Archive for the ‘Sad Experiences’ Category
Wednesday, December 31st, 2008 |
There have been many relationships for me over the years. I have met many interesting people. There were the friends and teachers from grade school who you have your first real relationships. The first girl that you kissed and you knew that this time would last forever. The bully at recess, who you knew would have a tough life ahead of them. The other kids who stayed overnight to play hide and seek in the basement. The fun we had, and the dreams we had we knew would keep us all together. I had different friends in high school, some were the jocks and some were the geeks. We went to prom together like everyone else, yet it seemed that the interaction among us started to change. The feelings were stronger and the pain was longer. The weekdays were just as long as the weekends were short. The breakup after 3 months with a girlfriend seemed like this time would last forever. School was tough in other ways too. I had a lot of friends, but it seemed like there were bigger things to come after graduation. We all went our separate ways to meet other new friends. We moved on to new adventures. Meeting new people in college and working odd jobs became a whole new social experience for me. Working at a restaurant and meeting middle-aged men washing dishes seemed a little unusual, but then I began to think about what their circumstances were about. I met a girl who was about 10 years older than me and she was a single mom, she was going to school at night and she worked as a cook. Her story was how she wanted to help her son by getting him into a better school, since he had difficulties learning. The other cook was proud to moving up at the restaurant as a the head cook, he had been there for nearly 4 years. The older lady at the check out was here to make some money and to make new friends since her husband had passed away. I realized that this was just a moment for me while during school, this was a big deal to them. Some days I did not want to work, because school was getting me down. As I looked at the others and their situations, I began to realize that my experiences were not about me, but about everyone else.
After college I got a job far away from family and friends because it was the best opportunity at the time. Although, I began to see more hardships of others around me. I was not always the type who considered the glass half empty, but I guess this kind of stuff was more evident to me than the good things at this point. As I moved on into my adult life I guess I really began to understand my life lesson. I began my first real job in sales and have not looked back since. I will share my job experiences on a future post. I have learned how to better see and feel the needs of others. This has helped me in my experiences with others. No matter how difficult your life may seem, there is always someone who has a bigger challenge.
I have now begun to explore other personal experiences on the web and have enjoyed blogs and forums like these to share and read about others. Words cannot describe that the world is so much bigger than you are, look outside yourself to see inside of others and you will have a more positive social experience.
Posted in Awkward Experiences, Business Experiences, Financial Experiences, Happy Experiences, Internet Experiences, Life Experiences, Marketing Experiences, Proud Experiences, Relationship Experiences, Sad Experiences, Travel Experiences, Winning Experiences | 2 Comments »
Sunday, November 30th, 2008 |
I am almost eighteen years old and I had yet to experience any greater loss besides a cat that I’d had my whole life. So its the truth when I say that death was still a very foreign concept to me, personally. But that all changed one Saturday morning.
My drama class was taking place in a competition and we were all meeting at another high school for the competition. I got there a few minutes late but that wasn’t a problem. Despite the excitement that I felt about the upcoming competition, I instantly could tell that something was wrong with a friend of mine. She was quiet, which knowing her is strange enough and she wouldn’t talk to anyone. I went all morning wondering what was wrong with her.
(more…)
Posted in Sad Experiences | 1 Comment »
Wednesday, October 8th, 2008 |
Stupid people.
Yellow curb. Means park somewhere else.
Looking for a free lunch, perfect pitch, the holy grail, or a parking spot in front of the courthouse, which for this truck means a 35 foot slot in the lineup.
Not only are they parked on yellow, aCROSS from the sheriff’s office, they hadn’t the decency to close up the gaps. Between every bumper and fender ekes a tantalizing 30 feet, as if they only had so many cars to lock up all the parallel spots so they had to space em out.
Ever since the arraignment for one Charles Haught, middle-aged life drop-out, rapist and murderer of one Wesley Campbridge, seven year-old, ever since every mobile news unit from three surrounding counties had converged and taken up residence in front of Bourbon County Circuit Courthouse, people had ceased fudging the customary ten to fifteen feet of yellow, and now strung all the way across it in the spirit of the old adage about forgiveness and permission.
If Action News 36 can do it, well by George. . .
In my mind I know it’s 9:43 and in my DIAD are 8 uncompleted 10:30 commit stops, two of them bulk, and one of them across town.
Without looking, I sense a looming diesel presence in the fold-out sideview mirror, the same white Ford dualy that’s been dogging me from 10th Street, edging out from behind just enough to make sure I know he wants around.
Knock yourself out, sweetheart. F’you can fit that monster in between my mirror and the half-lane that’s left, you’re more driver than I am. No doubt he thinks he is. More to the point, no doubt he’s been cussin me all the way down Main since I pulled in front of him.
Had to cut somebody off.
Watched twenty cars amble by with that same maddening gap precision. Twenty cars, a minute-and-a-half I ain’t got. The second I nosed out into traffic, he ghosted up to my bumper so close I could see the Ford oval on his grill in my rear camera monitor.
Yeah, now you’re in a hurry.
I can see his mouth moving, so I put words in it. Fool kid, pull out in front of me, and some other words that normally I would never think, were I not forced into providing captions for his thought balloons. It wouldn’t bother me so much if I didn’t feel just a little bit guilty. Guilt pressed in between time and stress oozes out looking like road rage.
A blue Caravan with a bandaged rear window and a bumper just hanging on for dear life pulls away from the curb in front of me, at about the same time the Ford gets the four inches he’s been wanting for ten blocks, and here he comes, loosening the reins of all 350 horses, and billowing acrimony from both 5 inch chrome horns.
The hapless grocery-getter dawdles on out in his lane. He hauls up on the reins, the whistling downshift an automotive curse. If I had time, I’d be laughing. Good thing I don’t. He’s up even with me now, looking right at me, distilling all his frustration with the Caravan and the world in general into the last minute spent staring at the back of a delivery truck. I can see his silent swearing indignance.
He’s a mouth breather. Unfortunate orifice, that. The gaps in between the parked cars should be so wide.
Still, he manages to impart more scorn through his NASCAR shades and the bubbled tint than Estella ever cast down on Pip, Chillingworth on Rev. Dimmesdale, or the parabled Pharisee upon the publican.
Turning my attention to the vast expanse of gleaming yellow curb vacated by the departing Caravan, I cut as close as I can and then back, dimming the luminous paint with my rubbing tires.
The stop I need is half a block back.
Shoving the truck into park, I fall into a habitual series of movements, park, brake, key out, seatbelt off, mirror in, bulkhead door; a succession so varied but seamless, a truly Faulkneresque regimen.
Dodging strategically positioned and scarcely mobile redneck sidewalk ornaments, I finally make it to the intended destination, a lawyer’s office, and pull hard on the door.
It’s locked, and the jolt shakes the glassed-in front wall.
The over-cooked, under-worked (minesweeper?) secretary jerks around so suddenly that her desk chair becomes a tilt-a-whirl, and she steadies herself with a what on earth expression. (oh help, another mouth breather) Sizing up the situation, she then laughs, slaps the desk so hard I can hear it out here, and puts her forehead down on her hand, big shoulders shaking.
9:46.
Odd seconds rush out into eternity while she has a good winding down laugh about how startled she was and how she forgot to unlock that front door again!
She gets up from the chair in hitches and explains the noise over her shoulder to someone in the back room, actually stopping mid-way and, what, turning to raise her voice because they can’t hear her.
When she opens the door, “Oh my land’s sakes, you scared me to death-” throwing her head down and slapping a meaty thigh, and sucking in the next phrase through a hearty laugh “I-I-I thought somebody ran into the building-ing-ing, and and Haley hollered up here and said, ‘What in tarnation is that, did some kid run his bicycle into the front door?’ Ooohhhh, I forgot to unlock it!”
I, am speechless.
Come in.
I would, of course, decline, but it appears she isn’t going to physically accept the package, possible germophobe, but no, she just stuck a pen in her mouth. The packages, including this 2 oz. next-day-air envelope, go on a table in that back room.
The one on the left?
No, down the stairs, to the right, through the gray door.
Returning from the dungeon, I offer her the DIAD to sign.
Oh no, Betty signs for everything.
Betty?
Downstairs, you didn’t see her?
Poor Betty’s been having indigestion all morning, she explains when she emerges from the rest room at 9:52. How fast can you empathize? My foot is one inch from the bottom step of the truck when a voice falls across my tense shoulders like a war club.
Hey, buddy.
Contemplation of feigned deafness tempts me for a second.
Sigh.
Yeah? Turning, sounding relaxed, helpful.
Oh no, it’s Jethro Bodine gone to neglected seed, Santa Clause’s Appalachian counterpart, except I don’t think he’s going to give me anything. The v-necked t-shirt stopped being white shortly after it stopped rying to reach down to the sweat pants. Chest hair, copious and curly, nestles in the plunging neckline. The grace of a beard has been weeded out to a mockery of sweat, oil and tangles. Sixty degrees and sweat beads his forehead and speckles his shirt. He hooks a thumb to the courthouse.
Can you tell me what that says? Over his shoulder my eyes focus on a computer-printed sign taped to the door of the courthouse. Forgot his glasses, I guess.
Hurrying around him, I’m almost there before I realize the print is three inches tall.
Behind me, I hear “I just. . . can’t read.”
Something jams into my spokes, locking up the wheels of time and task and what I call trouble.
Uh, it says the courthouse is closed-ummm, scanning the two lines as if it were fine print-uh, open. . . tomorrow. Turning to face him, Well that’s odd, babbling, wonder why they’re closed, no holiday.
That’s okay, he says.
All right, well have a good one, man.
Sorry-he looks me in the eye-just, can’t read.
Hey, no problem, no problem at all, have a good one, have a good day.
I thank ye’.
You t-no problem, have- we’ll see you.
Delivering next day air, I don’t have time to think about the flush that stains my cheeks, or the lump logging my throat.
natenrae
Posted in Awkward Experiences, Life Experiences, Sad Experiences | No Comments »
Friday, June 6th, 2008 |
If only I knew then, what I know now life would be a lot different. Life might have been easier, decisions might not have been so hard. But thats the beauty of life. The unknown day that lies ahead of us. The simple fact is that, if we did know then what we know now, we would all be a bunch of smart ass’s. Life’s lessons, that only life can teach us, would never be learned. Thats why I am thankful that life didn’t give me the easy route. It chewed me up and spit me out. And for that, I will be forever grateful.
February 26 2003 9:00am
I was running late like a typical 17 year old. Life waited on me, I didn’t wait on life. It was that ignorant notion that got me into where I was going in the first place. “Not a care in the world” seemed to be my life motto at that typical time. I was nervous, I mean who wouldn’t be? Life would never throw me a bunch of cards I didn’t know how to play. Never. I was wrong. (more…)
Posted in Awkward Experiences, Life Experiences, Sad Experiences | 2 Comments »
Wednesday, February 27th, 2008 |
It was january 12,1994. I was then 13 years old. My mom was at work . My older sister and I were cleaning up the house, getting ready for bed, it was shortly after 10:00pm. And our mother would soon be home from work. She would usually get in by 11:00pm. She was on the second shift. She worked as a nurse at a nursing home from 3 to 11pm.
We received a phone call from her job around 10:15pm from one of the nurses she worked with asking us, what kind of medicine did our mom take? At the time we knew she had high blood pressure but we were not sure of the type of medicine she was taking. We were to young to know. I then told the nurse to call my grandmother and I gave her the number, I stated to the nurse she would know more about that then we would.
(more…)
Posted in Life Experiences, Sad Experiences | 1 Comment »
Sunday, February 17th, 2008 |
It’s been 9 days, 16 hours and 12 minutes since she took her last breath. I had a thought in the back of my head once we took her off life support, that my mom would just come back. She’d wake up and say “what are you guys doing here wasting your time, the gutters need to be cleaned”. We’d all laugh, tell mom we knew she would make it and joke how she really scared us while we drank coffee. She’d complain that her throat hurts and we’d never tell her about all the tubes she had in (knowing she’d be pissed about that.)
But that’s not how it happened. When they took the tubes out, I stood on the outside of the curtain. I didn’t want to miss a thing. I needed to be there for everything. I heard some horrible noise of choking and gargling that I’ll never get out of my head. Then the nurse rushed out from behind the curtain, told me to get the rest of the family, it’s not looking to great. I ran to the waiting room, and as I opened the door, my sister was there. You could see the tears filling up in her eyes as I yelled “everyone needs to come, the nurse said we should all go in as soon as possible”.
Everyone rushed in to hold mom’s hand or foot or anything they could hold on to. The look on my dad’s face is the one thing that would make me break. I could barely hold my body up. It’s heart breaking to see that look, and wonder if he’s thinking about their first kiss, their wedding day or even each one of their babies coming into the world.
We all stood there crying, turning red and gasping for tissues, sleeves or each other. My mom was free of all tubes except her IV. They kept that in as they gave her shots of Morphine for any pain. Her breathing was all over the place and it was almost like a heavy snore. The nurses would come in and suction her mouth out. It was horrible to see your mom or ANYONE for that matter, so incapacitated.
For the first 2 hours, we all sat in the room, unbearable as the noise and thought of losing our mother was it was harder to not be in the room. We all wanted to be there. Maybe we all thought there was a chance she would come back, or we all just wanted her to know she had a very special place in our hearts and we loved her deeply.
After the first 2 hours, we took turns having a few in the room at a time. After 5pm, Lauren came so I had some company. Lauren coming gave me some break. We talked, watched some TV & played with silly puddy. Most of the guests left around 10pm. I went in with mom around 11pm and sat with her (as did Denise). Dad had left around 11:30pm & so did Brian. I came out of the room around 11:45pm to see if any of my other brothers wanted to leave… Mom was hanging on strong (at least that’s what I thought). Shortly after, my sister came out b/c the nurses were planning to turn mom. Not long, did a nurse come out and tell us our mom was very close to passing. Frantically we rushed in. I tried to call Dad on his cell and Doryan called the house. Dad JUST got home and was coming back to the hospital bringing Damien (dawn wasn’t able to go through it).
I wonder if my mom knew we were all there in the final 30 minutes. It was the HARDEST thing I ever had to endure. Watching her heart beat go from 150 (which is pretty high) all day drop to 120, 110, 100, 90, 80 and then hit 50… I quietly pleaded with my mom to wait for dad to get there so he could be with her too, and her heart beat went up to 100. I took that as my sign that mom knew I was there and wanted dad to be there. Five minutes later, Dad, Doryan and Damien walk in. Dad goes to mom left hand side and holds her hand. My mom is turning a shade darker and you could tell it was coming. The breathing came much more shallow. The sadness in the room was over bearing. Her heart beat drops slowly and I prayed for it to either happen faster or for it to turn back. It slowly went down to 20, and then she stopped breathing but her heart beat continued. We watched the monitor and everything hit 0 and blanked. I gasped. Yes, I gasped just like on TV. I gasped and sobbed. Mom had passed. My heart sank so low I could have died a long with her. Maybe a piece of me has. The nurses came, shut everything off. We all said the very last word “I love you” and walked out. I sat in the room for another 2 minutes talking to my mom, kissing her forehead and telling her that she would be always be in my heart. Everyone already walked to the waiting room, I followed behind.
It was 12:44am when mom passed. We sat in the waiting room for 15 minutes waiting for the head nurse to come talk to dad. Once the nurse came in she went over logistics for my mothers body to be transferred; basically giving him the “rules”. She asked if anyone wanted the flowers. No one did. Those flowers represented the days we spent in her room, hoping and praying for her to come back. I couldn’t bare to have them in my apartment. The nurse also asked if anyone wanted to go in one more time to see her. I needed to. I needed to know that this wasn’t a joke, that is was over and my mom had left me. I needed to see her, to tell her I loved her for that one last time.
Posted in Life Experiences, Sad Experiences | 1 Comment »
Wednesday, January 30th, 2008 |
Thank you to K.S. for his submission. This thoughtful and heart-breaking submission of a parent’s love and what they must sometimes do to help their child has been chosen as the first winner in the “From My Experience” Contest. Another contest starts February 21, 2008, so please submit your experience and maybe you’ll be our next winner.
This is the true story of what I had to do to get my son the help he so desperately needed.
Let’s begin about 20 years ago. 1982 to be exact. My wife Valerie was pregnant with our first (and only) child. She was extremely concerned during the pregnancy, partially because my brother’s baby, who was born just 6 months earlier, was delivered with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, and her face was extremely bluish. There was grave concern at that time by everyone about the possibility of brain damage, but I can gladly report that my niece currently is a junior in college and is even the Editor of the school’s newspaper.
My wife took excellent care of herself during the entire pregnancy. She never smoked or drank alcohol to begin with, so these were never issues in the first place. She also avoided all medications. In fact, the only pill which crossed her lips during the entire 9 months was 1 Tylenol. Nevertheless, we still prayed each and every day up to and including the day of delivery that everything would be fine. I guess all expectant parents do that.
We took pre-natal classes, and I had remembered one session in particular, in which the instructor spoke of what is called the “APGAR* Score.”
*Activity (Muscle Tone)
Pulse
Grimace (Reflex)
Appearance (Skin Color)
Respiration
The APGAR is a 2 part evaluation of the baby. The evaluation is done twice, once immediately after birth and again just a few minutes later, and is supposedly a strong indicator as to the overall health of the newborn. The APGAR Score is based on the 5 factors listed above. Each of these factors is given a score of 0, 1, or 2, so the total score could range from 0-10. We were told during the pre-natal class that a score of 6 or higher for the first evaluation and 8 or higher for the second evaluation was usually a good sign of a healthy baby. With this in mind, the minute Kurt Junior entered the outside world I immediately focused on “6 & 8,” “6 & 8.” After a few minutes I asked one of the nurses what the APGAR Scores were. She seemed surprised by my asking, but her reply was music to my ears. “9-10,” she said, “can’t get much better than that.” At that moment, everything was right with the universe, and my world seemed totally secure.
Kurt seemed to be perfect. With a birth weight of 9 pounds, 10-1/2 ounces, he had a head start on most babies. He turned over, crawled and walked much earlier than expected. Everything seemed to be going along just fine.
It was somewhere around his first birthday that we started to think that things just weren’t quite right. It seemed that Kurt wasn’t listening to us, and he was making less and less sounds. Even if we said something like “Kurt, if you come here you can have some ice cream,” (which was his favorite) he failed to respond. Frightful that Kurt had a possible hearing loss, we scheduled a hearing test for him at Lenox Hill Hospital.
The hearing test was a disaster. Kurt would not sit still at all and wouldn’t even let the Audiologist put headphones on him. The most disturbing part, however, was that I could tell immediately from the Audiologist’s facial expressions that he thought there was some other problem. He told us after the aborted test that he didn’t think Kurt had a hearing problem, because although Kurt wouldn’t allow the test to be done he seemed to respond to all the sounds he had heard. He also recommended that we see a Neurologist, but refused to elaborate on a reason why.
When we finally got to see the Neurologist 1 week later, our world started to crumble. He diagnosed Kurt with Mental Retardation. Valerie and I were obviously devastated, but almost immediately turned our attention to getting Kurt whatever help he needed so he could lead as normal and productive a life as possible. After all, Valerie’s brother is Mentally Retarded (The politically correct term today is Developmentally Disabled) and he is living a full life, complete with a full time job as a messenger and a wife. Valerie and I decided to turn our pain, hurt and anger into action. As soon as we could, we got Kurt enrolled in a special education pre-school program, as well as an excellent recreation program on Saturdays.
As Kurt started getting older, however, his behavior changed drastically for the worse. He would become extremely agitated and angry, sometimes for no reason at all, other times if just 1 minor thing was changed. One example was the day we moved some furniture in the living room. When Kurt saw that the furniture was in a different place he got very upset and started to continually bang the table with his fists. When we took Kurt to a Specialist, he diagnosed Kurt with Autism, in addition to the Mental Retardation. The Autism explained why Kurt would get so upset over the slightest of changes.
As time passed, the aggressive behavior kept escalating. Kurt started throwing objects like chairs, and was becoming violent towards himself and us. He also began a pattern of only sleeping 2 or 3 hours a night, every night. Valerie and I actually had to take shifts sleeping because anything could happen when Kurt was awake. One minute he’d be laughing hysterically at nothing at all and the next do a complete 180 and start kicking and biting. It was around this time that a 3rd diagnosis was added to the mix. In addition to everything else, we were now told that Kurt was also Manic-Depressive, or Bi-Polar. This would explain Kurt’s rapid mood swings. The Doctor started Kurt on the medications Elavil and Lithium, and although he was only 6 at the time, when the smaller doses did not seem to have any effect, they were raised to 300mg of Elavil and 400mg of Mellaril. Even at these high doses, we saw not one change in Kurt. The behaviors were exactly the same, and he was still sleeping only 2 to 3 hours every night. The doctor then, over the course of many months, proceeded to try another 6 or so different medications, such as Ritalin and Tegretol, each also having no positive effects at all.
When Kurt was about 7, Valerie and I made the painstaking decision that the best thing we could do for Kurt was to find him a good Group Home, one where he could be monitored much more closely than it was humanly possible for just Valerie and I to, because the ever increasing violence he was exhibiting was becoming far too dangerous for us to handle alone.
We obtained a list of approximately 20 Group Homes and contacted them all. Over the course of the next two years only 6 of them ever responded that they even might have an opening. We visited all 6 of them, some hundreds of miles away and in different states, but not a single one would accept him. The answer we got was usually along the lines of one of these two statements: “Kurt is just too violent and aggressive for our program,” or “We just don’t have the adequate staff to meet Kurt’s special needs.” I would ask these programs if they knew of any others that might accept Kurt, since he was a child who definitely needed a Group Home setting, more so than just about anyone else, but they could not help me.
One visit to a potential Group Home stood out in my mind. This particular Group Home was upstate, about 300 miles away from our house. Needless to say, by the time we got there Kurt was extremely agitated, and proceeded to slap the face of the person interviewing us. So it ended up taking about 5 hours to drive there, 5 minutes to realize that Kurt wouldn’t be accepted, and another 5 hours to drive back home.
By the time Kurt turned 9, his behavior was worse than ever, with no end in sight. It seemed like we were taking him every other week or so to The Children’s Psychiatric Emergency Room.
It was during one of these visits to this E/R that our world would start to change again. Kurt was having a horrible time of it that home at night, knocking over the TV set and a wall unit. When he started to bang his head on purpose against the wall we knew we had to take him in. While there, one of the ER docs motioned me over to him. “Have you thought about placing Kurt in a Group Home,” he asked. “Of course,” I told him, then proceeded to tell him our 2 year saga of trying to place Kurt without any success.
The doctor then brought me to a small room and closed the door behind us. “I want to tell you something, Mr. Sass, but you can never tell anyone that I told you this. Most Group Homes will never take on a child like Kurt, because it comes down to a matter of money, and Kurt requires so much additional attention that it is not cost effective for them to accept him. In other words, most Group Homes only want the kids that don’t really need to be in Group Homes, because they are easier to take care of and require less staff.”
“There is one thing we can do, Mr. Sass, but you have to promise not to tell anyone you heard this from me.” He had my full attention. “The only way a Group Home will accept a child like Kurt would be on an emergency basis. In other words, if Child Welfare felt that he could not under any circumstances remain at home because his life would be in danger. What I can do is refer him overnight to the Bronx Children’s Psychiatric Hospital for evaluation and to put on my report that it is for the child’s safety.”
“What you need to do, Mr. Sass, is to come to the hospital the next day, and then pretend you are the absolute worst parent on the face of the earth. You’ll have to convince Child Welfare that you hate him and that if he is returned home you will harm him. And you’ll have to be very convincing, because if they believe you’re faking, they’ll send him right back to your house. One other thing. Come alone. Don’t bring your wife. If both parents come the odds are much more likely that the child will not be considered in danger. Now remember, Mr. Sass, you did not hear this from me. But you must decide. To be honest with you, this is the only way to get him in a Group Home.”
I discussed this with Valerie and, through tears, we decided to go ahead with it since it was truly our only option.
The next day I went to the Bronx Children’s Psychiatric Hospital, alone, and was led to a room in which there were 4 people; Kurt, a member of the hospital staff and 2 people I believe to be from the Department of Child Welfare. As soon as I spotted them, I went into my performance mode. I yelled at Kurt and called him every name in the book. I had never cursed at Kurt before and felt like the lowest scum on earth in doing so. I called him a “fucking retard” and told him I wish he was never born. I still had no idea if they were buying it, so I proceeded to pick up a chair and throw it past Kurt, but close enough for the others in the room to think he was the intended target. I will never forget the look of fear on Kurt’s face for as long as I live. I still have nightmares about it.
Well, whatever I did, it worked. They refused to let me take Kurt home, and “miraculously” just 2 days later he was placed in a Group Home just 5 minutes from our house, a place we were told many times in the past had no openings.
Was it worth it? Of course, it was. Kurt has flourished in the highly structured Group Home environment.
Although I could never thank the doctor enough for his courage in putting himself at risk to help me out, I to this day find it appalling that I had to stoop to being so cruel to my own son in order to help him.
K.S.
Posted in Medical Experiences, Parenting Experiences, Sad Experiences, Winning Experiences | 2 Comments »
