phase, and REM Behavior Disorder.
I am just about disabled due to depression, arthritis and Degenerative Disc Disease in my cervical and lumbar spine, bulging and an annular tear (leaking disc) at my L4 lumbar disc, a completely degenerated L5 lumbar disc, a pre-disposition to gastric ulcers, a history of perforated ulcers, twisting/entangling intestines, intestinal hernias, Endometriosis, and Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS).

I am begging for monetary help for moving costs: uHaul, storage unit, rent deposits, etc. Please do my family – my children especially – this kindness. While we can’t save our home, we can save everything in it – everything we’ve worked hard for, all of the tangible memories our children have created, etc. Please, please please help us. I think you from the bottom of my heart for doing so.

My PayPal address is

I will provide receipts — posted here for the public — to show how the money was spent.

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Four months post-op from emergency surgery #8

* * * * *
To recap, here are my previous emergency surgeries:
February 18th, 2013: first gastric ulcer perforation
May11th, 2015: strangulated intestinal hernia
August 1st, 2015: second gastric ulcer perforation
April 19th, 2016: third gastric ulcer perforation
June 3rd, 2016:surgery #1 to close gastric leaks
June 9th, 2016:surgery #2 to close gastric leaks
August 28th, 2016: left ovarian torsion
* * * * *

During the late evening hours of January 24th, 2017 I was talking to my mom on Facebook Messenger while catching up on some work. My recollection of this night is pretty hazy, but I do remember that Alyssa and Ryan were in bed, and Dan had gone to bed early. Around midnight I excused myself to take a shower. At some point during the shower or as I was getting out, I was hit with a sudden onslaught of right-side abdominal pain. As I told my mother, 911, Daniel when I woke him, and Jason when I was in the ambulance en route to the hospital, I was fairly certain the culprit was my right ovary, because the pain felt exactly like the left-side torsion did.


I don’t remember much after I called 911. Daniel helped me get dressed in something (a tank top, sports bra, and PJ pants, I think?). The ambulance arrived after an agonizing, time-isn’t-moving 11 minute wait. I remember being loaded into the ambulance. I remember whispering “hurry” to the EMT who rode in the back with me because just existing was more than I could bear.

Jason met me in the ER. There was a nasty doctor who didn’t take kindly to me refusing my oh-so-favorite (sarcasm!) drug, Toradol. She would later attempt to create hell for me first by canceling my post-op pain medication regimen that included stepping down from a strong PCA to oral pain medication, then attempting to fuck with my post-op discharge pain medications, and finally by contacting my pain management doctor with bogus accusations of me somehow managing to get out of bed with a 12″ vertical incision and two IV poles to consume three times my prescribed medication – and a hamburger (for the record, there was a hamburger, but it was my mother’s!). I still need to deal with her via complaints submitted to various “agencies”, but I’ll save that for another time. In any case, she is Doctor Doom and Gloom.

There was a CT, and then another, I think. I believe there was also an ultrasound, and possibly a trans-vaginal ultrasound. I think I was passed out most of the time from the severity of the pain, because despite being in the ER for 8+ hours and not getting into an OR for emergency surgery until the early afternoon of January 25th, I remember very little from that period of time.

I was rushed into an OR with the expectation that a quick laparoscopic surgery would reveal the pain source as a twisted right ovary, and that I’d wake up to five small incisions, manageable post-op pain, and a same-day discharge.


22 staples. Huge incision. No more belly button. Lots of pain.

Instead, upon waking up in my hospital room several hours later, after the initial “whew, I’m alive!” emotion came the horrifying realization that the level of pain I was in could mean only one thing: this was no laparoscopic surgery. My surgeon told Jason my incision was “slightly larger than laparoscopic”. Now, to me, someone with over a dozen abdominal surgeries under her belt, “slightly larger than laparoscopic” means perhaps one or even a few incisions that are one to three inches in length. I most certainly did not take that to mean what I had undergone: a 12″ vertical incision that started below my breastbone and ended just above my pubic bone. An impressive 24 staples kept the relatively straight incision (minus where you could see the surgeon had first cut, then gone down, and finally going back up) closed, and I was quickly switched from the next-to-useless hourly IV doses of Morphine to a PCA pump I named Frederick (after My Drunk Kitchen).

I was hospitalized for six days total. Jason stayed with me for the first two days (I think?), and then my mother came to stay with me until I was discharged the following Monday evening. Until my last day there I was on two IVs and a PCA pump. Before being disconnected I needed help getting out of bed or even to sit upright; the poles were just too heavy and my post-op pain way too fucking intense to allow me to drag myself anywhere except into a PCA-induced nap. The notable exception happened on Sunday afternoon, when after 30+ minutes of paging a nurse for help to get to the bathroom, and not wanting to wake my mom up because she had barely slept, that I somehow managed to drag myself and two IV poles across the room and into the bathroom. I had just enough “slack” in all of the cords to leave the IV poles at the door, because there was a slight “lip” where hospital room floor met bathroom tile, and I didn’t have it in me to heave-ho the poles up and over. So that’s how a nurse found me – not even in full contact with the toilet because there wasn’t enough give from my multiple IV connection sites. Lovely mental picture, eh?

Current Pain Level: Don't You Dare Cry 'Cause That'll Make The Pain Worse I can't even go to the bathroom without assistance.

The worst part about this surgery wasn’t being gutted like a motherfucking fish, which could have possibly been avoided if I hadn’t been treated like a drug-seeker in the ER (I came in begging for CTs and ULTRASOUNDS to show what was wrong, not for drugs!) – because if I hadn’t been treated like a drug-seeker, I wouldn’t have been ignored for hours upon hours until blessedly the first-shift ER doctor who took care of me when I had my third ulcer perforation came in AND came by my room AND stopped to hear what the yelling was about (Jason, I think, because I don’t remember being conscious enough to yell) AND intervened by taking over for Dr. Doom and Gloom and hurriedly ordering tests and medication and paging a surgeon.
If all had gone according to plan, there would have been enough time between when the symptoms presented themselves (1:00am) and when my vitals started to go south to get me transferred out of the county hospital and up to Hershey and my team of surgeons. Instead, because so much time had passed, it was a rush job to get me into the OR and under (I vaguely remember begging them to not put in a feeding tube, and reminding them about my intolerance of NSAIDs, Toradol, and adhesive tapes). And, once I was under, the surgeon had to convert from initial laparoscopic to open because my heart rate skyrocketed and my blood pressure tanked. (Can I just interject here to say how very sick I am with all of these close brushes with death? I JUST WANT TO LIVE.)

Anyway, the surgeon went in expecting to find a mess of a right ovary, despite the ultrasounds done through the ER not showing any problem with it. Instead, he found fluid…a LOT of fluid. The small opening created by him initially placing the laparoscopic camera resulted in fluid gushing out of me “like a geyser”, and because my vitals continued to worsen, he switched to open, and drained an incredible three liters (3L!) of fluid out of my abdomen.

I had the opportunity to speak with the head surgeon and the two surgeons who assisted him, and they all have concluded that they’re not sure what caused a build-up of so much fluid, or why I didn’t notice until the sudden onset of pain, or how to make it not happen again. But they ruled out gastric issues, which is a nice change of pace – no twisting intestines, no perforated ulcers, no strangulated hernias. They ran my bowels five times, and did three leak tests, and came up with nothing. So the primary suspect seems to be my right ovary, as it is entirely possible to have a malfunctioning ovary produce fluid-filled cysts quicker than the body can absorb them.

Recovery from this surgery has been brutal. The amount of post-op pain rivaled any other surgery I’ve had, and I couldn’t even get out of bed unassisted until I was nearly two weeks post-op. I wore an abdominal binder at all times, except when sleeping, for over a month; and even now I wear it from time to time because it helps with the lack of support from my thoroughly mutilated and probably FUBARed abdominal muscles. And even now I still get residual soreness and tenderness. The incision itself is still huge, though healing nicely; though it is sensitive and I can’t put any weight on it (so it’s really fun to live in a house with lots of cats who don’t care about stomping all over your midsection to get over or closer to you).
And, from weeks of eating very little in the way of solids for fear of super-painful vomiting, I’ve lost weight again, and I am now dealing with needing to put on a good 20 pounds if I want to use more than just a third of my wardrobe. And no, the irony of struggling for weight gain after so much struggling for weight loss is not lost on me.

On my to-do list is scheduling an appointment with a reproductive oncologist to look more into this right ovary of mine. Personally, I want to get this little bastard yanked out before it causes any additional problems!

Lastly, I just want to say thank you, here on my blog, to Jason, for being the best friend anyone could ask for, and for doing so much to fight for me when I wasn’t able to fight for myself.
Thank you to my mother for doing so much for me in the hospital, and for helping me get settled at home and even staying with me there.
Thank you to friends in Ryan’s Boy Scout troop for helping us while I was recovering.
Thank you to neighbors for helping us while I was recovering.
And as always, thank you Daniel, for going the extra mile to prove the “in sickness” part of our marriage vows. ♥


A random pre-op surgery (for once, not mine - that's my mom!) I forgot about until now. #latergram

So. I found this photo on my phone, and I don't remember taking it, but I love it# 💘💕 #love #ilobeyou #husbandandwife #couple #17years

P,S, I no longer have a belly button.

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