| Biographical Non-Fiction posted July 4, 2009 | Chapters: |
...34 35 -36- 37... 
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Bad things happen in clusters at our house.
A chapter in the book Chasing the Elusive Dream
When It Rains, It Pours
by BethShelby
Backstory:
It has been a while since I added to my book. For those of you who are new to my book, Grasping the Elusive Dream, it a true story of my family living in New Orleans in the eighties. My husband, Evan and I have three children living at home. The twins, Don and Christi, haven't finished college, but they are taking a break and planning to return. Connie is 11. Evan has decided to retire as a drafting supervisor from Chevron at 56. I am 47 and have been working for a printing company. We have an older daughter, Carol. She is a nurse, and she was married a few months ago to Glen. They live in Valdosta, Georgia. Some of you will remember this story, but you might want to look over it since I plan to write the next chapter shortly.
Some memories are almost too painful to relive. Still, they are also extremely hard to forget. The year my youngest daughter was eleven not so good in many ways. I was physically at my worst. I hated my job, but that was a minor irritation compared to the problems I was experiencing heatlh-wise. I had what once was referred to in whispered tones as female problems. To put it bluntly, I was bleeding to death. My doctor was doing everything he could to frighten me into having a hysterectomy, but I've never been one to listen to a doctor, particularly when it comes to doing things to my body which involves the use of a knife.
Christmas is always stressful, but somehow, I managed to do all the shopping, gift wrapping, and the food preparation necessary without completely passing out. We even made a six-hour trip out of town to be with family for the holidays. That wasn't so pleasant either, especially since a nephew set off one of those chaser type firecrackers that had my name on it. All twenty of us were lined up for a family photo when the little imp lit the thing. After scurrying about like a crazed mouse with its tail ablaze, it singled me out and made a beeline for my leg where it sputtered itself out, burning a hole in my pantyhose and leaving a small scar, which I have to this day. This was only a precursor of things to come.
We made it back to our home in New Orleans late on Christmas Day. Carol, my married daughter, and her husband had spent Christmas with his parents, but they were planning to spend a few days with us before returning to Florida. They would be arriving the night of the 26th so I needed to get ready for their visit. Relieved with this much of the holiday behind me, I knew there was still much to do before I'd have to return to work on the twenty-seventh.
The day after Christmas started out with me attempting to do a load of wash in the laundry room, which was off the den. That is when the pipes burst, flooding the laundry room and den's carpet with six inches of water and making it necessary to pull it all up. By the time the carpet was spread out to dry in the backyard, it was apparent I had to do something about my continuing loss of blood. I was so weak I could barely stand, so my husband, Evan, got my doctor on the phone and informed him that he that he would be taking me to the emergency room.
Once I got there, the doctor decided he needed to perform a D & C. However, because my blood count was so low, he insisted I be given five pints of blood first. They checked me into a room, found a vein and started me on the first pint.
Evan went out for lunch, promising to be back soon to spend time with me. The twins, Don and Christi, were home from college on Christmas break, so we'd left them to supervise the activities of my eight-year old daughter, Connie. The truth is the twins could have probably used some supervision themselves.
A neighbor friend Connie's age came over to play with her. The girls decided to construct a tent in Connie's room by draping overlapping bath-towels across dining-room chairs. They found a solution to the darkness in the tent by taking the shade off a lamp and positioning it inside their tent. The problem was that the bare bulb lay against one of the towels. When the towel started to smolder, Connie promptly wadded all of the towels up and tossed them into her closet.
Big brother smelled the odor from the smoking towels and stepped in to perform his duties as man of the house while Dad was away. "What are you two up to?" he demanded.
"None of your beeswax!" Connie retorted. "Just girl stuff."
"Well, go outside and do your girl stuff!" Don snatched the lamp cord from the wall socket and set the lamp aside. "You've made a mess, and you've got this place smelling like smoke. Go on out, before I call Daddy."
"We're going to Lesley's then. You're not our boss," Connie fumed on her way out.
New Orleans was having an unseasonly warm December day, so Don opened the windows to let the room air out. He turned on the ceiling fan and closed the door. Soon, he was once again engrossed in the book he had been reading.
A half an hour later, Christi noted that the house was getting hot. "Is the thermostat on heat? I'm burning up. I'm going to take a bath and cool off," she told Don.
"You don't have to tell me. Do what you want to. I don't care," he said.
Finding all the towels missing from the linen closet, Christi decided to check Connie's room. When she opened the door, tongues of fire leaped out at her. She screamed and slammed the door. Don came running to see what was happening.
"The house is on fire! The house is on fire! Do something quick!" she yelled.
Don snatched the spread from his bed and opened the door. He started slapping at the flames, but it quickly became apparent, this was not working. By that time, smoke had filled the entire house.
"What's the number to 911? Quick, tell me the number to 911!" yelled my brilliant daughter.
"Just get out of the house! I'll call them!" Don ordered, trying hard to keep his cool.
Luckily, firetrucks were already on their way. An alert neighbor had seen the smoke and made the call. By this time, Don and Christi were choking and gagging from the clouds of black smoke. They had to stoop low and crawl out to avoid the heavier smoke near the ceiling. Once outside, Don called the hospital. Evan had just arrived, expecting to remain with me for several hours. When I answered the bedside phone, he said, "Let me talk to Daddy, now!" I handed the phone over, knowing by his tone there had to be trouble.
"Dad", he said. "Please, don't say anything to Mama, but the house is on fire and the fire truck just got here. All the neighbors are standing in the street watching it with us. We don't even have our shoes on!"
My husband gulped and paled but tried to keep calm. "Okay., I'm coming. I'll be there in a few minutes."
"What's wrong?" I demanded. "You were going to stay with me. Why do you have to go? What have they done?" He was in a hurry and didn't want to tell me, but I was determined he wasn't going to leave until I knew the worst of it.
"Okay, if you must know. They had a little fire over there. It didn't amount to much. I think it's probably out by now," he lied.
Needless to say, my blood-pressure shot so high they almost had to postpone the surgery which was scheduled for the following morning. The house didn't burn to the ground, but one room and most of the attic were completely destroyed. The rest of the house and all of our belongings were blackened and ruined.
A friend down the street, gave the four of them a place to stay for the night. Evan left a note on the blackened door for Carol and Glen when they arrived around midnight. Seeing the dark house, Carol was shocked. When they reached the soot-covered front door, they failed to see the note right away, but the odor of smoke was still in the air.
The following morning the minor surgery went well, and the five pints of blood made me feel like a new person. I needed the extra energy to cope with the next two weeks. Our insurance company managed to find one motel room for the five of us, and one freaked-out cat, which the firemen had managed to rescue. We tried in vain to get another room for our daughter and her husband, but we were told we were lucky to get even one room, because everything available was booked for the Superbowl. Carol and Glen had to cut their trip short because seven people in a small room was too much. They spent two days taking loads of clothes to the laundrymat to see what might be salvagable. Since Connie's entire room was a total loss she had nothing to wear.
Since New Orleans was about to host the Superbowl, no hotels or motels were available. The best they were able to do was find one room with two queen beds in a Day's Inn. This would be our home for five of us for the next two weeks, and for two nights, until my married daughter and her husband could make their excape back to south Georgia, there were seven of us in it. It reminded me of Judd family in Grapes of Wrath.
I'd love to say we'd seen the worst and everything was lovely from that point on, but you wouldn't want me to lie, would you?
Backstory:
It has been a while since I added to my book. For those of you who are new to my book, Grasping the Elusive Dream, it a true story of my family living in New Orleans in the eighties. My husband, Evan and I have three children living at home. The twins, Don and Christi, haven't finished college, but they are taking a break and planning to return. Connie is 11. Evan has decided to retire as a drafting supervisor from Chevron at 56. I am 47 and have been working for a printing company. We have an older daughter, Carol. She is a nurse, and she was married a few months ago to Glen. They live in Valdosta, Georgia. Some of you will remember this story, but you might want to look over it since I plan to write the next chapter shortly.
Some memories are almost too painful to relive. Still, they are also extremely hard to forget. The year my youngest daughter was eleven not so good in many ways. I was physically at my worst. I hated my job, but that was a minor irritation compared to the problems I was experiencing heatlh-wise. I had what once was referred to in whispered tones as female problems. To put it bluntly, I was bleeding to death. My doctor was doing everything he could to frighten me into having a hysterectomy, but I've never been one to listen to a doctor, particularly when it comes to doing things to my body which involves the use of a knife.
Christmas is always stressful, but somehow, I managed to do all the shopping, gift wrapping, and the food preparation necessary without completely passing out. We even made a six-hour trip out of town to be with family for the holidays. That wasn't so pleasant either, especially since a nephew set off one of those chaser type firecrackers that had my name on it. All twenty of us were lined up for a family photo when the little imp lit the thing. After scurrying about like a crazed mouse with its tail ablaze, it singled me out and made a beeline for my leg where it sputtered itself out, burning a hole in my pantyhose and leaving a small scar, which I have to this day. This was only a precursor of things to come.
We made it back to our home in New Orleans late on Christmas Day. Carol, my married daughter, and her husband had spent Christmas with his parents, but they were planning to spend a few days with us before returning to Florida. They would be arriving the night of the 26th so I needed to get ready for their visit. Relieved with this much of the holiday behind me, I knew there was still much to do before I'd have to return to work on the twenty-seventh.
Christmas is always stressful, but somehow, I managed to do all the shopping, gift wrapping, and the food preparation necessary without completely passing out. We even made a six-hour trip out of town to be with family for the holidays. That wasn't so pleasant either, especially since a nephew set off one of those chaser type firecrackers that had my name on it. All twenty of us were lined up for a family photo when the little imp lit the thing. After scurrying about like a crazed mouse with its tail ablaze, it singled me out and made a beeline for my leg where it sputtered itself out, burning a hole in my pantyhose and leaving a small scar, which I have to this day. This was only a precursor of things to come.
We made it back to our home in New Orleans late on Christmas Day. Carol, my married daughter, and her husband had spent Christmas with his parents, but they were planning to spend a few days with us before returning to Florida. They would be arriving the night of the 26th so I needed to get ready for their visit. Relieved with this much of the holiday behind me, I knew there was still much to do before I'd have to return to work on the twenty-seventh.
The day after Christmas started out with me attempting to do a load of wash in the laundry room, which was off the den. That is when the pipes burst, flooding the laundry room and den's carpet with six inches of water and making it necessary to pull it all up. By the time the carpet was spread out to dry in the backyard, it was apparent I had to do something about my continuing loss of blood. I was so weak I could barely stand, so my husband, Evan, got my doctor on the phone and informed him that he that he would be taking me to the emergency room.
Once I got there, the doctor decided he needed to perform a D & C. However, because my blood count was so low, he insisted I be given five pints of blood first. They checked me into a room, found a vein and started me on the first pint.
Evan went out for lunch, promising to be back soon to spend time with me. The twins, Don and Christi, were home from college on Christmas break, so we'd left them to supervise the activities of my eight-year old daughter, Connie. The truth is the twins could have probably used some supervision themselves.
A neighbor friend Connie's age came over to play with her. The girls decided to construct a tent in Connie's room by draping overlapping bath-towels across dining-room chairs. They found a solution to the darkness in the tent by taking the shade off a lamp and positioning it inside their tent. The problem was that the bare bulb lay against one of the towels. When the towel started to smolder, Connie promptly wadded all of the towels up and tossed them into her closet.
Big brother smelled the odor from the smoking towels and stepped in to perform his duties as man of the house while Dad was away. "What are you two up to?" he demanded.
"None of your beeswax!" Connie retorted. "Just girl stuff."
"Well, go outside and do your girl stuff!" Don snatched the lamp cord from the wall socket and set the lamp aside. "You've made a mess, and you've got this place smelling like smoke. Go on out, before I call Daddy."
"We're going to Lesley's then. You're not our boss," Connie fumed on her way out.
New Orleans was having an unseasonly warm December day, so Don opened the windows to let the room air out. He turned on the ceiling fan and closed the door. Soon, he was once again engrossed in the book he had been reading.
A half an hour later, Christi noted that the house was getting hot. "Is the thermostat on heat? I'm burning up. I'm going to take a bath and cool off," she told Don.
"You don't have to tell me. Do what you want to. I don't care," he said.
Finding all the towels missing from the linen closet, Christi decided to check Connie's room. When she opened the door, tongues of fire leaped out at her. She screamed and slammed the door. Don came running to see what was happening.
"The house is on fire! The house is on fire! Do something quick!" she yelled.
Don snatched the spread from his bed and opened the door. He started slapping at the flames, but it quickly became apparent, this was not working. By that time, smoke had filled the entire house.
"What's the number to 911? Quick, tell me the number to 911!" yelled my brilliant daughter.
"Just get out of the house! I'll call them!" Don ordered, trying hard to keep his cool.
Once I got there, the doctor decided he needed to perform a D & C. However, because my blood count was so low, he insisted I be given five pints of blood first. They checked me into a room, found a vein and started me on the first pint.
Evan went out for lunch, promising to be back soon to spend time with me. The twins, Don and Christi, were home from college on Christmas break, so we'd left them to supervise the activities of my eight-year old daughter, Connie. The truth is the twins could have probably used some supervision themselves.
A neighbor friend Connie's age came over to play with her. The girls decided to construct a tent in Connie's room by draping overlapping bath-towels across dining-room chairs. They found a solution to the darkness in the tent by taking the shade off a lamp and positioning it inside their tent. The problem was that the bare bulb lay against one of the towels. When the towel started to smolder, Connie promptly wadded all of the towels up and tossed them into her closet.
Big brother smelled the odor from the smoking towels and stepped in to perform his duties as man of the house while Dad was away. "What are you two up to?" he demanded.
"None of your beeswax!" Connie retorted. "Just girl stuff."
"Well, go outside and do your girl stuff!" Don snatched the lamp cord from the wall socket and set the lamp aside. "You've made a mess, and you've got this place smelling like smoke. Go on out, before I call Daddy."
"We're going to Lesley's then. You're not our boss," Connie fumed on her way out.
New Orleans was having an unseasonly warm December day, so Don opened the windows to let the room air out. He turned on the ceiling fan and closed the door. Soon, he was once again engrossed in the book he had been reading.
A half an hour later, Christi noted that the house was getting hot. "Is the thermostat on heat? I'm burning up. I'm going to take a bath and cool off," she told Don.
"You don't have to tell me. Do what you want to. I don't care," he said.
Finding all the towels missing from the linen closet, Christi decided to check Connie's room. When she opened the door, tongues of fire leaped out at her. She screamed and slammed the door. Don came running to see what was happening.
"The house is on fire! The house is on fire! Do something quick!" she yelled.
Don snatched the spread from his bed and opened the door. He started slapping at the flames, but it quickly became apparent, this was not working. By that time, smoke had filled the entire house.
"What's the number to 911? Quick, tell me the number to 911!" yelled my brilliant daughter.
"Just get out of the house! I'll call them!" Don ordered, trying hard to keep his cool.
Luckily, firetrucks were already on their way. An alert neighbor had seen the smoke and made the call. By this time, Don and Christi were choking and gagging from the clouds of black smoke. They had to stoop low and crawl out to avoid the heavier smoke near the ceiling. Once outside, Don called the hospital. Evan had just arrived, expecting to remain with me for several hours. When I answered the bedside phone, he said, "Let me talk to Daddy, now!" I handed the phone over, knowing by his tone there had to be trouble.
"Dad", he said. "Please, don't say anything to Mama, but the house is on fire and the fire truck just got here. All the neighbors are standing in the street watching it with us. We don't even have our shoes on!"
My husband gulped and paled but tried to keep calm. "Okay., I'm coming. I'll be there in a few minutes."
"What's wrong?" I demanded. "You were going to stay with me. Why do you have to go? What have they done?" He was in a hurry and didn't want to tell me, but I was determined he wasn't going to leave until I knew the worst of it.
"Okay, if you must know. They had a little fire over there. It didn't amount to much. I think it's probably out by now," he lied.
Needless to say, my blood-pressure shot so high they almost had to postpone the surgery which was scheduled for the following morning. The house didn't burn to the ground, but one room and most of the attic were completely destroyed. The rest of the house and all of our belongings were blackened and ruined.
"Dad", he said. "Please, don't say anything to Mama, but the house is on fire and the fire truck just got here. All the neighbors are standing in the street watching it with us. We don't even have our shoes on!"
My husband gulped and paled but tried to keep calm. "Okay., I'm coming. I'll be there in a few minutes."
"What's wrong?" I demanded. "You were going to stay with me. Why do you have to go? What have they done?" He was in a hurry and didn't want to tell me, but I was determined he wasn't going to leave until I knew the worst of it.
"Okay, if you must know. They had a little fire over there. It didn't amount to much. I think it's probably out by now," he lied.
Needless to say, my blood-pressure shot so high they almost had to postpone the surgery which was scheduled for the following morning. The house didn't burn to the ground, but one room and most of the attic were completely destroyed. The rest of the house and all of our belongings were blackened and ruined.
A friend down the street, gave the four of them a place to stay for the night. Evan left a note on the blackened door for Carol and Glen when they arrived around midnight. Seeing the dark house, Carol was shocked. When they reached the soot-covered front door, they failed to see the note right away, but the odor of smoke was still in the air.
The following morning the minor surgery went well, and the five pints of blood made me feel like a new person. I needed the extra energy to cope with the next two weeks. Our insurance company managed to find one motel room for the five of us, and one freaked-out cat, which the firemen had managed to rescue. We tried in vain to get another room for our daughter and her husband, but we were told we were lucky to get even one room, because everything available was booked for the Superbowl. Carol and Glen had to cut their trip short because seven people in a small room was too much. They spent two days taking loads of clothes to the laundrymat to see what might be salvagable. Since Connie's entire room was a total loss she had nothing to wear.
The following morning the minor surgery went well, and the five pints of blood made me feel like a new person. I needed the extra energy to cope with the next two weeks. Our insurance company managed to find one motel room for the five of us, and one freaked-out cat, which the firemen had managed to rescue. We tried in vain to get another room for our daughter and her husband, but we were told we were lucky to get even one room, because everything available was booked for the Superbowl. Carol and Glen had to cut their trip short because seven people in a small room was too much. They spent two days taking loads of clothes to the laundrymat to see what might be salvagable. Since Connie's entire room was a total loss she had nothing to wear.
Since New Orleans was about to host the Superbowl, no hotels or motels were available. The best they were able to do was find one room with two queen beds in a Day's Inn. This would be our home for five of us for the next two weeks, and for two nights, until my married daughter and her husband could make their excape back to south Georgia, there were seven of us in it. It reminded me of Judd family in Grapes of Wrath.
I'd love to say we'd seen the worst and everything was lovely from that point on, but you wouldn't want me to lie, would you?
 Recognized |
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I'm reposting this older one because I think it belongs in the book "Chasing the Elusive Dream" and I hope to get a few more reviews on it.
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