The Fifth Circle of Hell

Reality tv and my dream guy.....

2012-01-23T17:47:00.000-08:00

Watching Maury and filling my head with garbage tv. Actually, its a welcome distraction from the regular crap that goes through my head.

"You are not the father". Lord, what can be worse for a father to hear than that? Maybe, "You do have cancer!". I wonder if they could make THAT into a tv show? Probably, they already have reality shows for boar hunters, pawn shops, toddler pageants, hoarders and bachelors looking for love. So, why not?

I feel so uninspired lately. My days are filled with playing games on my iPad and watching Netflix. I don't know what to do with my miserable life anymore. I haven't worked in over a year and I am not sure that I even want to be a nurse anymore anyway.

Maybe I will feel differently after this whole murder trial is resolved. I realize that I haven't spoken much about this, but it is the root cause of my PTSD. I guess my main fear is that there are people out there who read this blog who know me personally. And if I wrote something on here that affected the outcome of the trial in any way, I would never forgive myself. I am hoping for a certain outcome, obviously. I just pray for justice.

Oh, the Bachelor is on!

Time to snuggle in bed with my doggies and watch these slutty nutbars fight over this "sort of" good looking guy. Not my type at all. Give me the Poet Scientist any day, I say! Think the characters Topher Brink from Dollhouse and Damon Salvator from Vampire Diaries, mixed with Chris Martin from Coldplay.

*Swoon*

Twatter me baby!

2012-01-13T22:59:00.000-08:00

Holy shit, I joined the Twatterverse tonight!

I figured I should go find out what all the #shit was about. As far as I can tell, it's exactly like Facebook, except you have "followers" instead of "friends" and your "status" is now called a "tweet". That and everyone tries to say something extremely deep and cerebral. I vow to tweet completely non douchy tweets. Pinky swear!

Anyway....

In my universe right now, I have decided not to take the writing job. It was a good decision for me as I was ready to crack under the pressure. I have three other offers right now that I am mulling over. If all else fails, I will just go back to nursing. I would rather gnaw off my own leg than go back to nursing, but we will see how it all goes.

I am tired of dead and dying patients, you know? I suppose "tired" is not quite the word, is it? How about "unable to cope with the suffering and death anymore"? That pretty much sums it up for me.

More later, it's almost 3AM and time for sleepy. Nighty night loves!

My Girl likes to Party all the Time....

2011-10-22T20:46:00.000-07:00

So, because of my PTSD, I have worked exactly 6 weeks in the past year.

Go me!!

Having almost an entire year off would sound like a "Party Time Vacation" to most people, but it has been anything but for me. PTSD sucks, period. It's like mold or a sucking chest wound. Nasty.

I have nothing else to say about it right now because, frankly, I don't like talking about it. It's more of an avoidance thing, I suppose.

Anywhoo,

I am slowly regaining my life and that brings me to the point of this post. Because of certain "circumstances" due to my PTSD, I cannot return to the type of nursing that I was doing before. Actually, it has been a recommendation from my therapist that has thrown a monkey wrench into everything. Apparently, he feels that I cannot work with "significantly ill or dying patients" anymore and, sadly, I have to agree with him.

So, where the hell am I supposed to work......because I work in a fucking HOSPITAL.

sigh.

So, while I wait for my union, therapist and employer to fight it all out, I have no job.

But fear not, Dear Friends. For, I have managed to secure a writing gig for myself during this downtime. The only problem is, I'm not sure if I want it or not. It's a job writing for a well known publication. To be 100% truthful, I'm surprised as fuck that they even chose me out of all their applicants. I mean, this is a dream come true for a lot of writers.

I would have my own editor, be well compensated for my efforts and finally have a collection of writing that I can show to my parents.

See Mom, I CAN write :D

The problem is that it's a lot more work than just coming on here and typing out whatever the hell I feel like. THIS type of writing is fun, therapeutic, easy, flowing and a release for me.

I worry that the type of writing expected of me from this prospective company would be the exact opposite of THIS blog. I worry that I would find writing about pre selected topics boring and monotonous. And, most importantly, I worry about failure.

What if I can't do it? What if I go for it and fall on my ass? What if my writing sucks ass? What if I am only good writing about the things I like to write about? What if I disappoint my family?

I would be so embarrassed and just completely crushed.

Will the fear of failure hold me back or will I go for it?????

Stay Tuned!!

The Lighthouse Keeper.....

2011-10-16T17:47:00.000-07:00

Gather around children for I have a tale to tell. A tale of sadness and decit on the high seas......

Actually, I don't.

Sorry to get your hopes up ;)

I visited a decrepit lighthouse today and thought it would make a great backdrop for a horror movie or something. It was on the ocean, the real honest to goodness ocean. Not a beach, or a bay but the freaking OCEAN. The ocean is scary. You look out and all you see on the horizon is where the deep dark sky meets the deep dark ocean. It freaks the hell out of me and makes me feel very small and powerless. I mean, what if a tsunami were to rise up and drown us all? And what about sharks? Sharks are the cockroach of the sea, or maybe it's lobsters that are the cockroach of the sea. I'm not sure. Either way, at least lobsters taste good and don't have the ability to bite your leg off. So, they're A Okay in my books.

I just don't think I'm meant for a life at sea. Sorry Canadian Naval Forces. And your recruiting bus was just here too. Darn.

So,

I got to pet and feed a baby cow yesterday. A first for me. It was very gentle and had big trusting eyes. I don't think I will ever be able to eat beef again. I'm serious. I was a vegetarian for much of my life but fell off the wagon about 12 years ago.

I don't eat a lot of meat though and would still rather eat pasta than a steak but I just felt so sad and GUILTY when I was petting that baby cow. I almost cried but tried to hold back because I figured everyone would think I was a complete loon. But seriously, one day in the not too distant future, someone will be eating that innocent creature. It's a very sad thought.

I think maybe this is a sign that I should eliminate red meat altogether. I honestly don't know if I could eat any now anyway with that image of the soft, trusting baby calf in my head. I'm weird like that. Food "things" bother me. My bf showed me what chicken Mcnuggets look like before they cook them and I haven't been able to eat one since. It looked like a giant pink snake with no skin. Disgusting.

I've been gone so long

2011-10-11T11:33:00.000-07:00

Well, I guess I'm back.

I password protected my blog a while back, so that no one could read it. At least I didn't repeat the Incident of 2004, where I set fire to the corn field and deleted my entire blog, archives and all. Oh, don't worry, I sorely regretted it 6 months later when I tried to get my old URL back..and discovered someone was using it to sell anal porn videos. You bastard, I still haven't got over it :P

No, this time I was smart and just password protected everything. When I was ready to come back, I saved and archived the posts I wanted to keep private and the rest is still here for your reading pleasure.

Smart, huh?

So, to catch you up quickly...

I'm looking to leave the hospital and find a job that doesn't make me crazy. I'm still receiving treatment for my PTSD, I still like the colour pink and petting fluffy kittens. Actually, I don't really care for cats. They crap indoors, act aloof, scratch things and run away. Give me a dog any damn day.

I'm back bitches!!!

Leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves....

2011-03-01T05:23:00.000-08:00

Crunchy, fallen on the ground

Surrounding you.

Lay upon the leaves

Like a carpet,

They blanket the wet, dark forest

Leaves.

All I see are leaves

I cannot get the vision of leaves out of my head. I can hear the crunch and rustly sound they make. I can smell the woodsy, earthy smells.

I can see your body laying on a carpet of leaves.

It haunts me. The vision haunts me. It will not leave me.

This morning, I was scared to get out of bed. This issue has plagued me for months. I am afraid that there is someone under the bed, waiting to grab me. I can see a dead, blue tinged arm snaking out from under the bed and grabbing me by the ankle when I dangle my feet over the edge.

I finally forced myself to get out and kept repeating to myself, "It's not real. There's nothing under the bed". I even got down on the floor and forced myself to look underneath.

There was nothing there. Just a shirt that had been kicked under by accident.

Yet, this problem has plagued me every single day since that Fall day.

Yesterday, I felt the same fear as today. I worried about someone grabbing me from under the bed. I could see the dead blue arm snaking out from under the bed to grab me. I forced myself to get out of bed and put my slippers on. I almost started hyperventilating. Once again, I had to get down on all fours and look under the bed.

There was no one there.

What is wrong with me?

I joined a PTSD forum. I wonder if I will find any comfort there or if it will be a "misery loves company" type of thing?

I am turning into a lunatic. Some days I feel that I am going crazy and will never be normal again.

I'm still alive.....

2011-02-21T11:31:00.000-08:00

Haven't been here in a long time, have I?

I think about my blog often and WANT to post, but I don't. Something happened in my life last Fall that has altered my life forever. It is hard to start over at the beginning when you are firmly ensconced in the middle of said experience. I don't even know if I want to start over and write the words out anyway. It is too difficult, too painful.

Suffice to say that I have been through a life changing experience. It involves someone's death. I will not say who. The trial is ongoing as we speak. I'm sure you can read between the lines on that and deduce that it was not by natural causes.

I am changed forever.

I have been off work for months. I have been to a lot of counselling. I now have PTSD. I thought Post Traumatic Stress was for deployed soldiers who came back home from a tour of duty completely fucked in the head from what they've seen.

But I was wrong.

Suspicious. Paranoid. Afraid. Triggers. Anxiety. Panic. Fear. Fear. Fear. Avoidance. Tears. Housebound. Life on Pause.

This is where I am now......

Put that damn rock down....

2010-08-04T07:16:00.000-07:00

I went to see my therapist yesterday.....

It was a good meeting and we discussed food, food addiction and the causes of said addiction. I told her that I remember very clearly what lead to my addiction to food. There were two "incidents" in my life that occurred within a couple of years of one another that changed everything for me.

It has been so painful for me to talk about these two incidents, that I have told virtually no one in my personal life about it, save my ex husband and Daddy. It was even hard for me to tell my therapist and I kept circling around and around until I finally got the words out.

And so, today, on the recommendation of my therapist, is the day I stop carrying this burden with me. Today is the day I set it down and walk away. I have carried it for far too long. It is time.

This is Therapeutic Letter #1. I have two others to write....

Dear Pilot Assohole,

I have no idea what your real name is. It has been many years since I have seen your face but the memories of what happened that night have never left me. I carry the fear and self loathing with me on a daily basis. I honestly probably couldn't even pick you out of a line up now, but the memories of your actions are clear and crisp.

We met at an Anniversary party for your flight school. I was there with my cousin, who was going out with one of the other pilots. You were so handsome and charming and so much older and wiser than I was. I was just a kid, only 17 yrs old. You were 29 and must of seen me coming a mile away, with my smiling face and wide eyes.

It was an exciting night for me, I had never been to such a party before. I was only 17 and my party experience was mostly relegated to sneaking a few drinks in someone's basement while their parents were out.

But here there were pilots EVERYWHERE in their handsome uniforms. Pilots and music and drinking and girls.

Someone introduced us, I can't even remember who but you latched right onto me. You started buying me drinks. No one had ever bought me drinks before. I wasn't even legally allowed to drink for another 2 years. But it was so exciting, an older man buying me drinks...and a pilot on top of it. I felt so mature and desirable. It was a heady mixture.

As the night went on, you bought me drinks and brought me around and introduced me to all your old pilot buddies. You even introduced me to several of your colleagues as your "wife". I still don't understand that one. You kept telling me how "mature" I was.

We left the party and went to a club with several other pilots and their girlfriends. You got me in the club even though I was too young to get in. You KNEW how old I was. It wasn't a surprise. You KNEW I was 17.

You continued to buy me drinks and then an hour later decided to take me back to the flight school barracks. I could barely stand and almost threw up in the cab. I had never drank this much before. The cab driver kept looking back and saying "She's not going to throw up is she?" and you kept reassuring him that I was fine.

I was not fine.

I was completely loaded and sick to my stomach.

We arrived back at the barracks. It was dark. There wasn't a soul there. Everyone was still at the party. The barracks were far from any civilization. There was only the barracks, the airstrip and the parking lot. We were in the middle of nowhere and I was alone and drunk in a dark building with a complete stranger. I started to feel afraid. It was a fear that was strong enough to permeate through the alcohol haze and I told you that I wanted to leave. My sense of self preservation was telling me that this wasn't a good idea.

You half drug me into one of the rooms and told me that we were "just going to lay down for a minute".

You fucking liar. You piece of shit liar. You lied to me. You pumped me full of alcohol all night. You knew I was just a kid.

I am so angry. So angry and so sad.

You pulled my pants down and shoved me onto one of the beds. I was terrified. I couldn't even move. You took your pants off and threw them on the floor. Then you got on top of me in the small barrack bed. The room smelled musty and the moonlight was coming through one of the windows. I'm not sure why I still remember that particular detail. I was just so detached from what was going on. Almost like it wasn't happening, like a horrible dream.

You started to kiss me, but it wasn't normal kissing. It was aggressive and hard. You mashed your lips and teeth against mine. I told you that it hurt, but you seemed to like that. Then you started to bite me. The more I said "No, I don't want to do this, I really have to go my cousin will be worried", the harder you bit me. You bit my cheeks, my lips, my chin. You were hurting me.

I wanted to hit you, to punch your lights out but I was terrified. I knew you were going to rape me but I was worried that if I fought back that you would kill me. You were so aggressive when I resisted in any way, so I just laid there like a ragdoll but you continued to bite me, my lips and face and then you put your forearm across my throat and pushed down. Your hands were everywhere, my breasts, down my panties, fingering my pussy and grabbing my ass.

My mind was racing, trying to figure out how to escape, when the words squeaked out as you were choking me "I have to pee"

"I have to pee", it's all I could think of. That was my one great strategy to save myself from this nightmare.

You told me to "hold it" but I said that I really had to go, that I had too much to drink and would pee my pants if I didn't go to the bathroom. I said that I would "be right back" and that we would "Fuck when I got back, I promise".

You seemed to like those words and let me go, but not before you said "Fine, but hurry the fuck up" and then bit me so hard on my bicep that you broke the skin on both the top and bottom from your teeth sinking into my arm. I still remember which arm, it was my left arm. I will never forget it for as long as I live. I didn't even know that human teeth could bite through skin but now I have experienced it firsthand. It burned like horrible fire and then you rolled over and let me up.

I leaned over the bed, looking for my shoes in the dark. I was in a panic, in terror mode. I couldn't even cry. It was then when I felt your pants, tossed on the floor.

You had a big wad of cash in your pocket. You kept flashing it all night whenever you would take it out to pay for drinks. Mr fucking big shot. Coming back to your flight school's anniversary party with an airline job, a "wife" and lots of cash. Liar.Bastard liar.

I knew that I had no money left and we were in the middle of nowhere, so my brain, like lighting, told me "Take the money, NOW, before he notices that it's taking you too long to put your shoes on" and so, I thrust my hand into your pants pocket and grabbed a big wad of cash.

I got up, pulled up my pants and said "I'll be right back". I calmly walked out of the room and shut the door quietly. Then I ran like a bat out of hell down the hall. There were auxilliary lights on in the hallway and I could make out a public phone hanging on the wall at the end of the long corridor. I sprinted down that hall, like a deer, like my life depended on it. I was terrified that any second I would feel your hands on me, terrified that you were right behind me. I swore that I could feel your breath breathing down my neck but I was alone in the dark hallway.

I reached the phone and called a cab. Why did I not call the police? I still don't know, even to this day. All I know is that I was traumatized. I just wanted to get away from you, not hang around for the police and then have to give a statement. I just wanted to go put as much distance in between us as possible. But I should of called the police god dammit. I fucking should of for what you did to me. I was only 17 and you were a grown man. I was so afraid. I felt ashamed, like the entire thing was my fault because I was only 17 and thought that I would be in trouble for drinking underage.

But, I will never forget the woman's voice that answered the phone for the cab company, it was like a lifeline through the horror of what had taken place in the barracks. I started crying and she asked me if I was "okay". I whispered "no" and could the cab please get there "as soon as possible?". I kept peering through that darkness down the hall as I whispered into the phone, afraid that you were coming after me. It was like a horror movie.

I hung up the phone quietly and crept over to the door and opened it as quietly as I could. It was so dark outside, with only a lone light in the parking lot. I didn't know what to do. All you had to do was open the door and you would see me standing outside and then god only knows what would of happened.

I ran to the back side of the building. I crouched down and hid. I prayed that you wouldn't come out to look for me. I prayed that there wasn't a back door that you could exit and come up behind me in the dark.

But you did come out to look for me, you bastard, you did come out. I sat there, crouched against the building, when I heard the door to the barracks creak open...

"Where are you, you fucking bitch?"

I think my heart actually stopped. I was literally frozen solid. I could not move.

I figured this was it, because where else was there for me to hide? We were in the middle of nowhere, the barracks building was the only thing on the property. I knew that as soon as you turned the corner, that you would find me crouching against the building.

And just as you walked outside and slammed the door behind you, a miracle happened.....a true miracle.

A car, full of pilots, pulled up the driveway to the barracks and got out. They were liquored up and jovial. They were laughing and talking as they crossed the parking lot and walked towards the barracks. They surrounded you and started talking and asking "Where the fuck did you run off to?". I could hear him ask angrily if any of them had "seen that bitch I was with?".

About 60 seconds later, the cab pulled up the barracks driveway and I ran from the side of the building to the cab like my life depended on it. I got in, slammed the door and screamed "Drive, drive, drive".

The cabbie seemed taken aback at a screaming, sobbing girl in his car but pulled out of the driveway just the same and took off. He kept asking if I needed help but I said no. I was offered help again, for the second time that night, and I didn't take it. My head was just so screwed up.

I got him to drop me off at a friend's house. I just couldn't go home and face my parents. I didn't even tell my friend what had happened. I didn't tell anyone, I kept quiet and suffered in silence for years. It wasn't until I got married years later and finally told my now ex husband about what had happened to me. And he didn't understand anyway, I almost wish I hadn't of told him. He never understood why I was afraid of men. Ever. He never got it. It pissed me off to no end that I went though something so traumatic and then to have the courage to finally tell someone years later and to get a reaction like that just killed me. I never told another person for 12 more years until I met Daddy.

And so now, what ended up happening after I left in the cab?.....

The wad of cash that I grabbed from that asshole's pocket had almost $400 in it. It was a lot of money to an 17 yr old. I went out and bought a stereo with the money but I always felt emotionally bad about it. I'm surprised my parents never questioned me about it more and where the money came from. The stereo was a constant reminder of that night and it sat in my room for years. But it never made up for what he did to me. There could of been $1000 in there and it wouldn't have made it any better.

The money is long gone now, but the memories of that night have stuck with me my whole adult life. The bite marks and bruises he put on my body took months to go away, especially the one on my arm. I had teeth marks and scratches on my face and scratch marks on my lips from where he bit me.

I told my parents I fell off my bike and wore long sleeved shirts for a long time. There was no way they'd believe the puncture marks and bruises on my arm came from a "bike accident".

I heard through the grapevine a few days after this incident that this pilot was "looking" for me. Apparently, he scoured the party guests the day after, telling people that I had stolen his wallet and his driver's license. Fucking liar. How about you tried to rape me and I stole your money, that's more like it.

I lived in fear for months afterwards, fearful that someone would tell him where I lived, or give him my phone number, etc. I actually did see him two months after the assault. It was in a parking lot. I was going to see a movie with some friends and we walked by him in the parking lot. I started freaking out because he stopped, turned around and watched us walk towards the movie theatre. I guess he was intimidated to approach me when I was surrounded by other people but I was so physically sick to my stomach that I had to go home.

This "thing" that happened has affected me for so many years, in so many different ways. I was never able to label it, until yesterday when my therapist called it "sexual assault". I have shied away from those words for years but she is 100% correct.

I was sexually assaulted.

I was 17 yrs old and was sexually assaulted by an older man who took advantage of me. You hear that, you fucking cock sucker? You sexually assaulted me. I have been afraid of men my entire adult life and it all started with you. YOU. You have done this to me. This has been one of the defining moments in my life. I started out that evening as one person and arrived home another.

Last year, at Halloween, Daddy and I went to a Halloween haunted house thing. It cost $50 for us to go and I was so excited to be there. It was meant to be scary and fun, there were actors dressed up as scary characters and it was their job to scare you. This one particular maze we walked through seemed okay, until I happened to turn around and saw this tall actor dressed up as "Jason" from "Friday the 13th" was directly behind me and had been following me through the maze the entire time. I started screaming and running as he put his hands out to grab me. I ran past Daddy and shoved him out of the way and started screaming and scrambling hysterically for the door. I cried like a baby when we got outside the maze and we actually had to leave and go home. I never told Daddy but I cried because that was the same feeling of terror I had when I ran down that corridor of the barracks, just trying to reach the phone before that cocksucker grabbed me and hurt me again.

I am still afraid of men, that has never changed. I feel vulnerable and fearful around them. I get scared when I am alone around strange men. The other day a strange man walked up the street, alone at night, towards my recreation property where I was camping with my kids. After a strange, brief exchange with him, I became so freaked out and fearful that I had to pack up and go back home to the safety of my home with Daddy. It has been several days but I still cannot stop thinking about that particular exchange. It made me feel vulnerable and so afraid. I feel that I am not able to defend myself. That I cannot be counted on the protect myself or my children if anything were to happen. And all because of this sexual assault that happened when I was 17 yrs old. I couldn't protect myself then, all I could muster up was "I have to go to the bathroom" and thank god that saved me but I feel such anger, even after all these years that I couldn't fight back, that I couldn't defend myself, that I was just frozen.

Don't say that I should have taken self defense, because I had previously studied judo and taekwondo. I had taken self defense classes with a bunch of RCMP officers. I should have know how to do something, but when it came down to crunch time, I did nothing at all. I was over powered by a grown man when I was 17 and I feel so powerless, even to this day.

This letter writing has been a painful process for me. I have cried almost the entire time I've been writing this. But it is good because I have never really sat down and just cried about it before. I have always buried the feelings and never talked about it. I have always felt such shame, so much shame. I have always felt that I was at fault somehow, but I know now that it was NOT MY FAULT. I was an 17 yr old kid. Just a stupid kid, who fell victim to a grown man.

I forgive you, 17 year old girl. It wasn't your fault and it's time to stop carrying this burden with you. It's time to put it down and walk away......

In my Head Right Now.....

2010-07-27T09:04:00.001-07:00

I feel lazy today. Lazy and uninspired. I have a whole week off from that hell hole I call work and I have not done one single thing that would be considered fun in any way, shape or form.

Bleh.

Right now I am watching reality tv. One of those "Court" shows with the generic "judge who has devoted their entire life to righting wrongs"...or something like that.

I'm a sucker for reality tv. I watch all the crap. The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Big Brother, Survivor, etc, etc, etc.... I love watching that stuff. I feel better when I see that other people have a worse, sucky life than I do :P

I have started eating healthy. It has only been a few days and honestly, I feel like I could lick the peanut butter jar. So awful. But this whole healthy eating plan is chock full of green leafy things and not much protein or carbs. All I have to say is that I better look fucking smoking hot by the end of this 3 step plan or I am going to choke someone out.

Food addiction is an awful thing. I suppose it could be worse. I could be a crack addict and then that wouldn't be quite as publicly accepted. HA!

I am an emotional eater. I mostly eat when I'm sad, stressed or bored. And I am bored right now. Bored out of my freaking tree. I should get my ass out of the house and go hiking...or at least clean the damn house. God, I hate cleaning the house. Probably my number 1 of "Things I hate to do". I would rather go to work, at least I'm making money then. Cleaning the house is a thankless job. I basically feel that "why should I clean the house on my days off when Daddy generally doesn't clean up when he is on his days off"?

Sigh...

I hate it when I feel like this. It's days like this where I do absolutely nothing because I have a million things running through my head. I feel like I can't focus on any ONE thing or idea. I feel unorganized, like I don't know where to start. I honestly think I have ADD sometimes.

I feel like I should clean up, go for a walk, have a snack, take up painting, organize the closet, mow the lawn, write more, do some laundry and it goes on and on....

Changes????

2010-03-05T07:39:00.000-08:00

Hey, long time no see ;)

I apologize that this post is all screwed up, but I wrote it on my Iphone and it looked okay there, but when I transfered it to Blogger and posted, I noticed that it looked craptacular. Apologies!!

So, there is no way that I could be expected to write when such fabulousness on the tv. I am not ashamed to say it. I was engulfed by the Olympics these last few weeks.   For 17 days, I was glued to the tv. It was awesome and now that it is all over, however, I am feeling some post Olympics depression. I call it POD, for short :P

So, what is new in my life since I last wrote?

Well, I am leaving my floor and the hell that is Oncology. However, I am going to a floor that will probably make most of you shake your heads and go "WTF"????

I am going to Palliative care. I know, I know but listen for a moment....

Palliative Care is verrrrry different from Oncology for a number of reasons. First off, you do not have a chance nor the time to develop a relationship with the patient for months and months beforehand. These people are ACTIVELY dying, meaning they won't be in my care for very long. This is part of what bothered me so much about Oncology. The fact that I KNEW these people who were dying. I knew their families, held their grandchildren, looked at family pictures, talked about their dreams and their regrets in life. I had time to forge a relationship with them, joke around with them daily and comfort them when they cried.

It is hellish to watch a patient like that slip away. A patient that  you say "I'll see you tomorrow' to when you're done your shift. They become like family and watching each and every one of them fall prey to cancer, over the years, has burned me to the ground.

Palliative care is different, it's a "Okay, you're dying, how sad.....wow, you're dead.....NEXT".

Perhaps that is a jaded view, but I feel increasingly jaded and hardened over the years. I had a patient that died several days ago on the Oncology floor. A woman that I liked greatly. I liked her entire family and would routinely joke around with them as I cared for her. It eased the tension that everyone felt as her condition worsened.

One day, she asked me if she was still alive and I told her that I had to go to the nurses station and get my "stick", so I could "poke her and find out". Sick, I know. But so appropriate under the horrible circumstances.

She died on me a few days ago,  on my shift. And as I called the family and then went in and helped prepare the body....I felt nothing.  Nothing, can you believe that???  I tagged this woman's body and felt NOTHING.

It scared me.  I feel like I am becoming a monster. A horrible, unfeeling monster. And the thought of it terrifies me. I am on my way to becoming like the 20 year veterans, those crusty old nurses who don't bat an eye when someone dies and I feel afraid to become so unfeeling that the death of a fellow human being doesn't phase me in the least.

I have actually been thinking of going back to school and doing something COMPLETELY different than nursing. The thought of leaving nursing scares me, though, because it is such a part of my identity. I am a carer and a fixer. I am good at looking after people.

I mean, being a NURSE is who I am, isn't it??

Olympic Pride......

2010-02-12T09:01:00.000-08:00

As some of you may know, I am Canadian.

And as most of you probably know, my country is hosting the Winter Olympics. The opening ceremonies start tonight, but in Canada, the coverage started first thing this morning. I have been glued to my tv set ever since, watching the Olympic torch travel throughout Vancouver, on it's way to the Olympic stadium.

I am filled with so much patriotic pride this morning and cried several times as I watched the torch pass from a breast cancer survivor to Terry Fox's father.

I am not sure whether the story of Terry Fox is known around the world, but in Canada he is a national hero and symbol of courage and determination. He has been dead for almost 30 years but his memory lives on in all of us. Ask any Canadian and they will tell you of the story of a young man stricken with bone cancer. They will tell you of the 5, 373 km marathon that this young man ran across Canada, on a prosthetic leg, to raise money for cancer research. He inspired a nation.

Terry Fox ultimately had to give up his fight when it was discovered that his cancer had metastasized to his lungs and he never realized his dream of running from one end of Canada to the other. Terry passed away several months after he was forced to stop his run. But every year, thousands of Canadians pick up his legacy and run in the Terry Fox Run to raise money for Cancer Research.

I am so VERY proud to be a Canadian today.

Possibilities.....

2010-02-11T11:39:00.000-08:00

So, I am very close to resigning from my job.

:O

Shocked much?

I have already done so, informally, but need to submit my formal resignation to my nurse manager. It feels good, but I am scared. I have applied for 2 other positions already and am meeting with the hospital's human resources manager next week.

I made the decision that I had finally had enough yesterday when I was at work. It was actually a good shift, for once. We weren't understaffed, all the patients were stable, no one was in the process of dying. It was, by measure of what normally goes on there... great!

So, what was it that spoiled this great shift and made me start pounding the nail into the coffin on my oncology nursing career? It was an innocent comment made by one of my colleagues. A comment about the limited amount of time that one of my patients had left to live. We were discussing his chemo protocol and she turned to me and said "Well, I don't know why they're even bothering...he's dying anyway". It's not that her take on the situation was incorrect. This patient WAS dying. But it hit me like a ton of bricks. I don't know why, but in that moment I saw that I could work in Oncology for the rest of my life and it would never get better. My patients would always die. I would always be stressed out. I would always go home and cry in the privacy of my own home.

My stomach just churned after that conversation. I had nausea for the rest of the day and actually had several bouts of diarrhea. TMI, I know, but I find it particularly telling that I routinely have diarrhea multiple times a shift when I am at work yet when I am at home on my days off, this never plagues me. I have several colleagues with the same physical afflictions while at work. It is often unspoken, as we are supposed to "suck it up" and act like machines with no feeling while we are working. But in private moments, I have heard of my fellow nurses losing weight, having their hair fall out, developing insomnia and depression....and all from the stress of working in Oncology.

I have no idea what I'm going to do now. I will submit my resignation soon and then god knows what I am going to do next.

I pray that I am making the right decision for myself, my family, my sanity and for my career.

She's a Girl with a Problem.....

2010-02-10T07:03:00.000-08:00

I am trying to make a "big life decision" but am unsure how to go about it. And so, I just sit on the problem and do nothing at all about it.

The problem is, that I am deeply unhappy with my job. I am an nurse who works in Oncology. Every time I tell people that, they go "Ohhhhhhh" and then say "That must be so hard".

Well, yes it's hard, godammit!! Why do you think I feel like my job is slowly sucking the life out of me? I don't sleep anymore and suffer from insomnia. I have become a hypochondriac who sees "cancer" in every single physical symptom. I go home at night and cry over the horribly sad stories of my patients and their fate.

It's just awful.

I want to leave my job, but I am afraid. As unhappy as I am there, I am afraid and the fear keeps me from doing anything about it.

I have never been anything other than a "Nurse". As an adult, I have performed no other job. I feel like nursing is part of my identity. I am a good nurse too. I love my patients and I am good to them. And I love my coworkers. We are like a family. They are a good bunch of girls.

Oncology nursing requires a certain personality type and I know if I transferred to another floor, that I would not get the wonderful coworkers that have now. I have floated throughout the hospital, on occasion, and found this to be true.

So, the problem is....what do I do? Should I leave my job? Should I stay? Should I just suck it up and take a different position on another floor in the hospital?

I have even entertained going back to school and doing something completely unrelated to my field. In only four years, I could be doing something completely different and would be away from nursing for good.

I am so confused. I just don't know what to do.

Daddy keeps telling me to "Go find what makes you want to get out of bed in the morning". The problem is...I have no idea what that is :(

I'm sick of dying people....

2010-02-03T08:33:00.000-08:00

I'm sick of the death that surrounds me daily at work. I love my patients, lord, I really do. But they are killing me. My job is killing me.

Here I am, sitting here. Unable to sleep. Unable to function. I have been sick more times these past few months than I care to admit. It's like it's my body's way of saying "Hey, I can't take this anymore. I need a break".

I don't know if I need to leave the hospital entirely or if I just need to leave the Oncology floor.

Those cards of thanks and encouragement and the little gifts brought in by the families of my patients just aren't enough anymore. At one time, I found them to be a real morale booster, but now it seems like nothing helps. Not even the "thanks so much dear, you're an angel here on earth" from my patients.

I just feel like I'm dying. All I think about is death. All I'm surrounded with is death.

Death, sickness, suffering. People lingering on and on before death comes to claim them. I often feel like the Angel of Death, more than an "Angel here on Earth".

It's horrifying.

I feel like calling my doctor and having her put me off on stress leave. I feel like I'm going crazy. Maybe I should drive myself to the hospital and have them admit me to the psych ward.

I need a plan. I need to figure out what to do with my life. I am deeply unhappy.

I don't know where to start, who to call. I just feel like I'm freaking out.

Help me....

Mommy Dearest.....

2010-01-30T11:33:00.000-08:00

I'm watching Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew.

Wow, and I thought that *I* had problems. Holy fuck, I have had a pretty shitty life, but I have never fallen as low as some of these people. I'm one of those people that people say to me"Wow, you're so strong". You know what though? I don't feel very strong. I frequently feel weak and defeated but there is something inside me that makes me get back up every single time and keep going. I am a fighter, dammit!!

Fawwwwwk.

So, I haven't been writing much lately. I have been working, going to therapy and trying to get some order back into my life. Therapy has been good. I have been "letting it all hang out" with the therapist and it is a good thing. My last session, we talked about my mother.

What a loaded topic that is.

My mother and I have a "sister" relationship as opposed to a "mother-daughter" relationship. How I long for a mother. I long for an older woman who cares for me, who guides me, who accepts me and is proud of me and my accomplishments. I long for a mother who loves me rather than one who competes with me. It is a pain that cuts right down to the centre of my being. You have no idea how raw the pain is. I have always longed for a mother and the relationship that is supposed to come from that.

I have always felt like an orphan. Like a child reared without the love and guidance of an older, caring adult. I have always been searching. Searching for a mother and searching for a father.

I have found a Daddy, and despite the crappy "relationship" things that go on between us, he fills up that wanting for me. The wanting I have for a father. Daddy is older than me. He takes care of me. He does loving things for me, which I tend not to comment on here because I typically use my blog to vent about the crappy things.

I should post an ad "Wanted....Mom for emotional support and caring"

Life is a hassle sometimes, ya know?

2010-01-14T08:11:00.000-08:00

I am eating peaches.

Why, you ask? Why the hell not, I say. It is winter here in the Great White North and eating peaches reminds me of better days to come.

I finally got the closing papers on that piece of land that I bought last fall. It is near the water and I CANNOT wait to get out there and veg out. Of course, it hasn't got a damn thing built on it. It is just land. But it is MY land. I don't care if I have to pitch a damn tent on it, I AM going to get some damn peaceful vegging time.

I want to hike and listen to the ocean. I want to be still inside.

I am going to the doctor in a few weeks. I have been having pain in one of my breasts for several months. I am an Oncology nurse...so you know what that means. I am paranoid to death that it is breast cancer.

I really need a new job. I need to transfer out of there and do something less stressful. I checked the board last night but there is nothing that appeals to me. I thought about working in the OR as a scrub nurse, but I just don't know. It seems so impersonal, but maybe that is what I need right now. Impersonal +less stress = happy Kaii.

Anyway, I have enough personal stress to fill up my time. I don't need anyone else's added onto the heap. I cannot take it anymore. I went to see my therapist last week and she told me that I need to take a "Stress leave" from work before I have a nervous breakdown.

Maybe it is a good idea....

Sun Salutation.....

2010-01-07T19:42:00.000-08:00

Daddy and I have taken up doing yoga together. Actually, I decided it was something I wanted to do and he suprisingly agreed to do it with me. I hope he keeps it up. It was nice to have him there with me, calm and breathing while we did yoga together. I felt a real connection to him. My ex husband NEVER would of done anything like that with me. But he was a giant douche bag.

The universe is so strange. Sometimes you get the things you want, other times you get the things you need.

So, life in my universe, is complicated, as usual.

I am back in therapy because I was getting good and ready to have a nervous breakdown. I am stressed out from work, my kids, my ex, my stormy relationship with Daddy, my inability to get pregnant since my surgery and pretty much everything else in my life that isn't going exactly as planned.

I was even considering going back to school and leaving nursing for good. I mean, come on, if you're going to have a nervous breakdown, you better make it a good one.

I have no concrete idea of what I would like to do, of course. Just anything but nursing. Circus clown, perhaps?

Some days I don't think that I want to be a nurse anymore. Some days I think that if I have to deal with one more sick, suffering and dying oncology patient....that I am just going to lose my fucking mind. You have no idea what a toll that plays on someone's mental health to have to deal with oncology nursing day in and day out. The faces of those patients never leave my head. I never forget their faces or their stories. Never.

Our floor frequently get letters, christmas cards, gifts, chocolates, donations, etc from the families of deceased oncology patients and they always start off their letters the same way...."You girls probably don't remember me but you looked after my Dad, Mother, Husband, Wife, Sister, Brother, etc. and I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done. You are truly angels", etc, etc.

It kind of makes me laugh. I don't think families realize how profoundly affected we are from caring for their loved ones.

Of COURSE we remember you. We remember the initial horror at diagnosis. We remember holding your hand while you wept. We remember holding your family up, being a source of support and information, an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. We remember the trials of chemo and radiation. We remember the hope and fear. We remember the remission and the JOY, praise god, the JOY. We remember the day it came back and how there was a secondary site. We remember the horrible word "metastatic". We remember your pain and suffering.

We never forget.

I walked into a patient's room last week. A patient who was waiting for results. Did she just have pneumonia, pleural effusion or was it lung cancer? She must of asked me 10 or 15 times that day if I had heard anything, if I knew anything, if her oncologist or hospitalist was around. And you know what? I lied to her. I told her I hadn't heard anything, that I didn't know anything, that her oncologist hadn't been in to do his rounds yet.

But it was a lie. All a lie. I had read her pathology report that morning, as soon as it was faxed up to us. She had lung cancer and I knew it. But I lied to her all day until the oncologist arrived that night to break the news to the family. So, word FROM the wise...never believe your nurse when she says that she doesn't know your test results. The nurse is one person that knows EXACTLY what is going on with you, your condition and your prognosis.

But it is not our place to tell you, unfortunately. So, we hide behind our nurse mask. What a shitty fucking burden to carry, you know?

Cripes I hate my fucking job sometimes. Okay, that's not quite accurate. It's more like "I hate my fucking job A LOT of the time".
n
Hopefully counselling goes well and I get my life back in order soon. I am tired of being off balanced and constantly trying to stay upright.

Anti Christmas

2009-12-04T07:06:00.000-08:00

Holy shit, it's December.

How the hell does it sneak up on us like that? Wasn't it was just October, like yesterday, and now here we are 3 weeks away from Christmas.

I am feeling decidedly "un-Christmasy" this year. I don't know why. I was quite the go getter at first and have had all my Christmas shopping done for weeks. But now, I just kind of feel like "Meh" and don't really seem to care anymore. The presents have actually been sitting in my closet ever since I bought them.

The Christmas tree has been up for a week, undecorated. I haven't even put the lights on it. My Christmas sprit has just got up and left.

Bah Humbug!

You see, the thing is, I am not religious at ALL. So, all this "birth of Christ" crappola doesn't mean a whole lot to me. I used to be somewhat religious, once upon a time. But that time is long gone. So, because of my "past" religiousness, I actually have a Nativity set and put it up with the kids a few days ago.

Not one single kid, of mine or Daddy's, knew who any of the characters were. Not even baby Jesus. Part of me felt a little bit guilty about that and then part of me felt good that I hadn't filled my children's heads with mythical nonsense.

Yes, I truly am one of those who do not believe. Somedays, I wish I did though because the realization that this life is ALL there is, is quite depressing and sad. To think that all we are, are just apes whose brains grew too big, is truly depressing to me. To believe in an afterlife, a place where you will be rejoined forever with your loved ones is just too far fetched for me....but I wish it were true.

I have recently been quite sick and perhaps that accounts for my lack of Christmas cheer. Sick, as in requiring the services of a surgeon. I have been quite bleedy, full of pain, sedated and whiny.....and Daddy has handled it all like a champ.

I believe that, quite possibly, I am the worst sick person on the planet. I detest being sick. I feel like I am supposed to be the caretaker, not the patient. Consequently, I am filled with guilt that someone else has to look after me and I analyze my every single symptom to death in an attempt to get better quicker. I also refuse to take enough pain medication because I am terrified of becoming addicted to pain killers. Consequently, I wake up in the middle of the night, riddled with uncontrolled pain and finally give in and take the medication I should of taken in the first place. And then I lay there for an hour and whimper while I wait for the medication to take effect. I am just horrid.

I do like it when Daddy takes care of me though. It really feeds into that Daddy/little girl thing we have together. He makes me soup, gives me my medicaion, rubs me. It is very comforting.

He is not all bad, you know. I generally portray him to be a monster on here. And sometimes, it's true...he really is a giant ass. I have never lied about anything that he has done. It is all the truth.

Daddy is sometimes hurt or upset by the things I say about him, here on my blog. But the truth is, he is not all bad. Sometimes, he is quite wonderful. The chemistry between us is something I have never experienced with another human being. I had never had such chemistry before. It is explosive and seems to spill over into other aspects of our relationship. Everything is intense. The love, the hate, the sex, the arguing.

We talk very openly about how we feel and I am frequently surprised by how often Daddy will come out and tell me what I'm thinking or how I'm feeling, even before I open my mouth. He is very intuitive sometimes.

He does have some really wonderful qualities and that is what makes me stay when things aren't so good.

2009-10-28T06:54:00.001-07:00

You know, people always put so much faith in doctors. "Doctors are so intelligent", "Doctors will tell us what to do", "Doctors will save us".

And you know what? Sometimes you're right. But from working as a nurse for so long, I have come to see a different side of the coin.

Doctors are pompous. Doctors disagree. Doctors are mean to patients. And Doctors are frequently wrong.

I saw something take place yesterday, between one of my patients and a doctor, that I have been unable to shake out of my head.

His callousness and basic disregard for dignity and privacy appalled me. It has been 24hrs and I am still fuming over it.

He came in, handled her pain and cancer riddled body like a slab of meat. Performed a procedure that required pain medication and freezing beforehand, without any. Did not pull her curtain to perform this procedure, then left the room with her exposed to the waist. He also did not clean up after the procedure and left everything just lying in her bed. He didn't even cover her wounds and she bled like a stuck pig all over the bed.

I am so angry, I am almost vibrating. The disregard that doctor showed for this poor patient, just sickens me.

I walked into her room to find her sobbing and bleeding and I wanted to cry too, but I sucked it up, dried her tears, got her some pain medication, cleaned and bandaged her wounds and changed her blood soaked sheets. There was nothing else I could do. He is a doctor and I am a nurse. I am the low man on the totem pole. There is no recourse for his behaviour. What are they going to do? Fire him because he's a complete and utter ass? Not on your life.

Unfortunately, there is generally no time for a nurse to cry her little eyes out with the patient....because that is exactly what I felt like doing with this poor woman. But, there is only time to react to the situation and help the patient.

Most nurses cry after the fact, when the trauma is over. We cry in the hallway outside the patients room, we cry in the presence of another nurse who more than likely will probably cry with us because they understand, we cry in the bathroom or nurses station but it is almost an unwritten rule among nurses that you don't cry in front of the patient.

I have found that over the years, that this has gotten easier and easier. Sometimes, I sit back and think of all the trauma and sickness and death that I've seen and wonder if I've become a machine because I am not curled into the fetal position.

I wrote several months ago about a young woman with cancer. I had to shave her head because her mother couldn't bring herself to do it. It was the last and only time it was done because she died several weeks later. Although it was difficult for me, I feel proud that I was able to do that one small task for her. I think about that day a lot and how I held it together until after my shift, then I cried my eyes out because I knew her prognosis was poor and there was nothing left that they could do for her.

What a miserable fucking job I have.

I have touched death so many times. I contemplate my own more than I care to admit.

Well kiddies, it is time to get going and face the day. Death waits for no one....and neither does my dog because she'll piss on the floor in a heartbeat if I don't let her out quick enough :P

-Posted by Kaii using BlogPress on the IPhone

Why can't I marry my IPhone?

2009-10-22T07:51:00.000-07:00

I mean really, it's fun and reliable. It entertains me when I am waiting in line. It keeps me up to date with my friends Facebook updates. It has useful applications, like this BlogPress one....and it's free!!!! Who doesn't love FREE, I ask you!?!

Expect more useless posts in the future, just like this one right here. Because I am plugged in now, baby. I've got my finger on the pulse of technology and it's screaming "Blog, Kaii. Blog your little heart out".

And I shall heed it's cries and blog for the good people of the world.

Hallelujah IPhone!!!

I think I need a hobby, or perhaps a Twitter account. OMG, I am a freaking genius!!

And this post has all been brought to you *without* any coffee this morning. It's all natural Kaii. Pure and unfiltered.

On a completely unrelated sidenote, I have done away with my email link on my profile page. Actually, I have done away with that email account entirely. It feels good to have done so. I felt that it embodied who I "turned into" as opposed to who I "really am".

Anyway, gotta run. Here's "cheers" to me and my very first IPhone post.

Cheers!! :P

-Posted by Kaii using BlogPress on the IPhone

Thank you M. S., whoever you are.....

2009-09-03T06:24:00.000-07:00

You know, sometimes I get the most wonderful email from my readers.

Sometimes it's people asking for advice about their love lives, sometimes it's people who just want to say that they like my blog and sometimes it's men that want to have an affair on their wives. BUT once in awhile I'll get a completely selfless email written for the purpose of easing the suffering of another human being.

And for that, I would like to thank you M. S.

For the me, the part of his email that touched me the most was the ending, when he wrote:

"You faced a painful situation and made a difficult decision. Your love for the baby is apparent. I suspect the baby is saying "I understand. I forgive you, mom. Please forgive yourself. You do not have to carry a burden of shame and guilt with you now or for the rest of your life." Kaii, listen to the words of that baby and extend to yourself the same compassion and forgiveness that I suspect you would give to another woman."

Just reading those words "I understand. I forgive you Mom. Please forgive yourself" was immensely healing for me because those are the words that I so desperately wanted to hear. I wanted the baby to forgive me and I wanted to forgive myself but I couldn't because I felt that it was all my fault. I couldn't let go of this pain that I have been carrying around with me since I had to make that horrible decision. And for some reason, just hearing people say "It's not your fault, you know. This wasn't your fault" just wasn't quite enough because I firmly believe that it WAS my fault.

So, for me to finally hear those words "I forgive you", was an enormously powerful thing because it didn't confirm or deny that I was at fault for what happened. But it absolved the guilt that I've been carrying. To me it said "It doesn't matter if it was your fault or not because I understand why you had to do what you did and I forgive you for it." It's weird that the wording would matter to me so much. But this whole time, all I was searching for was forgiveness. I just wanted someone to tell me that the baby forgave me for what I've done to him.

It's kind of like when you go to confession, I guess.

I thank you very much to M. S. who took the time out of their day to write this email. It has made a great difference to me and how I view this whole situation.

But most importantly, it has made a great difference in the way I feel about myself....and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Back to life, back to reality......

2009-09-01T06:20:00.000-07:00

I have finally returned to work. I knew I was ready as there was very little dread associated with it, like there was a week or two ago . This time, I just felt like "It's time to go back" and it was. Several weeks ago, I was too raw, emotionally and physically, but things have almost resolved back to normal with my body and I have started the process of "moving on".

There are several things I have not shared with my readers, in part because I wanted to protect my privacy but also because I felt that putting what has been going on into words, would it make it more "real" somehow. Part of me has buried those memories because they have just been too horrible for me to face and so, I am like the ostrich with his head in the sand.

But, I am ready to share these thoughts with you now, because I did so upon my return to work with my fellow nurses, who I knew would understand the severity and implications of the situation, and I found that it made me feel better to talk about it and get it out.

So, I told you that I had a miscarriage, and that is true in part. What I did not tell you was that, in reality, I had a confirmed ectopic pregnancy. What is the difference, you ask? The difference is that during a miscarriage, the women's body rejects the embryo generally because of some kind of chromosomal abnormality. It is kind of like nature's way of ensuring that we have the healthiest offspring possible, I guess. But, an ectopic pregnancy is a different animal entirely. An ectopic pregnancy is where a perfectly healthy, normal baby implants in the fallopian tubes, because it cannot get out and implant itself in the uterus. In my case, the baby could not get out due to leftover scar tissue in my fallopian tubes, from the surgery I had to restore my fertility.

It is a dangerous position to be in because what happens is the baby grows and grows until it finally ruptures your fallopian tube and causes massive internal bleeding, which in turn can cause death.

Sooo, even though it was futile, I was hoping and praying that maybe some miracle would happen to somehow "fix" this situation. I wanted to save this perfect baby that was just in the wrong place.

Now I'm crying again.

It bothers me to know that there was nothing wrong with this baby. That is was perfect and good, but was just in the wrong spot. I think I would have felt better if it were just a regular miscarriage because then I could of held on to the fact that the embryo was probably sick or diseased.

What happened next is probably something that will remain with me for the rest of my life. I'm sure I will feel the guilt of the decision I had to make, until I am old and gray.

There are only three possible things that can be done for an ectopic pregnancy. #1 is "Watchful Waiting", where your blood is monitored every 2 days for pregnancy hormones. The hope with watchful waiting is that nature will take it's course and resolve the pregnancy on it's own without any additional intervention. #2 is "Surgery", where they go in and remove the tube, thus eliminating any chance for tubal rupture and hemorrhage. It also removed your tube entirely and reduces your chance for further pregnancies by half. #3 is "Methotrexate". This option scares the shit out of me. Methotrexate is a type of Chemotherapy. It disrupts rapid cell division and kills the baby. Good times.

I immediately chose option #1, because I was hoping for that miracle. But when things got to the point where it was dangerous and I could of bled to death at anytime, it was time for me to chose another option. The doctors wanted me to chose #3, I didn't want to and refused and so we waited another week. It got bad enough during the course of this week that I eventually gave in and picked #3 :( I was in constant pain, I had been bleeding for 3 weeks, I couldn't work and I would lie awake at night and wonder if this was the night that my tube would rupture and I would bleed to death in my sleep.

It was time.

So, basically, I was still pregnant up to a week ago and then I took 2 shots of chemo and killed my baby. A big part of me feels like a murderer. Like, I agreed to kill my own baby, so that I could live. I feel like a horrible, horrible person and I am so ashamed.

And so now, I have written these words out for everyone to see, and it is real to me now. There is no more hiding, this is what really happened. It is time to let the tears fall and grieve the loss of this beautiful, perfect little soul that died so that I could live.

I feel consummed with sadness and guilt.

Chillaxing.....

2009-08-19T10:48:00.000-07:00

I JUST had a cold shower. It was heavenly as we are currently in the middle of a heat wave and I'm sweating like a whore in church.

I love that saying, "Sweating like a whore in church". Daddy says it all the time. He's quite hilarious and frequently says unexpected things that make me burst out laughing. Some day I should create a blog dedicated to all the funny things he says. I think he's hilarious.

Daddy's parents are both French and as a young adult, he lived life on the road with his band. So, we had VERY different upbringings and experiences as we grew up. It seems like nothing fazes Daddy. He's just so mellow and views everything in life with a twisted "French/English, carefree, rock star" type attitude. Some days it's infuriating and then some days I find his take on life refreshing and quite humorous. I also love it when he tells me raunchy french swear words :P According to Daddy, he can't help it as "Ben, c'est mon heritage", meaning "It's my heritage". So, what can you do? My mother is also French and as a kid, I remember her frequently saying "Maudit seigneur", "Tabarnac", "Colisse". I had no idea what it meant, but it sure sounded cool.

When I grew up, I decided to go look them up.....and apparently, my mother swears like a sailor.

So, I went back to work the other day and it was shiteous. My miscarriage was the topic "du jour". I taken aside and asked "Are you okay?" several times before I even set foot in the nurses station. So, lots of opportunities to relive the horror. Nothing like revisiting the source of your soul crushing pain, over and over AND over again.

Back to the grind....

2009-08-17T05:02:00.000-07:00

I got my tattoo, it hurt quite a bit, but the swelling has gone down a lot bit. I had one big puffy foot for a few days but now it is starting to itch, so healing time begins :P

I really love this tattoo and what it signifies. It means a lot to me. To me, it's like my lost baby is always with me. I had one cunt acquaintance say that my new tattoo was "cute but is it going to be cute when you're 90?" I felt like punching her in the throat.

I have not told anyone outside of immediate family about what has happened, in relation to Daddy and I losing the baby. I just can't it is too painful. I have cried so many tears already and I know that the barrage of questions and condolences would set me bawling again.

I feel weepy today already. I am set to go to work in a couple of hours and I just don't want to face my coworkers. I'm sure that everyone knows by now as I had to go to the hospital when I miscarried and then had to speak to my nurse manager because I would not be coming into work for a bit. So, in other words, it is guaranteed that EVERYONE I work with knows at this point.

I don't want their sympathy, but I really don't want the uncomfortable silence that I am bound to encounter too. Some people don't know WHAT to say in situations like this, so they say nothing at all. Honestly, I'm not sure which one is worse.

I am not prepared to go back to work. Emotionally, I don't feel ready to go back and deal with the day to day crap but mostly I don't feel ready to back and deal with the special emotional needs of patients with cancer. I am suffering inside myself, how can I be strong for them? I fear that I will be a bawling, useless piece of crap once they start unloading their sadness and suffering on me, instead of a comforting, supportive, strong, unrelenting warrior against cancer.

I am praying that everything goes alright. I don't even know who I'm praying to :(

Tattoo me, baby....

2009-08-14T04:49:00.000-07:00

I am getting a new tattoo today. After I lost the baby, I felt like I needed something on me that I could remember him by..I just happened to call up the best tattoo guy I know (and also the guy who has done most of my work) and he just happened to have a cancellation for today. I was quite happy as his next opening was almost 2 months away.

So, today is the day, and I am shitting my pants for some reason. Normally, I am not such a wuss when it comes to tattoos as I have several very large ones already. But here I am, awake since the crack of dawn.

I am getting inked on a notoriously painful spot and I am extremely nervous. I am even thinking of using Emla cream. I know, I know....I am breaking the tattoo code, which consists of 1. "No crying in the tattoo parlour" and 2. "Suck it up wussy and endure the pain".

Tattoo parlours and tattoo artists are funny. They have a culture all their own. I remember when I got my first tattoo several years ago. They looked at me like I had 2 heads because I don't really look like the tattoo type...at all. A "newbie", if you will. They even made me pay a substantial downpayment to "hold" my spot. I figure it's because they were SURE I would chicken out as I wanted quite a large piece done for my first time.

Go big or go home, I say :P

Anyway, now, I have a lot of tattoos, even more than Daddy. I have street cred now when I get tattooed. No longer am I an "outsider", now I'm just one of them.

So, today, I am going and getting another one to add to my growing collection. It seems I always get a tattoo when I am in some sort of intense emotional pain. Some say that people use tattoos as a way to raise their endorphin level when they are depressed. Who knows? I just know that I have suffered a huge loss and I want a way to remember the baby. I know from talking to several other women who have lost their babies, that it is something you never forget, no matter how many years have passed.

So, wish me luck, and I hope to hell I can handle the pain.

I am off to the tattoo parlour....

Can it be possible......

2009-08-12T05:25:00.000-07:00

That I have the shittiest fucking life EVER???

I went and got my pregnancy hormone results yesterday and I should of known what was coming when the doctor brought me into the Gyno examining room and asked me to "sit down". Normally in a Gyno room, it's take off your pants, get up on the table and spread em.

But in my self induced "hope" bubble, I just didn't see that. So, when she delivered the horrible, crushing news that my pregnancy hormones had decreased and I was miscarrying, it hit me like a ton of bricks and I just stared at her in shock. I demanded to know the numbers, my brain just didn't register the truth.

Words flew from my mouth as the tears leaked from my eyes.

"How can this be? The numbers were going up, weren't they? I just don't understand. Why did this happen? Is this going to keep happening if we keep trying? Are you sure there's no way the numbers can still go up?"

I just felt so full of hope and to have that torn away from me was excruciating. On Sunday, when I was bleeding like crazy....I expected the news to be bad but when we went that day and the news was sort of good, it gave me hope, godamnit, it gave me hope that things would be okay. I said I wouldn't let the hope consume me because it would only give me further to fall if things went bad later on. But, I guess, when hope is all you have, sometimes you hold onto it with both hands.

I am completely devastated.

I feel like I had a perfect little life in my hands and I lost it. Like Daddy and I made something that was perfect and good....and I killed it. I killed my baby. My body killed it. My traitorous woman body. I am a failure as a woman and a mother.

Daddy keeps telling me that it is not my fault, but I am still filled with guilt and shame. The guilt and shame I can handle, I guess, but it is the sadness and loneliness that overwhelms me.

I suppose most men don't understand this concept of loneliness, when a child has been lost, as they don't carry children in their bodies. But carrying a life inside you changes who you are. You take better care of yourself, you do things that you wouldn't normally do for yourself because it is "for the baby". Being pregnant gives you the feeling of not being alone anymore. Someone else is there with you constantly and is present in all your conscious decisions. It is not a matter of "I" anymore, it is now "Us". Women talk to their unborn babies, they stroke their stomachs lovingly. There is an emotional and physical bond between a mother and her child. The baby is always present, present in the mother's thoughts and in the mother's actions.

I talked to my baby. As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I was flooded with the urge to bond with it, to love it. There was the two of us.....and now that has been ripped away and there is just me.

I feel so lonely. I could picture the baby in my mind. I could picture myself holding it and loving it ( you have no idea how much that bothers me now). I could picture it's 10 tiny fingers and toes and soft fuzzy hair. I could picture myself feeding it from my breasts. In my heart, I felt that it was a little boy and after having several children, I have never been wrong yet. But now, I will never know. I will never hold him. He will only live in my imagination.

Life was so full of possibilities and now, there is nothing. There are only tears. How many tears can a mother cry? I don't know, but I fear they will never stop. I fear that I will carry this loss with me forever.

Last night, I dreamt that I was very pregnant. I dreamt that my stomach was swollen and round. I could feel the baby moving inside of me as I talked to him. God, I was so happy. So content and peaceful inside.

I feel like a part of me has died.

Holy fuck.....

2009-08-11T10:01:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone one!!

It's me, Kaii. I am blogging from my Iphone,which is a first for me. I am sitting around at the hospital for the past two and a half hours, waiting for my pregnancy hormone lab results.

Holy fucking boring. I feel like I am going to completely lose it if I have to keep listening to this old woman, who is sitting next to me. She keeps talking about the "wonderful bowel movement" that she had yesterday. My god, why do some old people talk so fucking loud? It makes me feel like pushing her damn wheelchair down the stairs

I know, I'm a cruel and heartless bitch. What can I say?

I am just in no mood right now, I guess. I having been sitting here, waiting nervously, for these stupid results. I am expecting mediocre news. I expect that my hormones have increased but that doesn't mean that it isn't an ectopic pregnancy...so all that means is more blood work, more waiting and a transvaginal ultrasound when my Hcg is high enough to be able to see the baby and where the hell it is in my womb.

Fucking wonderful

Daddy was here for most of the morning but he eventually had to leave and go back to work. I completely understood as he had Already taken a major chunk out of his day to be there for me. Now he will be home later tonight so he can make up the time he lost this morning.

God, another old lady just walked by me wearing horrible old lady perfume. I think she had a bath in it this morning. One thing about being pregnant is that your sense of smell is heightened andthe smell of perfume, for some reason, makes me sick to my stomach.

So, not much else to report.... Just sitting here and freaking waiting, waiting,waiting.

I guess I'll just sit here and continue people watching..... I think a huge chunk of this post just got erased. Well fuck me.

Don't open the champagne yet......

2009-08-09T15:12:00.000-07:00

That is what the Specialist told Daddy and I today.

I am still bleeding from the crotch like a stuck pig, but I am also still pregnant. My pregnancy hormones have increased over the last 2 days...so who the fuck knows what is going on. I sure as hell don't and neither does the doctor.

In a nutshell...I could still be having a miscarriage -OR- I could be having a tubal pregnancy where they end up giving you a hefty shot of Methotrexate to end the pregnancy before your tube ruptures and you could potentially hemorrhage to death- OR- things could progress normally and I could have a baby in the next 9 months....who the fuck knows.

I just feel so confused.

I was sure I was going to hear horrible news today and had been crying my fucking eyes out all weekend. The thought of losing my baby is truly devastating to me. I felt so hopeless. The sadness was overwhelming, I could feel it right down to the marrow of my bones and I spent most of the weekend curled up in the fetal position on our bed. Daddy bought me a stuffed Piglet and I held and stroked it as I cried. I was pretty pathetic, puffy eyed and snotty, but Daddy still loved me and rubbed my back a lot.

But now...

I just don't know what to think. Should I be happy? Should I be sad?

I am just confused.

I am afraid to be happy because things could still turn ugly any minute, and then I would be even more devastated. I am afraid to be positive and feel uplifted. It only makes it further to fall when things go to crap.

I am having more blood work done in 2 days. They are looking for my pregnancy hormones to keep rising, otherwise I get the dreaded "Methotrexate". I am scared to death. It is a chemo drug. They give it to people with cancer. The side effects can be quite devastating.

I am so scared on all fronts.

I wish I were religious, so I could have something to hold onto. But all I have is Science....and she can be a cold and cruel mistress sometimes.

*sigh*

I think I need ice cream...no, the baby needs ice cream. And I AM pregnant after all(at least for now), so I think I will go get some.

Send baby dust and positive vibes my way ;)

I have no cheeky title......

2009-08-07T10:32:00.000-07:00

I'm not really sure what to write, right now. A lot has happened this morning and I am feeling dazed, confused, afraid and sad.

"First things" first....

I am pregnant.

I'll give you a second to digest that.

Ready? Okay, "Second thing"....

I may not be pregnant for very long.

Basically, I have not had a period in forever and gave up pregnancy testing as it always told me that I wasn't pregnant. But then I started spotting 4 days ago and then, last night, that spotting was accompanied by intense abdominal cramps on one side of my abdomen.

This morning, the pain was so bad that I drove myself to the hospital to get checked out. Nothing like going to your place of employment and turning into a sobbing mess in front of the people you work with. Yessir, nothing like it.

After being poked numerous times for blood, had an iv inserted, had a massive shot right in my ass cheek, urine samples, pelvic exam, abdominal ultrasound, etc, I was finally told that: A. I am indeed pregnant B. Need more blood work in two days to establish if my HCG levels are increasing or decreasing C. I could potentially have an ectopic pregnancy D. I could be miscarrying right now E. The pregnancy fairy could wave her little wand and everything could turn out just Jim Dandy afterall.

I was so upset by all this news that as soon as the doctor left the room, I cried like a baby and continued crying for the next 3 hours. I called Daddy, who was at work, and he rushed to the hospital to be with me. And then I cried some more when he got there. Then I was discharged from Emerg with instructions that my OBGYN wants me to have more bloodwork drawn on Sunday and then to see him right afterwards....on a Sunday. You know damn well that things are not good when your doctor wants to see you on a Sunday.

I then took the elevator up to my floor to tell my nurse manager that I had been put off for several days...and then I cried again like a sobbing fool right in her office. She's my BOSS for the love of god. Then I met one of my coworkers in the hall on the way out and she hugged me and said "What's wrong?" and I cried some more.

I am completely distraught. I am a nurse. I know how the hospital works. I know how Doctors work. They give you the bad news sandwiched between a bunch of candy coated "crappola". It's a way of keeping the patients hoping for the best.

So, basically, I'm pretty much fucked. I'm probably having a miscarriage as we speak and if I'm LUCKY, it won't be in my fallopian tube.

I am so sad.

All I can think about is the fact that Daddy and I made a baby...and more than likely, it's little life is over before it even began. It's gone.

Gone.

Was it a boy? Was it a girl? I am just haunted... by thoughts of what could of been.......

Rooms on Fire......

2009-07-19T17:34:00.000-07:00

"Well Baby, I'm just thinking that the rooms are all on Fire, every time that you walk in the room" ~ Stevie Nicks

I'm not really sure what that means...I suppose it could be either GOOD or BAD, depending on your perspective, right? So, Daddy and I are going to couselling tomorrow. Should be interesting. I believe we are going to tackle the porn/lying issue. Let the fur fly, baby :P

You know, I frequently wonder about the people who read this blog. What you all look like, how you came to find my little piece of the blogosphere, how old you are, what you do for a living. I am an insatiably curious human being. I am always thinking, wondering and questioning. I wish I weren't like that. I wish I was content to just BE for once, instead of always trying to analyze things.

"Ignorance is bliss", so they say. I think they're right. Thinking too much makes you unhappy. Sometimes I think that being an imbecile would be quite liberating. "I would like a temporary idiot pass, please. You know what? I'll take two."

Thank fucking God I have a sense of humour, otherwise I think I would lose it permanently. I don't think you can work in Oncology and not have a sense of humour. It is a prerequisite. You wouldn't think Oncology would be funny, would you? It's not, of course, but if we didn't have laughter in Oncology, all that would be left are the tears. And god knows there's enough of those to go around.

Daddy is at work today and I am home all by my lonesome. I miss him. I can hear you hissing and booing, you know.

But, I really do. There is something about him that is very comforting sometimes....and then there is the "I want to run you over with my car, repeatedly" sentiment.

God, life is too complicated for me sometimes. I am just a girl, trying to figure it all out. So far, I'm doing a bang up job.

I'll let you know how it all turns out ;)

The Circle of Life.........

2009-07-10T07:15:00.000-07:00

There is so much that goes on, day to day, that I don't write about. I just don't have the strength. Life is exhausting sometimes.

I came home from work a few days ago and couldn't sleep. I stayed awake for hours, just replaying the workday in my head. I have an elderly patient dying of an aggressive form of cancer and her family have been holding a vigil around her, just waiting for her to die. The poor woman is basically a skeleton covered in skin. There is no meat on her bones, at all. She is so frail, you'd swear you could snap her in half. There is no more chemo or radiation to be had...this is the end for her. There is nothing more we can do, so she is basically gurgling and drowning in her own lungs until her heart gives out.

Fuck, I hate that.

It is excruciating to watch her suffer, but what had me bothered this night was a scene that had played out several hours into my shift.

The patient had been incontinent of urine, so her bed and nightgown were soaked. I went in to assist one of the daughters to change the sheets and witnessed a scene that has haunted me for days now. The daughter had coaxed her mother to the edge of the bed, because we could not put the bed down flat to change it. In addition to not being able to lie back, the patient also could not roll...so it was impossible to change the bed with her in it. So, she had to get out of the bed entirely, which was quite a feat. As the daughter helped her to the side she kept saying "Come on Mom, there's a girl, come with me darling, what a good girl, you're okay, I'm gonna help you Mom" and then she reached down and lifted her skeletal mother from the bed and put her down gently into the chair next to the bed.

Big deal, right? But it bothered me so much, I wanted to cry right there. The mother was no longer the mother... and the daughter was no longer the daughter. The roles had been reversed. The daughter was now the mother and the mother was now the child. It was the daughter who now had to care for her mother and not the other way around.

It made me so sad and it made me think of my own mother and how someday our roles will be reversed too.

I frequently think about death and dying. How can I not? I am surrounded by it every single day at work. But for someone who spends as much time as I do immersed in thoughts of sickness and death, I am not particularly accepting of it.

It terrifies me. I spend an enormous amount of energy worrying. Worrying about sickness, worrying about death, worrying that THIS life is all there is.

I do not believe in Christianity, I am basically an atheist and I am obsessed with worry that this life is ALL there is. It just consumes me, you have no idea.

And so, I spent hours later that night, tucked away safely in my bed and let that scene of a daughter and her mother consume me for hours.......

Bonne Fete Canada......

2009-07-01T07:25:00.000-07:00

Am I bilingual, you ask? Bien sure. Canada is an officially bilingual country, you know. Besides, Daddy was raised French but now speaks primarily English, so our conversations are predominantly English with a smattering of French for good measure.

I have a French mother and an English Father and I attended school primarily in French until I hit high school. But, French, like all other languages, if you don't speak it daily, then you tend to lose it.

I suppose I speak french well enough to get by with my French patients at work but there are many dialects of French spoken here. It is a strange, strange country indeed.

So, today is Canada's 142 birthday. I suppose we're a pretty young country by European standards, aren't we?

We call this day "Canada Day". It is our National Holiday and everything is closed. We celebrate throughout the country by music, festivals, flag waving, face painting, stuffing our faces with barbecued food and then to top it all off.....the fireworks. Personally, I wait all year for the Canada Day Fireworks. It is such an event, one that I watch with rapt attention.

I'm such a little kid :P

Happy Canada Day to all my fellow Canadians. We have much to be proud of.

PS Happy Birthday Jamie :)

Tito, get me some tissue....Germaine, stop teasing.....

2009-06-26T09:28:00.000-07:00

Well, holy fuck.

Michael Jackson is dead.

What a goddamned shocker that is. I was at work when we first heard from a coworker that "something happened to Michael Jackson". We were all shocked and huddled around one of the computers in the nurses station, watching CNN.

And, unbelievably, it was true.

Michael Jackson had a massive MI and never regained consciousness. Wow.

I feel sorry for those 3 children of his. What a life they must of led, shrouded and hidden from the world. Even though he turned into an oddity as he grew up, he was still their father. How sad.

You know, Michael Jackson's "Thriller" was the first ever record I ever owned as a kid. I was absolutely crazy about him. I even had a red "Thriller" jacket and sequined glove. I remember getting that glove for my tenth birthday. I would wear it and dance around to his album for hours in my bedroom.

It is a fond memory from my childhood. Michael Jackson was my first celebrity crush. He was so handsome at that time, it was a shame what he eventually became.

He turned out to be such a weirdo, later on in life though. How sad. He was also most likely a pedophile. What a tragic human being.

Michael Jackson, icon, trailblazer, singer, dancer, poet, entertainer, brother, son, father....RIP

Is that all there is?

2009-06-03T12:54:00.000-07:00

I feel like a hamster on a wheel. I walk and walk and walk but never get anywhere, I am always on the wheel.

That is what my life is like. Today, I sat on my bed and looked out the window and felt overcome with despair. Why? How could anyone feel depressed on a day such as this? It was a beautiful day out, the sun was shining and it was my day off to boot.

Yet, I felt overcome. I am emotionally barren. I give and give and give and at the end of the day there is very little left of me for myself. I had a patient die on me yesterday. I think I hate my job. I think I hate my kids. I think I hate the fact that I will be slaving away at that fucking place of sickness and death for the next 30 years until I am eligible for retirement.

If I could look into the future and take a peek at my life in 10 years, it will look exactly the same as it does now. I will be getting up, going to work, working for 12 hours, coming home and going to bed. Then I will get up, go to work, work for 12 hours, come home and go to bed. And then rinse and repeat and repeat and repeat.

I am the hamster on a wheel.

I feel that my job is sucking the life out of me. I am an Oncology nurse. My patients always die. It is the nature of cancer. Oh sure, they may go into remission but it always come back at some point. I may not see them for a few weeks, months, years...but they are always back. And then the dance begins. How far can we push them, how long can we make them survive, how many tears can we wipe away, how many families can we console?

I feel the life is just being sucked out of me. I am emotionally drained and at the end of the day, I have very little left for anyone else.

My patient that died on me yesterday kept whispering to me "Help me"... over and over again. I wanted to help him. I wanted to give him a hefty dose of Insulin. Yes, I said it. I wanted to end his suffering. How could any human being with half a heart want to sit there and watch someone suffer like that? .His lungs were wet and crackly and his SpO2 ranged from 54-68% (normal oxygen level in the blood is 90-100%). He was given Lasix IV several times but I could still hear him gurgling.

Gurgling.

Do you know what it's like to hear a man gurgling and drowning in the fluid in his own lungs? It it horrifying. Respiratory was paged, the doctor was paged...repeatedly. But there was nothing anyone could do, he was dying. And he had no family with him because they had left for supper, so guess who got to stand by and watch this glorious scene play out? Me, that's who.

It's funny because at the time, I didn't think that it bothered me that much because I was in "survival mode". I was "keeping it together". I didn't realize it but I was emotionally detached because it was so horrifying to have to watch.

But now that he has passed away, post mortem care was performed...and the other nurse and I even cracked a few jokes while we prepared and tagged his body because sometimes it's the only way you survive on an Oncology floor.

It has been 24 hours and I am at home on my day off now. I feel sad and depressed. There is no debriefing on the Oncology floor, it is just a part of life.

I swear to god I have post traumatic stress because I will replay their suffering faces over and over in my head. I dream about work all the time. The bells are ringing, the patients are dying and I am running.

I feel that my entire life has been lived in the service of others. But I am tired. I feel like I have nothing left to give.

The Price of Truth is a Vial of Sodium Pentothal part 2.......

2009-05-21T04:21:00.000-07:00

My past revisited.....

I have lived with guilt for 8 years.

It is a long time. Most days it feels like an eternity. I oftentimes wonder if "Guilt" can kill you. I feel it eating away at me. Every moment of everyday, it claws away at my insides, leaving me weakened and senseless. It is always present, always calling out to me in brief moments of happiness. It whispers in my ear "I know what you have done....".

In my weaker moments, the impulse to make things right is so strong that I find it impossible to resist......almost. I remain stoic and steadfast in my conviction to carry the burden alone but the core of my being calls out "Deceiver of men, set yourself free..."

If not for the fear....

I fear the truth just as much as I fear the guilt. A constant battle wages on inside me. Fear versus Fear.

I have alluded to the truth, at times, when keeping company with those who deserve the answers. But...I pull back and shy away from the white hot light of truth.

I chose to remain in the dark, alone.

I am the guardian of condemnation and sinfulness.....

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood....."

Honestly, some days I just don't know.

I think I took the wrong road.

Somebody send me a GPS.

Fuck the bitchiness out of me......

2009-05-01T06:57:00.000-07:00

I really need to get back to work soon. I am going stir crazy being at home for the past few weeks. Honestly, I am just not used to this. I am used to using my brain, taking care of my patients and being a competent member of a medical team.

Since I have been at home, all I do every day is:

I sleep in late
I play with my IPhone
I surf the internet
I talk to Daddy on the phone
I visit my mother, etc....

I have gotten absolutely nothing accomplished. I feel so useless and kind of depressed. Daddy says that I am not one of those women who can stay at home. I don't know if that is an insult or not. He says that I am "bitchy" when I am at home too much. Maybe he is right.

We got into a stupid argument last night about a playground we bought for the kids. I wanted to set it up one way and kept at him until he told me I was being a bitch. I freaked out and stared yelling and then he came over and threw me onto the couch and sat on me.

I HATE being closed in and restrained by him when I am angry, yet he does it anyway. I started struggling and huffing but it was useless because Daddy is extremely strong and I was going nowhere fast.

It's infuriating to me because he just sits there and waits until I am physically exhausted from trying to get away from him. I generally scream and yell and struggle a lot but it is useless. It is like trying to get out from under a rockpile. Daddy is freaking heavy and strong....and remains so damn calm the entire time.

I felt defeated and angry as I struggled and I felt the tears coming as he continued to sit on me and held me down. He looked at me so intently. I don't know if he was trying to decipher my mood or trying to gauge if I was done fighting him.

"I'm NOT crying" I blurted out,"I'm not crying".

"Of course you're not, but your lower lip is trembling" he replied calmly.

Why is Daddy always so damn calm when I feel completely undone? God, it makes me feel like screaming.

The tears started to roll down my face and landed on my shirt. I felt very weak and defeated as Daddy got off me and pulled me off the couch and upstairs after him......

An hour later, Daddy is behind me, doggy style, his cock balls deep inside my sopping wet pussy. He is whispering dirty things to me while he fucks me hard and fast, and then slow and grinding. I am reduced to a pliable, quivering, whimpering ball beneath him.

I am completely open and vulnerable to him, when he grabs my ass cheeks and spreads me wide open. He spits on my ass and starts spreading his saliva over my rosebud. I moan and whimper when he finally pushes his finger into my ass and starts finger fucking me while his hard cock pumps away at my pussy. I am overwhelmed by the sensation and cannot hold on to it any longer when I clamp down on his cock, milking it while an intense orgasm rips through my cunt. It is extremely intense and makes me drool all over the bedsheets.

Ewww...

Daddy knows exactly how to handle me and that is why he is my Daddy. I went from Cunty BitchFace to an extremely good girl for the rest of the evening. Overpowering me physically and then dominating me sexually, puts me back in my place, with him as the boss and me as the little girl and that is where I am happiest. It's so weird because if you ever met me, you would never peg me for this type of woman....but I am. I like my man to be a MAN, not a henpecked wussy.

As for the playground...what playground? He can build it however he wants to because Daddy is the boss.

In my experience.....

2009-04-01T04:53:00.000-07:00

I love avocados. I mean really, really love them. I feel consumed with orgasmic bliss when I eat a slice of one, it's like eating butter. Yummy.

Anyway, I have been off work for a week and am feeling lonely for my girls, my fellow partners in crime. We rely on one another so much at work. We are a team.

It feels weird to be home and not to be with them at work, working and looking after people.

Anyway, I told you all that this experience has shown me what a horrible patient I am, right? Here is a little tidbit....

I had an iv running after surgery with D5W, which for you layfolk is just water and dextrose. It was running at 100cc/hr, which I found to be excessive considering I was drinking and was not dehydrated. Because of all this extra fluid on board, I had to get up out of bed, right after freaking surgery and go pee every 15-30 mins. So, I was getting a little ticked off because it was hurting me to have to get up so frequently. So, I asked the nurse if she could lower the rate, esp for the night as I wanted to able to sleep a little and not have to be waken up with a bursting full bladder every 15-30 mins.

She refused....and then I was A LOT ticked off.

So, the next time I went to the bathroom, I reprogrammed the iv pump and decreased the rate to 50cc/hr.

When I got settled back into bed, Daddy..who doesn't miss anything..said "WHAT did you do to the pump???". I told him I decreased the rate so I wouldn't have to pee so much and then he launched into a spiel about "This is what the doctor wanted for you, blah, blah, blah".

Lord, he just doesn't understand the dynamics of the hospital. You see, a family doctor is someone who doesn't have all the answers, so they send you to a specialist to find out wtf is wrong with you. A specialist doesn't know what is wrong with you either, so they send you to have various diagnostic tests, preformed by other medical technologists.

When the specialist finally figures out your problem based on the reports of the medical technologist and you are sick enough to warrant being in the hospital, it is the NURSE who acts as the eyes and ears of the specialist. It is the nurse who informs the doctor when something is not right. It is the nurse who requests treatment for a sick patient and even writes the damn doctor's order, which is given over the phone.....and then goes and administers said treatment.

Ok, I am going to get off my soapbox here, the point is, the nurse I had was a piss poor nurse. She should have turned my rate down, esp. when she saw that I had over 3000 mls of output. That is 3 freaking litres!!! Putting me in fluid overload like that is hard on your cardiac function. And I had just had surgery for cripes sake and was in considerable pain. So, making me get up every 15-30 mins was INSANE.

Anyway, enough complaining. I listened to Daddy like a good girl, but it was hard for me as I knew he was wrong.

Did I mention I love avocados?

I survived.....

2009-03-25T16:53:00.000-07:00

Well, I am alive, in a lot of pain, but alive.

According to one of the nurses who looked after me in the hospital..."It must be love".

Yes, yes it is.

Blogging, blogging over the ocean blue........

2009-02-18T12:20:00.000-08:00

So, I changed my blog template...AGAIN. I feel like a girl trying on shoes, and lord knows, I LOVE shoes. I wonder why so many women obsess over footwear? I, for one, could spend hours looking at shoes. I know, it's a sickness. The doctors have said there's no cure.

Daddy told me he hated my last blog template. He said it "looked like a newspaper" and I am anything but stuffy and boring, so here we are with a new template. Like it, hate it...or do you like the original one with the black background better? Help me people, I am the Queen of Indecision. My wishy washiness is so bad that when I go out to eat at a restaurant, I have to know what everyone else is ordering before I can make up my mind. I am also the woman who holds up the fast food drivethru. 9 times out of 10, I have no idea what I want to order and frequently answer "Can I take your order?" with "Can I have a few minutes?"

Sometimes I wish someone would just order for me :P

It astounds me that I am such a spaz because I am so utterly competent at my job. Life or death situations, cardiac arrest, cardiac arrhythmia, respiratory arrest, CPR, Defibrillation, Physical Assesment....Baby, I am THERE for you. But ask me if I want "Fries with that"?" and I suddenly need time to think about it.

Fascinating stuff, I know :P

It was supposed to be Robert Pattinson Day here on the Fifth Circle of Hell, but something happened along the way..........

2009-02-17T11:27:00.000-08:00

I was supposed to be at work today, but after 3 hours of forcing myself to "suck it up", I finally gave up and told my nurse manager that I was too sick to be much good to anyone and I went home.

I should have called in sick and not even of gone in to work, but I am loyal to my unit and calling in sick makes me feel too guilty. It didn't help things any that first thing this morning, one of my patients, that I have looked after for months, decided he didn't want to continue with his treatment anymore. He wanted to be palliative. He wanted his suffering to end and he wanted to die.

He is 62.

Just sit there and digest that for a moment. A 62 yr old man has just told you that he his suffering is so great and has gone on for such a length of time, that he cannot bear it anymore and would like you to stop doing everything that you possibly can to keep him alive and to just ...let him die.

His wife stood over him and held him and they both just sobbed. I had just walked into the room and was about to pick him for a blood sample. I felt so incredibly small and petty to come into his room and ask such a thing from him when he had just made the decision that he was ready to die.

I couldn't take it anymore. My ability to handle the daily stress of my job was diminished due to the horror of the situation and my own sickness. I was sick and felt weak and I started crying too. I held his hand and cried with him and his wife. His wife kept thanking me, but I felt like screaming out "FOR WHAT???, for standing here with you, for crying with you, for passing you a tissue and holding your husband's hand???.

I realize that people appreciate it when you stand with them and support them through their sorrow, but I swear, in all the deaths I have seen, I have never felt like I did enough for the family. I feel like simply being there for them is never enough. I frequently find myself wishing that I had some magic words to say, some wise advice, some healing statement. But there is nothing. Sometimes there just aren't enough words, you know?

It is my job to look after the sick and dying. I have done it for many years. My nursing unit is frequently inundated with cards, gifts, food and letters of thanks from patients and their families. But you know what? I never, ever feel worthy of such praise. I never feel that I do a good enough job. I never feel it is enough.

Sometimes I hate my fucking job.

I work on a specialized unit and our patients frequently die. Not because we are incompetent, but because it is the nature of their illness. It is hard. It is hard to see so much suffering and sadness.

I think I am getting burnt out because I am feeling this way more and more recently. I dread going to work, where before I looked forward to it. I just feel so emotionally fried and physically tired. On my days off, I have become more and more sluggish and frequently find it harder and harder to stay motivated.

I think I need a break. I have been told by doctor that I should be put off on stress leave, but the guilt of 1) leaving my unit when they need me and 2) Admitting that I am burnt out makes me feel like complete crappola.

Well, it was supposed to be Robert Pattison Day...maybe tomorrow. I feel too crappy today :(

I heave a sigh and say goodbye.....for now ;)

2009-02-01T07:17:00.000-08:00

You know, for the past week or so, I have been mulling over in my head the prospect of taking a break from writing. And you know what, it doesn't scare me.

This is my second blog.

I intitially started the *original* Fifth Circle of Hell back in 2003. I wrote, the blog was popular and thousands of horny male geeks came to lie at my feet en masse. I was younger then, married, undersexed and lonely. I loved the anonymity and freedom that blogging gave me. I could say anything I wanted to, be anything I wanted to be. The stories were raw and almost exclusively about sex. I became a "perceived" sex goddess, but as anyone who sits on a pedestal for too long knows...it is extremely lonely at the top.

I became burnt out and blogging became a chore for me. I felt I had to entertain all the time. I felt I couldn't blog about my unhappiness at home or how stressed out I was from being a nurse. I felt that all I was was a glorified prostitute that men came to whenever they wanted to jerk off.

And so my blog, that was intended to be a release for me, became a burden.

So, I closed up shop and entirely erased everything, archives and all. It was as if the Fifth Circle of Hell had never existed at all.

I lived in relative peace for the next few years but then I started to feel the same familiar itch to have a place to call my own. When I logged into Blogger, to set up "The Fifth Circle of Hell" again, I was disappointed to find out that someone had taken my blog name and url and was using it to sell anal porn. I kid you not. Someone took my url as soon as I erased my blog and attempt to cash in on my infamy. I wonder how successful they were?

Anyway, I was extremely put out and continued to check back periodically, as I WANTED this blog url. It was MINE. I had created the Fifth Circle of Hell and I just didn't feel that I had it in me to start all over again.

So, fast forward several years and it is 2007. I finally get my blog name back, and have been writing of my escapades ever since.

But something unexpected has happened to me along the way.

I met Daddy.

Daddy has changed everything for me.

You see, I have a long held belief that bloggers are an unhappy lot. I have been involved in the blogsphere for the past 6 years. I have read many a blog, I have written several blogs and I have been a contributing writer on group blogs.

I have never deviated from this belief. I truly believe that bloggers are generally unhappy with their lives and use their blogs as a sounding board and place to bare their souls to the masses.

I was unhappy when I first started the "Fifth Circle of Hell" 6 years ago and I was unhappy when I came looking to start it up again a year and a half ago.

I just don't want to do it anymore. I feel fried. Tired and fried. I feel that blogging has become a chore for me, something I have to get done, as opposed to something that is fun. I don't feel I write for myself anymore. I write for the readers and I write for Daddy. I don't write for myself anymore and it makes me unhappy. I don't like the pressure I feel to post things relatively frequently...and I am really quite happy now with the way my life is.

Things are quite mellow with Daddy. Mellow and safe. He has asked me to marry him and I have had said yes. We will be getting married at some point. We will probably have a baby in the next year or so. Things are quite calm and normal between us most of the time. I suppose I figure it's just not blogworthy for a sex blog, you know?

I have basically figured out everything in my head regarding Jamie, and thank fucking God as I have allowed the situation to hang over my head for the past 7 years.

I feel kind of free now. Free to be happy.

I am not really sure what I am saying in regards to future blogging here. I will definitely not erase my archives and will probably come back and post at some point. It could be in a week, it could be in a month, it could be in six months. I just don't know.

I do know that I need a break from blogging.

So, I thank you for reading and following along in this journey with me, but I need a break from The Fifth Circle of Hell.

Thanks everyone :)

Drowning...

2009-01-08T07:05:00.000-08:00

I am drowning in the black today. It pulls me down under and envelopes me in it's cool, silky embrace. I can almost feel my toes touching the bottom. It's terrifying, but there is a stillness here that comforts me. Somedays, I just want things to be over. Well, not really, I suppose as I could never really kill myself. I guess I just want someone to hand me a pair of scissors, so that I can cut myself out of the blackness.

My eyes are puffy today. My face is blotchy and red. I have cried a lot. I have to drag my ass into work later, so hopefully I will look human by then.

I am filled with such sadness. Everything is going wrong in my life. It feels like it's spiraling out of control and I feel out of breath trying to keep up with it.

I get up, I work, I go to bed. I get up, I work, I go to bed. I get up, I work, I got to bed. I get up, I work, I go to bed. I have a day off and do absofuckinglutely nothing. I get up, I work, I go to bed. I get up, I work, I go to bed. I get up, I work, I go to bed. I get up, I work, I go to bed.

I have no life. I have money, but I have no life. What's the sense of having all this money if I'm never going do anything with it? I want to go on a fabulous vacation or buy a piece of land near the water. I want to sit on the sand and listen to the waves crash into the shore. I want something to SHOW for all my constant hard work.

Daddy works even more than I do and therefore I see him very infrequently during the work week. This particular week, I have seen him a grand total of 2 times for 45 mins each time, while I was on a break at work. We sleep in the same bed every night, but by the time I get home, he is already asleep. And so I crawl into bed alone night after night and feel very empty. I don't dare wake him because by the time I get home from work, he has to get up in 4 hours.

And so, I feel sad. Sad and lonely.

I told Daddy I wanted a baby. I NEED someone to love and nurture. I left my ex husband for Daddy and lost my children in the process. My ex and I share 50/50 custody of them now. I am miserable without them. I only see them every second week. It is hell on earth. Those are MY babies. I carried them inside my body and gave birth to them. I nurtured and breastfed them. I changed their diapers and sang to them, while their useless father was never around. He was too busy, out being a big shot, to bother with us. We weren't important enough but now he has 50% custody of the children that he couldn't find the time for when we were married. Life is unfair sometimes.

But now, I am with Daddy and because of that, I have lost my children. They are not mine anymore. They do not feel like mine. I love them so much, but they don't feel like mine anymore. I can't see them everyday. I don't get to tuck them in at night. I don't get to be there and hear about every little thing that happened at school. I am out of the loop. I am not a mom anymore. I am just a part time parent and it is killing me.

This morning, I sat in the living room, the house so quiet and still and I looked at their picture sitting on the mantle. I sat on the couch alone and cried for an hour.

I tried to call Daddy but he was too busy at work to talk very long. Everyone is always too busy to take some time out for me. It's the story of my life. I could call my mother, I suppose, and she would probably listen, but all I would get from her is a "Well, if you hadn't of left you wouldn't be going through this. You would have your children. I stayed with your father and it was good enough for me, why wasn't it good enough for you?"

Lovely.

I have been pestering Daddy to death for us to have a baby together. I want to go through the "baby experience" with someone that loves me and I love them. I long for the togetherness, comfort and security of a family unit. I long for the "Us" instead of just the "Me".

I can hear my biological clock ticking loudly. I look at the baby section of the weekly flyers and feel tears prick at my eyes. I see the parents leaving the maternity unit at work and I want to be the one carrying a new little life home with me. I stare at the babies I see in the mall with complete longing. I can picture mine and Daddy's child so clearly, how they would smell, their little gapping yawns, their baby fingers and toes. I can picture holding that sleepy, boneless warmth against me. To me, a baby is everything that's good and wonderful about the world all rolled up into one little bundle. But to Daddy, it is something else, I guess.

And so, Daddy sent me to go make an appt. with the OBGYN, which I did yesterday. I came back from the appt. filled with hope and excitedly called Daddy to tell him what they had said.

Daddy was less than enthusiastic, in my mind, and then proceeded to tell me that maybe in another year and a half, we could see about trying.

"A year and a half"???

Add on the 40 weeks of pregnancy onto that, not to mention the initial time involved in actually trying to get pregnant. Last time it took me 6 months...and you have a grand total of about 3 years.

I felt like he took the wind right out of my sails. I was completely crushed. I thought that by getting me to make an appt. with the Obgyn, that he was telling me he was on board with me and with us having a baby.

And so, now here I sit today, lonely, sad and crying. I feel so completely empty. I feel like I had something, some hope to hold onto and now it has been snatched away from me.

I feel like time is running out for me. I am not in my 20's anymore. I am a "thirtysomething" and I will soon be too old for this, and so will Daddy as he is older than I am.

I feel so empty today. I am drowning in it.

Hidden from View.....

2008-12-29T14:27:00.001-08:00

Be my confessor. My soul saviour. I need you. I am lost. I am afraid of what is to come. I search for salvation. Tell me your secrets. I would scream but no one would listen. I feel unloved. No one ever said it would be this hard. It comes back to haunt me. I want to start over. I am ashamed. You really broke my heart. What have I become. You are someone else too. You could have it all. I would give you everything. I am still right here......

I am having an "overwhelmed" kind of day.

So, let's get on with it, shall we?

Daddy and I fought last night. I am not sure why but I gather it had something to do with him feeling vulnerable and threatened. He is not a big fan of those types of feelings. He likes being the dominant one and the boss of everything.

The reason for all this turmoil was so absurd. You see, someone had left a lovely comment on this blog in response to my post to Santa. At first, I believed it was Daddy who had responded. However, I was sadly mistaken and when I showed it to him, all googly eyed with love for his perfect response to my post, I got a curt "So, I see you've found ANOTHER Daddy".

This led to an argument which culminated with Daddy telling me I "lived in a fantasy world" and promptly going to bed and refusing to talk to me. This left me fuming with anger and hurt. I mean, how could he be angry with ME???? I didn't even do anything to warrant it. Ignoring me is a sure fire way to really hurt me. It hits me where I am most vulnerable. To me, it screams, "You are not VALUABLE enough for me to put forth the effort into working this problem out".

It seems that this type of behaviour has increased with him and it is driving me fucking bananas. It seems whenever Daddy is angry about something and I am trying to talk it out like 2 adults, he ignores me. He ignores me and walks away/gives me the silent treatment. It makes me feel very sad and unloved.

Some days, I just don't know :(

I should go, Daddy just walked in the door and sat down next to me as I listen to YouTube and type this post. He told me he is sorry for last night. He is now teasing me about the music I am listening to. I love looking at him when he smiles. He makes my heart beat fast.

I feel overwhelmed by him sometimes.

Me, Me, Me, Me......

2008-12-12T06:55:00.000-08:00

So, I'm sitting here on my ONE glorious day off this week and pondering what I should do with myself.

I have already perused my favourite blogs. I have already called Daddy, who is off working in another province and might not be able to make it back home tonight due to the weather. I have already eaten breakfast. I have already called and talked to my mother (yes, I know, shocking. But even though my mother frequently aspires to douchbagness, I still talk to her almost daily). I have played with the dog and am now writing this post. I know, the exciting life of a nympho, eh?

So, I think I will drag my ass to the gym and then sit in the sauna (my favourite!!). I think I will also go to the mall and get Daddy a Christmas gift.

You know, I often think of the dichotomy in my life that this blog doesn't generally portray. I usually only write about sex, because sex is interesting and is frequently on my mind. But writing about sex falls short of who I really am as a person.

I am many, many things and I'm sure most of you would be really surprised if you ever met me in real life. I am really pretty normal...on the outside, at least ;)

I work hard at my job. I enjoy reading. I love my kids. I have a great sense of humour. I enjoy doing nice things for people. I like taking care of others. I am a nurturer and thus being a nurse is the perfect career for me. Although nursing is hard on the head sometimes, I honestly couldn't see myself doing anything else. Being a nurse is part of my identity. I am competent and intelligent at work. But when I am at home, I am quirky, silly and I like to laugh.

I am actually feeling kind of sad and bummed out today. The thought that Daddy won't make it home tonight has sent me spinning. I rely on him so much. I feel such a sense of safety and comfort with him. I feel I can truly be myself when I am with him. He knows EVERYTHING about me and yet he STILL loves me. I have never been completely honest about myself with another human being in my entire life, but I tell Daddy everything. It feels so good to be able to tell someone exactly how you think and feel about things. He's my rock. I know I can always count on him to be there for me. We have an oddly symbiotic relationship. It is quite harmonious and we each provide things that the other requires. I frequently sit back and think how amazing it is that we managed to find one another. Well, actually, Daddy found me.

He sent me this text message from work today and it made me smile. He sings this certain song he made up about me all the time and it always makes me feel happy. So he typed out all the lyrics and then sent them to my phone. Part of it says:

"You were lost but now I found you".

Awwww, Daddy :) You did find me, and I never want to leave the safety of your arms.

Happy Anniversary Asshole....

2008-12-02T15:00:00.000-08:00

My wedding anniversary is coming up in a few days. I had honestly forgotten all about it until my lovely mother brought it up today. She actually had the nerve to say "Happy Anniversary" in her best snarky voice.

Thanks so much for the fucking emotional support, Mom :P

I don't know why she felt the need to remind me. Sometimes, I think my mother is a passive aggressive cunt. Well, I suppose there is no "sometimes" about it.

I hardly ever think about my husband anymore. I did quite a bit when we first split. I was consumed with feelings of failure as a wife and mother. I found it extremely hard to let go of the guilt. It was so diffcult for me, because while I was in a better place emotionally, I felt like I had failed as a human being. I was a little girl who grew up dreaming about finding someone to love me, settling down, getting married, having kids and living happily ever after. It has been hard for me to let go of those feelings of failure.

You know, my ex husband is not a horrible person. He's not an alcoholic and he didn't physically abuse me. He's actually pretty funny and made me laugh a lot.

BUT...he also made me cry, most times daily, but at least once or twice a week. He was emotionally distant and was a workaholic who IGNORED me constantly. It hurt me deeply. I felt like a single parent. It is extremely sad to be married yet be alone.

My husband was extremely controlling and frequently bullied me until my opinion was in line with HIS wants. I was not allowed to see my friends or go anywhere alone. He did not respect me and I was not permitted to have a voice in decisions that affected our family. Sex between us was unsatisfying and infrequent. What kind of man doesn't want to put out for his naughty nympho wife, I ask you? A man who's most probably having an affair, I suppose.

I truly believe I chose him for a mate because I was subconsciously looking for a man who reminded me of my father. I was looking for a man who treated me the same way my father treated me.....

....and I managed to do that just beautifully.

One of the things I hated about being married to my husband is that I HATED who I was when I was with him. I became someone else when we were together, someone that I loathed. I felt weak when I was with him...powerless...without a voice ...ignored...lonely...depressed...and sexually unsatisfied.

Hurry Up and Come Home Daddy.....

2008-11-19T12:00:00.000-08:00

"I come from down in the valley
where mister when you're young
They bring you up to do like your daddy done
Me and Mary we met in high school
when she was just seventeen
We'd ride out of this valley down to where the fields were green

We'd go down to the river
And into the river we'd dive
Oh down to the river we'd ride

Then I got Mary pregnant
and man that was all she wrote
And for my nineteenth birthday I got a union card and a wedding coat
We went down to the courthouse
and the judge put it all to rest
No wedding day smiles no walk down the aisle
No flowers no wedding dress

That night we went down to the river
And into the river we'd dive
Oh down to the river we did ride

I got a job working construction for the Johnstown Company
But lately there ain't been much work on account of the economy
Now all them things that seemed so important
Well mister they vanished right into the air
Now I just act like I don't remember
Mary acts like she don't care...."
~Bruce Springsteen "The River"~

The story of my damn life. That song really gets to me. It really is my life, you have no idea. I remember the first time I ever heard this song, I burst out crying when they got to the part about "No wedding day smiles, no walk down the aisle,
No flowers, no wedding dress" . Funny how words can affect you like that, they can bring you back to a time and place in your life that held such sadness.

I feel depressed today. Sad and angry. I feel like I have wasted so many years of my life being married to someone who treated me like I was a non person. After years of this, I actually came to believe that I deserved to be treated that way. I believed I was somehow bad and UNWORTHY of having someone love me in a decent way.

I believe this experience somehow ties into the problems I have with Daddy. I am hypersensitive to the nuances in our relationship. I overanalyze EVERYTHING. I find myself questioning "WHY" did he say that, "WHY" did he do that? This inevitably leads to "He doesn't care about me".

I just feel sad about Daddy. I am incredibly insecure sometimes. Okay, fine, I can hear Daddy saying "SOMETIMES???" Okay, a lot of the time. I am just not sure where our relationship is headed lately. It seems like I want one thing and he wants something else. I just don't know. It makes me sad. I want him to be "The One". I honestly feel like he is, but I don't know if he feels the same way about me :(

I haven't seen Daddy in 2 days. He has been working out of province and I am missing him. I actually found it hard to fall asleep last night. I stayed up until well past 1AM, just procrastinating. I didn't want to lay in our bed, cold and all alone without him. It is such an odd feeling for me. I remember when I was married, that I chronically stayed up late so I wouldn't have to go to bed at the same time as my asshole husband. But with Daddy, sleeping with him is one of the best parts of my entire day. I actually look forward to climbing into our fluffy, warm bed and being close to one another.

I am glad we had this time apart. It has shown me how important he is to me. I rely on him a lot and I guess I didn't realize how much. Daddy fulfills a lot of my needs. I rely on him for physical protection (Daddy is a big boy), for emotional support, for intellectual stimulation and for sexual release.

Hurry up and come home, Daddy. Your Little Girl is waiting for you.....

Daddy Dearest and the Nursey Girl....

2008-11-07T13:19:00.000-08:00

I am frequently stressed. I know I write about it a lot and you are probably tired of hearing about it, but this blog is for me and I write about things that bother me. I called this blog "The Fifth Circle of Hell" for a reason. It's where the wrathful and sullen reside, baby. This is not "Kaii's Fluffy Bunny Playland", although that is a good name too ;)

I am frequently so filled with stress that I feel I am going to implode. I worry about completely losing it and hurting myself or hurting someone else. My head pounds and my chest feels tight. I wouldn't be surprised if I developed cancer of had a heart attack due to the stress load.

My job is so fucking stressful, I worry that perhaps I cannot handle it and the stress from my personal life at the same time anymore. I had such a rotten shift a few days ago that I actually left the floor early and went home because I felt that if I had to deal with one more patient that I was going to start screaming like a lunatic. I honestly felt that I was ready to quit and even looked into taking a new course so that I could work elsewhere in the hospital.

You know, I initially took this position on this floor filled with hope and a desire to help others. This floor is acute care. The patients here are very sick and frequently die. It is wearing me down. I actually cried 3 or 4 times at work last week because of my patients and their suffering. So much for maintaining that level of emotional detachment. I had to perform post mortem care on one of my patients the other day and I cried like a baby as I washed her dead, lifeless body. I kept apologizing to the other senior nurse who was with me and she said "If you this didn't bother you, then you wouldn't be human". I know she was right but some part of me expects me to be perfect all the time. I set incredibly high standards for myself. Standards that I can never achieve. I frequently feel like a failure.

Deep down, I know I am a good nurse. I know I am a good nurse because my patients like me, my coworkers like me and I am frequently given tasks to complete that others are not competent to perform. I take extra courses so that I have extra skills that others on my floor do not have. I am a keener and volunteer for extra nursing competencies. I feel this adds to my stress but I like being extremely valuable and competent at my job.

I told my parents about wanting to quit my job and they didn't say too much, no big surprise there, but when I went over to visit the next day, my father took me aside and told me he had something to say to me. He told me that he had met one of my patients a few weeks earlier and that they had approached him. They had asked him if he had a daughter named Kaii that worked on the xxxxxxxx Floor of the city hospital, he said yes and they told him that I was a wonderful nurse and they just wanted to tell him that he had raised a great kid. My father actually cried when he told me this. He told me that I couldn't quit my job when I did things that made a difference in other people's lives.

Although he never actually said the words, It was the first time in my whole entire life that I actually felt my father might be proud of me. I could cry now just thinking about it. I so long to hear those words come out of my father's mouth. I long to hear that he loves me and is proud of me. I have never heard my father say he was proud of me. Not when I graduated with honours from high school. Not when I made the soccer or basketball teams. Not when I went to university. Not when I got married or had kids. Not when I became a nurse. Not when I became a tireless volunteer who raised money for cancer research or volunteered my free time to disabled adults and children.

All the great things I have accomplished in my life don't hold much meaning for me because I never feel *I* am enough. I never feel I have succeeded in making my parents proud.

I obviously have severe deep rooted "Daddy" issues :P

All you men out there, please be good to your daughters. Make sure you tell them you love them and are proud of them. Tell them today, if you never have before. You are the model for all relationships that she will ever have with men in the future. I went shopping today and I saw this sign and I almost cried. I wished so hard that it were true for me when I was a young girl. It said "I found my Prince Charming and his name is Daddy".

Life is complicated sometimes.

Cheese added to anything makes it taste good....

2008-10-27T05:17:00.000-07:00

I have to work today. It is day 1 of my rotation. My schedule sucks ass, if I say so myself. I feel trapped in it because my days off always fall on my week to have my kids. So, I keep things the way they are so I can spend as much time with them possible and I feel like the workload is killing me. I squeeze 2 weeks worth of work into 8 days. Today is my first day back and I should feel refreshed and ready to take on the work week...but instead my body feels exhausted. My mind feels fuzzy and tired. Hapless patients, here comes nursey girl.

I cried a lot this weekend. I cried so much that when I woke up on Sunday morning, my eyes were puffy and swollen. I feel extremely depressed and hopeless. A lot of my issues are related to being separated and not seeing my kids everyday. Not being a family unit is just killing me. Coming from a family who's parents are still married after 35 years, I just feel so lost. Some days, I feel like I just can't go on anymore. I don't know what my purpose is anymore.

I have spoken to Daddy repeatedly about our lack of a family unit, about how our combined brood of children who are all with us on separate days of the week will never be a family. I feel so incredibly sad, I could never express it well enough in words. I'm supposed to be a mother, not a part time nurturer to a bunch of non related children. I am crying. I feel so depressed and sad. I wish I could go back to the start. Look what has become of me, what has become of my children, what has become of my family. I feel like such a failure, like I haven't done right by my kids. They deserve more than this. My kids are lost and confused, they sit up at night and watch old home movies of their life "before". I just don't know anymore. I feel like I don't know what I'm doing. I have talked to Daddy repeatedly and told him what I want and need from him. I am starting to think we are reading the same book, but are just not on the same page.

I want things out of life. I want to do things and go places. I want to achieve things. I want to be a good mother. I want to be a person of substance. I want to help others. I want to feel at peace inside.

I have cried so much this morning. It feels like someone is sitting on my chest.

These are my feelings....

2008-10-10T14:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Husband,

I am writing this letter to share my pain in order to find acceptance, forgiveness, and love.

Right now, I feel sad and kind of lost.

I feel angry that you chose WORK over me time after time. You chose work over our family. I feel angry because I wasn't important enough to you. I feel angry because I trusted you to take care of me when I said "I do" and you let me down. I feel angry when I think of all the hours you worked and the time you spent away from us. I feel angry when I think of your cell phone ringing and and no matter where we were or what time of the day or night it was, you always answered it. I feel angry when I think of all the times you brought us along with you when you ran your business errands and you left us sitting in the car for hours at a time while you schmoozed with your business clients/suppliers/employees. I feel angry when I think of how you used my name and my good credit to get business loans and leases on vehicles. I feel angry that you refuse to acknowledge the contribution and sacrifice that I have made so that you could live your dream and own your own business. I feel angry when I think about how I let you have the house, the land and the business. I feel angry when I think of how you will always have more money than I do. I feel angry when I think of how hard I have to work to make a fraction of the money that you do. I don't like who you have become. I don't like who I have become. I wish we were still 15 again.

I feel sad that I hurt you when I left. I feel sad because I loved you at one time. I loved you when you were 20 and young and funny and care free. I loved you when you made me laugh. I loved you when we used to eat supper together. I loved you when you used to sing to me. I loved you when we used to go for walks together and hold hands. I loved you when you used to tell me you loved me....and I knew you meant it. I feel sad when I think of our kids growing up in a broken family. It just kills me. I feel sad when I think of not seeing the kids whenever I want. I feel sad when I know I have to pick either Christmas Eve OR Christmas Day, and that I can't see them on both. I feel sad knowing we won't both go trick or treating with them or have birthdays together. I feel sad that no matter who I end up with after you, that I won't ever find someone who will love the kids as much as you do. I wanted things to be different. I wanted us to love one another and be a family. I wanted you to be there for me and XXXXXX when he got sick, but all you did was work even more. You abandoned me. You left me alone to care for him and try and hold the pieces together. I expected more from you. I expected you to be a husband and a father. I expected us to be a team.

I feel afraid that the kids will blame me for leaving you. I feel afraid that they won't love me or that they will love you more because you can afford to give them the things they want. I feel afraid that they won't see my house as their house too and instead will only see the home where they have lived since they were small as "home". I feel afraid that I will never find someone who really loves me. You once told me you loved, but it wasn't true and I believed you, damn you. I believed you. I trusted you and I believed you, but you lied to me. You were the first man I ever trusted and you let me down. I trusted you to take care of us but we weren't important enough. I feel afraid that I will never trust another man again. You really loved your job, not me. You loved being a big shot. You loved people looking up to you. You loved proving to your parents that they were wrong. You loved feeling important and needed by your employees. What I had to offer wasn't enough for you. I feel afraid when I think of having to pay the bills on my own now. I feel afraid when I think of having to keep up the pace I am working at now for the rest of my life in order to make ends meet. I feel afraid when I think of not being able to give the kids nice things or to buy them things that they deserve. I feel afraid when I think that I won't be able to give the kids a better life than I had. I do not want the kids to suffer. I will work myself to death before I admit that I cannot provide the things that they deserve. I need to know that they will be okay.

I feel sorry that things didn't work out. I feel sorry because at one time I did love you. We loved each other... but we were just two kids who got married too young and had a lot of really horrible things happen to us along the way. I feel sorry when I think of our kids growing up without the both of us there to raise them. I feel sorry when I think of us not being friends anymore. We have been friends for 20 years. I feel sorry when I think of how hurt you were because I left. I feel sorry when you said to me that I was your soulmate...and I knew in my heart that I didn't feel the same way. I wish we could still be friends. I want us to get along and be nice to one another for the sake of the kids. I want us to each find someone who loves us in the way we deserve to be loved. I hope for the kids to be happy and feel loved and taken care of. I hope for you to be happy. I hope for me to be happy.

Thank you for listening.....

Lost or Incomplete.....

2008-07-20T08:07:00.000-07:00

I cried last night. I cried for several hours.

I found out my husband has a girlfriend......

The admission from him that he, in fact, had a girlfriend, who is 10 years younger than me, hit me harder than I had anticipated. The transfer of his affection from me to another woman bothered me more than I thought it would. It was not that I was jealous that he was so obviously taken with her..well, maybe a little jealous, the thing that bothered me the most involved my children.

I was consumed with images of this childless "20 something" mothering my children, of replacing me, of being the one who kissed them goodnight and tucked them into bed.

I am crying again already. I can't help it. I fear being replaced. Of taking on less importance in my children's eyes. Of being only half a mom. Part of me feels I am being selfish, that having another human being love and care for my children couldn't possibly be bad. But then another part of me, a darker, more primal part of me cries out "No, I carried these children inside my body, I gave birth to them and breastfed them. I loved them and helped them grow. I cheered as they took their first steps and got their first tooth. I know that my children are afraid of bears and bobcats. I know that my daughter's favourite colour is purple and that my son loves pizza."

Would she know that...this 24 yr old childless bimbo? Would she know that you have to sing the "Wake Up Song" every morning or would she know the Answer to "What's an echo, Mom??".

I fear that my children will not be looked after the way that I would look after them. I fear that they would be sad.....even worse, I fear that maybe she wouldn't be all that bad and may be even a better mother to them than I am. Maybe she would be not as encumbered by responsibilities, bills, worries. Maybe she would be young and more fun, more energetic and maybe my kids would love her.....more than they love me.

I feel like he has ripped my still beating heart out of my chest. If he wanted to hurt me, to get back at me for leaving, he has done so. I am wounded and crying.

I love my kids and I am devastated. Being a good mother, a caretaker, a kisser of boo boo's is the only thing I can honestly say I have ever been truly good at in my life...and now I feel that is being taken away from me.

5000 hits....

2008-04-30T07:23:00.000-07:00

Wow, 5000 hits. 125 posts in 180 days. I am a dedicated blogger, dammit ;-)

The Fifth Circle of Hell was ORIGINALLY started by me in 2003. I blogged for about a year and a half and then became so stressed out from the pressures of pleasing all my readers, that I abruptly left the sex blog scene in May 2004.

I tried to return several times, but in my absence, some shyster had taken my blog name and notoriety and used it to sell anal porn videos.

I could of started fresh somewhere else, I suppose, with a brand new blog, but I was stubborn and wanted my old url back. Bloggers can be weird like that. Blog names are something that are mulled over and are difficult things to let go of. Writers feel a certain "ownership" of their blog names. I felt that the "Fifth Circle of Hell" was MINE. And WHY I let it all go in 2004 instead of leaving my archives up, I'll never know. The thought that I may someday want to return, just never entered my head. I was so burnt out from trying to please everyone, that I figured I would never EVER want to return to blogging.

BUT...

Once a blogger, always a blogger. Writing is in my blood. And so, I am back.

Cue the accolades and rose petals.

Someone suggested to me that I should write about "milestones" for my 5,000 hit and what I hope to accomplish by my 10,000 hit. My mind drew a blank at this. They asked me what my goals were when I started writing again. Again..blank. I truly didn't have any goals. I just knew that writing was a powerful form of therapy for me and that I needed to come back to it.

This person also suggested that perhaps I should reveal a secret to my readers.

Hmm...secret, huh?

I have so many, it's hard to settle on just one.

Well, perhaps I will tell you what I do for a living....that's a good secret. I have several received emails speculating as to my profession in the past and I know I frequently wonder what the writer behind my favourite blogs is really like in their real life.

So, here goes, my fellow Deviants....

I am....

..... a nurse.

I know, I know...the sexual connotations that brings to mind..the "Naughty Nurse", or the "Let me give you a sponge bath, you've been a DIRTY boy".

Men seem to like nurses for some reason. Apparently we top the list for sexiest profession, according to a recent study. They claim that 54% of men have sexual fantasies about nurses. Researchers believe it is because nursing is associated with care-taking or service--a classic dominant-submissive division.

Anyway, dear readers...that is one of my little secrets.

Happy 5000 hits to me and The Fifth Circle of Hell!!!

Thanks for reading everyone :)

A Life without Regret.....

2008-03-17T12:17:00.000-07:00

Dave is gone away.

He is gone on vacation...for an entire week :(

I am not quite sure what to do with myself, so I have busied myself with figuring "THINGS" out. I am unhappy on a lot of levels. I hate my job, I am bored, unfulfilled and am unsatisfied in my personal relationships.

I need SOMETHING.

I have been busy making "lists" and considering the pro's and con's of various situations. I feel like my head is going to explode.

Someone pour me a nice, fruity, girly drink ;-)

I want to go back to university...there I said it. Someone kick me in the ass. I want to go back to university so I can get the job I want, but part of me fears that I am too old. I worry that I am not smart enough anymore and that those little 18 yr olds would kick my ass. I mean, would I even have a chance of getting into the masters program I want???

GAWD.

Why didn't I make the right choices when I had the chance and no responsibilities???

I am fearful, but excited at the same time. The possibilities have been swirling in my head since the sun came up. I want it all. I want fulfillment and happiness. I don't want to wait another 15 years and look back and say "Gee, I should have gone back to school".

I am big on going back and making good on the "regrets" in my life. I want to live a life without regret.

You get one shot on this rock and I want it all....

I know What you Want....

2008-03-02T15:46:00.001-08:00

You chase me. I chase you. Round and round.

I've got what you need. I make you feel alive. I take your breath away. I shake the cobwebs from your life. I am sweet madness....

You've got what I need. You make me feel alive. You bring me back to earth. You kiss me so hard. You are the rock I cling to when the sea threatens to sweep me away.

We belong....

Black....

2008-02-13T09:00:00.000-08:00

I am swallowed by Black.

Black in my eyes, Black in my ears, Black in my mouth.

I am filled with Black. It fills me up and chokes me.

I am weeping Black tears.

Black Tears of despair.

I am awash with Black, yet I am Empty.

The Black coats my shell, yet leaves my insides untouched.

There is nothing inside...only Emptiness.

I am Hollow and Black.

I am hurting myself. I need the Pain.

It is the only Control I have.

I am Tired.

I am Tired and Black.

I can feel myself Sinking.

Sinking, Sinking, Sinking into the Black.

I can almost Touch the sandy bottom with my toes.

I do not Care.

I cannot See anything except the Black.

I wanted you to Tell me it was okay, but you Wanted to be right.

I Needed the safety net of your words.

I am Drowning in the Black.

Help Me....

Who am I.....

2008-01-29T20:51:00.000-08:00

"Who am I"...isn't that the question most of us wrestle with? I spend a lot of time in introspection. I am a Thinker. Always thinking, always curious, always wondering.

I am.....intelligent, a loner, organized in my disorganization, impatient, overwhelmed when experiencing unpleasant emotions, lonely, ambivalent of the rules, plagued by low self confidence, soft hearted, emotionally moody, passionate, horny, vulnerable, geeky, prone to sadness, an observer, easily distracted, funny, impulsive, private, familiar with the darkside, a sabotager of self, sarcastic, open, unafraid, attracted to the counter culture, submissive, not punctual, prone to confusion, neurotic, an idealist.

I am withdrawn and sometimes hard to get to know. I am shy. But for those that take the time to get to know me they will find that I'm warm and gentle, with a surprising sense of humor. I care deeply for those I consider special friends.

I am creative and usually will express this by means of writing, painting and photography. I have a need to communicate and a vivd imagination. I am spiritual and philosophical. I see the purpose of my life as an inner journey or a personal "unfolding". The search for a soul mate and a spiritual human connection is one of my main preoccupations. I am a perfectionist and set high standards for myself and others. I love nature, trees and water. I like the way rain smells and the sound of the ocean.

I am an avid reader and am fascinated by words and song lyrics. I am very compassionate. I am a good problem solver. I am passionate and experience intense feelings. I typically question rules and authority. I am a thinker and sometimes stay up late at night..thinking. I am constantly searching for answers. I love discussing ideas. I am very perceptive.

I had an unhappy childhood and frequently lived in a fantasy world. I came from a practical minded family and felt like the swan reared in a family of ducks. I grew up believing I was different and bad. Because of this, I developed an interest in the sacred and profane. I am continuously fascinated in the duality of good and wickedness that lurks within me.

I am an intensely sexual being, yet uncomfortable with my own body. I have trust issues with men. It is difficult for me to completely "let go" in a sexual situation. I enjoy being tied up and "made" to accept whatever my lover has in store for me. I get an immense rush out of sucking cock. I am submissive and enjoy pleasing men. I am sensitive and easily hurt. Kissing me, especially on the neck, turns me into complete mush. I am kind and sweet. Daddy calls me the "sweetest "bad girl" he's ever met".

I am complex.

I am me and nothing more.

The price of truth is a vial of sodium pentothal....

2007-09-26T11:11:00.000-07:00

I have lived with guilt for 6 years....

It is a long time. Most days it feels like an eternity. I oftentimes wonder if "Guilt" can kill you. I feel it eating away at me. Every moment of everyday, it claws away at my insides, leaving me weakened and senseless. It is always present, always calling out to me in brief moments of happiness. It whispers in my ear "I know what you have done....".

In my weaker moments, the impulse to make things right is so strong that I find it impossible to resist......almost. I remain stoic and steadfast in my conviction to carry the burden alone but the core of my being calls out "Deceiver of men, set yourself free..."

If not for the fear....

I fear the truth just as much as I fear the guilt. A constant battle wages on inside me. Fear versus Fear.

I have alluded to the truth, at times, when keeping company with those who deserve the answers. But...I pull back and shy away from the white hot light of truth.

I chose to remain in the dark, alone.

I am the guardian of condemnation and sinfulness.....

Hell's princess Returns....

2007-09-13T13:22:00.000-07:00

Well, holy shit, I have my blog name back.....Whoot!!

What am I doing here, you ask?
I have no idea. Suffice to say that things in my life have pretty much gone to shit yet again and I find it somewhat of a release to be able to come here and bare my soul to the masses.

Strike 15, yer out!! How many chances does one person get in a lifetime anyway?

Sit back and enjoy the show boys and girls ;)