Happy Monday!!
I had always been interested in donating blood. My grandpa has been donating since he served in the Air Force. He's at like over 100 gallons - no joke. He has all these awards and gifts all over his house, recognition of his selflessness.
My first donation was through a blood drive at my church in 2002. I donated whole blood sporadically for a little while, when I wanted more information about platelet donation. Knowing I could donate more often to help more people seemed kinda cool. Plus, I knew I'd get to sit in the special room and watch a movie. Haha. During my whole blood donation, they took a couple extra tiny vials of blood to test to see if I would be a candidate for platelet donation.
My blood type is A+, so I ended up being a good choice. Here in California, I donate at a place called BloodSource. I can donate every two weeks, but I usually have to wait 3 or 4 so I can keep my iron levels high enough so I don't get deferred.
It wasn't until I moved to Arizona and began donating with United Blood Services that I found out about my 'special blood'. I am CMV negative. The interviewer casually mentioned to me that my blood lacked a certain component so it goes to help babies first. I was shocked. What's so special about me? And why didn't I get this component while I was growing up? And and and? Here is a link to explain it better:
blog.inceptsaves.com/blog/2011/05/04/what-does-it-mean-to-have-cmv-negative-blood/
It shouldn't have made a difference. A life saved is a life saved, you know? I will never know these people who get my donation. But I just pictured how frazzled and upset and heartbroken some newborn's parents would feel trying to find out what is wrong with their child, hoping that a blood transfusion would be the answer, praying their baby would come home soon to lead a long and happy life. And then I think, 'Wow. I am a part of that.' And that's insane. And it gets me teary eyed as I'm typing this.
For those of you who have never donated, but want to know what is involved in this process, I want to give you a rundown of the process. This is my average experience as a platelet donor:
When you show up for your appointment, they take you to a private room. You show them your photo identification and your interview process begins. They take your blood pressure, temperature, make sure your pulse is steady. They prick your finger to get just enough blood to test your iron level. You are then either given an oral or written questionnaire to answer. Questions are asked about your current health, if you have taken certain medications within a certain time frame, your sexual history, your contact with the blood of others, your out of country travel. You sign the form. If your iron levels are high enough, they take you out to the donor area.
You hop up on the chair. They ask you to verify your name and birthdate, just so they know they have the right paperwork. They ask which arm you'd prefer to use, they check your inner arms for the best vein to use. They scrub the area clean while you're choosing your movie to watch.
When they are ready to begin the withdrawal process, they ask you to squeeze a stress ball a few times and hold the final squeeze so your vein is visible. I always look away for this part. They insert the needle into the vein. It feels like someone is pinching the area with their fingers. It literally lasts all of half a second. The needle gets taped in place while they take a couple vials for testing before your blood is distributed to a hospital. They ask if you're feeling okay, if the needle feels okay. They'll ask if you need a blanket (they keep the room cold) or if you want the heating pad on. They ask if you need Tums (sometimes your lips may tingle - mine don't, but it is a normal reaction that many donors get).
There are usually a few nurses in the room at all times and they check on you often to make sure you're okay. They're always close by in case you need something or have a reaction.
The process for a one arm donation is that during your donation (mine lasts between 90-110 minutes), 10 pints of blood are taken and 9 pints are given back to you, so you're donating 1 pint of platelets. You have 'draws' where the blood is taken, and 'returns' where everything but platelets are given back to you. It's a back and forth process. When you get your first return, you may feeling a slight coolness at the needle site. This is the anticoagulant entering your system, and it helps prevent the clotting of your blood during the process.
So you chill and watch your movie, or listen to your iPod or listen to the people around you telling their stories (for me, the crowd is generally older folks with war stories and they comment on the 'young kid' in the room, lol) You keep the stress ball the entire donation and squeeze it occasionally to keep your blood flowing.
When the donation is complete, they take your stress ball so you don't squeeze anymore. They remove the needle and you hold your arm straight up in the air, covering the needle site with gauze to stop the bleeding. It's good for stretching too, because your arm feels like a big lump of lazy at this point. After a minute, they bring your arm down, cover the area with a new piece of gauze and bandage you up.
They give you post-donation instructions like: keep the bandage on for 4-6 hours, no marathons, no saunas, eat a hearty meal soon, yada yada. If you get sick or contract West Nile, call the 800 number on your receipt. And they have you sit in the refreshment area for 15 minutes - have cookies, crackers, cheese, juice, soda, water. Whatever you want.
If you're feeling good, you're good to go.
While I was in Arizona, I donated over 2 gallons. In California, at my first donation since I moved back, they told me I hit the 15 gallon mark. FIFTEEN GALLONS!! Again, insane!! They say each donation can save 3 lives. 1 pint = 3 lives. 8 pints = 1 gallon. If you combine my states. 136 pints X 3 lives per pint = 408 possible lives saved.
So yeah, I'm not a fan of needles. I have no tattoos. But it's a no brainer, my 'sacrifice' isn't a sacrifice. It's a gift. A gift I gladly give. I'm scheduling my next appointment after I post this blog entry.
I'm not a hero. I'm not special. I'm just doing what I think is right. I'm simply helping those parents bring their precious child home.
If you're interested in blood donation and are healthy enough to do so, please get informed.
www.bloodsource.org
www.unitedbloodservices.org/
www.redcross.org/donate/give/
Be the change you want to see in this world.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, August 13, 2012
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Make a Decision
As I was out hiking this morning, I had an epiphany. Well, not really, but sometimes a productive thought passes through this noggin of mine, so I thought I'd share it.
When I started hiking my mountain regularly, I made the conscious decision to not take the road more traveled. Granted, it's the same trail everyone else uses, but I don't take the smoother path - the path that has been ground down to dirt and pebbles from all the foot traffic. I choose to walk a couple feet over, where the larger rocks have been kicked 'out of the way', where the ascent/descent is a little steeper and takes a little more coordination to navigate through.
Now, my entire life I have been a frontrunner for the imaginary title of 'Miss Uncoordinated', so choosing this option was a surprise even to me. But I wanted results. I can hike a little slower and get my muscles more toned by the extra motion and lunges that I need to perform. It has now become second nature to take the rocky road less traveled during my hike.
This morning, I realized * light bulb moment * that this is an analogy for how I want to live my life.
That easier path...what happened when I took that route? What did it ever do for me? Well, for starters, it got me up to 265 pounds. It made me comfortable. I had my immediate family and I had my best friend. I never did anything without at least one of them. I was unhappy, but I was set in my ways and not willing/too afraid to try something new. It was smooth; it was (for the most part) drama-free.
Now, drama-free is fine and dandy and is something I definitely want to strive for in the future. But I'm not ready for the dust to settle on my rocky road just yet. I need to work towards something. During this difficult journey, I will trip and I will stumble. I will skin my knee and come across roadblocks. I need to prove that I can adapt to the elements. That I can overcome anything and everything life can throw my way.
I still have my immediate family and I still have my best friend. But now I want so much more. I WILL move back to California this year. I WON'T be afraid to go to the several parties I get invited to. I WILL get on the dance floor. I WILL ride that mechanical bull. I want to get out. I want to enjoy life. I want to meet new people. I want to go back to school.
Until then, I will continue to ask myself one thing. And I pose this same question to you:
It's decision time - which path are you going to take today?
When I started hiking my mountain regularly, I made the conscious decision to not take the road more traveled. Granted, it's the same trail everyone else uses, but I don't take the smoother path - the path that has been ground down to dirt and pebbles from all the foot traffic. I choose to walk a couple feet over, where the larger rocks have been kicked 'out of the way', where the ascent/descent is a little steeper and takes a little more coordination to navigate through.
Now, my entire life I have been a frontrunner for the imaginary title of 'Miss Uncoordinated', so choosing this option was a surprise even to me. But I wanted results. I can hike a little slower and get my muscles more toned by the extra motion and lunges that I need to perform. It has now become second nature to take the rocky road less traveled during my hike.
This morning, I realized * light bulb moment * that this is an analogy for how I want to live my life.
That easier path...what happened when I took that route? What did it ever do for me? Well, for starters, it got me up to 265 pounds. It made me comfortable. I had my immediate family and I had my best friend. I never did anything without at least one of them. I was unhappy, but I was set in my ways and not willing/too afraid to try something new. It was smooth; it was (for the most part) drama-free.
Now, drama-free is fine and dandy and is something I definitely want to strive for in the future. But I'm not ready for the dust to settle on my rocky road just yet. I need to work towards something. During this difficult journey, I will trip and I will stumble. I will skin my knee and come across roadblocks. I need to prove that I can adapt to the elements. That I can overcome anything and everything life can throw my way.
I still have my immediate family and I still have my best friend. But now I want so much more. I WILL move back to California this year. I WON'T be afraid to go to the several parties I get invited to. I WILL get on the dance floor. I WILL ride that mechanical bull. I want to get out. I want to enjoy life. I want to meet new people. I want to go back to school.
Until then, I will continue to ask myself one thing. And I pose this same question to you:
It's decision time - which path are you going to take today?
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Finding ONEderland
I went straight from kids' clothes to the Misses section for my apparel. It's
1996 and I'm in the 8th grade, standing in line to get weighed during PhysEd
physical time. Dreading getting on the scale up on the stage. 200 pounds. Ouch.
Then the next girl got on the scale. A girl who was as tall as me, but wider. I
was positive her weight would make me feel better. No such luck. She was 180.
How is that possible? I felt defeated. So embarrassed. So ashamed. But I made no
changes.
High school slowly dragged on. My weight was anywhere from 200-220 lbs throughout those four awkward years. I played softball one year, so my body changed, but my weight didn't. I was your classic 'smart girl'. The chunky, frumpy clothed, bespectacled, freckled nerd who didn't know how to manage her hair. I was also the funny girl, the tomboy. But boys only noticed me when they needed help in Honors classes.
College followed. Then work. I never took care of myself. I ate whatever was in front of me. Whatever food was in the house. Whatever fast food Dad sent me out to get. We didn't have a kitchen table, so all meals were devoured in front of the TV. Plus, the seconds and sometimes thirds.
And there I was in 2007. 265 pounds on my 5'10" frame. Unhappy. I didn't love myself. I sort of just existed. Watching the people around me living their lives and thinking, 'That could, no, that SHOULD be me!'
I started using the Alli system and was able to drop 30 lbs with the assistance. But all I did was take the pills. I didn't change one bit. I was eating the same. I wasn't exercising. I was relying on something other than myself.
I met a boy in 2008 who lived here in Arizona while I was living in California. In 2010, I moved to be closer to him. He kept stringing me along, but his 'affection' was all I knew. So I held onto the hope that I just had to prove I could be good for him. I kept fighting for him.
Until January 2, 2012, that is. I had had enough.
I said goodbye. I started the journey to loving myself. I am worth so much more than what he could offer me.
I deserve a healthy life. I deserve to only have healthy relationships in my life. I will not be held back any longer by poor decisions (or indecisions) I've made in the past. I am living in the right here, right now to build a better future.
Then, this morning it happened...
I haven't seen a 1 at the beginning of my weight in at least 16 years. What a crazy feeling!
High school slowly dragged on. My weight was anywhere from 200-220 lbs throughout those four awkward years. I played softball one year, so my body changed, but my weight didn't. I was your classic 'smart girl'. The chunky, frumpy clothed, bespectacled, freckled nerd who didn't know how to manage her hair. I was also the funny girl, the tomboy. But boys only noticed me when they needed help in Honors classes.
College followed. Then work. I never took care of myself. I ate whatever was in front of me. Whatever food was in the house. Whatever fast food Dad sent me out to get. We didn't have a kitchen table, so all meals were devoured in front of the TV. Plus, the seconds and sometimes thirds.
And there I was in 2007. 265 pounds on my 5'10" frame. Unhappy. I didn't love myself. I sort of just existed. Watching the people around me living their lives and thinking, 'That could, no, that SHOULD be me!'
I started using the Alli system and was able to drop 30 lbs with the assistance. But all I did was take the pills. I didn't change one bit. I was eating the same. I wasn't exercising. I was relying on something other than myself.
I met a boy in 2008 who lived here in Arizona while I was living in California. In 2010, I moved to be closer to him. He kept stringing me along, but his 'affection' was all I knew. So I held onto the hope that I just had to prove I could be good for him. I kept fighting for him.
Until January 2, 2012, that is. I had had enough.
I said goodbye. I started the journey to loving myself. I am worth so much more than what he could offer me.
I deserve a healthy life. I deserve to only have healthy relationships in my life. I will not be held back any longer by poor decisions (or indecisions) I've made in the past. I am living in the right here, right now to build a better future.
Then, this morning it happened...
I haven't seen a 1 at the beginning of my weight in at least 16 years. What a crazy feeling!
My friends and family are leaving unbelievably supportive messages on my facebook page and via text messages and phone calls. I can't tell you how important it is that I came across SparkPeople. I wouldn't be having the success I am without the tools on this website and the support of my SparkFamily.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
It's About Time!
I've been holding my tongue for the past few months and it's a relief that it's not a secret anymore. It's Facebook official, LoL. Lisa, my confidante and bestie for life, is engaged!! She has found the man she is meant to spend her life with and I couldn't be happier for her!
No more hiding the reasons for my trips back home (ie: the January trip for the Wedding Gown Adventure). And when people ask me about taking vacation time to visit them, I can tell them why it's not feasible at this time.
I can be giddy out loud about finding the perfect bridesmaid dress. I can squeal in excitement and not worry about who's in earshot. I can be ecstatic and chatty and turn every conversation into wedding talk if I want to.
I can tell people that I will be home again the week of June 17th for the festivities.
And I can tell Lisa that she is hands down one of the most important people in my life. We have so many memories with each other in them. We 'get' each other. She has been in my life for my biggest moments. I am so blessed that she has asked me to be a part of her very special day.
Nix and Keeves. Anna and Jewie. Ella and Bessie. Lisa and Shelby.
I love you, girl. Congratulations!
No more hiding the reasons for my trips back home (ie: the January trip for the Wedding Gown Adventure). And when people ask me about taking vacation time to visit them, I can tell them why it's not feasible at this time.
I can be giddy out loud about finding the perfect bridesmaid dress. I can squeal in excitement and not worry about who's in earshot. I can be ecstatic and chatty and turn every conversation into wedding talk if I want to.
I can tell people that I will be home again the week of June 17th for the festivities.
And I can tell Lisa that she is hands down one of the most important people in my life. We have so many memories with each other in them. We 'get' each other. She has been in my life for my biggest moments. I am so blessed that she has asked me to be a part of her very special day.
Nix and Keeves. Anna and Jewie. Ella and Bessie. Lisa and Shelby.
I love you, girl. Congratulations!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Falling Out of Love
Is it possible to fall in love with someone who doesn't feel the same way?
I used to think yes and that I did. But now I'm not so sure if that was the case. What are the requirements for falling in love? Should the other person feel the same way about you before you can actually give all of yourself to them?
I thought I was in love. I thought I was in love with someone who obviously didn't feel the same way. Someone who said he had been so jaded by relationships in the past. Someone who only said he cared about me when I asked him specifically if he did. I thought if I showed him that I loved him enough, that he would realize it would be safe for him to feel the same for me. That it would be safe for him to fall. That I would be there to catch him.
That never happened. I moved to be closer to him, yet he accused me of pushing him away. I asked him over for dinner. He asked if he could bend me over on his way home. I wanted so badly for him to be 'The One'. He was my first for so many things. I think I held on to the hope of being with him because he was the first man to tell me I was beautiful. And he made me believe it. He was patient with me and never pressured me into anything.
Everyone would tell me to just let him go, that I deserved better, that I deserved someone amazing. When you want something or someone so badly, you ignore the world around you. 'They don't know him like I know him,' I would often think.
He didn't treat me well most of the time, when we were apart. There were long distance arguments. It was during those fights he would yell and get angry, become physically ill from getting so worked up. But during those arguments, I would find out that I meant something since I was causing that reaction in him. Twisted, maybe, but I preferred those fights to the silence he sometimes gave me. When we were together, oh when we were together, I never felt safer. I felt like we were the only two people who existed. In those moments, I found myself falling.
But he would never commit to me. He would give lame excuses or just ignore what I was asking for. I knew he was dating other women and sleeping around.
When I decided last year to let him go, I started seeing someone else. Someone great. Someone I had so much in common with. This is when My First came back into the picture, trying to get a reaction out of me. I ignored him at first, then finally replied to an angry text. So he yelled and sarcastically wished me luck with "the new boy". I thanked him and told him I wouldn't regret anything that ever happened between us. He got mad, as per his usual. So I flat out said that we both knew he didn't want to be with me and I asked why he was getting so upset. He gave his standard, "Oh ok whatever you say."
Of course, me being as naive as I am, I take that to mean that he's afraid of losing me and wants another chance. I apologized to New Guy and told him that I couldn't continue on with him while I was still in love with My First.
As weird as it sounds, it felt good to be back to my version of normal. I no longer had the butterflies from New Guy, and I had My First ignoring me. My normal. I realized I no longer had the emotions to deal with anything other than my normal.
When 2012 finally came around, I was ready to say goodbye for good. It was time for me to move on. On January 2nd, I logged onto my facebook and deleted My First. I knew there was no point in contacting him to say goodbye. That would just lead to an argument with him bringing me to tears so he could feel like he's the one who made the break.
It's been almost three weeks. I haven't heard from him. I'm not surprised. I doubt he has even noticed. And that hurts. It reiterates how little I actually mattered to him. How little a part of his life I really was. I don't know if I'd actually answer my phone if he calls. Part of me wants him to. Part of me wants to know I meant something, anything to him.
I was in lust with him. He was well built and attractive, intelligent, talented and funny. But he treated me poorly. I used to think it was from the walls he built up throughout his life from so many people he loved leaving him. If that was the case, he shouldn't have initiated anything with me in the first place.
I've come to the conclusion that I was in love with the idea of finally being in love. I thank him for everything that happened, because now I know what not to settle for. They say it's difficult to say goodbye to your first, and boy oh boy is that true. It was a three year plus lesson that I finally learned. It took a long time, and so many people are proud of me for finally closing that chapter. I'm proud of me, too.
I have a feeling this is going to be my year.
I used to think yes and that I did. But now I'm not so sure if that was the case. What are the requirements for falling in love? Should the other person feel the same way about you before you can actually give all of yourself to them?
I thought I was in love. I thought I was in love with someone who obviously didn't feel the same way. Someone who said he had been so jaded by relationships in the past. Someone who only said he cared about me when I asked him specifically if he did. I thought if I showed him that I loved him enough, that he would realize it would be safe for him to feel the same for me. That it would be safe for him to fall. That I would be there to catch him.
That never happened. I moved to be closer to him, yet he accused me of pushing him away. I asked him over for dinner. He asked if he could bend me over on his way home. I wanted so badly for him to be 'The One'. He was my first for so many things. I think I held on to the hope of being with him because he was the first man to tell me I was beautiful. And he made me believe it. He was patient with me and never pressured me into anything.
Everyone would tell me to just let him go, that I deserved better, that I deserved someone amazing. When you want something or someone so badly, you ignore the world around you. 'They don't know him like I know him,' I would often think.
He didn't treat me well most of the time, when we were apart. There were long distance arguments. It was during those fights he would yell and get angry, become physically ill from getting so worked up. But during those arguments, I would find out that I meant something since I was causing that reaction in him. Twisted, maybe, but I preferred those fights to the silence he sometimes gave me. When we were together, oh when we were together, I never felt safer. I felt like we were the only two people who existed. In those moments, I found myself falling.
But he would never commit to me. He would give lame excuses or just ignore what I was asking for. I knew he was dating other women and sleeping around.
When I decided last year to let him go, I started seeing someone else. Someone great. Someone I had so much in common with. This is when My First came back into the picture, trying to get a reaction out of me. I ignored him at first, then finally replied to an angry text. So he yelled and sarcastically wished me luck with "the new boy". I thanked him and told him I wouldn't regret anything that ever happened between us. He got mad, as per his usual. So I flat out said that we both knew he didn't want to be with me and I asked why he was getting so upset. He gave his standard, "Oh ok whatever you say."
Of course, me being as naive as I am, I take that to mean that he's afraid of losing me and wants another chance. I apologized to New Guy and told him that I couldn't continue on with him while I was still in love with My First.
As weird as it sounds, it felt good to be back to my version of normal. I no longer had the butterflies from New Guy, and I had My First ignoring me. My normal. I realized I no longer had the emotions to deal with anything other than my normal.
When 2012 finally came around, I was ready to say goodbye for good. It was time for me to move on. On January 2nd, I logged onto my facebook and deleted My First. I knew there was no point in contacting him to say goodbye. That would just lead to an argument with him bringing me to tears so he could feel like he's the one who made the break.
It's been almost three weeks. I haven't heard from him. I'm not surprised. I doubt he has even noticed. And that hurts. It reiterates how little I actually mattered to him. How little a part of his life I really was. I don't know if I'd actually answer my phone if he calls. Part of me wants him to. Part of me wants to know I meant something, anything to him.
I was in lust with him. He was well built and attractive, intelligent, talented and funny. But he treated me poorly. I used to think it was from the walls he built up throughout his life from so many people he loved leaving him. If that was the case, he shouldn't have initiated anything with me in the first place.
I've come to the conclusion that I was in love with the idea of finally being in love. I thank him for everything that happened, because now I know what not to settle for. They say it's difficult to say goodbye to your first, and boy oh boy is that true. It was a three year plus lesson that I finally learned. It took a long time, and so many people are proud of me for finally closing that chapter. I'm proud of me, too.
I have a feeling this is going to be my year.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Forever and For Always
Today would have been my grandma's 80th birthday. All I can think of is how proud of her grandchildren she would be if she were here. It reminds me of how she would call and then stop by on each of our birthdays. How we'd be given a card that contained her perfect little cursive handwriting inside.
Left column, top to bottom: Corey, Shelby, Nick
Right column, top to bottom: Cameron, Brandi, Will
We have all changed quite a bit. When she left us, we were 19, 18, 17, 14, 9 and 9. Now, we're 31, 30, 29, 27, 21, 21 and 3, respectively. Grandma never had the pleasure of meeting my three year old cousin.
Top row: Will, Nick, Cameron, Shelby
Bottom row: Corey, Brandi, Gunnar
We all miss her so much. It's interesting how fast time seems to fly by, but some things never change.
I was 17 when she passed away and suddenly I am 29 years old. Since she has been gone, I've graduated high school, started driving, had a whole bunch of firsts and moved 800 miles from home. I know she's in Heaven, smiling down on me. I know in her adorable Norwegian accent, she would say something to the effect of, 'You go, girl!' Some days that softens the blow. Most days I'm too selfish to see the good in that, though. Some days it just hurts. Some days I just want to hear her voice. Some days I want it to be her chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. Some days I wear her Harvest Wine lipstick and it makes me feel close to her.
This day, though, this day is a good day. I know she loved me like crazy. And that will always make me smile.
Happy 80th birthday, Grandma. I love you. Forever and for always.
To Shed Some Light…
I have this posted on my personal facebook page and decided to share it with you, my audience here on BlogSpot.
There are a handful of you who know my circumstances, those of you who lived through it with me. There are many of you who know the basics, having heard a brief story from me or someone I know. But I realize most of you have no clue about the single event in my life that has created the woman I am today.
On the evening of August 24th, 1999, I returned home after hanging out with some friends. Something didn’t feel right and I asked to be brought home. Shortly after being dropped off, the phone rang. Mom answered. It was my uncle. There had been an accident. Grandma was hit by a car earlier that morning. Grandma had no identification on her person, so she was admitted as Jane Doe. When Grandma didn’t return home, Grandpa thought maybe she went to visit one of their sons. When she couldn’t be located, phone calls to police stations and hospitals ensued. Grandma was identified that evening by her keychain and wedding band.
We hit every red light on the way to Sutter Roseville, naturally. I remember not crying. I remember the Miss-Something-or-Other pageant being on the TV in the waiting room. Early the next morning, I remember someone entering the room saying that if we wanted to say our goodbyes, now would be the time. That’s when I lost it. I couldn’t see her like that. I didn’t want to remember my beautiful grandmother in this condition. I remember sitting by the window, sobbing. This couldn’t be happening to her, to me, to us. I remember being part of a prayer circle. It is August 25, 1999, I am 17 years old and my grandma is gone. I remember Dad driving me home. I remember lying on the floor – half in my room, half in the hallway – curled up with pictures, trying desperately to fall asleep. Hoping against all hope that I would wake up from this nightmare.
Here is what we know: Grandma was out for her morning walk. She had the right-of-way at a stoplighted intersection. A woman ran her red light and struck my grandmother at somewhere between 35-45mph. She claimed she was adjusting her sun visor, but our lawyers were able to disprove that claim. She also said she never drives that route, yet she chose to speed down a blind, curved hill.
Fast forward 24 hours. It’s the first day of my senior year in high school. I haven’t eaten. I’ve barely slept. I get to the classroom of one of my former teachers. I tell him what happened and that the news article was supposed to be in that day’s Roseville Press Tribune. We walk around campus trying to find a copy. I hear him telling school personnel my story and I feel empty inside.
When I saw the police report, I noticed it had the woman’s home address on it. I sat down and wrote a letter. I told her how wonderful Grandma was. I made a list of all the things Grandma would never be able to do again. I told her I was sure my grandma would forgive her but I didn’t know if I could. My best friend drove me to the post office and we dropped it in the mailbox. At that moment, I forgave her.
I didn’t care about school. I didn’t apply to colleges or for scholarships until the last minute. I wasn’t doing my homework. I didn’t care about my friends. I didn’t care about life. I wanted the pain to end. I had my wisdom teeth pulled and was prescribed Vicodin. I didn’t need the pills. Until one day at school, when I couldn’t get Grandma off my mind. I took a pill at lunch before Physics. It felt weird. My friend pointed something out in the textbook and I started bawling. What was happening to me? I stood up and left. I walked home. That was a bad experiment. Pills got tossed.
I had to tell my mom that I wrote the woman a letter, in case it came up at trial. That letter has since traveled far and wide to family across the world. It also found its way into the judge’s chambers. When the woman spoke at the criminal trial, she told of how she attempted suicide twice because of my letter. She told of how her 5 year old son asked if he could bring her to show-and-tell so his friends could meet someone who killed a person. My family wanted me to write another letter, this one to be read in court. When it came time, I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t speak. But my first letter said enough. The judge thought so, too. Because he could feel the pain in my letter, he gave the woman the maximum sentence under the law.
None of us thought it was enough. The verdict was guilty of vehicular manslaughter without gross negligence. No jail time. She got probation and a suspended license. My grandma was gone and this woman got a slap on the wrist.
The fact that a life could be taken so quickly scared the hell out of me. After this, I had no desire to get my driver’s license. I didn’t want to be responsible for ending a life. I was fine being chauffeured around. So I waited until I was 21 to get a car and get my license, when I knew I needed to become independent. After the collision, something happened. I became hyper-sensitive to pedestrians. Which is why, if I’m a passenger in your car, you may still hear me say ‘person’, ‘pedestrian’, ‘walker’, ‘hi lady’ just to make sure they’re visible to you. Or you may notice me pressing the invisible brake pedal on my side of the car. This is also why I won’t jaywalk. This is why I say “I love you Grandma” and blow a kiss when I drive through the intersection of Rocky Ridge and Strauch/Professional in Roseville, CA.
So I am still pretty messed up. I have my good days and awesome memories – honey buns, chocolate chip cookies, Christmas morning and her Norwegian accent. And I have bad moments – moments that bring me back to August, 1999. And I live it all over again. It has been over 12 years. It’s an ongoing battle. And I’m never going to ‘get over it’. My family will never ‘get over it’.
My plea to you: Be completely aware, be completely there when you drive. A split second of your inattention can shatter lives. Just pay attention. Be there. No one should have to experience this sort of loss. No one.
There are a handful of you who know my circumstances, those of you who lived through it with me. There are many of you who know the basics, having heard a brief story from me or someone I know. But I realize most of you have no clue about the single event in my life that has created the woman I am today.
On the evening of August 24th, 1999, I returned home after hanging out with some friends. Something didn’t feel right and I asked to be brought home. Shortly after being dropped off, the phone rang. Mom answered. It was my uncle. There had been an accident. Grandma was hit by a car earlier that morning. Grandma had no identification on her person, so she was admitted as Jane Doe. When Grandma didn’t return home, Grandpa thought maybe she went to visit one of their sons. When she couldn’t be located, phone calls to police stations and hospitals ensued. Grandma was identified that evening by her keychain and wedding band.
We hit every red light on the way to Sutter Roseville, naturally. I remember not crying. I remember the Miss-Something-or-Other pageant being on the TV in the waiting room. Early the next morning, I remember someone entering the room saying that if we wanted to say our goodbyes, now would be the time. That’s when I lost it. I couldn’t see her like that. I didn’t want to remember my beautiful grandmother in this condition. I remember sitting by the window, sobbing. This couldn’t be happening to her, to me, to us. I remember being part of a prayer circle. It is August 25, 1999, I am 17 years old and my grandma is gone. I remember Dad driving me home. I remember lying on the floor – half in my room, half in the hallway – curled up with pictures, trying desperately to fall asleep. Hoping against all hope that I would wake up from this nightmare.
Here is what we know: Grandma was out for her morning walk. She had the right-of-way at a stoplighted intersection. A woman ran her red light and struck my grandmother at somewhere between 35-45mph. She claimed she was adjusting her sun visor, but our lawyers were able to disprove that claim. She also said she never drives that route, yet she chose to speed down a blind, curved hill.
Fast forward 24 hours. It’s the first day of my senior year in high school. I haven’t eaten. I’ve barely slept. I get to the classroom of one of my former teachers. I tell him what happened and that the news article was supposed to be in that day’s Roseville Press Tribune. We walk around campus trying to find a copy. I hear him telling school personnel my story and I feel empty inside.
When I saw the police report, I noticed it had the woman’s home address on it. I sat down and wrote a letter. I told her how wonderful Grandma was. I made a list of all the things Grandma would never be able to do again. I told her I was sure my grandma would forgive her but I didn’t know if I could. My best friend drove me to the post office and we dropped it in the mailbox. At that moment, I forgave her.
I didn’t care about school. I didn’t apply to colleges or for scholarships until the last minute. I wasn’t doing my homework. I didn’t care about my friends. I didn’t care about life. I wanted the pain to end. I had my wisdom teeth pulled and was prescribed Vicodin. I didn’t need the pills. Until one day at school, when I couldn’t get Grandma off my mind. I took a pill at lunch before Physics. It felt weird. My friend pointed something out in the textbook and I started bawling. What was happening to me? I stood up and left. I walked home. That was a bad experiment. Pills got tossed.
I had to tell my mom that I wrote the woman a letter, in case it came up at trial. That letter has since traveled far and wide to family across the world. It also found its way into the judge’s chambers. When the woman spoke at the criminal trial, she told of how she attempted suicide twice because of my letter. She told of how her 5 year old son asked if he could bring her to show-and-tell so his friends could meet someone who killed a person. My family wanted me to write another letter, this one to be read in court. When it came time, I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t speak. But my first letter said enough. The judge thought so, too. Because he could feel the pain in my letter, he gave the woman the maximum sentence under the law.
None of us thought it was enough. The verdict was guilty of vehicular manslaughter without gross negligence. No jail time. She got probation and a suspended license. My grandma was gone and this woman got a slap on the wrist.
The fact that a life could be taken so quickly scared the hell out of me. After this, I had no desire to get my driver’s license. I didn’t want to be responsible for ending a life. I was fine being chauffeured around. So I waited until I was 21 to get a car and get my license, when I knew I needed to become independent. After the collision, something happened. I became hyper-sensitive to pedestrians. Which is why, if I’m a passenger in your car, you may still hear me say ‘person’, ‘pedestrian’, ‘walker’, ‘hi lady’ just to make sure they’re visible to you. Or you may notice me pressing the invisible brake pedal on my side of the car. This is also why I won’t jaywalk. This is why I say “I love you Grandma” and blow a kiss when I drive through the intersection of Rocky Ridge and Strauch/Professional in Roseville, CA.
So I am still pretty messed up. I have my good days and awesome memories – honey buns, chocolate chip cookies, Christmas morning and her Norwegian accent. And I have bad moments – moments that bring me back to August, 1999. And I live it all over again. It has been over 12 years. It’s an ongoing battle. And I’m never going to ‘get over it’. My family will never ‘get over it’.
My plea to you: Be completely aware, be completely there when you drive. A split second of your inattention can shatter lives. Just pay attention. Be there. No one should have to experience this sort of loss. No one.
A Sneak Peek Into My Head
Well, hello there! Thanks for checking out my new blog. It has been mentioned to me recently that I should become a professional blogger or comedienne. I’m not so sure about the comedienne part because I’m utterly terrified of public speaking. The blogger part works for me because I tend to have a lot to say about anything and everything.
So I’m Shelby. I’m 29 and I currently live in Phoenix, AZ. I grew up as sort of a tomboy, so I love sports and crude jokes. I am a foul mouthed woman who tends to catch people off guard with my sharp tongue and quick wit (so I’ve been told). However, don’t let that fool you. I’m a woman who wants to love with her whole heart and find a man to experience some of that ‘Happily Ever After’ nonsense with. I love feeling feminine in makeup and heels, but I adore my jeans and Brian Wilson San Francisco Giants jersey just as much.
Here, I will discuss whatever I’m thinking about, whatever I’m feeling. There’s no point in holding back. To be honest with myself, I feel that I should be honest with you. One day, you may think I’m the sappiest girl in the world. The next, you may encounter a raging bitch. But this is me.
This is where you will learn about The Good, The Bad and The Shelby.
So I’m Shelby. I’m 29 and I currently live in Phoenix, AZ. I grew up as sort of a tomboy, so I love sports and crude jokes. I am a foul mouthed woman who tends to catch people off guard with my sharp tongue and quick wit (so I’ve been told). However, don’t let that fool you. I’m a woman who wants to love with her whole heart and find a man to experience some of that ‘Happily Ever After’ nonsense with. I love feeling feminine in makeup and heels, but I adore my jeans and Brian Wilson San Francisco Giants jersey just as much.
Here, I will discuss whatever I’m thinking about, whatever I’m feeling. There’s no point in holding back. To be honest with myself, I feel that I should be honest with you. One day, you may think I’m the sappiest girl in the world. The next, you may encounter a raging bitch. But this is me.
This is where you will learn about The Good, The Bad and The Shelby.
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