Dear Friends...

I am in big trouble right now. Big trouble. I can't get into it right now and I hate being so vague. I want to pour my heart out to all of you in hopes of someone helping me to get it right, but I can't right now. I will. It will come out. It always does. I am ashamed of myself and despite that, I am not ready to be punished for my actions. No, I didn't kill anyone...but I might as well have. It is very hard to admit that you are disgusted with yourself. It's hard to look at my face in the mirror right now and find any semblance of a good person there. I know she exists...she just has bigger problems right now. I can't hurdle this one alone. I can't. I fucked up big time. (No, it has nothing to do with me and the hotband...my life is more perfect than it should be. I don't deserve it...or him.)

I have already reached out to God for some help or hope. I don't feel like He is giving it to me right now because I turned my back on Him as of late. I am struggling with something that is much bigger than I am...and if you have seen me, you know I am a damn big hunk of woman.

I am surviving by listening to Beatle's music. I am trying to let the words to certain songs, like "Let it Be" heal me. No one thus far is speaking words of wisdom to me. I am at war with myself right now.

I promise to open up about this problem before the end of the week. For right now, if you can find it within you to throw a prayer, some good vibes, some positive karma or whatever it is you do in my direction...I will be humbled and grateful.

I am completely lost right now. I am in need of saving...and fast.

Someone please say something. Anything. Please.

It's not always black and white.

I am back at work. I have been at my new place for a month and so far, I am enjoying the view from here. I work overnights, 11 pm until 7 am in the morning. This works for me. I'm a night owl so I put my insomnia to good use. I am making excellent money and the third shift allows me to be home for my son during the day. I can't be more thankful if I tried. (Yes, I will even thank the crack whore who stole my purse. She motivated me to get my job, despite having no ID. No clue? See "Dear Crack Whore" post below).

Anyway, one of the perks of going back to work is blog fodder. I had a run in this evening that angered me to the point of blowing a gasket. Now mind you, I have never made a secret of the fact that I am a diagnosed bipolar with mild schizophrenia. I embrace my disability enough to medicate myself so that my rages are few and far between. It takes a lot to get me angry since going on medication. For me to be this pissed off means that someone took me from the safety of my medication and made me sub-human again. I don't like that feeling.

I was getting report from another nurse. She was telling me about the patients and what sort of issues she had with them this evening. She made a request of a CNA (Certfied Nursing Assistant) to please take a patient back down to his room so he can use his urinal.

"He ain't my patient," she replies.

"No, he isn't," she countered. "But he is a patient and I am asking you to bring him down to his room so he may use his urinal."

"I'll go find his aide."

"No, you won't. I am giving you a direct order to move this patient or I will write you up."

I am watching this interaction and keeping silent. The nurse was in the right. However, I stayed out of it. I didn't feel the aide needed to be reprimanded by two nurses. When the aide stomped away, she said "I am so sick of these white bitches ordering me around."

White bitches? Was she referring to my uniform or to my skin color.

"Adrienne," I called after her. "Come back here please."

She came back to the desk, all attitude, eyes rolling and sucking on her teeth.

"If you don't want to take orders, I might suggest that you either find another field or perhaps, go to nursing school so that you may eventually give the orders. I don't think race has anything to do with this."

"'Course you don't" she said. "You white. I'm black."

The other nurse chimed in "We're educated. You're not."

Oy.

Adrienne walked away, pushing the patient down the hall, grumbling the entire way. The first nurse turns to me and says, "You know, not to be racist...because I'm not, but I find the black aides to be the worst aides. They never want to do anything."

"Theresa, you are making this a race issue the same way Adrienne is. I have a lot of black aides on my shift that do an amazing job. I have some white girls who are mouthy and obnoxious. This isn't a race thing, it's an individual thing."

And it got me thinking. When someone has to justify something they say or do with the race card, it gets me in the position of feeling less respectful of that person. I don't like it. I don't like to be around it. I am not one of those people who will not speak up when racism becomes an issue. I want no part of it, but to stay silent only condones the other persons actions, so I don't.

Later on, as I was leaving, I caught Adrienne in the hallway.

"You really don't think of me as a bitch, do you?"

"No. That other nurse. She's a bitch."

"I agree. She is a bitch. She could have handled it differently. But I have to ask. Why is she a white bitch? Why was that comment made?"

"You don't understand, CP. You have all the advantages. You went to nursing school, you got a high paying job. Y'all don't have to do a third of the shit we aides have to do. I don't like getting bitched at."

"No one does. I don't. But I really take exception to you calling me a white bitch. I think you have a poor attitude sometimes. You have issues with authority. If I was a black nurse, you would have referred to me as just a plain old run of the mill bitch. No color involved."

"You don't get it," she tells me. "I work hard and I don't get no appreciation."

"I work hard too. I was a CNA at one time. I know it's a hard job. That's why I went back to school. I wanted to be able to do a job where I earned more money and more respect. I didn't like the way the nurses treated me."

"Yeah," she says, "Cause most of y'all are bitches."

She walks away.

I left the building feeling a hole in my heart. Two incidents of racism. One from a black aide and the other from a white nurse. I tried to rationalize with both of them and now I become the pariah for speaking up and out. I don't mind being called a bitch. To me, that's foreplay. It means I am a strong woman who keeps her ideals lofty and has a terrific sense of self. I also don't see color. Perhaps that is because I was raised by parents who are bigots. Again, they justify it with "I have lots of black friends, but..."

This does not bode well with me.

My ex husband is dating a girl who is black. She is a beautiful girl with a kind heart who makes him happy. Yet, my ex is always quick to point out that she is black. Well, duh. I see her. I can see her skin color. I feel more like he is trying to sell her to others, trying to justify his love for a woman of another race. It bothers me to know that in this day and age, we are still drawing pie charts of black versus white. Yes, Adrienne is a shitty aide. She's cantankerous, foul mouthed and impatient. None of those things are characteristics of being black. That is just someone who is not happy with their life.

Theresa, the other nurse, stated that she was going to write Adrienne up and would I back her up on the report. I opted to say no because I don't feel the need to perpetuate this black/white thing any further. When Adrienne does something to endanger one of my patients, I will be the first in line to make sure her ass is out the door. I would do the same with Theresa, if I felt she was jeopardizing patient care.

In the interim, I feel like my happy little bubble has been busted wide open and spewing racial slime all over me.

I'm an assertive white girl. If this qualifies me as a bitch, so be it. Adrienne is an opinionated black girl. If this makes her a bitch, just as well. I only wonder why we can't just call each other names without the color identity.

If a dog shits on your lawn, do you say "Hey! That white dog just shit on my lawn." No identification is necessary. A dog took a dump. That's all anyone needs to know. It needs to be put on a leash and reprimanded.

I imagine that is what is in store for Adrienne in the near future. Black or white, she's a bitch. So is Theresa. So am I.

We have to make room for all the color in the spectrum of the bitchy rainbow.

Houston, we ALMOST had a problem...

Samantha calls my husband (I'm at work) very upset. She tells him that she went to the doctor again because she is bleeding. He tells me this (the next day, mind you, because men are a little stupid like that sometimes) and then explains to me that the doctor is going to do some bloodwork.

"What about a sonogram," I ask. "Did she mention a sonogram at all?"

"Yeah," he replies. "But they said they couldn't do it until next Tuesday."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, supposedly, the guy who does the ultrasounds only comes into her office on Tuesdays."

"So you are going to tell me that she has to wait until Tuesday to find out if anything is wrong with the baby? Oh, I don't fucking THINK so."

I get on the phone with the doctors office. Mind you, this is the same doctor who delivered my boys. I am not a big fan of hers. She is pretty ice cold when it comes to bedside manner and on top of that, she is the size of a gnome with a face to match. She reminds me of those little troll dolls from back in the seventies. I get on the phone with the receptionist.

"Hello, Dr. Ramappa's office."

"Hello. This is CP. I am Samantha Stevensons mother. I am calling because she was told by the doctor that she couldn't have a sonogram until Tuesday. She is bleeding. I want a prescription written for her to have one done, STAT, at another facility."

Silence.

"Well, the guy only comes in on Tuesdays and..."

"Sh. Sh. Sh. No and. No but. No however. Prescription. Now. Stat."

"Um, okay. Tell her to come in and pick one up."

"Thank you."

See obviously, this shit is not going to fly with the mother of all grandmothers. I am ferocious when it comes to my kids and I expect to be worse as a grandmother. I am not exactly known for my patience and I know this will not be lost on Dr. Ramappa when she realizes whose kid this is having a baby. I must have let this bitch have it over a dozen times while she was my OB/GYN because I just didn't appreciate the way she spoke to people, namely, me.

Incidentally, her name is Renuka Ramappa, which makes me sing "Hakuna Matata" everytime. Try it. It's funny. And it fits.

Anyway, the sonogram was done. The baby who is eight weeks and three days along is fine. Little fluttering heartbeat. Strong fetal heart tones. A new and improved due date which is now October 31 instead of November 3. That means this baby will be born on Halloween, same as my sons were. I don't know if this is a good thing or not. My daughter is concerned about having a stillborn pregnancy like I did with one of my twins. I understand her concerns and try to remind her that pregnancy issues are not genetic for the most part. Just cause momma had trouble doesn't mean that she will.

I think there are going to be a lot more of these nerve wracking moments coming up. This morning, my babygirl puked all over the place. She looked in the toilet at some green blobby looking stuff and, while red-faced and in tears said..."Mom, I didn't even eat anything that looks like that!" I had to laugh.

The joys of motherhood are only beginning.

It's settling in...

I think the realization that I am going to be a grandmother is settling in with me. I noticed that I have been in no great rush to color my hair, because frankly, I should be going gray, shouldn't I? I can no longer think in terms of my child raising years to be over, because I am starting over again with a new life in my life. My daughter and her husband live with us. We have a large three bedroom house, but those bedrooms are already congested with the hotband and I, my son Nick and of course, Sammi and Trevor in the third bedroom. There is no room for baby, but I'll be damned if I don't find some. There never seems to be a "right" time for a child to come into a family. No one is ever ready for the challenges of a new baby, but I really feel I am going to rise to it. My daughter bought the baby a little yellow bathrobe today and I think it is what kicked my ass over into reality.

My baby is having a baby.

I remember being a 20 year old mother too. I was a single mom with no place to live. Esther had thrown me out of the house at 17 years old and I never looked back. Unlike Sammi, I was a bad kid. I was doing drugs of all sorts throughout high school and deeply into college. Still, I managed to work two jobs while I was pregnant, get myself a little studio apartment with just enough room for a pull out bed and a crib. Those were the lean years. I remember them fondly because I have only risen above them since then. I never told my mother that I was pregnant. I felt it was none of her business, since she made it a point of throwing me out of her home. It wasn't until I was seven months pregnant and barely starting to show that I confessed to my mother. She had already known. Apparently, she went to pick up her prescription at the same drug store I used. Since our last names were the same, they handed her my prenatal vitamins as well. Busted.

I remember being heavily addicted to cocaine in the months before finding out I was pregnant with Sam. It wasn't until my third month, when the doctor confirmed my pregnancy that I quit the shit cold turkey. I had been in rehab twice before, once for a week and the other time for a 28 day stint. Both had failed me, or rather, I failed me. When my pregnancy with Sam got confirmed, I stopped the shit immediately. I had no idea what my intention was for this baby. I even considered putting her up for adoption because I had no concept on who or what this thing was that was coming into my life.

When I felt her kick, I knew I was in trouble. I bonded and I never looked back.

Now that my daughter is 20 and having her own baby, I am grateful that she knows she has a roof over her head and her parents support. Things are going to be tight. Her husband still can't work because he isn't a citizen of this country just yet. She works her ass off, but that will only last for so long. I took a night job because I know the extra money is going to be needed for this baby. I feel moitivated and driven now, just as I did when I was in her shoes 21 years ago.

I am going to be a grandmother. I love saying it. I love feeling it. I couldn't be happier for my daughter for having done things the right way as opposed to the way I chose to do things. Regardless, I have never regretted my decision to have Samantha. She changed my life in so many wonderful and extraordinary ways. To raise her baby alongside her is not only an honor, it's a gift. An amazing gift.

I decided to be called "Grammy", like the award. It's a big aspiration to live up to. I might as well go full throttle and be the best I can be in this baby business.

One thing for sure. I am going to color my hair this weekend. No reason to look the part, right?

I just found out...

I AM GOING TO BE A GRANDMOTHER!!!!!!!!!!!


Holla!!!!