Married 9 Years
As of 11:05 AM today I’ll have been married to Kiara for 9 years! We’ve been together for about 10 years, and we’ve known each other for about 13 years.
We originally met on a MUD called The Edge of Darkness back in 1994. She was playing a mage named “Jade” that worked for a mercenary guild full of black hearts, deep purses, and very few scruples. I was playing a paladin named (you guessed it) Beosig that was the First Sword in The Order of Justice. Needless to say, we didn’t get along all that well.
My roommate was playing a bard named Thain, and he joined Jade and crew as a mercenary. My roommate eventually stopped playing, and I took over Thain. Eventually the mercenary guild and the Order of Justice went the way of the do-do, and I recreated Beosig as a warrior because I was tired of being the guy that just hunted down killers and thieves.
About this time, Kiara started a new character named Crystal that was a cleric. Well, clerics need warriors, and warriors need clerics. Except for unlocking the occasional door, a cleric and a warrior together can handle just about anything. Crystal and I were a team to be reckoned with. We went everywhere together, and we took on pretty much everything in the world. It was great!
Also about this time a friend of ours started a new guild called the “Society of Honor and Valor” or something like that (I know for sure it had “Honor and Valor” in there somewhere.) We joined up with a good sized group of people that really just wanted to group, kill things, run around, and not cause trouble.
Someone else on the MUD decided that we needed an enemy and started an evil guild just for the express purpose of killing our members. This totally ruined the game for me. You could no longer take risks and go after the really hard mobs on the MUD because the other guild would stalk you until you were weakened from a tough fight, and take you out. You’d end up losing all of your gear, and, as a warrior, this pretty much meant that you were now powerless.
It was about this time that I decided to start my own MUD. This was February of 1996. I invited Kiara and another friend to join me in this venture, and we had a grand time writing bugs (me), finding bugs (Kiara), coming up with new ideas (all three of us), and fixing bugs (me.) We were splitting our time between The Edge of Darkness and Spear of Insanity, and having a good time doing it.
One night (I wish I could remember the exact date,) Kiara logged out of Spear of Insanity, and told me that she was heading over to Edge of Darkness to play. When she logged out, I felt a profound sense of emptiness. That’s when I realized that I had feelings for her that went beyond friendship, which was weird. I knew her. I knew her quite well. We had spent hours on Edge of Darkness talking about personal stuff while waiting for zones to reset. That night I realized that I wanted to meet her, and see if we could get along outside the digital worlds that we hung out in.
That’s when I asked for her phone number. She willingly gave it to me, and that started our almost nightly phone calls back and forth for a week or two. That’s when I decided that I wanted to meet her in person, and I got a plane ticket to fly from San Antonio, TX, to Great Falls, MT to meet her. I also decided that I truly did love her, and that I wanted to get her a ring. Not an engagement ring, but a ring with some sort of diamond on it. I could only afford about $100 on the ring, and it’s one of the most pathetic diamonds that you’ll ever find. Despite that, Kiara still wears the ring everyday, which makes me most happy.
I flew up to Montana for a long weekend, and we spent most of the time her small one-room apartment just hanging out, talking, and watching movies. She took me out to the nearby mountains where there was a waterfall, and that’s where I gave her the ring. She was very shocked, and I quickly realized what she was thinking. I quickly told her that it wasn’t an engagement ring, but just a symbol of my love for her.
When the weekend was over, I was heartbroken to have to leave her, but I knew that I would be returning to Montana soon. I had already decided to move up there to be with Kiara. A long month passed in which we both racked up $300 phone bills with all of the phone calls, but the time came for me to move to Montana. Everyone, including my mother, thought I was crazy for picking up and moving across the country for someone that I had only met once. Everyone, especially my step-father, was very supportive, and wished me the best.
Kiara flew into Dallas, and I picked her up there. We drove to Fort Worth, and spent the weekend at a party for Edge of Darkness players. We got to meet tons of people that we had known for years online. It was a great experience, and it was the first time Kiara and I had done anything like that. We had a blast while there, but it was over too quickly. While there, I had some car trouble, but some Edgers were kind enough to loan me the $300 that it took to fix my car. It took a few years, but we finally got stable enough financially to pay them back.
Kiara and I drove back down to San Antonio where she met my folks, and we hung out for several days. My mom was sad the whole time because she knew that I was leaving home. She had a feeling that it was for good, and she was right. I wasn’t 100% sure about it myself, but I was going to give it a shot. I packed up all of my stuff in my Corsica, and we started the long drive to Montana.
We stopped off for a few days in Midland, and I ran Kiara ragged around town meeting all of my friends, my family, and saying goodbye to everyone. My grandmother was concerned for me, but my grandfather knew that it was something that I had to do. He even gave me some cash for me to live on until I landed a job. It’s a good thing, too. The money barely lasted me until I got my first paycheck.
On the road from Texas to Montana, we stopped off in Colorado Springs (which is where we ended up living) to meet some more Edgers (including some of the gods!) and hung out for a few days. It was a good time, but it was also too short. We had to get to Montana in time for Kiara to get back to work.
The longest drive of my life was from Colorado Springs, CO to Great Falls, MT. It took a little over 14 hours, and the last several hours of that was through some very horrible weather. I was exhausted, bedraggled, and not looking my best when we pulled into Kiara’s folk’s house. I met my future in-laws for the first time, and I was too tired to try to impress them. My future father-in-law was very understanding, and told me that we could get to know each other the next day. I stumbled downstairs to their guest bedroom, and slept the sleep of the dead.
The next day, we got up, ate some breakfast, and then headed over to a miniature family reunion at Kiara’s grandmother’s house. I got to meet aunts, uncles, grandparents, and all sorts of people. I was on full inspection alert. Kiara was their golden girl, and I was the stranger from Texas that she met online. I was told later on that I did quite well on my first day with my future family. Kiara’s aunt even told everyone else (after we had left) that she knew for certain that Kiara and I were going to get married.
We ended up in Havre, MT where Kiara was going to college. I had arranged for an apartment of my own in the same building that Kiara was living in, and I unpacked there. We spent the next couple of months “living apart”, but spending every waking moment together. After a few months, I asked Kiara if it would be ok if we moved in together in order to save money. I was hardly at my apartment, and it didn’t make much sense to be paying rent on a place that I was only using to store my clothes, and books. She was obviously nervous at this proposition, but she agreed to it.
We lived together for about a month when I decided that I was going to ask her to marry me. On July 4th, 1997, I cajoled Kiara into taking us out to the waterfall where I had given her the tiny diamond ring earlier in the year. When we got there, we hung out, climbed on some rocks, and finally Kiara wanted to leave. I was going to ask her to marry me while at the waterfall, but I couldn’t get up the nerve. Finally, before we left, I decided that it was now or never. I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. I felt bad because I didn’t have a ring, but I was more concerned about Kiara when I asked her. It looked like she was going to pass out. She kind of stood there for a moment, swayed back and forth, and looked a little pale. I had totally caught her off guard. After what felt like forever, she finally smiled at me, and simply said, “Yes.”
When we got home, we turned on the TV to find the news that Mars Pathfinder had successfully landed on Mars, and was sending back images from the surface of Mars. It was the first time that we had full color images of Mars from the surface, and it was a great day for astronomy. Somehow NASA’s and the JPL’s accomplishments echoed how I felt. We decided to go watch some fireworks, and we spent the night in each other’s arms watching the beautiful fireworks displays. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.
The next weekend we broke the news to Kiara’s family that we were getting married. We had already picked March 15th as the day because that was the first day of Kiara’s spring break, and that was pretty much the only time that we could do it unless we waited until the next summer when she graduated. Kiara’s mom was in a tizzy about flowers, preachers, churches, tuxes, dresses, invitations, guest lists, catering, etc., etc., etc. We had to slow her down, and we told her that we had eight months to figure this all out. We had already bought some books with information and checklists in them on how to arrange a wedding.
The next eight months was full of drives from Havre (where we lived) to Great Falls (where we were getting married) which takes about 2 1/2 hours one way. When I would get off work at 5, we would get on the road right away, drive to Great Falls, meet with a florist/caterer/priest/tux shop/dress shop/church. After the meeting, we would get back on the road, and get home around 11 PM. We’d do this 2-3 times a week until it was all planned out. We spent most of our weekends in Great Falls because we could get so much done during the day.
It may sound like the eight months dragged on, but we were so busy that we hardly noticed the time fly. Kiara was going to school (her senior year), and I was working full time as tech support for one of the two ISPs in town. Before we knew it, it was time to get married.
The wedding started at 11:00 AM, and ended at 11:05 AM. That’s how weddings should be. Of course, we had the reception afterwards that lasted several hours, but that was fine. I got to meet tons of Kiara’s family, and we had a good time.
The next day, we hopped on a bus (should have taken the plane, but oh well) to go from Great Falls, MT to Midland, TX. It took 2 1/2 days to make the trip, and we encountered all sorts of sketchy people along the way. I would suggest to everyone that they take at least one long bus ride during their life because it’s a great growing experience. I’m just glad that I’m not one of the people that must rely upon buses to get across country on a regular basis.
We had a reception for my family in Midland, and all of my family and friends were there. There were people from all over Texas there. It was a great reason to get together and have a good time. I was so happy to see so many of my relatives, and I think Kiara enjoyed it as well because she knew some of my friends already. She had someone to talk to while I made the rounds to all of the various family members. She even got to meet my Aunt Melba, who is, by far, the most interesting and enthusiastic member of my family.
After the reception (and a few days) in Texas, we hopped back on the bus, and spent another 2 1/2 days riding back to Montana. While passing through Colorado Springs on the bus, I looked around the city and decided that I liked what I saw. At that point, I decided that Kiara and I would move to Colorado Springs after she graduated. We hadn’t talked about it, and I didn’t tell her about my decision until much later.
The last couple of months of us living in Montana was made up of Kiara doing tons of homework, me cooking quite a bit (a shocker, I know!), the rare trip to Great Falls on the weekend, me working at an ISP, and enjoying Tuesdays. Tuesdays were our most expensive nights out on the town. We would hit a small Mexican shop that had “Taco Tuesdays” where you could get 2 tacos for $0.49. We’d usually load up on 8-10 tacos. Also, our favorite movie rental place had movies for $0.49 on Tuesdays. We’d get a movie or two to go with our tacos. We’d end up spending about $5 for a night of food and entertainment, and that was about all we could afford. Man, how times have changed.
As Kiara neared graduation, I started breaching the topic about where we were going to move to once she was done with school. Havre (population 8,000) offered no future for either of us, and we knew that we had to get out of there. Great Falls was a little better, but I had enough of Montana winters after just one of them. I told Kiara that I wanted to move someplace that was about halfway between her hometown and my hometown. She agreed to that idea, and I already knew that Colorado Springs would be the place. To make it fair, we got a map of the U.S., and we started marking cities. The only two that we would consider, and that met the equidistant requirement were Colorado Springs, and Kansas City. We started researching both cities in terms of employment, cost of living, crime rate, weather, entertainment, etc. Both cities were fairly close, but the two most important factors that we had were Kansas City’s higher violent crime rate, and the fact that we already knew people in Colorado Springs. We decided on Colorado Springs, and I’m glad that we did.
After Kiara graduated, we moved to Colorado Springs. We had arranged for an apartment, sight unseen. We had put $100 down on the apartment, and we got there, we found that it was a total rat-hole. We decided to make a go of it for a few months, and then move to a better place once we had jobs and some money. That first night, we heard gunfire in the apartment complex. After things settled down, I looked out the window and noticed several police officers standing around, so I went outside to talk to them. I asked them what was going on, and one of them told me that there had been a shooting. They thought that it was either drug or gang related. I immediately decided that we weren’t going to stay there, and I asked the police officers what neighborhood we should look to move to to stay safe. He told me to look to the north end of town (we were on the south end of town.)
There was an apartment that we had found that we liked better, but we passed on it because they didn’t allow ferrets. We had two ferrets, so we had to pass on the better apartment. This lead us to the rat-hole that we were in. We decided that it would be best to move to the better apartment, and not tell them that we had ferrets. The next day we had arranged for an apartment in the better location, but it would not be ready for 2-3 days. We got a hotel room down the street from the apartment, and lived there for a few days.
We finally got our apartment, got unloaded, and took the U-Haul back. Oi! That bill was high. Between the days of packing it, the 2 days of driving, the day at the rat-hole, the 3 days at the hotel, and the 2 days of unpacking, we racked up quite a bill. We had saved up money for moving, but this pretty much tapped our reserves. Also, since neither of us had a job, the apartment wanted the first three month’s rent up-front. That was reasonable, and we had the money in the bank account. We were able to get established in Colorado Springs, but we were pretty much flat broke by the time we got settled in.
About a month later Kiara and I both landed full-time jobs, and the money started pouring. Neither of us had made this much money individually before, and now our incomes were combined! We dug ourselves out of our financial hole fairly quickly, and life was very good.
We lived in that apartment for about a year before we decided to buy a house. It didn’t take long to find the one we liked, close on it, and move in. That was July of 1999. We lived in that house until July of 2006 when we bought a larger house with more land out in the country. The years between 1999 and 2006 were up and down, but they were mostly up. Kiara held a steady job, which allowed me to chase job after job after job. Most of the time, when I would change jobs it was for the better. This was the rule, but there were exceptions. I would quickly run away from the poor jobs in search of a better one.
The last 9 years (10 if you count the pre-marriage ones) of my life have been the best that I’ve ever had, and it’s made me wonder what the next decade will bring. I guess I’ll just have to stay on the road of life, and see where it takes me.
Regis Adviser
I had a meeting with my adviser today to talk about some new classes that are offered. I went in thinking that I was going to have to change my entire degree plan, which would have really sucked. They changed my degree plan (and the supporting courses) shortly after I started, but I have a 7 year contract with them that they can’t change. I started back in Spring of 2005, which gives me until Spring of 2012 to get things done. I’m not going to take anywhere near that long to get done. I plan on graduating sometime around Fall of 2008 or Spring of 2009 depending on how things work out. I hope it doesn’t take much longer than that….
The reason for the change was two new certificate programs that they added: Enterprise and Web Application Engineering, and Information Systems Security. I already had on my slate two of the four classes for the Information Systems Security, so it was just a matter of adding two more classes to my list. I had already taken one of the four classes for the Enterprise and Web Application Engineering certificate, and the other three intrigue me, so I decided to add three more classes to my workload.
To make room for these five classes, I removed from my list the computer networking (four of them) classes that I had planned on taking, so that left me with one extra class to take. While talking to my adviser, I discovered that one of my previous classes (the first one I took, actually) qualified for one of my requirements on my degree. I did not know this. This means that I got to remove Government Role In Society from my list of classes to take.
All-in-all, I’m going to end up taking the same number of courses. Yay! The one oddity about this all, is that if I want my certificates, I have to take two more classes than is necessary to graduate with my bachelor’s degree. I think they’ll be worth it in the end. It’ll look good on the resume to have three certificates (E-Security, Information Systems Security, and Enterprise and Web Application Engineering.) Sure, they don’t mean that I’m certified in anything, and my adviser said several times that they are not “academic certificates.” I still think it’s good resume padding for the future.
I also talked to her about what it would take to be a professor at a college/university. She said that it would take at least a Masters, and most places are now requiring a Doctorate. I kind of expected that. She also said that the rules and requirements vary from state-to-state, and that they seem to be constantly changing. Since it’s going to be a while before I can even qualify to teach, I figure I’ll get the details later.
She did tell me that there are several Regis graduates that are teaching at Regis. That gave me hope because some universities have a “educational incest” policy. This means that if you graduate from a place with a degree, then you can’t also teach there. I can kind of see the logic in that. It keeps the same old ideas from being recycled. It allows for fresh knowledge, fresh perspectives, and fresh ideas to come into the school. I think I would like to teach at Regis. It’s full of working adults, and they seem to be more driven to excel in their fields. I wouldn’t be teaching people that have no drive or desire to be in class. I think that would frustrate me more than anything.
It’s a decent road ahead of me, but by my current count, I have finished 27 classes, am currently in 2 classes, and I have 13 more to go. Two of my classes are core classes, and the rest after that are all computer classes. I’m almost done with the grunt work, and I can get on with the fun stuff!
Anniversary Gift
My 9th anniversary is coming up in two days. I already have Kiara’s gift, but she doesn’t know what to get me. I also don’t know what she should get me. Any suggestions?
Unlucky Number Eight
If you know me, then I’m sure you’ve heard this story before. I was telling some friends about it over the weekend, and I decided that it would be a good blog entry. I’m sorry if this is repetitious for you. I’ve actually included many details that I’ve recalled over time that I may, or may not, have already told other people.
This was the end of summer of my 15th year around the Sun. I was living with my grandparents by this time, but I was spending a weekend with my mom (who lived a short distance from my grandparents.) My older (by six months) step-sister decided to “borrow” my step-dads GMC Jimmy to go to her boyfriend’s house one night. One of my friends, my younger step-sister (who was around 10 years old), and I helped her push the car out of the driveway, and got her on her way. She wanted us to hang out and wait for her to get back, so that we could help her get back into the driveway.
We hung out down the road for about two hours talking, smoking, and cracking jokes. My older step-sister finally came back, and she was obviously not sober. I was certain that she had been drinking from the smell of her, and I’ve been around marijuana enough to have a good idea that she was stoned as well. I could have been wrong about that, but I don’t think that I was.
My older step-sister wasn’t ready to go home yet, so we all piled into the Jimmy and went cruising around. We all wanted some beer, so we hit a local convenience store that was out in the country. I knew the owners, and I used to play around the store with the owners’ nephews. There was a huge feed barn attached to the store, and I knew of a gap in the wall that I could squeeze through. I broke in, snuck around to the back door, and opened it up. I started grabbing beer, smokes, and wine coolers to hand to my friend that was waiting outside the door.
We soon had a good load of alcohol, and went cruising around town drinking and laughing it up. I would like to say that I was nervous about getting caught, or felt bad for my burglary, but I didn’t. I was young, stupid, and thought that I was invulnerable to everything in the world. I outgrew those feelings that night.
We ended up at Dennis The Menace Park, and hung out there for an hour or two while drinking. A cop cruised by on the main street that was adjacent to the park, and that spooked us all. We decided to head back into the country where we were less likely to get busted.
We drove back past my mom’s house, and ended up at a cliche pit that all of my friends and I used to hang out at on our motorcycles and four-wheelers. I’m not sure how much time we spent there, but we got good and drunk. It was getting late (or early in the morning, depending on how you look at it,) and we decided to head back home. The road from the cliche pit was a dirt road, and my step-sister (who was still driving) decided that it would be fun to swerve hard to the left and right as she barreled down the road.
I warned her not to do that since the Jimmy was top-heavy and could easily flip. She ignored my statement and continued to do it. I got tired of being thrown around, so I put my seatbelt on. This saved my life because about 20 seconds later, she lost control and ran off of the road. We ran down the bar-ditch on the side of the road, and hit the other side. We ended up being launched into the air, and we landed upside down. We rolled another 2 1/2 times, and ended up on our tires.
When I realized that we were going to crash, I relaxed. I raced motorcycles for a while, and I was taught that in a crash, you should just relax. The momentum and energy of a crash is too great for the human body to resist. If you fight it, you’ll just end up being hurt worse. This training kicked in as we wrecked, so I let my body go.
During the flipping, I felt a cold sensation rush down my arm from my upper arm to my fingertips. For a good portion of my arm, it was the last sensation that I would ever feel. I thought that the cold was from the beer that I had in my hand spilling on me. Thinking back on it, the cold sensation ran the wrong direction. Had it been a beer spilling on me, it would have been from my hand to my shoulder, not the other way around.
When we finally came to a rest, the dome light came on, and there was blood everywhere. I knew that someone was hurt, and I didn’t think that it was me since I wasn’t feeling any pain (at that moment.) I asked everyone to sound off and tell me who was hurt. Everyone told me that they were ok. I tried to motion with my arms to indicate that someone was hurt, and only my left arm would respond. That’s when I looked down at my right arm, and realized that it was my blood that I was seeing.
The Jimmy was only a 2-door vehicle, and the seats were all jacked up from the wreck. My only way out was to crawl through the window. I managed to get out of the Jimmy, and we walked back to the road. My step-sister was trying to clean up the mess to get rid of evidence. The main evidence being the keys that were jammed into the ignition. I told her to leave the keys. We were busted anyways. No way out of this one.
I decided to survey my injuries. Blood was running down my neck from dozens of lacerations behind my ear, and my ear was shredded pretty badly. I felt around my skull, but found no gaping wounds. I decided that those were minor and could wait. While looking at my arm, I saw a large triangular piece of glass sticking out of my shoulder. I pulled the glass out and threw it down. It burned as it came out, and blood started to flow right away. I continued to inspect my right arm with my left hand, and when I came to the upper half of my upper arm, my hand fell into the gaping wound that was present in my arm. I could feel bone, sliced muscle, and all sorts of other nastiness. I knew that I was going to bleed out if I didn’t tourniquet my arm right away. I took off my shirt, and used it to tie off my arm. I took the knot from the tied up shirt, and crammed it into my arm to help staunch the flow of blood. I’m very certain that my first aid training from my Boy Scout days saved my life.
After I bandaged myself as best I could with what I had, we walked down the length of the dirt road back to the main road. Someone had apparently heard the crash, and called the cops. As we got to the main road, a police officer turned the corner on to the dirt road. I’m not sure how he missed us, but we managed to hide as he passed us by. We ran across the main road, and into the cotton fields that run behind the row of houses that face the main road.
We started walking through the soft red dirt of the cotton fields to make our way home. At one point we hit a patch of thorns. My little step-sister had lost her shoes in the wreck, and asked someone to carry her. My friend declared that she wasn’t his sister, and he wasn’t going to carry her. I took her up in my one good arm, and carried her the 30-40 feet across the thorns. Once we were past this obstacle, we continued on.
We were about half way home (it was a little over three miles total) when we ran into a security fence. This fence was made of chain link, and was six feet tall. The kicker was the foot of barbed wire across the top of the fence. My friend scrambled over first. My helped my younger step-sister get halfway up the fence, and she managed the rest by herself. Finally, my older step-sister climbed over. I was the last to go. My arm was only hanging on by the bicep, so I only had my two feet and my left hand to do the climbing. I was uncomfortable, but I was also in serious physical shock. My mind was clear, and I wasn’t in any pain. I think that it was this lack of pain that allowed me to continue. I don’t remember the details of the fence, but I had made it over.
We continued our trek through the loamy dirt of the cotton fields, and finally found our way home. My friend headed to his house that was about three doors down from my mom’s house. The rest of us went inside as quietly as we could. My little step-sister went straight to the phone to call her mother that lived several hours to the north. My older step-sister went straight to bed to pretend that she had been in bed all night long. I hit the bathroom to survey my wounds to see if I could treat them myself and not have to admit that I was in the car. Sure. My blood was all over the car, but I wasn’t thinking too clearly at the time.
I took my bloody shirt off of my arm, and looked at it in the mirror. I can still close my eyes and vividly see what I saw that night. I’ll spare you the gory details, but it looked like someone had taken a wedge of flesh out of the back of my right arm and thrown it away. I didn’t get light-headed, nauseous, angry, or fearful from what I saw. I knew that I was in deep trouble, and that I had to do something now. If I didn’t take action, I would bleed out and die. This knowledge drove me to action.
I immediately went out into the kitchen where the phone was at. My little step-sister was still babbling incoherently to her mother on the phone. I grabbed the phone and told a woman that I have never met that we were in a car wreck, and that no one was hurt. I knew that I was hurt, but she didn’t know me or care about me. She wouldn’t care that I was hurt, so I didn’t see that she needed to know about it. I hung up the phone, picked it back up, and immediately called 911.
The woman on the other end of the phone was perfect. She was calm, exact, encouraging, and highly professional. I wish I could remember her name. She dispatched an ambulance to come save my life, and I hung up the phone.
While I was on the phone, my little step-sister woke up my mom and step-dad. They were entering the kitchen as I hung up the phone. I was so afraid that my mom would be mad, but as soon as she saw the blood on me, she became more concerned than angry. My mother is a strong woman, and I found out that night just how strong. She looked at my wound, and told me, “There’s a chunk of your arm missing!” She wasn’t queasy, angry, or scolding. She was merely stating a fact, and I could tell that she was concerned for my life. I reassured her that I would be ok, and that an ambulance was on its way.
I decided to head back into the bathroom where I had been bleeding quite a bit. I had nothing to do while waiting for the ambulance, so I started cleaning the blood out of the bathroom. As I headed into the bathroom my little sister, Jill, came out of her bedroom. She was only 8 years old at the time, and she didn’t quite understand what was going on. She asked me if I was ok, and I told her that I was hurt, but that a doctor would fix me up as soon as we got to the hospital. I told her not to worry, and to go back to bed. She groggily turned around, and went back into her bedroom.
The ambulance finally arrived, and I went outside to meet the paramedics. We met at the door, and he asked me who was hurt. I told him that I was the only person injured in the wreck. He took one look at my arm and lost all of the color in his face. He asked me how long ago the injury had happened, and I told him that it was about 45 minutes ago. He looked at my arm, my face, my arm, and then back at my face before stuttering, “But. But, you should be dead by now!”
I calmly assured him that I wasn’t dead, but I would be soon if we didn’t get to the hospital.
He stated again that I should be dead.
I resisted the urge to punch him with my one good arm.
My step-father finally stepped in, and told the paramedic that we should be moving towards the ambulance, and getting me to the hospital. This snapped the paramedic out of his shock, and we got into the back of the vehicle. I was laid down on a gurney. A neck brace was put on me, and I was strapped down to the bed. The paramedics began searching for a vein for an IV. Because of all of the blood that I had lost, it took four tries for them to get a good stick. They finally got it into my crook of my elbow on my left arm. I still have a scar (looks like a freckle) on that spot on my arm because the IV was in for so long.
The police, who had found the wreck, the booze, and the blood were fervently searching for those involved, and when a police officer passed our house with the ambulance outside figured he had found the right place. He stopped at our house and asked what was going on. My older step-sister, who had confessed to the whole night to her father broke down and started babbling to the police officer. She told him about everything that had been done, and tried to blame the theft of the car on me. I was in no shape to defend myself, so I just let her babble. I knew that I would eventually get my chance to refute her version of events. Fortunately, my younger step-sister was an incredible honest child, and she told the police the true chain of events. The police wanted to question me, but I told them that I wouldn’t talk to them until after I had received medical treatment.
I don’t remember much of the ride to the hospital, but one thing that I will never forget is the look on my father’s face as I was wheeled into the ER. He looked older, concerned, and scared. I’ve never seen my father scared before, and this made me frightened as well. He had been imagining the worst after my mother called him and told him to meet us at the emergency room. He only lived a few blocks from the hospital, so he was already there by the time we got there. His imagination was running while during his long (maybe 10-12 minutes) wait for my arrival made the situation much worse.
I knew that if I showed my fear that it would spiral both of us into a state of hysteria. I looked at him, smiled, and told him that I would be ok. It was just a small cut that was bleeding badly, and that a few stitches would patch me up. I tried to tell him that I’d be walking out in a few hours, but I was wheeled into the trauma room, and he was prevented from coming in until the doctors had a chance to examine me.
I remember a battery a questions to judge my mental capabilities. I was asking things about the date, President, grade I was in, my age, my birthday, and some other minor things. I was sharp enough to answer them all. I was asked here I hurt, which was really nowhere. I wasn’t feeling any pain at that moment. The doctor finally told me that he needed to knock me out, so that he could clean my wounds. I remember a very cute, and almost too young, nurse looking down at me with concern on her face. She injected some medicine into my IV, and I blacked out a few moments later.
I’m not sure how long I was out, but I woke up to some very cold water washing over my arm. I was laying on my left side, and the water flowed across my chest and back. It was a shock, and I think that’s what woke me up. I turned to the doctor, and the first words that I said was, “Did you find any glass in the wound?” He looked very surprised that I was so coherent, and told me that the wound was clean, and looked in good shape, but that I would need surgery to put me back together.
I was rolled over on to my back, and I looked around. My grandparents had arrived, and they were sitting in the trauma room with me. I remember smiling at them, and my grandmother broke down and started to cry. I could tell that she didn’t want to show her fear to me, but she couldn’t help it. My grandfather walked over to me. I don’t remember what he said, but it was very reassuring. Just having him there by my side made the whole ordeal better.
About this time a police officer walked in and wanted to talk to me. My grandfather stood in his way and told him that I was in no condition to talk to anyone. Now that I think back on the whole thing, I never did talk to a police officer about what happened that night.
I was in the emergency room for quite some time, and I remember a parade of doctors coming in and out. The cute, but very young, nurse stood by my side the whole time. It seemed that the doctors were more curious about the wound in my arm rather than treating me. The nurse, and I wish I could remember her name, was my caretaker. She was my advocate. She was the one that wanted to see me get better.
I remember one surgeon walked in and talk to my grandparents. He inspected my arm, and declared that his skills were not enough to put me back together. It was at that point that I started thinking that I may lose the arm permanently. Fortunately, the doctor quickly followed up with a recommendation for another doctor. That second surgeon finally arrived. After a thorough check of my arm, he said that he could put me back together, but that I would probably not be able to use it ever again. He said that there was one more doctor that had been an orthopedic surgeon for decades that could probably do that job. The problem was that Dr. Thompson was out of town on vacation. My grandfather set about to trying to find Dr. Thompson, and convince him to cut his vacation short.
I was wheeled to a hospital room, and on the way there I ran into a girl that I went to junior high with. I don’t remember her name, but I remember that I had always thought she was cute. I was embarrassed to have her see me in my current state, but she offered me a smile. That made me feel better somehow. Perhaps it was pity. Perhaps it was truly friendly. I don’t know, but it still made me feel like I had someone my age that was on my side.
I don’t recall exactly how long I was in the hospital waiting for surgery, but I’m sure that it was several days. I think we had to wait for the Dr. Thompson to get into town or something. I don’t really know because I was on a serious case of morphine the entire time.
I would only wake up for a few minutes here and there. Sometimes the room would be empty. Sometimes there would be a dozen people in the room. When I would wake up with people there, the room would grow quiet, and they would all look at me expecting me to say something. I would always offer a smile, and say, “Hi.”
There was one time that I was woken up by the phone. The person that had laid out everything in my room had put everything on my right-hand side. The phone, TV remote, and emergency call button were all on my right side. Even in my drug addled state, I knew that it was a idiot that had setup my room. I tried reaching for the phone with my right arm, but the pain and lack of movement of my arm prevented me from doing so. I wasn’t in the clearest state of mind, and I tried to roll over to reach it with my left arm. I rolled over on my right arm, and the pain kept me from doing this. About the time I decided to give up on the phone, it stopped ringing. I was pissed that I couldn’t answer the phone, but I quickly faded off back to my drug-induced sleep.
I remember one time that I woke up my mom asked me if I needed anything. I knew that I would be laid up for ages with my injured arm, and that I would need something to read while recuperating. I had just discovered a series of books called “Thieves’ World” and I wanted to read more of them. At this time there were 8 or 9 of them in print. I told her that I already had the first book, but that I would like another 2 or 3 of them from a used book store called “Miss B’s Books” that was a few blocks from the hospital. I remember waking up a while later, and my mom had a bag of about 20 books that the ladies at Miss B’s had recommended for her. They knew me there, and knew what I liked to read. They even included a hand-written note to me to tell me to get better. I used that note as a bookmark for years.
I was finally wheeled into surgery. It was just like you see in the movies. Monitors, bright lights, sterile tools, trays of implements, and about a dozen people. I always wondered why it took so many people to do surgery, and still really don’t know why so many are needed. I remember an older woman putting a mask over my face, and telling me to count down from 10.
10
9
8
7
6
….. I wake up ….
5
4
3
….. I look up and realize that I’m in back in my room with a ton of people there looking at me. My mom stepped up and asked me what I was counting. I told her that the doctor told me to. I don’t remember any of the surgery. I don’t have any knowledge of lost time. I was out of it for five hours (three of that being surgery time,) but I don’t remember one bit of it. It’s a scary sensation to lose five hours of your life and not even be aware of it.
My arm was hurting me for the first time, and I looked down at it. It was in a cast that ran from my armpit down to my wrist. I wiggled my fingers a bit, but that tiny bit of movement sent fire up my arm. I decided that it would be best to just let it lie there.
Because of the morphine that was on, I faded in and out of consciousness the entire time I was in the hospital. I hate that feeling. I know that I want to be awake and alert, but I just can’t do it. I hope to never have to be on morphine again in my life. It’s not the pain that is bothersome, but the complete and utter lack of ability to stay coherent.
I was in the hospital for another day or two after my surgery. I remember the nurse coming into tell me in the morning that it was time to go home. I was glad to be getting out of there. She took my IV out, and I immediately perked up. It was like a switch inside me got flipped, and I was totally awake and aware of what was going on.
I was also hungry like I’ve never been hungry before in my life.
The nurse told me that she had to wait for the doctor to sign my release forms, and that she would track down some food for me while we waited. She brought me a typical hospital breakfast. I don’t remember what it was because it didn’t stay on the plate long. Within a few minutes, I was polishing off the last of the food. The nurse came back in and asked me if I was still hungry. I just smiled her her and nodded as I chewed the last of the food. She was back in a few minutes with more food that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. I thought about eating more, but decided that it was best if I stopped.
My grandmother, who was the only person there with me, was smiling the whole time. The fact that I was eating and alert seemed to relieve some of the tension and worry in her body.
I was finally wheeled out of the hospital and to the car. My grandmother asked me if I wanted to get my hair washed. It was still matted with my blood from the wreck a week before. We stopped at her hair salon where the Mexican ladies that ran the place doted over me, told me to get better, and, the best part, washed my hair. It felt so good to get that blood off of me.
The criminal investigation of that night took several weeks, and my grandfather decided to get me away from it all. He got permission from the district attorney to take me out of town, and we got on the road. We drove all over New Mexico, and into Durango, CO. We stayed several days in Durango before we headed back to Texas. We stopped off in Stinnett, TX where my Aunt Vernelle and Uncle Bub live. Vernelle was a nurse, and she took the stitches out of my hand, ear, and skull. I had almost thirty stitches in my right hand, over thirty in my right ear, and about twenty in the skin behind my ear. All but one came out cleanly, and I remember my cousin, Jeremy, screaming, “Oh my God! Look at all the blood! Holy cow! They’re going to have to amputate your ear now! Oh my God!” It wasn’t that bad. He was just trying to freak me out, but after all of the blood that I’ve seen, a little dribble out of my ear is nothing. We all got a good laugh out of it.
We finally ended up back home. By the time I got home, my mother had moved to San Antonio to get away from it all. My step-sisters were back with their mother, and my step-father was in Ohio with his family. Things were going sour at that household for a while, but the events of that night pretty much destroyed the family unit. I feel a little bad about it because I was partially responsible for that night, but it all worked out for the best in the end. My mother ended up with a better man (that she’s still with to this day,) and my step-sisters ended up back with their mother where they probably got a slightly better life. I heard later on that my older step-sister had gotten in trouble several times for drinking and driving. I learned my lesson from that night, but she did not. I just hope she doesn’t hurt anyone else with her drinking and driving.
One of the things that my step-mother gave to me when we got back home was the shirt that I was wearing during the wreck. I figured that it would be a total loss because of the blood that had soaked into it. She managed to get it clean, and I still own it. I wear it every year on the anniversary of the wreck to remind myself of mistakes, stupidity, and why to never do something like that again.
My arm was in a cast for two months following the surgery. I was forced to use my left arm for everything, and I discovered that it was quite easy to do. I had never really tried to use my left arm/hand for anything before, and I found that I could do lots of with my left hand. It brought out my latent talent for ambidexterity. Now, when I learn something new with my right hand, I do my best to learn it with my left as well.
Shortly after I got out of the cast, I was called to the juvenile correction facility. I figured that I would be spending time in jail for my actions. I was resigned to accept my punishment for what I had done. The probation officer told me that there was ample evidence to convict me for burglary, but the district attorney was willing to accept a guilty plea in exchange for six months of probation. I didn’t even have to think it over. I knew that this was a generous offer, and I took it right away. Probation was much better than jail time. I ended up with monthly meetings with my probation officer. I also offered to work for the store that I had robbed to make up for the stuff that I had taken. Johnny asked me if I had learned my lesson. I had, in more than one way, learned many lessons from that night. He said that that was good enough for him, and told me to stop by from time-to-time because he may need my help moving some things around. I helped Johnny around the store for the next few years until he sold it to a cousin, and moved away.
I found out later that my step-father wanted to prosecute me and my friend for stealing his car, but the district attorney told him that it was my step-sister that stole the car. Since we were in the car, we could be prosecuted for this crime, but it would be an all-or-nothing prosecution. It would be the four of us, nor none of us. My step-father didn’t want to send his precious daughters to jail, so he declined to press charges.
I still have lingering issues from that night. Most of the scars on my hand, ear, and skull have faded over the years. I still have some glass embedded in my skull, but it’s not going anywhere. The doctors decided that it would be best to leave it there. I agree. I don’t want anyone cutting into my skull just to remove a few pesky pieces of glass.
The main problem that I have is that I have some massive amounts of scar tissue in my right arm. That scar tissue will sometimes shift and pinch off the ulnar vein, and brachial plexus nerve bundle. This effectively kills my arm. Blood can’t flow out of the arm because of the pinched off vein which prevents fresh blood from arriving into the arm. Also, when the brachial plexus is pinched off, I lose all sensation and movement of the arm. It’s basically dead flesh. This doesn’t happen too often, it tends to only last for an hour or two. It’s horrible inconvenient when it happens, but I just wait it out. Over the years, this has happened less and less. I’m not quite sure why this is, but I’m thankful that it’s gone from a several-times-a-week occurrence, to happening maybe a few times a year.
Another problem I have is lack of sensation in my arm. I can’t feel my pinky finger at all, and most of my ring finger is numb. I also have very little sensation in the rest of my arm. I can kind of tell pressure, and, to some limited extent, heat, but that’s about it. I also have zero sensation in my upper arm beneath my scars.
Lastly are the psychological scars. I still sometimes have nightmares about the wreck. They are very vivid, intense, frightening, and all consuming. I always wake with a start from those dreams, and I never go back to sleep. There are some nightmares that I have that I can convince myself that they are just dreams and get back to sleep. That’s not the case with these. When I have these dreams, I just stay awake during the night. I can’t control them, stop them, or avoid them. They’re there, and I have to deal with them. Like the problems with my arm, the further away from the wreck that I get, the less frequently they occur.
Overall, I came out of that night in pretty good shape. I learned a hard lesson, but it’s a lesson that I learned and learned well. Drinking and driving is a killer, and it only takes a small mistake over the course of a few moments to drastically alter your life. I also learned that seat belts save lives. Had I not been wearing my seat belt, I’m pretty sure that I would have been in much worse shape (probably dead) than what I came out with.
So, you may be wondering why the title is “Unlucky Number 8″? The wreck happened on August 8th, 1988. Yep. 8-8-88. It’s a day that I’ll never forget.
Trunk Update
I got home last night as the sun was setting, and I decided to use what little light there was to see if I could figure out what was wrong. I spotted a small electrical switch in the latch mechanism. I wondered what it was for, so I flipped it to the other setting. I hit the button on my remote, and the latch opened! I closed the trunk, and hit the button again. The trunk opened! Yay! Was a simple thing. I’m really not sure why there is even a switch for such a thing. I’m not sure why anyone would want to turn this feature off unless they were totally paranoid. Perhaps this is why the seat releases are in the trunk. It allows you to throw valuables into the trunk, flip the switch, and no one can get into the trunk without a key. I suppose this could be useful, but I don’t think I’ll ever use that feature (on purpose.)
Presidential Race
A friend of mine on another message board started up a conversation about the 2008 presidential elections. Yeah. I know. It’s only March 2007, but I guess this is about the time that this shit starts to roll downhill. His post listed 24 people that have declared that they are running, or have expressed interest in running. I’m not sure how many of them are contenders, how many are serious, and how many are trying to just raise social issues by wasting everyone’s money and time.
I didn’t even look at the names on the list. I just counted them, and dismissed the entire list. I’m not going to spend time learning about 24 different people when only 2-4 of them will make it to the big dance, and, honestly, only 2 of them will really matter.
I’ve got a few vague opinions about a few of them, and very strong opinions against Hillary Clinton (but that’s another post.) I’m going to wait until next year when the herd has been culled before I spend time learning their platforms, opinions, ideas, goals, background, and other goodies.
Broke My Trunk
I went to Sam’s Club last night to pick up a 2′x4′ table for my office, a filing cabinet for Kiara, some SlimFast, some Osteo Biflex, and some gum. While there I also found a 5 pound bag of Runts (my favorite candy [except for the banana ones.]) I managed to get it all in my trunk, except for the filing cabinet. I tried to squeeze it into my back seat, but failed miserably. It wouldn’t go by about 2 inches. I tore open the box in hopes that there was at least that much packing material in the box. There was. I was able to fit the filing cabinet in my back seat, but just barely. Then I took the empty box, folded it up, and crammed it into my trunk. I then closed my trunk quickly to make sure that the box wouldn’t unfold itself.
I drove across the parking lot to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to get a container for my 5 pounds of candy. That went well, and I got a bag for my one item, so that I could cram all of my smaller Sam’s Club goodies into it. I got the trunk open, did the bagging, and put the bag back into the trunk. The box for the filing cabinet tried to escape while I was doing this, and I should have just let the damn thing go. I managed to cram it back into the trunk, and get the trunk closed on it.
I drove across the parking lot again to a Office Depot to pick up some push pins, and some Post-It Notes. I also picked up a game that reminded me of Star Control, so I wanted to try it. I went outside with my loot from Office Depot, and tried to pop my trunk. No luck. I tried my remote button, and the release button (it’s a button, not a lever) on the inside. No dice. I tried hitting the remote button while pulling, pushing, and doing lots of swearing. Nothing.
I decided to give up and go home. I got home, and Kiara and I offloaded the filing cabinet from my back seat and into her office. Then we went out to tackle the trunk. My back seats fold down, but the releases are in the trunk. We felt all around the seats to try to find an inside release, but we totally failed. They’re just not there. We gave up on that and walked to the rear of the car. As we got to the back of the car, Kiara pointed at the keyhole in the back of my trunk and asked, “Have you tried the key yet?”
D’oh!
I’d never used my key in any form on my car (except to start the engine), so I didn’t think of it this time around. Fortunately, the key worked like a charm. We carried my load of stuff into the house, and I went back out to see about fixing my trunk. I figured the box caught a wire and pulled it loose. It was dark out, so I was just using my hands to feel for loose wires. I didn’t feel anything at all, so I’m not sure what is wrong. I’m going to give a whack at it Saturday during the day, so that I can have some daylight to look at it. If I can’t figure it out, I’ll take it to the Saturn dealership, and hope that it’s not too expensive to fix.
Linux Phones
I came across this link yesterday on Digg, but the site was so swamped that I didn’t get a chance to read it until today. My PDA is Linux, my work laptop is Linux, my personal laptop is XP/Linux, and my server is Linux. I figured a Linux-based phone would round things out nicely.
They all looked really neat, but the one that caught my eye was the Motorola A1200. It has all of the features (and then some!) that I’m looking for in a phone. The problem is that it is not available for sale in the United States yet. I rarely give out my information to a company for “future product notification”, but I made an exception this time. I’m curious when it will arrive, what specs it will have, and how much it will cost.
I guess I just have to sit and wait to see what comes from Motorola.
Grades
I got my grades for my history and astronomy classes. I got an ‘A’ in history, and an ‘A’ in astronomy. I actually got a 104.5 (highest grade in the class) in astronomy, and the instructor told me that if he could give me an ‘A+’ he would, but Regis only allows for an ‘A’ as the highest grade.
I’m quite happy with the way things went with those two classes. I learned quite a bit in both classes, and I’m looking forward to my next two classes.
I found out last night that I only have to give three 5-7 minute speeches in my speech communications class. One is informative, one is persuasive, and one is a sales speech. All three should be very easy to do. I’m actually looking forward to them. Should be good stuff.
I’ve never made straight ‘A’s in a semester before (but I’ve come close with 3 ‘A’s and an ‘A-’), and I think that this may be the first time that I can pull it off. I also found out that if you have a 3.7 (or higher) GPA then you’ll graduate with honors. My GPA currently stands (counting history and astronomy) at 3.758, so I think I can pull that off come December of 2008 when I graduate.
I actually may not graduate in December of 2008 as I’ve been planning. I’m going to talk to my advisor next week about adding some more tech classes (for further certifications) to my degree program, and maybe adding some teacher education classes. I’d love to be a teacher someday, and the Regis program guide is intentionally vague about what is necessary to get this certification. They require you to talk to your advisor to get this information. I’m not sure why, but I’ll find out next week what it’s all about.
I’ll keep you posted.
New Classes
Last week was my last week of taking United States History Since 1895, and Astronomy. Both of the classes were low difficulty, but high on the amount of work required to pass the class. I learned quite a bit in both classes (except for which star is closest to Earth [it's a pseudo-trick question {the sun}]), and I’m glad that I took the classes.
My next two classes are Speech Communications and E-Security Countermeasures. Both of them should be very easy classes.
I took three years of speech and drama in junior high and high school. Public speaking, debate, acting, and other public performances come easily to me. I’m not as charismatic as JFK (speaking) or Tom Hanks (acting), but I have no fear of doing any of it. I’ve had to do a few presentations in a few classes over the past two years, but I’m assuming that I’ll have to give a speech every night of class for the next eight weeks. I’m ok with that. I think it will be fun to do it.
My countermeasures class is “guided independent study” (GIS), which means that the teacher loads me up with reading and homework to do over the next eight weeks. I have the eight weeks to get it all done, and get my grade. I started working on the reading and homework yesterday afternoon, and I’m almost halfway through with the course already.
In the past, when I’ve taken GIS courses, I’ve always waited until the last week or so to do the homework, and it’s weighed on me the entire time. I’m not going to let that happen this time around. I’m going to see if I can get it all finished by this time next week. If I can pull that off, then the next two months will go smoothly with just a single class to worry about.
