Defend and Protect

Pro-Choice does not mean pro-abortion.

The first amendment not only guarantees my right to practice the tenets of my faith (or lack thereof) without government intervention or penalty, but it also protects me from having your beliefs forced upon me.

Roe v. Wade is based on the 4th Amendment regarding a right to privacy and the autonomy to make personal medical decisions without the intervention or inclusion of someone else.

Our military and our elected officials have sworn oaths to support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America. That means, that you/they swore an oath to defend my rights as laid out in the Constitution, regardless of personal views and beliefs.

It’s time for them to recognize the obligation that they swore: “so help me God”.

If you support the military, have been in the military or have ever mentioned how someone in your family fought for the rights of our citizens, etc, these are the rights they fought for.

Honor their fight. Be a patriot.
Stand up for the Constitution.

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#YouKnowMe

I was going to share the graphic, along with a few words on Facebook. Those few words trickled out until they hemorrhaged through my keyboard. Sorry for the TMI, but it’s my truth.

So now instead of a few sweet words and a graphic, you get a very real, not sweet moments of my life in a blog Op/Ed. I hope that you can share your truth so that we all stand up for what is being done to us and against us in this moment of history.

– M​​aggie ॐ

 

 

Image may contain: 1 person, text

For the woman who has a miscarriage, where the body expels non-viable embryo or fetus, it is called a spontaneous abortion. I wonder how many of these bible banging hypocrites know their wives have had an abortion… against their will at that.

In 2006 I found out I was pregnant, only to miscarry shortly thereafter. It was an ectopic pregnancy which is when the fertilized egg nests in the fallopian tube rather than in the lining of the uterus. Normally an ectopic pregnancy doesn’t miscarry, but rather creates a life-threatening situation where the size of the embryo exceeds the interior width of the tube causing it to rupture and leaving no other choice but emergency surgery and in most cases, having the damaged fallopian tube to be removed.

Mine was unique in that I miscarried before it gained enough size to create the aforementioned situation. Generally, after a uterine miscarriage or abortion, a procedure known as a D&C (short for dilation and curettage) is performed to ensure that the uterus is completely cleared out. In my case, this was not an option because you can’t do a D&C on a fallopian tube, and while my tube had not ruptured, the threat was still there because any “residual cells” could continue to grow and rupture the tube anyway.

 

My husband and I went home that night from the ER, devastated and grieving for the child we had lost. A child who never got named anything other than “spontaneous abortion”. The following day, we were set to return for their improvisational treatment to address my unique situation, a course of chemotherapy that would retard and eliminate the growth of any “residual cells”.

 

In one of the cruelest situations of my life, I was to go – not to the cancer ward to have the chemotherapy administered – instead, they sent me to the OB/GYN department, where I got to sit at eye level with every pregnant belly, every inverted turkey-timer looking navel. And just when I thought that fate couldn’t get much crueler, the nurse came over with a clipboard with paperwork for me to complete, one of which was an authorization for an abortion.

 

The only word that applied then, and now, is “mindfuck”.   And the fun was just beginning… I started with the “I’m pregnant” pukies, only to be followed by the “I’m not pregnant anymore” pukies and the “chemotherapy” pukies. And just when you want to crawl inside a hole and die or find some way to hide from the people who knew you were pregnant and now ask how you’re doing… it got worse. I had to go for weekly blood draws to monitor my HCG levels.

 

HCG is the hormone that is detected in a pregnancy test. You see, my “residual cells” were still causing me to have those. And those weekly blood draws were to make sure that my HCG levels were staying the same or declining because there was still the chance that they could increase. If they did it would mean that my “residual cells” would be increasing in volume and surgery to remove them. 14 weeks. 14 weeks before my HCG levels finally started tapering off and maintained a steady decline.

 

I was pregnant, had a spontaneous abortion, had to give consent for them to perform an abortion, all while spending 14 weeks waiting to find out when I would finally stop being pregnant. I am pro-choice, but this was not my choice, far from it. The 11-year-old who was raped and is now pregnant, that wasn’t her choice either.

 

And now she gets to spend every day reliving the horror as her body continues to remind her of the worst day of her life while people force her to endure this day after day. Only for her to finally deliver (c-section would be my guess, 11-year-old bodies aren’t really ready to carry and naturally deliver a full-term child). So even if she is able to deal with the additional anguish of giving the child up for adoption, she’ll have that scar to give her warm memories of happier times, huh?

 

Silly me, I almost forgot If she does wind up keeping the child, she gets to co-parent with her rapist. Won’t that be fun?

 

Thanks to all the men who keep making laws about shit you don’t fucking have a clue about and the torture you inflict on others with your overblown sense of morality.

 

Fuck you.

 

Now that you’ve read my story, ask yourself where I would be in a state like Alabama if you were the doctor and what would you be allowed to do to treat me.

I mean that truly to be devoid of personal beliefs and judgment, just what you need to do, as a physician, to treat your patient under the mandate that if you perform, aid or assist in an abortion, then you are subject to personal liability and criminal prosecution. Tell me how you would have treated me or better yet if I would have lived.

Also, in the back of your head hold on to the thought that in Mississippi several years back they tried criminalizing abortion to the point that if a woman had a miscarriage that she would be charged with manslaughter.

It’s a very tangled issue, and blanket statements and legalities that don’t accommodate for cases of rape, incest, the viability of the fetus, the overall health and survivability of the woman just confuse and muddy the situation even further.

Abortion is not just some person who was too lazy to take birth control but doesn’t want kids.   And for the record, men are largely responsible for unplanned pregnancies.

Wake up and pay attention America

I try to keep politics off this page, but it gets to a point that it’s nearly impossible to do. It seems that many of us missed the reporting of the CPAC in 2017 where Trump supporters were waving Russian flags with his name on them. No. I’m not joking. I will post the link at the bottom of this post.

A fellow outraged American posted this response and I have to say it’s incredible and I felt that I needed to help it see the light of day instead of being buried and collecting dust as a response on a thread that will be hard to find in two days.

I want to thank the author for, what I consider to be, the most intelligent, most succinct, factual list of 45’s atrocities as President and the passive approval he receives from his supporters.

Many thanks to Mr. Durwin Bonds and his masterful summation of the last two years with 45 out front.

{{{hugs}}}

Maggie ॐ 

The referenced article can be found on HuffPo at http://tinyurl.com/y35gort9

Tell me about yourself

We’ve all seen the posts that go around Facebook asking if you’ve been in an airplane, have tattoos, etc… I like getting to know my online friends better, but they always seem to have the same questions so I decided to write my own! Feel free to share this post or copy & paste into a post ~ Maggie


SO… A LITTLE ABOUT ME

Do you collect anything now or as a kid?

Music: Singing or just listening?

Can you now or did you used to play an instrument?

What music genres do you like?

Date anyone who made you say “oh hell no”, and run like your ass was on fire?

Your current favorite TV show?

Have you ever cyberstalked anyone?

What movie do you want to see?

Hobbies, Arts & Crafts, what’s your groove?

Where did you go on your last vacation?

Who was the President when you were born?

What did you participate in as a kid?

(Scouting, little league, gymnastics, etc.)

Are you waiting for something to happen?

What is it? Do you have a favorite sports team or athlete?

Will you go to a restaurant alone?

If I handed you $500 to go shopping, what would you buy?

How many cars have you owned?

Can you drive a stick?

What’s the furthest away from home that you’ve been to?

What types of ethnic foods do you like?

What was your worst subject in school?

What kinds “non-supermarket” meat have you eaten?

Have you had any jobs that wasn’t in an office, store, hotel/restaurant/medical/first responder/military?

Do you have any causes that you’re passionate about?

Would you prefer to ride a motorcycle or a horse?

How many US states and/or countries have you been to?

Do you revere any celebrities as mentors?

Are you ticklish? Do you laugh, get angry or cry?

Tea, coffee or both?

Can you eat with chopsticks?

Have you ever…

been to a farm?

gone to a circus?

seen a glacier?

seen a double rainbow?

seen a stage play?

ice or roller skated?

been to an ocean?

been to a historical site?

been to a national park?

found (or been found by) any distant relative?

gone to a casino?

been on a cruise ship or riverboat?

been in a canoe or kayak?

worn formal wear?

volunteered somewhere?

raised money for an organization?

gone camping?

been to a national monument?

seen or walked in a parade?

seen a meteor shower?

accidentally crazy glued your fingers together?

seen an eclipse?

camped in your car?

seen the northern lights?

been in love?

had any unique pets?

seen or been in a natural disaster while it was happening?

called anyone you’re not related to mom or dad?

made your own pizza?


So, now, tell me about yourself!

Copy/paste and just change the answers

or get a clean copy here > https://wp.me/p3Fcxu-BQ

And don’t forget to tag the person you got this from!

Focus please

I love Robert Reich. He reminds me of the America I lived in and was taught to believe in as a kid. Uncle Sam hasn’t been seen or mentioned for a long time. He’s probably in a corner, medicated for severe depression and anxiety.

 

Talk to you soon,
Maggie ॐ
“Art and Giving are Food for the Soul”

Invisible People Are All Around Us

A poem and a story, neither are made to make you smile, but they will probably make you somewhat uncomfortable which honestly is what leads to change. I keep hoping that more people every day are a bit more uncomfortable, so they’ll look outside their comfort zone to help and affect change.

 

Hello, my name is Anna and I’m six years old

I live with my mama and papa They can’t always afford to feed me as often as they would like They can’t afford to buy me clothing very often We don’t have a house, but we have shelter sometimes I used to have a brother but he died I love my parents, and I know that love me too They try so very hard We are part of your society a part you either don’t see or won’t see I probably won’t be here very much longer I just wanted to say hello Hello my name is Anna and I’m ten years old My daddy died, Mama says someone shot him Mama has lots of friends, she says that’s how she pays the rent I used to have a brother but he died too, Mama said we couldn’t feed him anymore I worry about my Mama she puts needles in herself But she says” don’t worry baby God is coming for us all” I know that I’m supposed to believe in God and I guess I do I just haven’t seen him in my neighborhood Mama’s calling for me now I have to go make her lunch anyway I just wanted to say hello Hello, my name’s Anna and I’m fifteen. I know what my mama did to raise me, I understand now because I have a daughter now and I call her Anna… I’d do anything to make sure that she has enough food and clothes, but things keep getting in the way. it’s so expensive, and they want so much from me. I love my little girl but sometimes when she cries when she’s hungry I just want to get away… so I do… Hello, My name is Ella or so I’m told, they told me that my Mama named me after my grandma, but I never knew her They tell they she loved me very much but I never knew I should have had a daddy but they never knew
They are closing the home tomorrow because they have no money
I ask where will I go but n body knows

Hello, My name is Ella and I’m 12 years old,
for as long as I can remember I’ve been sold from pimp to pimp for cigarettes or pool wagers or on a whim,
I am chattel, I am worthless. I don’t even care enough to despair

Hello, My name is Ella I’m a corpse under a bridge, I’ve been here for weeks and no one seemed to notice,
I wonder why that is

~ Anonymous

There was a woman I lived with, in the shelter.  Her husband (who at first everyone thought was her father) had a stroke, confined to a wheelchair, had to be fed and changed, unintelligible speak to those unfamiliar.  She didn’t know enough to apply for social security then, they had a young daughter…8 maybe, who would come “home” after school and be her dad’s caretaker until Mom got “home” around midnight, walking both ways because the car they had been living in had been repossessed.

On the way “home” one night she encountered 3 thugs, one of which had been kicked out of the shelter for being an asshole. She was the one who got him bounced out because she asked him to watch his mouth around her daughter and he wouldn’t, got puffy with a guard and he was out for good.  Not a good thing in Colorado in the winter. So here she was, alone, walking “home” and a thug with a vendetta and two buddies decided to drive train on her.

I couldn’t sleep at night back then either so I was awake when she came in late, hair messed up, her uniform was a mess.  We all knew something was wrong. A couple of us, asked her, helped her get cleaned up, we tried telling her to go to the hospital to get checked out and she said she couldn’t because if they admitted her she couldn’t leave her 8-year-old daughter there to take care of her father.  We all offered to help, I even told her that I’d drive her so that everyone wouldn’t be nosy if an ambulance showed up. No, she said, I just need to be with my family right now. She climbed into her bunk between her daughter and her husband and she cried all night. She told him what happened, we could see it in his face when she told him.  He sobbed for 3 days straight

We all chipped in to buy her a new pair of work pants so she could still go to work. They were ripped pretty badly when she was attacked.  By dinner time the next day, the entire shelter knew what happened. The guards let a couple of the guys out so they could walk her home. Lockdown was at 10, lights out at 10:30.  And if you didn’t have a pre-authorized pass signed by your employer, you could have had Jesus himself with you for backup, and you *still* weren’t getting in, but the guards let the guys would go every night to go get her and bring her back.  And the guys all took turns, this way if anyone was watching they’d know that there were more than two guys backing her up.

Sunday night was special.  We all went to Church in Manitou Springs, where they served dinner… real food, not the crap we were used to.  I had a Chevette so I would earn gas money from people to take them places. On Sunday nights it was good because I could get three guys in the backseat plus my boyfriend up front with me.  They all gave me $5 each and gas was 99¢ a gallon (I did it for the ones who went to the plasma center too because they were not up to walking back.)

Anyway, we all were sitting down with our plates…it was loud, happy talk because of a real mean and a change of scenery, dishes, silverware, and glasses all clanking and banging.  The pastor of the church would have everyone bow their heads and he’d say grace then we could eat. Well he said grace, we dug in and a few minutes later you could hear a pin drop.

Those three guys that raped her made the mistake of coming into the Church basement for.  The two guys behind him new their world was going to change when they turned around to leave and there were two guys barring the door.  The leader, I don’t remember his name from 31 years ago, but I remember his face. He was the blackest person I’d ever seen. Skin the color of espresso, the only thing that gave him away in the dark was his teeth and his eyes.  He was wearing a black leather jack and on his shoulder a heavy chain with a metal padlock on it.

The pastor came out and asked what was going on and one of the guys told him.  He looked at those three, grossly outnumbered and said, sorry we’re full and there’s no more to eat, boys will you help him find the way to his car.  The guy spoke up telling the Pastor that he didn’t have a car. So the pastor said God doesn’t care if you have a car or not, he cares about other things.  Boys if you’d see them out to their car, I have to go check on dessert.

They weren’t even out of the basement (double glass doors leading out to the parking lot) when it all took off.  He rolled his shoulder to dropped that chain to put it in his hand it got snatched away from him while his face stopped someone’s fist. The guy who grabbed the chain from him swung it…

I’d never seen a cheekbone and was surprised at just how white it was but that was of course in contrast with the espresso colored skin and the bright red blood that was now going everywhere. The next blast was a right hook that cold-cocked him.  So then he was dragged out into the parking lot and when he came to a couple of minutes later, he was freaking out about how he got there and the amount of blood ( a bit dazed don’t you know) and he got his ass kicked again. They took off as quickly as they could and our guys came back in just as the pastor came out, took one look at them and said “boys, it was very Christian-like for you to help those gentlemen with their car trouble, but you’ve all gotten so dirty, you need to all come in the kitchen and wash up all of you, you need to be presentable for dinner.  I didn’t leave there for another couple of months but that guy was never seen around town ever again to my brief knowledge.

My fibro doesn’t allow me to remember their names, but I really do hope that the couple and their daughter were able to move on and move up. I hope they were given access to the service they needed to survive and with any luck, they were able to get help for all that they had endured.  So why did I offer this tome that rivals War and Peace?

The problem is that these people and me at the time and even now as a disabled person,  is that we are/were invisible. I swear, I would love 10 acres of land, cover it with tiny houses, solar panels on every roof, mandatory recycling, a place in the middle with a laundry room and hot showers (just in case you’re too tall or just fluffy like me), wifi for the community, since nowadays places will only take applications online.  

A community center with a couple of computers for kids to do homework, gather up books for a take a book/leave a book library, the same goes for DVD’s and we would have weekend gatherings so you could get to know your neighbors and know that you’re not alone, you’re not the only person that this has happened to and you have people at your side, on your side, to give you the strength to get up, dust yourself off, and do what it is that will get you moving forward again.   Everyone would be required to pitch in taking care of the community…. emptying trash, raking leaves or cutting grass or shoveling snow, helping someone with a handyman project, etc and with the premise  that this is temporary,  to give you what you need to get your life back together or create a new one and you move up and onward,  and let that tiny house help out the next person or couple in need.

Well if anyone has $150K and can’t think of what to do with it, give me a call.

In the meantime, thanks for listening and please, don’t have invisible people surround you.  Look for them and you’ll see.  Click on one of the links to find out how you can help.

Maggie ॐ
“Art and Giving are Food for the Soul”
 

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Simple Fixes Can Make All The Difference

I’ve got to say, I was damn near having PTSD flashbacks watching this man walk. That’s exactly what shape I was in twenty years ago.  You don’t feel the pain as part of the memory,  but you just hunch your shoulders, tighten your muscles and hold your breath due to a combination muscle memory and fear… you fear that pain.  Once you know it, there’s no joking about it, and the thought of going back there can be absolutely paralyzing.

 

The pain was so excruciating, it felt like lightning strikes from even the slightest move in the wrong direction.  If you put your right hand on your hip, that little dip where your thumb is resting was the point of origin for the pain and it went straight down my leg.

 

My primary care doctor just kept handing me pills… 40 mg Oxycontin three times a day, which I kept telling them that they weren’t working, but that was the new miracle drug on the scene then so in their opinion it was about finding the right dosage, no matter how high the dosage or how often it was taken because it couldn’t NOT work; it was a miracle after all, right?
I was given Percocet for breakthrough pain (which was incredibly necessary since it was ALL breakthrough pain!) but still mixed with the Oxycontin I was taking.  Parkinson’s meds for the restless leg caused by a herniated disc,  Klonopin because the pain caused me to be really anxious (go figure) and a host of more pharmaceutical granola, including the 150 mg of Zoloft I was taking twice a day mainly due to the pain meds and my Depo-Provera shots.  I didn’t find out about Depo causing extreme depression until 7 years later.

 

No one thought to look at my neck even though they all knew what had happened to me in an earlier accident and the damage that was done.  It’s been twenty years and I’m still dealing with the nerve and muscle damage in my neck and left trapezius muscle.  At least now I know if this ever starts up again that the ice pack needs to go on my neck, not on my the back of my hip.

This really reinforces my dislike for allopathic practices, they treat the symptoms, they don’t work towards finding definitive answers regarding causative issues and never work towards curing or helping the body learn to help itself.  Holistic approaches, treating the patient instead of the symptom, homeopathic remedies that take so little to do so much with no side effects, addictions, OD’s, etc.  Considering the opioid problem we’re having in this country you’d think they’d shy away from things that are addictive or that you can OD from.

 

My gallbladder went rogue a couple of years ago and became my enemy.  It took me a week of pain so severe that I was ready to die. The pain was so severe that it grossly exceeded my natural childbirth.  I had a high fever joined with pain meds which caused me to hallucinate or pass out with horrific nightmares – that included feeling the pain from within the events of the nightmare.  If it was a choice of staying in the bed to die or going down the mile long gravel road that rattled your teeth loose that would cause even more pain, I was ready to die in that bed.

I finally had a brief window where the pain had subsided so I asked my roommate at the time to take me to the ER where they admitted me immediately.  Once the antibiotics started doing their job, the pain subsided as it should have (thank God!) and I didn’t need a whole lot of pain meds.  I asked for a couple Tylenol and was instead given a shot of morphine!  Why?  Because it was easier for the staff.  And again, it was over-medicating instead of dealing with the patient (in this case me) to see what’s going on instead of assuming.  I finally told them then to mark my chart to say that I am allergic to morphine to keep them from doing it again.

 

Watching that video, all I could think was how much pain I would have been spared, how much time that Kid wouldn’t have been so neglected as a result, and that still throws shadows on our relationship to this day.  How many people could be treated differently, not only with dignity but in partnership with their doctor to actively work together to solve or treat things to achieve the best outcomes for the patients?  I have fibromyalgia and talk to anyone who has it and they can tell you about the disrespect and mistreatment and/or lack of treatment that they have had because of it.

This country needs to stop being grabbed by the  ______  from the pharmaceutical companies that want us on multiple pills so they make multiple sales, and push for treatment because a cure doesn’t help their bottom line in perpetuity.

We need to be seen as patients, not as symptoms.  We’re not a pile of disconnected body parts, we’re all connected, and it means that we shouldn’t be treated as a series of separate body parts.  Maybe then we can return quality of live and work on being a healthier country overall.

 

We’ll talk again soon, 
Maggie  

 
 

My virtual gallery, combined with personal ramblings & opinions, ideas, food and DIY

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