Whew! You latest batch of crazies who are leaving me your mentally disturbed comments on my comments page are really using up a lot of brain energy, aren't you? I mean, you people are nutsy-cuckoo, for sure!
(I'm not talking about my friends who leave positive comments--- I love you! And I'm not even talking about those people who comment negative things because they can't stand me and strongly dislike me. No, I'm talking about the obsessive commenters who leave obscene, over-the-top, mentally unstable, hatred-filled, obsessive comments.)
I'm talking about you people who are obssessed with your insane jealousy of me!! And it seems to be totally consuming you! I'm actually beginning to feel sorry for you because, evidently, you are spending hours upon hours reading my blog, trying to come up with witty insults to write in the comments section, and even trying to find out who my therapist, Fred, is!! Geez, Louise, but WHY ON EARTH would you even care? Are your lives so blah and boring that being jealous of my exciting life is now your full-time job? Don't you have anything better to do than to be obsessed and jealous with the details of my life? I admit, I do have a fun and cool life, but I'm sure you could improve YOUR OWN life by concentrating on IT rather than MINE.
Gang territory was so dangerous that the police told us Road Nurses that if we ever got into a vehicle accident in that part of town to NOT get out and wait for the cops. They told us that instead of getting out of the car to assess the damage or exchange insurance information with the other driver, we were to simply drive to the nearest police station to report the accident--- and they would not cite us for leaving the scene of the accident.
It was dangerous to be a Road Nurse in gang territory. The gangs knew that we carried a lot of medical supplies in our vehicles---things like sterile syringes they could use for shooting up drugs....
As I mentioned above, there were only two of us at my Road Nurse company who would go to gang territory. My buddy, Janet and me. Both of us went into the inner city on a daily basis---and it was usually for wound care, managing bedsores on elderly bedbound patients. Or we went to perform wound care on diabetic ulcerations on patients' legs or feet. Sometimes we had to establish an IV to deliver medication to a patient. And we always had to teach the whole family about things which would promote better health, enable them to heal their wounds, prevent infection, how to prevent bedsores, and about diabetic diets, etc.
The patients we saw were usually heartbreakingly poverty stricken. And many of them were so helpless, they couldn't do housework--and so they lived in filth. It was not uncommon for a Road Nurse to be kneeling down on the ground to take care of a wound on a patient's foot and cockroaches would get onto her and start climbing up her legs---and if we were doing a sterile dressing change there wasn't anything we could do about the roaches until we finished the dressing---and only then could we brush the offending cockroaches off our legs. And because of the cockroaches, we Road Nurses fought to make our bandages so secure that the cockroaches couldn't get into them.
Sometimes our patients were the mother or grandmother of drug dealers. And so we Road Nurses, keeping our eyes low, went to the patient's room to perform the wound care while the drug dealers in the front room conducted their business--- either haggling with drug buyers over the price of the drugs, or else assessing the worth (in drugs) of whatever item a drug buyer had brought to exchange for the drugs.
And let me tell you, there all kinds of people who would come to the inner city to buy drugs. I saw doctors and lawyers in expensive suits coming to buy drugs alongside of gang thugs with no cash and were instead bringing things to barter for drugs; i.e. TV's, stereo systems, microwave ovens, or common household blenders to trade for drugs--- items which were usually stolen.
In the really dangerous areas of the inner city, the patient's family members would escort Janet or me from our vehicle to the inside of the home--- and they would guard our vehicle while we performed the visit. And then they'd escort us back to our vehicle to make sure we were safe. (And we appreciated that very much.)
There was nothing glamorous about being a Road Nurse in gang territory. Janet and me wore jeans with one or two cell phones clipped to our belts. And neither of us carried any sort of weapon. The police advised us to carry pepper spray but Janet and I never did.
I don't know what Janet did, but when I left the house in the morning to go on my rounds, I simply asked the Lord for a Guardian Angel to ride along with me. And, curiously, I think the Lord actually provided me one on a certain occasion.
It was a day when I had gotten out of my car to go into a tenement building to see an elderly woman patient. This tenement was deep in in a slum which was home to a certain gang known for its violence. When I got out of my vehicle I noticed a group of obvious gang thugs standing on a corner. I didn't pay them any mind. I just lugged my nursing bag up up the slightly hilly street towards the tenement.
And then....
I felt twinges of fear because I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that the men were looking at me, assessing me.... and I wondered what they were going to do. Whatever it was, I knew it would be bad. And so I said under my breath: "Lord? Didn't I ask you for a Guardian Angel? You know how dangerous this street is and if You don't do somthing I suspect I'll be pushing up daisies soon....."
And then it happened.
The group of thugs began walking towards me. Their facial expressions were such that I knew they were up to no good. Some of them leered at me with evil smiles on their faces. And I couldn't escape because they were between me and my vehicle. I knew I was toast. Desperate, I looked around to see if anybody was nearby so that I could shout for help. But the street was bare except for this group of men and me. Oh shit, I thought. There is nobody who will hear me scream.
And suddenly, a strange thing happened.
The group of men stopped short in their tracks .... and stared at me strangely. And then they began backing away.... slowly, hesitantly....and then they turned around and quickly walked out of the area completely. Relieved, but puzzled, I looked around to see who it was that caused the thugs to flee in fear. But there wasn't anybody around. Nobody that I could see.....
I've thought about it a lot since then, wondering what in the hell made that gang of thugs back off from me? I mean, they TOTALLY looked they were about to rob me....or worse---and they suddenly saw something which frightened them---but I couldn't see it.
Thus, to this day I suspect it was a Guardian Angel who stopped the punks from accosting me.
Anyway, I kept on seeing patients in the inner city. For some reason I was fearless. But poor Janet got "burnt out" with being a Road Nurse and resigned. I heard later that she was working as a veterinary assistant.
Where was I?
Oh yeah.....I was going to tell you about a certain kitten....
One day I was seeing two elderly patients, Mr. and Mrs. Townsend --- and they lived right smack in the heart of gang territory. They lived in a ramshackle house that had seen better days. But I loved these two patients. They were the kind of patients who'd always offer me gingersnaps and a cup of coffee. I frequently did chores for them when I visited---like take the trash outside to the curb for pickup on trash day.
Anyway, on this day I finished the visit, after having changed a wound dressing on Mr. Townsend's foot and I had also checked Mrs. Townsend's blood pressure. She was on a new medicine for hypertension and I was assessing her toleration of it.
When the visit was over, the Townsends did as they always do and walked out the front door with me. They would always stand on their front porch and wave goodbye when I drove away. But today Mrs. Townsend stopped me and pointed at a bush at the far end of their porch.
"A stray cat had a bunch of kittens in there," she told me, mournfully. "But I feel so sorry for them because they'll grow up strays... they'll become alley cats like their mother. It's sad because they're so cute and yet I don't think they'll last long in this neighborhood..."
I knew I shouldn't do it......I knew for dang sure I shouldn't do it....
But I did it.
I looked inside the bush...
And sure enough, there were 5 white kittens, some of them with black spots. It was very obvious that they were very young---probably no more than 3 weeks old. And they seemed so weak that they couldn't even mew.
And I didn't hesitate.
I snatched up the cutest one.
The Townsends looked jubilant. "Oh good!" Mrs. Townsend cried happily. "We were hoping that we could find people willing to take care of them. If they stay out in the wild, especially in this neighborhood, they'll never get fed well enough, or they might get run over by a car-- and some will probably die."
"Don't worry, " I assured them. "I'll take good care of this one."
"They sure are young, though," Mr. Townsend said. "I don't know how you're going to feed her. And she's probably covered with fleas."
Just then, the mailman came by. He was wearing a big smile as he came up the front walkway to hand some mail to the Townsends. He looked at the kitten in my arms and smiled. "Got yourself a kitty, did you?" he asked.
"I sure do!" I replied. And then I said to the Townsends: "Thank you for the kitty! Anyway, I've got to now. I'll see you next week. Bye everybody!" and I began walking down the pathway to the street.
And then I heard Mrs. Townsend's voice: "And if you know anybody else who'd like a kitten, let us know!"
I turned around and said: "Okay--I'll try!"
And then it happened.
Suddenly, gunfire shots rang out from a passing vehicle which, after making the shots, sped away.
The poor mailman hit the ground to avoid being in the pathway of the bullets, his mailbag opening and scattering enveloped mail all over the place. And the Townsends had fled into their house.
But I was frozen in fear. I couldn't move. And as I stood there, mortified, I saw two rings of smoke----the smoke rings which typically emerge from the barrels of a shotgun which has just been fired. And the rings of smoke floated by my head, wafting no more than 5 inches away from my head.
When I came to my senses I realized that I had come very close to being a victim in the crossfire of a drive-by shooting. My head would have been blown to smithereens....
And I knew what the shooters were aiming at--- a house next door to the Townsends, a house which was a notorious drug house.
God they're crappy shots, I thought. "Hell, I could shoot better than any of those punks..."
But suddenly I just wanted to get back to my own neighborhood. I was trembling with fear at the thought that the gunshots had been so close to my head. So I stuffed the little kitten into my jacket pocket and ran for my vehicle.
And I sure as hell didn't want to be around when the drug dealers from the drug house next door emerged and start shooting in revenge for the drive-by shooting.
And so I jumped into my vehicle and sped the 12 miles to my own neighborhood.
(When I got home I almost kissed the ground.)
When I got home I held up the sweet kitten and thought I had better get her treated at a vererinarian. She was indeed full of fleas and she hadn't known what to do when I set her in front of a bowl of cream..
So I called a local vet and asked him if I could bring her in. He said yes and so I drove to his clinic. After he examined the kitten he shook his head slowly and told me that I'd have to de-flea her. And also that I would need to feed her with a syringe using specially made "mother's milk" for kittens, which he sold.
"You do realize that she was too young to be taken from her mother, don't you?" the vet warned. "And she's extremely weak. So don't get your hopes up that she will live, because there's a risk that she may die."
"Nope," I replied stubbornly. "I'm going to save her." And so I bought both the mother's milk and some de-fleaing medicing.
Dejectedly, I drove home. I had a syringe in my supply bags in the back of my vehicle and I hurriedly retrieved one to try feeding the little bitty thing. She was no bigger than our DVD player's clicker, which was only 5 inches long. But with the syringe I was able to get some food into her.
When Blaine came home and saw the kitten he wasn't too thrilled. "Dammit, Bo, she's covered in fleas. And you didn't even ask me what my opinion was about adopting a stray cat's kitten."
"But she was living in a BUSH in gang territory!" I retorted. "I couldn't just leave her! She's so weak from hunger that she probably would have died in a few days---or fell victim to a predator, like a night owl or something."
After Blain sighed heavily, he asked simply: "Okay, Bo. What's her name?"
After thinking for a minute or two I had it.
"I'm going to call her Little Baby," I replied.
*
*
(Happy now? I took down the post where I was cussing people out.)
Anyhoo, my basket runneth over....
Sorry I've been incommunicado lately but I've been busy---I had a lot of errands to run, and in between those errands I've been crocheting my head off, making squares for the "Hugs For Haiti" group in Ravelry. "Hugs for Haiti" is a group in which the group owner is putting together all the various-sized donated squares into blankets for Haiti earthquake survivors . I've made some 9" squares, some 12" squares, and I'm also donating some square knitted dishcloths that I will never use (and they're pre-washed and dried so they've done all the shrinking they're going to do).
The yarn you see wrapped around the folded-up squares is the long tails I left on them for use in sewing them together. I was keeping all the completed squares in that basket but my basket runneth over...
And since my basket runneth over, I think it means that I'd better get these off in the mail soon to the owner of the group. (I'm thinking I can get another few made today.)
And don't forget, you can still donate for the victims of the Haiti earthquake through the American Red Cross (see the link to the above-right, just above my Twitter Update link.) And you can also donate to the Red Cross via your cell phone by texting "HAITI" to 90999 (after which a $10 donation will be routed to the Red Cross and will be deducted from your cell phone bill---and you can do it as many times as you like.)
I have to run, right now, because Fred (my therapist) has enrolled me in some sort of program, and my newly apointed case manager from that group is on his way over to the house. (No, it doesn't mean I won't still see Fred---this is something extra.) I'm waiting rather nervously because I have no idea what to expect.
*
*
.jpg)
I am putting several ways here to make donations for the victims of the Haiti earthquake. It is easy---and is desperately needed.
Blaine and I have visited Haiti several times---and I can't even describe to you the poverty we saw there. It was heartbreakingly overwhelming--- BEFORE the earthquake! And I am completely horrified about how wretched and sickeningly miserable their conditions are NOW, after the earthquake! I spent last night bawling my eyes out after I heard the story of the collapsed hospital, and how the people on the street could hear those poor people trapped under the hospital's rubble crying out for help and wailing in pain.
The American Red Cross' website gives instructions for donations. Just click on the Red Cross Lady's picture to the upper right.
Also, the Embassy of the United States of America, in Haiti, also has a Red Cross website which shows ways of donating. (At the Embassy's website, just wait for the scarlet Red Cross window to flash in the left hand window and click on it, because there are two other, different, pics that flash one after the other.)
There is another, simpler way to donate to the Red Cross via your cellphone. It is the way I describe in my Twitters, a way that you can donate $10 simply by texting "Haiti" to 90999. The $10 donation will be automatically deducted from your cell phone bill---and although any amount is appreciated and desperately needed, if you feel you'd like to donate more than $10, simply repeat it as often as you'd like.
And believe me when I say that I totally understand just how tough economic conditions are here in America and everywhere else in the world. But even a small donation can make a huge difference--- perhaps the difference between life and death for someone in Haiti. I do believe that Jesus' words bear repeating here:
"That which you do for the least of Me, you do also for Me."
Please donate?....as I said above, it could mean life or death for someone in Haiti.
*
*
Ok, Little Baby is a very spoiled cat.
I mean, she actually LAYS by that saucer ALL DAY LONG--- (see below) --- awaiting the next doling out of tuna fish. And let me tell you, it wouldn't matter if she'd just been fed an ENTIRE CAN of tuna, she would STILL lay parked in that spot!
I think she's got a problem, don't you? I think she should go to Tunaholics Anonymous. I want her to stand up in front of that room of cats and say: "I'm Little Baby and I'm a Tunaholic" ....
Sometimes she lays on her saucer in order to protect it--- so that Leonard, our other cat, doesn't get any ideas about stealing some of her tuna.
Yep, she's addicted allright. I wonder if I should set up an "intervention"?
It must be exhausting to lay there all day.
But, actually, sometimes she does sleep somewhere else. At times, she seems to love sleeping up against my shoes.
Sometimes she sleeps like the below posture--- done strictly in order to scare me to death. She folds her paws in front of her like how they arrange dead people in their caskets.....
(Yes, I alway take it seriously and run frantically to see if she's breathing, the little idgit....)
The below picture is her posing. Who in the hell does she think I'm taking these pictures for---a dadgum nekkid cat magazine??!!
See her primping below?---I guess she feels that she must always be ready in case a scout for the "PlayCat" magazine comes calling.....
For some reason, the city of Overland Park, Kansas, does not believe that they should plow our street after a snowstorm.
This irks me and Blaine no end. Because even though it's not the multiple feet worth of snow the north of the country gets, it's still enough snow to cause you problems....like not being able to find your morning paper in the dadgum driveway.... Or, worse yet, getting your vehicle stuck in the mess before reaching a larger road that HAS been plowed...
And, Blaine also hates anything which interferes with his addiction to grilling food on the back deck. But even I am not demanding enough to expect that Overland Park's plowing staff assist us in clearing off that particular area.
As usual, come hell or high water, Little Baby hasn't a care in the world..... 
Bo again: "Well... just look at the ridiculous thing! It actually hurts my eyes with its ugliness. I shouldn't even call myself a KNITTER! It's the most pitifullest thing I've ever seen knitted in all my born days! And Good Lord.... but I can't believe I actually tried to knit a little red flower onto it! Like that was going to make it more attractive, huh! God, WHAT POSSESSED me to knit that thing?"
(Is "pitifullest" a real word?)
Blaine: (still smiling and not saying anything...)
Bo again: "Okay, look---I know you think it's ugly. Anybody would. Especially the back side of it. Just go ahead and say it's hideous---I can take it."
Blaine (finaly, after sighing): "You used to hide vodka in it. And every time I'd find it in there, I'd take the vodka out and fill the damn thing with skeins of yarn."
Bo (after a long pause....): "So THAT'S what happened to my vodka. I just figured I'd been too drunk to remember where I'd hidden it..."
Blaine (again smiling): "And the really funny thing was watching you try to surreptitiously tear the house apart looking for the vodka....heh..."
*
The End
* *
