Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Sometimes You Just Gotta Go With the Punch!!!...pt 2

So there I was...standing in the door way looking first from one hostile face to another (this would be SIL and oldest teen daughter) and then to Chief of Police, who had a very neutral look which he was perusing me with...but a very sharp glint in his eyes. I cannot describe even close to adequate the very nauseous feeling I had that things were going to get worse before they got better. At least I got to pee first...theres that!!!

I was invited to sit down, which I did with a great deal of hesitancy...sort of like sitting down reduced drastically my opportunities for escape...if only. At this point I was wondering if "pleading the 5th" was an acceptable answer for any or all questions that were going to start coming my way...hmmmm?

All this time daggers of outrage were being thrown my way with deadly accuracy by SIL who was no doubt contemplating the many ways she would make me pay for not staying put in the car. Im not a mind reader by nature but it wasnt hard to understand what she was thinking...if looks could kill and all that. Of course she was probably secretly happy that I was there...now the interfering foreign wife that she never wanted or agreed to for her brother was possibly going to get either thrown in jail or deported...or both...oh happy days!! Like I said...wasnt hard to read her face.

Im wondering at this point just what those two had told the Police Chief up to this point...the thing about being the late comer to the party...you have no idea what happened before you arrived and why everyone is either celebrating the greatness of the "never to be forgotten" party...or totally pissed off and several divorces have been announced due to excessive drinking and forbidden advances and invitations given.

Police Chief was sitting there looking at me with both hands under his chin...both of his index fingers pressed against his mouth as if in deep contemplation. It must have been a full minute before he said a word to me....and his English was pretty damn good (something I wasnt use to back then as many adults were not taught adequate English way back in the day...whatever).

Anyhow, his first question to me was whether or not I knew these two ladies sitting here beside me. My mind quickly searched for the pros and cons of admitting my relationship with them (such as it was) and as much as I would love to have answered "I have no friggin clue who they are...I just wandered in to use the bathroom"...I figured he might be just good enough at his job to see right through that...damn. So I slowly said....yeeeees! and crossed my fingers.

Second question was whether I knew what had happened and what I had seen. Hmmm? Tricky because I didnt know what they had said...mine field here...tread lightly. So I did the only thing I thought would get me out of this precarious position with freedom still an option...I told the truth...up to a point...lol.

I told him that there had been arguing and shouting and lots of drama but that I didnt understand Arabic adequately enough to really know what all the screaming was about. I just stood back and watched...a helpless bystander to the unfolding events. Once again his fingers came up to cover his mouth and he studied me again for a moment or two. *breath in...breath out....slooooowly*

I realize that there is a large portion of the American public that have never ever travelled outside the country and really have no clue what it means to be THE foreigner under police scrutiny. Thoughts of jail is the least of your worries. Bahrain has a rep for not being too kind with its foreign criminals when it comes to crimes committed against nationals. It matters very little if the national "started it" etc...what ever "it" was...as the foreigner you are guilty...plain and simple. (it has improved somewhat this 23 years...but not a whole lot). So while I knew that lying could very well end me in more hot water then telling the truth...I decided I would risk it (dont ask my why...Im known for making very bad decisions...story of my life and all that).

When he asked me did I know anything about the man that had been punched in the nose...I did my best innocent look (Im told its not that great...sigh) and said Im not sure...everything was so crazy...and dark...and lots of people...and an ice cream truck drove by...that sort of distracted me...and I was thinking about what I would cook for dinner...so theres that....and the point Im making if you havent caught it yet is that I was babbling...because Im not a very good liar at the best of times...and this certainly wasnt a good time for it.

Again the two index fingers came up to the mouth...and he studied me some more.
He asked me some other questions...how long had I been in Bahrain...did I like it (not a good question to ask me under the current circumstances eh?) ...did I miss America and was I positive I knew nothing about the assault. He threw that last one in there sneakily like I wouldnt notice and answer without thinking....but my brain was buzzing from all the careful thinking I was engaged in..Not catching me that easy...you gotta work to trip me up...mewwwwahhhhh!!! Im just saying...sigh.

Answer answer answer...breath in and out...blink a few times...try and control heart rate...and count the seconds until I simply passed out from anxiety.

The Chief asked a few more questions about the incident...what I thought was going on...did I understand any of what was being shouted...and did I know anything about the guy punched in the nose. (again with the sneaky question)....answer answer answer...breath breath breath...!!!...all the while in the back of my mind was the very doable fantasy of me making a run for the door...grabbing a taxi...speed like mad to the house and grab my kid, passports and head for same airport I had excitedly visited a few hours before...and rush through customs and get safely on the plane before these clowns could even scratch their heads and or think about reacting...I could totally do it...totally!!!

Now at some point it dawned on me that this Chief was no idiot...he knew very well that I was the one that had punched the man in the face...all though at this point he hadnt actually asked me directly if I had indeed punched the guy in the nose. I found that odd when I thought about it the next day. (I found out later that the man in question was already in the police station screaming about a crazy English lady that had assaulted him for no reason)...it didnt take a genius to add 2 and 2 and get 4...just how many "English" ladies were present in the parking lot and had anything remotely to do with the incident? Im guessing just 1...anyone else? I also realized that the sharp glint in his eye was also tinged with a touch of humor...could it be he didnt want to ask me directly because my answer would require him to act? Could it be he was sitting there thinking the guy maybe deserved it and punching an ass in the nose shouldnt be a punishable offense but deserving of a medal of some sort (wishful thinking I know)...could it be he just saw the humor of it all and wasnt willing to take it further which would require loads of paperwork and inquiries and me being a foreigner lots of other work that just wasnt worth it...Im thinking that one.

Anyhow...after a few more minutes of fingers on mouth reflection he said I could leave. Huge sigh of relief...I had to stop myself from running willy nilly out the door like a convict that had just realized someone had left the key in the lock for whatever reason...I thanked him...excused myself...and with as much dignity and self control as I could muster...I walked out of his office and made for the door.

Just about made it too...only another 5 feet and I would have been home free. Turns out my timing was a bit off and ex-boyfriend had just come into the lobby from his interrogation and spotted me (not that hard to do with all things considered...blazing red hair tends to not blend into...well anything...that well). He immediately started screaming and pointing his finger (the other hand was clutched over his injured nose that was covered in gauze of some sort...found out later that I had actually broken it...thats sorta cool all things considered) All though the Police Chief wasnt around just then the lobby had several other cops standing around trying not to stare at me...Im guessing that since none of them immediately came after me that they were assuming if Police Chief let me go then I must be "innocent" (snigger) and so the guy could scream all he wanted...I was free to go....and go I did. No telling what would have happened if Police Chief had come out just then...hard to ignore the evidence when the "victim" is screaming and pointing at the "criminal".

I got outside and hightailed it for the car and jumped in wishing I had the keys and to hell with how SIL and oldest teen daughter got home. Younger teen daughter was all worked up wondering how long my prison sentence was going to be and how come I wasnt wearing cuffs and all that...she had a warped sense of humor that one. I just sat there with pounding heart and equally pounding headache...and oh yeah...I had to pee again!!

Within a few minutes SIL and oldest teen daughter came out and got in the car with a bang and some ugly looks thrown my way (Im use to them ladies...Im rubber your glue and all that...nah nah nah) and headed for home. Nobody spoke which surprised me...I assumed I was in for an ass kicking...this was different.

It was about this time that I realized my hand was actually hurting quite alot. It was then I remembered that it had been aching for awhile now...I just hadnt had time or desire to focus on it...you know..impending prison sort of erases all other concerns out of your mind. I examined it and only then noticed the pretty bloom of blues and blacks all around it...especially around my pinky finger. Nicely swollen too. Could it actually be sprained...broken? Interesting thought.

At this point SIL looked over and noticed my hand as well. Now there have been very few moments in our long 23 year relationship in which she offered me any sort of kindness...whether in word or deed...so I was completely floored when she asked if I thought I needed to go to the hospital. Hmmmm? This sounded like a trick question...but I obviously needed to go so agreed that I did.

Awhile later when the doctor asked me how this happened I had a moment of panic wondering if she would call the cops when I confessed that I had just punched a national in the nose...ach! oh what tangled webs we weave when we desire to deceive....sigh! So instead I told her I fell down...simple enough. Then she looked at me like maybe I was an abused housewife and so poor me. I was willing to be viewed as a beaten housewife at that moment more than at any other time in my life...just put on the cast and let me go home. She did eventually and home we went.

It was 4 in the morning...a simple trip for some unneeded shopping had turned into something movies are made of...I had a cast on my hand (and was wondering what the Chief would have made of it if he had noticed my injured hand...maybe he did)...the added hatred of SIL piled on my head...and husband to contend with when he found out about this incident. I might add here that husband was in the military back in those days and because of the Gulf War was forced to stay at the base...so he wasnt actually home when we got home...lucky me...for now.

It was then that SIL asked me to please not inform husband of what had happened because, while she would no doubt gain immense pleasure at my ass being kicked by him...her daughter would also be "outed" for the "slut" that she was and that certainly wouldnt do. She didnt actually use those words but I got the point. I had no problems with keeping that particular adventure to myself...to my grave if need be...

Unfortunately what we plan for isnt always what we get...story of my life.

*to be continued

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Sometimes You Just Gotta Go With the Punch!!!...pt 1

Most of my life Ive been a rather patient and nonviolent person...nonviolent in that I dont generally shout and get all worked up unless seriously antagonized for a prolonged period of time....and I abhor violence since I was victim of it for most of my life as well. I figure if you cant either talk it out...or walk away until you can talk it out...then you need to do some growing up...violence doesnt solve anything.

Having said that...there have been a few occasions in my life when I have just wanted to haul off and smack someone...9 times out of 10 I havent of course...the moment you hit someone you are no longer in control...of yourself or what the other person might do as a reaction...so not hitting is usually the better option...but now and then...that 10th time...you forget all self control and let her fly!! Oh the fun that happens after that!

Im thinking of a particular incident in my life that happened during the Gulf War...remember the first Gulf War with Georgie #1? I was here in Bahrain for that...and I might add some of the things that went on in Bahrain during that time is worthy of a post all by itself...anyhow I digress...

At the time of the Gulf War I was still fairly young and still quite naive about the goings on among the Muslims I was surrounded by. In the 23 years Ive been here of course I have learned that Arab/Muslims get up to all sorts of sin just like us in the "immoral West"...they just tend to hide it better. I get irritated when Muslims point fingers from their high horses about how sinful the West is...meanwhile I personally know they are just as happy to engage in sex and all its forms of debauchery as nonMuslims are. However, at this point in my life over here I was still in awe over the fact that Muslim girls were such modest and shy creatures...and would never EVER engage in premarital sex (I of course new that Muslim boys were doing it...as do boys all over the world....lol)...yeah right...I was seriously in need to have my blinders removed...and removed they were...picture this....

One night I found myself out with my SIL, my little girl, and SIL's teen daughter. We had been to the shops and were back in our neighborhood headed home. Imagine my surprise when we came across SIL's oldest teen daughter out in the street...and with a boy no less. Shock!! Horror!! She hung out with boys? No way!! Anyhow, upon seeing her mother she came running to the car and sobbed out a story of eye opening and blinder removing proportions...I was sitting there with my mouth seriously hanging open and my eyes bugged out. Remember, I was still under the greenhorn assumption that Muslim girls did not engage in any sort of contact with boys...much less have boyfriends...funny now when I think of it.

Her story was thus...she was with her current boyfriend...and her ex-boyfriend was being a shit by following them around shouting out "lies" about how she had slept with him...and his friends...and thus was a slut and everyone should know...especially new boyfriend. Now I was sitting there assuming SIL was going to kick the ass of her daughter for messing with boys in the first place...get her ass in the car and take us home and then commence kicking her slutty ass...oh how wrong I was. Daughters ass was never in danger...but ex-boyfriends ass was definitely in her sights.

It was at this specific moment that ex-boyfriend decided to drive by in his car...and teen daughter pointed him out with a shriek heard round the world...without even a moments hesitation my SIL was after him...and it was one of those moments when you just know that the night is not going to end well...but really cant do anything about it. The rest of us in the car were just along for the ride...or so I thought.

She chased him up and down streets for nearly half an hour...flashing her lights and honking her horn...shouting at him to pull over. At one point she even flew down a one way street...the wrong way...and it was here I seriously started thinking about grabbing my infant daughter and jumping out at the next stop...the lady had lost her mind. (something she seemed happy to prove again and again over the years)

At some point...I dont recall how...we all ended up in the airport parking lot. This was back in the day before paid parking was in effect so we could just drive right in. Lets set the scene here...there was our car with SIL, me, little girl, and teen daughter...there was oldest teen daughter with current boyfriend in another car...and troublemaker ex-boyfriend in his car...I do believe he had a friend with him or maybe it was just someone that showed up later. Oh yes...there were the strangers walking in and out that decided to stop and see what all the scandal was about.

Long story short here...oldest teen daughter immediately went into her soon to be famous hysterical mode...this entailed mindless screaming and shouting of which nobody could understand a word of...which eventually resulted in her throwing herself (or rather affecting a movie start swoon) to the the parking lot pavement and thus preceded to put on a scene any leading actress would die for...I can be cynical about it now as I came to know oldest teen daughter a bit better over the years and realized she really was rather a slut...but at the time I was falling for it hook line and sinker and was seriously freaking out over the commotion.

During this heroine scene of Oscar proportions SIL was screaming at ex-boyfriend accusing him of slandering her daughter...the same daughter that was out with current boyfriend after leaving ex-boyfriend in the dust...hmmm? New boyfriend was sort of standing by not sure what to do...wondering if he had picked a bad apple or what (eventually new boyfriend and oldest teen daughter would marry...but I cant say its a true love story...so much drama all the time)...and younger teen daughter and I were standing back wondering when the police would show up considering the amount of attention we were drawing.

Now up to this point I wasnt really angry...I was more shocked than anything. Remember at the time I was pretty naive to the actual activities some girls got up too...and so couldnt really allow myself to believe at this point that oldest teen daughter was in fact deserving of the slur she was so adamantly causing a scene over. Not that I believe girls deserve the title "slut" merely for engaging in sex...but you have to understand the mindset of this culture...and how it can influence you fairly quickly when you are dumped into it headfirst and with no "normal" people to keep your open mind...well...open...does that make sense?

So at this point I was standing back observing all the commotion...taking it all in...and this is when my anger slowly started building...picture this...

Oldest teen daughter was stretched out on the cement flailing her arms and legs...tearing at her clothes and declaring her reputation ruined because of ex-boyfriends jealousy and lying tongue...SIL was bending over her trying to get her up off the ground and screaming at others to mind their own business. New boyfriend was standing by not doing anything...not even engaging ex-boyfriend in a show of loyalty by at least verbally kicking his ass...what a wuss!! And the thing that sent my low grade anger into full blown pissed off was the reaction of ex-boyfriend to all this scandal he had started...

He was standing back...away from the melee...hands crossed over his chest...superior air about him...and a very VERY smug look on his face...almost as if he was telling everyone around him...look at what I did...I did this!!! That smug look is what sent me over the edge. Maybe oldest teen daughter deserved what he was saying about her...I dont know...but the fact that he was standing there acting like Cock of the Rock or something just blew me away. Sorry to say folks that at this point in time I sort of went off manual and straight into auto pilot...and this is where the fun really began.

I sort of meandered on over to ex-boyfriend...like I wasnt really paying attention to him but wanted a different point of view of the circus show going on. When I managed to get right up near him I realized at 5'3" he pretty much towered over me. Had to be at least 6' tall. I considered that for about a second before I did a roundhouse swing and punched him full force in the nose...gave it everything I had..and then some.

He immediately grabbed his nose while blood started pouring out between his fingers. Suddenly everyone stopped focusing on the drama queen and gave us their undivided attention. At this point ex-boyfriend decided retreat was the better option and made for his car. For some reason...dont ask me...Im on auto pilot remember...I decided his car could so with some serious remodeling...and started banging it with my shoe...which I dont remember taking off. Teen daughter joined me and we actually managed to break one of his lights before he sped off into the night....screaming the whole time.

SIL decided things had gotten rather out of hand and a preemptive strike was required to get things back on track...she ordered us all in the car and with a squeal of tires headed for the police station. It was decided (by her) that teen daughter and I should stay in the car while older teen daughter and her went inside and lodged a complaint. Everyone knows that creating a situation that causes the local police's eyes to fall upon you is never a good thing in the best of circumstances...I had assaulted a national..you bet your ass I was staying in the car.

Now teen daughter and I stayed in the car for about 2 hours before I started thinking about getting out of it. I had no idea what was going on inside but kept expecting at least 3 or 4 cops to come charging out and dragging me from the car at any moment. When 2 hours had passed without so much as an update from SIL...I started focusing on other matters...like the fact that I had to pee...and now that I realized I had to...I could think of nothing else. Before too long I was seriously looking out the window in hopes of seeing a nice stand of bushes or something similar...who cares I was in a Muslim country...when you gotta go you gotta go!!! When I absolutely could not help myself any longer I made the decision to go inside the police station on the hunt for a toilet. I had no choice...there wasnt another building around that offered a potential bathroom for passer byes.

I walked into the police station trying to look like the poster child for female innocence. I was directed to a bathroom and spent a bit of time refreshing myself before exiting and making my way back to the front door trying not to cause too many heads to turn...unfortunately all eyes were on me when I came out...and one cop stepped up and directed me towards an office that had SIL and older teen daughter sitting in chairs...along with the Chief of Police...surprisingly nobody looked happy to see me.

*to be continued (sorry this ran on....I love details)

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Now That Your Gone...pt 3

So my Father was in jail awaiting trial for the murder of my sister Nay. Our house was torn between feeling the desire to celebrate our new found "freedom" and worrying about the outcome of the trial. I was only 5 at the time but I clearly remember the tense atmosphere and the many whispered discussions between my Mother and her family.

As I said before I dont know the exact procedures that occurred that kept my Father in jail for nearly a year...I do know that my Mothers testimony was the key that was going to be the "deciding factor" as to whether he went to prison or not...I would have to assume there had to be some other sort of evidence...but my Mother has never said what it was...or even if there was. I do know that she was extremely torn up with guilt over her accusation. As horrible and abusive as he was...she couldnt make herself truly believe he was a child murderer.

Eventually her guilt got the better of her (or maybe the worst depending on how you look at it) and she decided she couldnt go through with it. She went to the police station and dropped her charges against him. Told them she was mistaken and was just emotionally distraught and not thinking straight at the time of her accusations. Without her "eye witness" testimony I guess the prosecution had little else to go on...and so my Father was released after nearly a year in jail.

Now I realize I have been calling him my Father all this time...but in fact they werent actually married up til now. He had been living with my Mother for years without marriage...when I mentioned marriage earlier I was referring to later on in their relationship (just wanted to clarify that). Later on as in after he was released from jail. Now here is the truly interesting part (and something I will remark about later on)...after being accused of murdering her child and spending one year in jail...with the possibility of life in prison...rather than turn and run away from this "crazy" woman...he came home directly from the jail...and told her they were getting married. I do believe my Mothers deep sense of guilt was the major deciding factor in her agreement to marry him...I cant believe or think of any other reason for doing so.

They were quickly married without too much fanfare and within a year my little sister was born. Now up until my sisters birth I believe my Mother could have actually made the effort to leave him if she truly had wanted to. There was nothing tying her to him...she would just need to work up the nerve and take that first step. However, with the arrival of little sister...she was suddenly bound to him in ways she couldnt imagine. Suddenly that little baby was a tool in his hand to keep my Mother by his side whether she wanted to be there or not. Over the years she made several efforts to leave him (I have forgotten the number of times she threw everything in the car along with us and took off without much planning)...only for him to track her down and drag her back...all with my little sister as the "threat"...as in...if you dont come back I will take her and you will never see her again. Take it from me...women can suffer a lot just for the sake of their children...especially when they feel helpless and powerless. Every time she left...he would track her down and bring her back.

Now, my Mother will tell me and everyone she knows that I am the one that suffered the most at my Fathers hands. Everything from beatings to verbal abuse to just down right treating me like a piece of garbage. My older sister got it as well but she was a rebel from an early age and tended to antagonize rather than sit quietly by and take it (a whole other story). I was the quiet introverted one...the book worm and A student that absorbed all this abuse with little or no reaction on the outside...on the inside I was living a mental hell.

My little sister was The Princess...spoiled and made to feel like our superior all our young lives. A role she played with a relish. I dont blame her for what she was in those days...a horrible little sister that added to our miseries with her infantile power to harm us with just a word to Father....everything she was he made her. Im happy to say she grew up about as normal as one can be given her upbringing...thank God...I didnt want to hate my sister merely because my Father preferred she hate us...as he did....but when we were young...I came about as close to hating her as two sisters can get and still maintain a relationship. We were enemies living in the same room...sleeping in the same bed...and we were pawns in the hands of that piece of shit.

I mentioned earlier my wondering at his coming back to marry my Mother and not just hightailing it for the hills upon release. Well I actually asked him one day...about 5 minutes before I believe he was going to actually kill me.(no lie). Picture this.

My Mother had been called away to my Aunts house in another state (my cousin had been raped and murdered...another story worth telling)...and my little sister and I were left with my Dad for about a week. Now among the many things I was not allowed to do...talking on the phone without permission was one of them. I was 17 years old and had a boyfriend (of sorts) and took the opportunity to make a quick call to him while my Father was gone (or so I thought). He walked in and caught me and preceded to give me the last beating I would receive at his hands.

He threw me across the room and I landed on a table and shattered it...and the next half hour was a blur...but in the end he got a gun and explained to me that since my Mom was gone...sister was at school...and we lived 17 miles from our nearest neighbors...he could kill me...bury my body somewhere...and tell everyone I ran away cause I was ungrateful for our home life. Who would know?

I believed him...I had no other choice at the time....but I was fed up at this point. I decided that if I was going to die..then at least answer me this one thing. I looked him straight in the eyes (something I had avoided doing for my entire life) and asked him this...

"Why did you come back to my Mother and marry her? Why did you marry someone that put you in jail and could have sent you to prison for life? You didnt love her and you certainly didnt love us. So why? I know why you did. You married her so you could make her pay and us as well for what she did to you. We have suffered 16 years of hell just so you could get some fucked up revenge."

That is the only time in my entire life I ever spoke to him in such a way...and so directly and with anger. I felt like if I was going to die...dont go quietly...let him know finally what I felt about him...and that I thought he was a piece of shit for what he had done to all of us.

Well...for the next 5 minutes (could have been a year...not sure) my Father knelt over with his hands on his knees and got within inches of my face. He stared at me with eyes snake black and without emotion. My heartbeat was pounding so loud Im sure he could hear it. He said nothing...just stared into my eyes and could have been planning my murder for all I know...but I didnt look away...I stared back. Dont ask me how or where the nerve came from...but when I think about that incident now I get goosebumps from the raw emotion and tense atmosphere that I can still feel today. Im sure my very life was hanging in the balance in those 5 minutes...but I didnt care. I wanted an answer...

But I didnt get one...after about 5 minutes he stood up...went to his room and put the gun away and left. For the next 2 months until I went into the military we did not speak a single word to each other. He completely ignored me which was fine by me. My Mother kept asking me what had happened when she was gone but it would be years before I told her.

My Father died from diabetes complications some years back. I find it hard to this day to believe that he is dead. He was 6'4"...a mountain of a man and ornery as all hell. He was mean and abusive and didnt give a shit about anyone or anything.

When he died...nobody cared. My sister had him cremated and he sits in a vase in the garage.

Now I sometimes wonder..if my sister had not died (I will never know if he really had anything to do with it) would he have stuck around...would he have tired of this woman with 4 kids that werent his...one a "mongoloid" that required lots of medical care etc. Would he have bothered himself over a family that wasnt his and he obviously didnt care about? But when he went to jail...I have a feeling his personality was what made him come back...for his abusive and vindictive revenge...he came back to make her pay...and us...for having the nerve to believe she had the power to hurt him.

He had all the power...and he never let us forget it.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Now That Your Gone...pt 2

The passing of my sister was understandably a huge sorrow in our lives. Even though she had been sick for much of hers..she had always been a ray of sunshine that effortlessly lit up a room when she was in it. It took a great deal to get that beautiful smile to waver from her lips my Mother tells me....and she never seemed to dwell on the fact that she was the sick one...always asking the rest of us "why we were sad" etc.

I was very young when my sister passed away...and the emptiness in my life after that is a feeling that has never gone away even though many years have passed since then. And I often sit and wonder what our lives would have been like had she survived her childhood and grown into an adult with the rest of us...but I digress.

For many months after her passing my Mother could not focus on the rest of us...on life. She was so unaware of time passing that my bday in November came and went and wasnt remembered by her until Feb. Of course I was too young to realize a milestone in my life had passed but on that Feb day when my Mother suddenly realized that she had forgotten an important day in one of her childrens lives...she quickly worked in a feverish frenzy to organize a bday party for me. There is a pic of all of us gathered with a few friends and family...me in my party dress...a very festive atmosphere with balloons and presents etc...but when I look at the pic I realize there are no smiles on the faces of the party goers...and I look like the saddest little bday girl in the world. I was suffering a deep loss without my Nay...as if my other half was gone and I faced the world (and the Big Bad Boogieman) alone.

Its during these months of unfocused living that my Mothers mind was working itself into a deep depression...playing the What If game but with a deadly consequence...What If....he hadnt gone into her room that day in the hosp? That dark thought kept my Mother preoccupied for the months that followed and while it remained just a thought in her head she could almost convince herself that her imagination was getting the best of her...but one day the thought, so far unspoken out loud, was spit out with a harshness that only long held pent up breath can express.

She was with her sister that day...listening to my Aunt tell her to "just let her go"...she was in a "better place now"...and life "goes on"...the usual platitudes we try and console ourselves with when a child is lost so young. My Mother listened until she couldnt listen anymore and in life changing moment (another one...sigh) she spit out those dreaded words...what if he had something to do with her death?

From the moment my Mother released those words our lives were once again turned upside down. My Aunt immediately jumped to the very worst conclusion knowing full well what sort of man slept beside my Mother at night and kept us all hostage with his abusive ways. It took her no time at all to inform the entire family that her niece had been murdered by "that MONSTER!!!" and the police needed to be told as soon as possible.

My Mother felt as if she was on a roller coaster ride...unable to control the speed or direction her life...our lives...had suddenly taken. She felt she had made a huge mistake by uttering those words out loud...but felt powerless to pull them back in...but after all...he was an abusive man...and he had been in her room for some unknown reason...what else is one left to assume?

Before too long my Mother found herself at the police station surrounded by various family members telling the cops about her suspicions and why she felt the way she did. I might mention that my Mother actually did very little talking during this initial visit...my extended family were more than happy to "fill in all the details" of our lives. Years later I find it somewhat hypocritical of them to jump to the role of 'saviors" and "justice seekers" for my sister...when prior to her death they all were fully aware of just what our family was suffering through at the hands of that man...and not one of them ever opened their mouths against him or tried to help us in any way.

I will fill in a bit of back detail here and tell you that the police station was well aware of the abusive and volatile ways of my Father. He had had run ins with them several times all ready. In one incident while my Mother was working at the bar....my Father got extremely jealous when a half drunk man made a pass at my Mom...during the ruckus that followed the cops were called in. Now my Father was not a drinker (thank God or Im positive that alcohol and his abusive personality would have resulted in one or more of us being dead at some point through the years...ironic considering this very story) and he didnt do drugs etc...but he also didnt take kindly to anyone...including cops...telling him what to do. Before the night was over....6 cops were needed to take him down and get him in cuffs....yes...they knew what they were dealing with when it came to my Father.

Apparently sufficient suspicions were aroused to warrant the arrest of my Father. I dont know how all that works but it was agreed he needed to be brought to the police station but wasnt likely to come on his own...so cops were sent to our house to facilitate as peaceful an arrest as possible. It was agreed beforehand with my Mother that they would come in the night when he was asleep...the element of surprise giving them the upper hand and all.

The courage it took my Mother to go home and act "normal" for the next few hours knowing full well what was going to happen...and knowing what could happen to her or us if he had even a glimmer of a clue about it must have made her sick with apprehension. She did her best to keep the rest of us quiet and sent us off to bed sooner then usual. It was agreed upon before hand that she would leave the door unlocked so the police could enter quietly.

The one fear she had more than anything else was the fact that my Father kept guns...and took delight in taking them out now and then and pointing them at her (and later us) and informing her on how easy it would be to pull the trigger and blow her brains out. She informed the cops of the guns and begged them to remember her children...promises of avoiding a "shoot out" were extracted...but really...it wasnt something they could promise when dealing with a man such as my Father.

2 o'clock in the morning while my Mother laid in bed with her heart hammering in her throat...barely able to stop herself from fleeing the room into ours as he slept beside her...the cops entered our home. They quietly stole through the house already knowing the layout and where they needed to go. Before long there were 8 police offices surrounding my Mother and Fathers bed...not a sound was made as my Mother was led away (I will add here that my Father was one of the lightest sleepers I have ever known...and believe me we all knew that...so why he didnt awaken that night is beyond me...they must have been seriously quiet).

My Father was awakened on that early March day with cops surrounding his bed and pistols aimed at his heart...for once he didnt put up a fight (now theres a What If game..what if he had....hmmm?)

*to be continued

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Down But Not Out

Ive been very sick this past week and a half so the second part of Now That Your Gone is on hold. Sorry for anyone patiently waiting (you know who you are). I did try typing it up yesterday but then it all mysteriously disappeared and I dont have the energy to do it again just now. Give me a few more days...this thing is kicking my backside but I hope Ive suffered its worse.

When this is finally over I might be the first person in the history of sick people to cough up not only one...but two lungs for my personal viewing pleasure....ugh!!1

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Now That Your Gone...Pt 1

Many people who know me do not know that I have/had a sister that passed away when she was 5...I was 4...this is a picture of us with my mother (headless...sorry Mom). It was taken in a place that we spent an awful lot of time in her short 5 years of life...a hospital. Loma Linda Medical Center in California actually because my sister had brain cancer....and at that time, 1972, they didnt have the technology available that they do now that would have enabled them (possibly) to just go in there and take it out....and allow me grow up with my sister in my life.

I cant remember how many times I have just sat and thought about her...wondering how life might have been different for us if she had lived past childhood...her death by itself was devasting...but the ramifications of her death could possibly be what lead to my (and siblings) childhood full of abuse and pain.

You see, my father(I call my step father father simply because he is the only father I have ever known) spent a year following her death in prison for her murder. My mother accused him of murdering her cancer ridden 5 year old daughter while lying in a hospital bed in a coma and he was sent away for that...but he didnt stay gone...and the rest, as they say, is history. Picture this...

My mother fled from my "real" father after I was born. Merely a baby and with 3 other toddlers in tow she decided facing a life full of unknowns with 4 kids and no means of supporting them was a hell of a lot better than staying with an alcoholic who couldnt be bothered to remember he had children, a family (to this day Im sure my "real" father doesnt actually know my name as he frequently gets it wrong on the odd occasion I speak to him). She packed our things and got behind the wheel of a car she didnt have a license to drive...a manual at that (something she had never driven...think about that for a minute...exactly)...and set out for a future unknown. Little did she know that she had just jumped from the pan into the fire as far as men are concerned.

Shes always been rather scant with details about what happened between leaving my alcoholic father and setting herself up in a livable situation with 4 young kids and no diploma etc. Ive always assumed she may have been forced to do some things she wasnt proud or happy about, who knows, but I understand and so I dont push for answers. We all deserve to keep our secrets if we choose to.

She picks up the story at a time when she was working in a bar and making good tips and having a life she was looking for (of sorts)....independence and money...no man to depend on that constantly let you down. Unfortunately, fate, as they say, had other plans for this young naive woman that was only looking for a better life for her children and herself...trying to outrun the mistakes she had already made in her life and determined not to repeat them...but sometimes you just cant outrun destiny. One night, while working in the bar, in walked a 6' 4" handsome man who scanned the room and only stopped when his dark eyes landed on her. Did I mention my mother was a stunner when young (still is but its harder to convince her now that youth has fled)...she was and has always been a beautiful woman. I might mention that my "real" father was a very handsome man as well. Kind of makes me wonder why I turned out looking as I do (another story perhaps...and there is one). Anyhow, I digress...

He looked at my mother for a full minute...she was captured by his gaze...felt herself go all warm and felt extremely devoured by his intense stare. She tells us that she almost believed everyone in the room simply ceased to exist and her and this man were the only two left. He walked straight to her and introduced himself....and thus began a life spanning nearly 20 years of abuse and terror.

In the beginning his constant need to know every detail about where she was and what she was doing etc made her feel cherished and protected. She believed that he only wanted to take care of her and that his concern for her every movement was merely his way of showing it. A far cry from her exhusband that never even asked her how she was that day. She fell for it, hook line and sinker, but by the time she realized his concern was really a need to control her...well...by that time it was far too late. The first time she suggested to him that maybe they needed to take some time apart to see where they stood...she spent the night at her friends house nursing a black eye and busted lip...her frightened children getting their first taste of physical violence....it would be an oft repeated scene that weaved through the tapestry of our lives.

Because abused women feel they have no voice, no say in their lives (been there done that) she married this man simply because he gave her no choice to refuse him. She felt powerless to stop the wheels set in motion that had brought him to her. She might as well have had prison bars surrounding her she felt so trapped, caged. She might well have been the unhappiest bride on her wedding day that ever existed...who knows.

When my sister first started showing signs of illness my mother suspected that it was something worse then just a common childhood ailment. She took her directly to a well known doctor and her worst fears were realized...her daughter...her baby...had cancer. It seems cruel of God to inflict such pain on the lives of little children and my mother was angry in ways Ive only come to understand myself this past few years. The next few years would be spent in and out of the hospital as my sister went through various rounds of illness and treatment.

Let me digress just a moment here and explain the sort of relationship I had with my sister then. We were barely a year apart in age and couldnt have looked more different if we tried (just look at the picture up there). She looked much like my mother...dark skinned with brown eyes and hair. I had snow white skin with blazing red hair and sparkling blue eyes (I might add Im the only one of my siblings that has this particular genetic make up...the rest are all brown skinned etc...must be that Native American in my grandmothers family). We were inseperable...every picture that my mother has of us together we are either holding hands or have our arms around each other. Many of them are taken in the hospital...my sister with her head in bandages and me next to her...wanting my head bandaged as well cause Nay had hers done. (my sisters name was Dawn Renee...I called her Nay...and my gmail account uses her name) It was very rare indeed for my mother to be with her in the hospital without me there as well.

My sister spent much of her life in the hospital as I said...but there were times when she was well enough to come home. The last time she came home she seemed to be doing better than my mother remembers for some time. The events that occurred that night, the last night my sister lived among us, are engraven in my mothers mind...but she finds it hard to talk about still. Oh she will tell us about it, give us the details etc...but she gets a far away look in her eye...leaves us all together sometimes...rushing back to a life when her daughter was still a warm living being in her arms...so that we have to call out to her... drag her back to the present...to life without Nay. She tells us that Nay was doing well...had spent the evening playing with me...enjoying being home for a change. The atmosphere was rather partyish...Nay wasnt home often these days.

At some point my father came home...he wasnt expecting Nay to be home apparently...thinking she was in the hospital for good this time (but she had taken a turn for the better...surprising the doctors all around)...but my mother always brought her home whenever she was capable of making the trip.

I might point out here that my father...being the abusive tyrant that he was felt no sympathy for the pain and suffering this little 5 year old was going through. He quite often told my mother that she must have done something in her life to bring on this illness to her daughter...Gods punishment and all. He routinely referred to my sister as a mongoloid (when young I never knew what a mongoloid was but thought it was something to do with her illness...I discovered the truth of it the night she died)...as if she were some misshappen oddity destined for a pathetic pitiful existence. I realize years later that my father had no depths of cruelty he wouldnt sink to if he could heap such recriminations on the head of a mother that was losing her child...blaming her for her childs illness..and labeling her beautiful innocent baby with such a horrific title. We like to pretend human beings are better than animals...but its been proved to me at least twice in my life...that...no...we are not. (at least some of us are not)

So after my father came home and seen Nay there he argued with my mother...asked her why she had brought her "mongoloid" home again when she should be in the hospital. My mother told him that Nay was doing better...surprising the doctors even....so maybe things were looking up and they should think positive about this new turn of events. He stalked down the hallway...and about 10 minutes later Nay came back down the hallway acting strange...its hard for my mother to describe my sister at that point...she sort of blanks out that night...only remembering images and moments. She remembers Nay collapsing at her feet...she remembers calling the ambulance...she remembers calling her sister to come take the rest of us...she remembers trying to hold my sister all the way to the hospital even though the paramedics were trying to give her aid. She doesnt remember my father being there at any point.

Later that night when my sister was laying in her hospital bed...hooked up to machines and deep in the black world of coma...my father entered the hospital...my mother seen him go in Nays room without bothering to even let my mother know he was there. (she had gone down the hall to call and check on us). She noticed him come out of the room a few moments later and leave...still without seeking her out first. She remembers feeling intense anxiety about him coming and going in such a sneaky manner...like a thief.
Moments later all the machines in my sisters room started going off...my sister was dying.
*to be continued

Friday, March 6, 2009

And Now You Know The Rest of The Story

During my school years of 7th through graduation I lived 17 miles outside of town and so had to ride a school bus...along with a bus full of other students scattered outside of Rock Springs. Some of the events that happened on that bus ride everyday could make many many posts all by themselves...we had danger, excitement, boredom, fights, parties....and some heavy duty make out sessions by the more daring among us. Everyday was something new...but everyday was exactly the same in some respects.
Without fail our radio was blasting...to overcome the chaos and disorderly conduct no doubt but I believe our string of bus drivers just liked to pretend we all ceased to exist while the radio was cranking out the latest top 10. The variety of men and women that were signed up to drive our bus was truly a line up of the best and worst society had to offer. I sometimes wonder if our bus had some sort of a curse on it or maybe a bad reputation(turns out it did...lol)...considering nobody viewed driving it as a step up the school bus driving career later...but I digress...
Anyhow, despite our many adventures one thing remained the same...a daily dose of Paul Harvey coming on to quiet us all down and allow us a moment to reflect on "The Rest of the Story".
Anyone that has heard this program knows that the "rest of the story" always involved some well known figure that had some event in their lives that few knew about. During the entire monologue many of us would be trying to figure out who he was referring to based on some of the bits of information he mentioned. Shouts of famous names and possible outcomes were never in short supply. I liked to just sit and listen...and imagine one day Paul Harvey might be speaking about me to a million strong audience who knew all about me because I would be famous...but didnt know this one thing from my life...this one thing that made me human...brought me down to earth and allowed others to share my humanity...such is the life of celebrities that we view them as "above us" ...unreachable and somewhat infallible and iconic....immortal!!!
He had the best stories that never failed to bring smiles and comments of..."I knew thats who it was"...or shouts of...."no way man...thats gotta be a lie...that guy/lady would never do that"...and other such things. We kids apparently knew much more about these people Paul Harvey spoke of then he could ever know...ah the audacity of youth!!!
There are a multitude of bad memories I have of my younger years...memories that involved riding that bus as well (oh the stories) but Paul Harvey was a good one that could be counted on every day to bring a little sanity to an other wise chaotic life...if famous people could be viewed as normal...then our messed up little no account lives could mean something too one day.
The rest of OUR story is what we were striving towards...aiming for...dreaming of no matter what hell we were suffering at that moment. It was just a moment in a story that would and could read out completely different from its beginnings...after all...many of those famous people he spoke of started out pretty much as ordinary citizens who experienced extra ordinary events that changed their lives...that could be anyone of us...and so we dreamed.
I happened to hear by chance that Paul Harvey passed away recently. That brought a moment of sheer sadness...it reminded me of the fact that much of my life has passed me by and my story has never really had a chance to turn into something people might want to hear about on the radio someday...I thought about all my hopes and dreams and how through circumstance and fate...they have been all but forgotten...but then I figured...Im not dead yet...theres always time...as long as your still breathing there is time...so who knows?
A moment of silence for Paul Harvey...an American icon that was able to silence a busload of misfits and troublemakers long enough to allow us to dream of a future with potential.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Boys Will be Boys

Opened up the GDN today to this horrible and disgusting story.http://gulf-daily-news.com/Story.asp?Article=244784&Sn=BNEW&IssueID=31349 Im wondering if that defense attorney, Fatima alHawaj, would be willing to subject herself to a gang rape and come out of it with the philosophy..."it was all a bit of harmless fun"? And I wonder if she would have said that if the victim had been a fellow Bahraini and not just a low class Filipino that are usually classed as "sexually available" to the Arabs they work for and among?

I also took note of the fact that the "youths" in question were 19, 20, 21...Im curious as to why MEN of this age are always described as youths in the paper here whenever they commit such heinous crimes? When exactly are boys viewed as men...whats the magic age marker for these people? And are we supposed to feel a certain degree of "aw shucks" for them because of their "youthful" age and apparent inability to control thenselves in their quest for some "harmless fun"?

Final note...with women defending men like this...women lawyers at that...with the phrase "harmless fun" the perpetuation of the belief that "boys will be boys" will never be cast aside and the action they undertook viewed exactly for what it is...a crime against a woman that has no doubt changed her life and will never be forgotten...but I dare say...if she hadnt been able to identify those 3 "boys" they would have tossed the memory of their night of harmless fun behind them and gotten a good nights sleep in the process.

Bahrain should be ashamed of itself the way sexual crimes are handled...and if I were that Filipino I would sue the ass off of one Fatima alHawaj who reduced my rape, humiliation, and lifelong memory of abuse at the hands of some locals and by the govt itself into merely an evening of "harmless fun".

Dental Follow Up...

As I stated in my previous post...I need to have some dental work done...sooner rather than later. My problem is Im lousy at picking dentist apparently...Ive not had the luck of the draw yet since Ive been here.

Soooo.....Im asking anyone that happens to read this...if your in Bahrain...or have been etc...and you know of an excellent dentist (preferably one that knocks you out with laughing gas or something...do they still do that)...I would very much appreciate a name and number.

Like I said...Im terrified to go but know that I need too...so I need a very good dentist...not just in technique etc but in the bedside manner approach as well. I need the full works...if they have a large screen tv with the likes of Mel Gibson or Dr McDreamy playing...well I wont say no to that either.

Im waiting to hear from you...whomever you may be.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

This Wont Hurt a Bit!

I took my friend to the dentist tonight...she left it late as many people (including me) are prone to do...and thus was in a lot of pain. I felt her pain...literally. I have had some horrible experiences with dentists here in Bahrain....imagine that!
Growing up I never had fear of the dentist...didnt have that deep seated dread a lot of people have..not sure why but I figure that I had shit to deal with at home a hell of a lot more painful and scary then any dentist...who knows. It helped I suppose that I never had any major dental problems either. After arriving in Bahrain it was sometime before I found myself in need of a dentist. I still didnt have any real fear...but I was a bit hesitant because I had been to the local health center several times and it wasnt the most modern place in the world. Left a lot to be desired...so to speak. I was hoping they were a little more up to speed with their dental care.
Now let me explain something about myself first. Im extremely sensitive to pain...I bruise incredibly easy...when I need pain killers...I need A LOT of them for whatever reason. Get the point? I have been telling people (doctors) for years that the injections for pain they give me...or the tablets etc just dont cut it...I can still feel everything as if I didnt have any pain killer. Ive had docs tell me it was "all in my head"...once while being stitched up after delivery...the doc gave me a local anesthetic...it didnt work. She gave me another...I was ready to climb off the table. She gave me a third and I felt like every stab of the needle was in my brain. She said I had to bear it cause she couldnt give me anymore. 45 minutes later I was praying to just pass out...no such luck. Incidentally I managed to get through the 5 actual deliveries without ever once having pain killers administered. Dont ask me...I dont make the rules. I felt somewhat vindicated when I came upon an article in a medical magazine that showed a study on pain tolerance. Apparently red heads have typically had a lower tolerance for pain then non red heads. Like I said...I dont make up the rules. At least I could prove it wasnt in my head now.
Anyhow, I found out that going to the dentist was going to be a very painful experience...over and over again. Ive had several very bad episodes with dentist...everything from nearly removing the wrong tooth....to stabbing my tongue with the needle. One even managed to drill the wrong tooth...and didnt realize until he was half way done...sigh!! Needless to say...Im extremely wary about going to the dentist here. Unfortunately I cannot afford private docs (not sure they are any better here but hey...wishful thinking and all)....so its govt all the way. Im not sure if its down to ill trained dentists or just plain apathy towards doing a good job...whatever it is...the people of Bahrain are suffering...at least I am.
Anyhow, from all my terrible experiences (and unfortunately there have been too many), one sticks out a little more then the rest...picture this...
After having several very painful experiences with dentists...I declared that unless my head was falling off I was not going back unless I had money for a private (good?) dentist. Well, one of my back teeth broke and since it didnt hurt...I ignored it....for quite along time. Incidentally I find it interesting that we know going to the dentist can be a very painful adventure...and so KNOW that we should go regularly to avoid those painful moments as much as possible...but avoid going because we want to avoid pain...and end up suffering more because we didnt go when the problem was small and manageable. Still believe we are a highly evolved species...lol?
Anyhow, when I finally did go it was with extreme caution and very deep dread. I was forced to go to a govt dentist as I just didnt have the money for private...I anticipated a very bad day indeed...turns out I had no idea just how bad it could get.
When I pointed out my bad tooth she said it needed to be removed. No surprise there... I was expecting that. She gave me and injection and I waited nervously for it to take affect. She poked it declared it numb. She then preceded to extract my back tooth without first taking an X-ray like every other dentist Ive encountered has. I pointed this out to her but she said there was no need as she could clearly see what needed doing. Hey...who am I to argue...Im just the victim...I mean patient.
She probed a bit here...poked a bit there...and apparently, at some point, stabbed me in the brain through my ear when I wasnt looking. You know those cartoons that show the cat so scared it sticks to the ceiling...well if I could have shot my over sized ass up there I would have been hanging by all fours just about then. It was that bad. I swear I actually lifted off the chair at least a few inches. She jumped and asked me what was wrong...well...hmmm...lets see....you are poking around in my mouth with a sharp object...what could be my problem? I told her (I think I spoke eloquently and with decorum....but hard to tell over the screaming in my head) that it fucking hurt like hell. Not exactly those words but she got the point. So she prepared another dose of painkiller and juiced me up again. By this time my heart had stopped hammering against my chest...but was rabbit scared still and prepared to jump to it again if called into action. My fingers were gripping the seat hard enough to leave dents in the metal...Im thinking I was tense....a bit.
I tried relaxing as I know being tense just makes the pain worse...so I practiced some Lamaze breathing and passed the time imagining the many ways I could get some revenge against Ms Dentistthang over there....biting down hard on her fingers seemed like my best option...I think Ill go with that....(feeling a bit woozy now.)....back she came.
A bit more probing and poking and then she grabbed Mr Brokentooth and pulled with all her might...and thats when I heard a very VERY loud cracking sound. I actually looked up at the ceiling thinking something had broken and was going to fall down...turns out it was a little closer to home. I was clued in when Ms Dentisthang paused and said...."uh oh". Not exactly what one wishes to hear while sitting in a dentists chair. Needless to say my heart took off like a rabbit again....and was long over the hills when she stood back and said... "I will be back in a minute"....huh...what? Hello?
I sat there for an eternity. She came back maybe 2 minutes later with back up. 2 other dentists were with her and they all gathered round my freaked out countenance and each had a good look inside my mouth. A bit of mumbled discussion between them (in Arabic so I didnt catch the whole gist of it being distracted somewhat by visions of cracked skulls or something) some more poking and prodding and eventually came to the belated conclusion that I needed an X-ray taken. Ya think?
10 minutes later...X-rays in hand...it was declared that I needed to scoot myself over to the emergency dept at Sulmania Hospital because Ms Dentistthang had broken MY JAW!!! Yeah ....I know...WTF!!!!
Turns out ...if she had bothered to X-ray me first she would have noticed that the tooth had actually fused to my jaw bone due to a previous infection. When she pulled the tooth...she pulled a large chunk of my jaw bone along with it. I was sort of wondering at this point why the hell I wasnt screaming my friggin ass off from the pain Im sure accompanied broken jaw bones...well it seems she had injected me with a more powerful drug the second time...so all was good for the moment....but I was encouraged to get over to Sulmania ASAP!
Now heres the funny part folks...(funny strange not funny ha ha)...after having put me through the trauma of breaking my jaw...in which I might add I was losing a shit load of blood over (the nurse was kind enough to stuff a mattress full of cotton in my mouth...and gave me some more in my hand)...they now apparently expected me to drive MYSELF over to the ER. They actually pointed me in the direction of the front door and encouraged me once again to make haste...time was apparently against me. WTF!!! I asked her (you might be surprised but its rather hard to talk with a broken jaw, numb and swollen mouth and a pound of cotton in your mouth) if it might not be too much bother to take me there as I didnt feel I could drive myself (maybe they can do that shit on TV, but I wasnt risking it)...she said it was against govt policy to drive patients anywhere. Ok...how about the ambulance...I wouldnt mind going that way. Nope...sorry...it was out...somewhere. So I asked if I could call my (ex)husband to come take me. Ok...fine...heres the phone.
So, in a very surreal frame of mind I called him and tried to explain in my broken, swollen, numb voice that he needed to come get me quick like as I needed to go to Sulmania...he said he was on the way. I hung up and went and sat down. I had some serious meditating to do. Not to mention this whole time I was contemplating the very real pain that was no doubt going to come storming on like a freight train any moment now.
Well...about 20 minutes passed and one of those dentists came down the hall and stopped abruptly when she seen me. "Why are you still here" she quickly asked. "You really need to get to the ER as soon as possible...ok". Uhmmmm.... Im waiting for my husband because nobody here was willing to take me, I mumbled out to her (that sailed over head I guess as she ignored my jab)...."well tell him to hurry...no time to lose". Well ok then...another phone call and I was asking him where he was. He said he got delayed and was on the way. Ok but did you understand what I told you earlier...THEY BROKE MY JAW!! I guess those words finally penetrated his thick skull as he paused a moment in his dialogue long enough to ask...."They What?" Finally I had his attention...now we are getting somewhere. He said he was on the way...seriously.
When he arrived he took one look at me and set about letting every member of the hosp have an earful of promises of suing and newspapers being notified of their lax work habits...blah blah blah...hey...Im bleeding to death here and the lingering affects of the injection, all though pleasant, cant last much longer. Lets go already.
He broke a few speed records (nothing new for Bahrain) and we arrived at the ER. I had been sitting with a broken jaw for about an hour and 45 minutes by this time. The clock on the painkiller was ticking. This whole time I had been methodically removing and then inserting fresh cotton as the old ones would quickly soak with blood. I was light headed and nauseous....and totally wiped out.
Well after much toing and froing in the hosp we managed to get seen by a surgeon who declared that I had lost too much blood and too weak to undergo the surgery today...I had to stay over night and have surgery to repair my jaw in the morning...yay me. The day was getting better and better. Nothing like a night in the hosp to improve ones mood. I was IV'd and given a sleeping tablet or something...it pretty much knocked me out whatever it was. I spent the night laying on my side so that all the blood and saliva could drain out onto a towel rather than down my throat and possibly drown me. Happy days!!!
To quickly end this saga...the next morning I had surgery. Woke up with a cheek swollen like a squirrel with a load of nuts in its cheeks. My children couldnt stop from giggling every time they looked at me...creeps!!! Incidentally, whoever the brainiac was that put my IV in had missed the vein apparently and all the fluid was collecting in my forearm. I had a water balloon of skin hanging down...oh joy!!! When I pointed this out to the nurse...she removed that IV and prepared to put in another one...I dont think so. I refused and huffed her way out the door.
We attempted to get some recourse from the Ministry of Health over this incident. No luck...apparently everyone did their job "to the best of their ability" and so no blame could be placed. If that was the best they could do...well hell...next time I will just tie my tooth to a passing bus and take my chances...couldnt do much worse Im thinking.
So you see...I hate going to the dentist. Problem is...I need to go again...and since I dont have a job these days...its back to the govt dentist. Oh joy!!!