Come to the Light, Carol Anne

Aleathia says:

     After my vacation in August I returned to work. Back in the ER for the 13th year. To say the least, it has become monotonous save the time I get to teach new nurses how to work in the ER. On my vacation, I enjoyed doing yoga and meditation daily, writing and sewing, and various other creative endeavors. My life has been about self-care and this journey to do something more meaningful.

     Going back to work in the ER felt like a prison sentence. I'm good at what I do and it isn't like the work doesn't have an element of excitement, but it is also very taxing emotionally to be "on" 12 hours a day, so I applied for a new job at Planned Parenthood. In my 20's, this organization saved my life when they found pre-cancer of the cervix and I was able to have surgery to remove it before it spread. At the time, I was working two minimum wage jobs with no insurance and had put off going to the doctor for five years until my boyfriend at the time, dragged me down there because he was tired of seeing me in pain. I had been looking for a way to repay this debt for 20 years.

     There had been several coincidental signs that pushed me toward applying at PP. I set about inquiring about financial things to see if I could even afford to make a change. I would have lost a substantial amount of money, but what I thought I would gain was time everyday to do yoga and meditation, daily writing time, a chance to participate in local things on weekends, holidays off, less driving and shorter shifts. This was all appealing. The only thing I thought I'd miss was my writer's group on Thursdays because I would have to work late in Hornell that night.

     I sent a resume and was emailed in an hour to set up a phone interview the next day. By the next week, I had a face to face interview. This interview changed my life.

     Let me set some background. I have been a Buddhist since 1997. I have been a nurse since 2004. Both of these things lend to the betterment of human kind. They are in service of uplifting life and having compassionate care for other human beings. These are distinct choices I have made in my life. I did not go in blind to this interview about the nature of abortion at the clinic. But I have long been a firm believer in women having the choice over their own bodies. Who am I to stand in the way of that based on my own belief systems? No one. I thought that I could handle such practices with all the death and tragedy I have seen in the ER in my lifetime. I said I could handle it, but there were a few things said in the interview that sat with me funny.

     I would have been responsible for things I could not have lived with in the termination of a fetus at 24 weeks. I'm not going to get into details because this post isn't about abortion, it's about choice and realization of limits. One of the interviewers said that helping women through that particular procedure was "rewarding." Excuse me? I don't know. Maybe the writer in me frowned at that word choice, but it jarred me and I couldn't get it out of my head. But they also asked me what I liked about my current job and I talked about this role I have as a Preceptor of new nurses and students. One of the other women asked me why I would leave that? I didn't have a great answer.

Here is what I learned:

Though I am tired of the daily grind in the ER, it is still important work. WE SAVE LIVES...as a team.

The stress of being on point all day is less heavy than the stress of knowing you'd taken lives instead of saved them.

I have a moral limit to the things that I am willing to do professionally. My heart is bigger and more tender than I give it credit for.

If I need to, I can live on less, but I don't need to.

I can make my life more simple by not running away from my responsibilities.

I could not have lived without my writer's group. They have given me back my love of writing. They teach me things both as a writer and as a human being. They are my friends. They are a second family.

I am a lucky and blessed woman.

I have an amazing boss who let me spread my wings towards a dream I thought I had and didn't try to stop me or make me feel bad. And when I found it wasn't the dream I had thought, she welcomed me back into the fold, knowing, someday there would be another dream.


This whole process was extremely emotional for me, but sometimes we need to take bold leaps to get a good look at the place we were just standing in. Sometimes we can see our nose in spite of our face.

Thanks for reading. Be kind to each other.

Aleathia

30 in 30 Week 2: Changes to Come/Waking Up Elsewhere

Aleathia says:

It's been a busy week, but I'm still making the deadline. Enjoy a short story and a photo. Thanks for reading.


Photo: Changes to Come:

Story: Waking Up Elsewhere:

Elsewhere

      Darla’s head pounded and her vision was occluded by thick, congealing blood from a gash in her forehead. Her eyelashes stuck together, leaving her blind. The more she woke up, the more she realized her predicament.

      A sullied rag was pulled tightly across her mouth leaving her impotent in her attempts to call for help. Who am I screaming for? Darla had no idea where she was or how she got there. She quieted her body and listened. The sound of steel wheels against the rail, with its rhythmic thumping, could be felt as much as it was heard. Rain splattered against a tin roof and she could smell stale, moldy earth mixed with the iron from her own blood.

      She attempted moving her arms and legs, but both were bound tight. The rope cut into the tender flesh of her inner wrists causing them to burn with pain each time she moved. Darla knew she had to get out of there, wherever there was. The last thing she remembered was walking through Page Park to get to Sarah’s house. They were supposed to go out for drinks. Sarah was perpetually late and since the night was beautiful, Darla had decided to walk the short distance to save time. 

      Now, she was here.

      It became harder and harder to breathe with her mouth gagged. Her nose was half crusted over with blood blocking one nasal passage and her belly pushed into the hard dirt. Every inhale lifted her body off the ground slightly and the gravity of her weight expelled the air too quickly. She grew increasingly tired with each breath. Darla worked in a rocking motion to get her body tipped onto its side, but was careful not to go too far. She was trying to avoid the turtle on its shell problem. She’d never get up from that post.

      Once on her side, she used her elbow and her core to get upright onto her knees. Darla nearly cried from excitement. In that position, if she leaned backwards, she could feel the rope beneath her fingers used to confine her ankles. There was something glorious about the knots as she touched them. She concentrated and worked with numbing digits. Just as she got the first ligature untied, she heard a man’s voice:

      “Now where in the hell do you think you’re going?”

Aleathia Drehmer 2019

30 in 30: Week 1: Obsession/The Moment You Stopped Being a Child

Aleathia says:

Now I know you are shaking your heads. Right Drehmer, a post every day for 30 days? I have lofty goals!! I am prepared to make this more realistic and say that I will post once a week for the next 25 weeks. That fits better with my life which is full of novel writing, poetry manuscript arrangements, writer's group, and summer!

I had originally thought this series would be all about fiction, however, this week's post requires something more personal. Weaved in the next 25 weeks you could find fiction, non-fiction, and poetry along with the corresponding photo challenge. As always, thanks for reading. Share if you find something interesting. Follow if you want to read more. Enjoy.

Photo: Obsession

Story: The Moment You Stopped Being a Child

Shortly before I turned eight years old, my brother was born. He was premature by a month. He whacked his nose on the way out and looked like a prize fighter who could fit, stretched out, on an album cover. And boy was he pissed, all the time. This kid could cry full volume for hours and nothing my parents would do could make him stop. His scream became white noise. His scream cause my mom and step-father to fight out of frustration.

My mother was 22 years old when he was born, only 16 when she had me, so she herself never had a childhood to speak of. There was inexperience in parenting involved as well as alcohol and drugs and each with two jobs. I was mature well beyond my years at eight and eventually they realized I was the only one who could make my brother stop crying. They would put him in my arms and in minutes he was cooing, snuggled in my neck. The only way he would sleep was lying in the groove of my legs with his limbs draped over, face down. He was peaceful there.

They began leaving me alone with him when they went to work. I was eight years old taking care of a 6 month old. I fed him, changed him, and loved him. I taught myself how to cook my own dinner, to make his bottles, and get us both ready for bed. I stopped being a child that year. I was a surrogate mother for not only my brother, but for myself. The rest of my life was about caution and control and doing what is right over doing what I wanted. I never learned the meaning of freedom. When I tasted free will years later, it was disastrous. This early responsibility shaped the rest of my life and I am thankful for it, but I wish I had lived a child's life.

30 in 30: Day Two: What You Wore/Something Stolen

Aleathia say:

Here we go with day two! Enjoy and share with someone if you like it. Thanks for reading.


Photo: What You Wore

Story: Something Stolen

The Good Thief

Frederica clutched the package to her chest. It was still warm, pulsatile. She cried silently in the field heading to the tree line of giant oaks and full maples. She had to escape their angry grip. In darkness, she stumbled. The moon was both her friend and enemy this night keeping its light from the ground so she couldn’t see the path, but also keeping her hidden.

The creatures in the woods called out their warnings until it crescendoed through the hills. They told of her presence, smelled the fear rising from her skin, and the blood threatening to leak from the bundle cradled in her arms.

“Shhhhh,” said Frederica to the forest, “Or they will steal from you too.”

As if they understood, the chattering of species grew softer. Frederica needed a small miracle she wasn’t sure she deserved. A quiet prayer passed from her lips almost imperceptible. Only the insects buzzing around her head knew her words.

In the distance, shouting cracked the night air like a whip. Fire torches blazed a path, the sky now alight with orange hatred. She did not turn to see their faces. Those horrible, evil faces.

Frederica’s toe caught a root and her body sailed forward with the precious cargo in her hands flying out as she reached to brace herself from the fall. She crawled through the detritus on the forest floor to object a short distance from her. Frederica sat up on her knees, hair and clothes soiled with nature, and unwrapped the waxed paper.

“My heart,” she cried, “I’ll never let them take you again.”

Quills and Frills-5/3/2014 Writing Prompt

Aleathia says:

The beauty of being human is that we get to express ourselves in any way we want to whether that be through word, voice, dance, art etc.  Here at The Forked Road we are going to have prompts each week for writing either poetry or fiction.  There are no rules really.  Just have fun.  The idea was to see how Michelle and I view the same prompt from our very different life styles and experiences in the world.

Here is my go at the prompt:  You are an astronaut, describe your perfect day.

It Was All A Dream

Space was always an extravagance in the mind.  Growing up with television shows that depicted the universe as another place where wars were fought—won and lost, and civilizations much like my own were demolished based on culture and creed.  As a child, it was both frightful and wondrous to think of space, to think of escaping into the unknown.  I wanted to find uncharted territories and leave this heartache behind me.

Nothing could truly prepare me for this moment.

In space, life is weightless in so many ways; reality anchored in hibernation trapped inside this capsule.  My sense of time distorted and elongated as I peer out the window into the deep dark stretches of universe.  I am amongst the stars which are soon to be suns in their own rite; centers of new solar systems eternally creating themselves.  I have yet to see an alien from my youth or a swash buckling space pirate or feel the sense of danger around every corner like in the movies, but it is enough.

I float to the other side of the capsule and there is home, Earth, so spectacular from this distance, so peaceful and organic in its innocence.  It is my only thread to the life that I once had.  When I leave this place I will be someone new, someone no one will ever really know again.  My head will forever be fogged with stars and drifting back to the sky.

Aleathia Drehmer 2014