I quit smoking yesterday, it was something that had to be done, and it may have been the reason that I didn't get medical clearance last month. Any disease/disorder that can result in the need for a lung transplant, smoking
definitely isn't helping it get better, regardless of the medication.
Since I'm on this new
Letairis to help my PAH, and it's side effects are
so awful, it'd be pretty pointless to continue to smoke cigarettes and take this medication, as well.
Well, the Edema (swelling/water in my feet) was actually
coming out of the pores of my foot yesterday! I didn't even know that could happen. Everyone told me to keep my feet elevated, and I, stubbornly, finally heeded to their advice last night, and to my surprise, woke up today and they're about 75% less swollen than they were! So I'm
definitely going to keep my feet up! It's not the most comfortable position, but it works. When I first elevated my feet, I felt a tingling sensation coming up my legs (possibly the fluid moving up my leg?) and I guess, once it got high enough into my abdomen area, it could then be processed by my kidneys (since I'm on large doses of diuretics aka water pills) and I can urinate it out, which, this morning, after sleeping with my feet up all night, I went
a lot this morning! So that's good!
So, I wanted some advice on all who are reading this, you can click the "comments" blue words at the end of this particular blog, and 'Post a Comment'. I came upon a young woman on Face Book that published her own book. I've started to read it and it's
really an amazing story! Many people have told me that I should write a book, since I've conquered
so many things and have came out alive on the other side. This isn't solely about my liver disease, it's more of my teen years, and how everything spiraled out of control. Of course, I do want to mention where I'm at now, and I would almost be tempted to talk about a lot of those things here, but some of it is a little disturbing. Nevertheless, it's what's happened in my life. One main thing I would touch upon that I haven't touched upon here, is when I was raped. I've never really spoken about it, and after it happened (when I was 18), I did the right thing and testified against him in trial, and he was found guilty. His sentence was up to the judge and based upon his crimes (which can be seen
here [last name: Samuels, first name: Craig]) the sentence could have been 7-25 years. He was sentenced to 20 years.
I see my life in chapters, just like a book, and certain 'chapters', I see it as other life-times that I just don't want to think about. However,
my way of dealing with things for a long time was not to deal with them; it was much easier to stick a needle in my arm and forget. When you stop using heroin and get this flood of emotions, turmoil, and
everything that's been suppressed over the years comes and smacks you in the face, it's too much to handle. Reality hits like a smack in the face and it becomes overwhelming. There's only so much that one person can take, and everyone has their 'breaking point' which I define as the point of no return. Just losing your mind and never coming out of it. I've heard of things that have happened to women, who are now permanent residents of a psychiatric ward. Their body functions, but when you look into their eyes, there's a vacant stare and
nothing can be seen in them.
When your life is threatened by another person, it's an indescribable feeling. A lot of women who've been raped block out what's happened to them, but I remember everything. I don't know if that's due to me testifying at his trial, or having to repeat my story to the police, detectives and the District Attorney, or just because my memory is good. I even remember when it finished, and I was in his car, I yanked out my hair and tucked it between the seat, left a big hand print on the window, all in the hopes that if I was going to die, right now in this car, the police
will find my DNA in this vehicle. My death will
not go unavenged.
I also remember when he told me to get out of the car, that I was going to take down his license plate. I had no pen, & I frantically went through my purse, got out a lipstick and wrote his plate # down & kept repeating it in my head, like a mantra, AD8-66A, AD8-66A, over and over until I got to the pay phone and called 911. I also recall breaking down in the back seat of the police car. I was a complete mess, clothing ripped, hair all over the place. I heard the cops asking me "What was the model/make of the vehicle?" and I said it was a silver/grey older long car. I then hear 2 officers conversing and saying "What does the plate come back as?" (other cop) "It's coming up as a silver 1987 Grey Lincoln, registered to a Craig Samuels".
Craig Samuels. This was the first time I ever heard that name. The unspeakable evil now had a name. A name I would never forget, and a name that I wish I'd never heard.
At that moment, I knew that the police had him. I knew that he was stupid enough (or just assumed that I was stupid and wouldn't call the police on him, I don't know) to use his own vehicle & license plates. I went to the nearest hospital, was checked and had a 'rape kit' done (they scrape the bottom of your nails, have a piece of paper to collect whatever comes out), and I saw my mother. She was in tears, just seeing me in the state I was in, and she hugged me and we cried, together, in an over-crowded hospital Emergency Room.
In the following weeks, I was brought to a police station, and there was this female detective who had me view a line-up. Surprisingly, there was
another woman in the car, who was viewing the line-up as well. We talked a little bit, and I asked her if she knew that this was the person who assaulted her. She didn't know it for a fact (didn't take down his license plate), but they brought her along to view the line up since the perpetrators MO (Modus Apperendi) was the same. It was a dark night (like something out of a bad Hollywood movie) and the conversation was minimal, however, she was confident that this would be the same man that assaulted her. We waited in the police station in a closed room. An officer opened the door. She went in first. When she came out, she was in tears, shaking her head and said he wasn't there. I really felt for her, however, at the same time, I was pretty confident that wasn't going to be my case, since I had more concrete evidence of this mans identity. I barely had to look for a second when I said "Number 2". I asked the officers if I was right, and they said I was. Then the detective spoke to me and told me "This man's been violently raping women since 1979, but the women he targets (street-walkers, drug addicts, etc) never show up to testify, or show up to testify while they're high, and he's found not-guilty. She told me he was laughing in the other room, thinking this is all a game, that I would not show up to testify, or I would change my mind to testify.
That wasn't the case.
If anything, that gave me even
more fuel to nail this SOB to the wall to be certain that his 'reign of terror' ends
here and now!
By the time the trial came around, they had found
four other victims, and he was being charged for 3 different rape cases, and, after that, he was to be tried for 2 other rape cases. By this time, (almost a year after the crime occurred) I was pregnant with my son, had a job and I dressed accordingly for court and told my story when the time came for me to testify.
I must have made an impressive witness, because my story
never changed from when I called 911, till then. However, his story changed several times. First, he had no idea who I was. His DNA was extracted from me, and when faced with this, he said "She was a prostitute that I saw and paid her", then his story finally stood at "She was a prostitute and I didn't pay her"(like he thought that would matter, it only damaged
his credibility, not mine).
Surprisingly, he was found guilty
on my case only, and not guilty on the other two cases (which is strange, and I think the only logical explanation for that is (a) the two girls did not show up to testify, (b) were very high while testifying, or (c) lied about what they were doing on the streets in the first place, and changed their story, which doesn't help their credibility. I was honest from the start. Even though I was up to no good when this happened, that doesn't give
anyone the right to do what he did.
I even showed up at sentencing, where I learned even
more horrible things about this man, Craig Samuels. Things that, by law, couldn't be used to try him on the case (prior bad acts), but can be used as an aggravating factor for sentencing purposes. The DA said "This is a predator, a menace to society and his own family. He was charged with Attempted Murder when he beat his wife with a 2 by 4 piece of plywood with nails protruding from it, puncturing her lung, among other things, and sending her to the hospital for 3 months."
The Judge said that he cannot sentence him based on prior bad acts, and can only sentence him based on what he did to me. He said "Sentence for these crimes is 7 to 25 years. I hereby sentence you to 20 years", smacked his gavel and the prisoner (monster) was taken away.
He was supposed to have yet
another trial, after being found guilty on my case, so he took a plea bargain with the district attorney and plead guilty to all 3 counts (well, 2 actually, not including mine) and was sentenced to 20 years, all to run concurrently (at the same time) and chose
not to have another trial. Had he rolled the dice at another trial, he would still have to do the 20 years for my case,
and any other charges found guilty on, the time would be done consecutively (one after the other), not concurrent.
Strangely, I've been keeping tabs on him, and his prison record. I don't know why, I should just leave it alone, but curiosity, I guess, gets the better of me. I've seen that he's been transferred to
many different facilities, and I recall calling one of these facilities asking about him. When the Correction Officer asked "Are you a family member?", I told him the truth, that I was the victim (I hate that word), and his lips sealed, but, he did tell me he was transferred because of all the 'write-ups' (bad things) that he had, and that he's had 2 1/2 years of good time taken away from him. So, even though I plan to record a video for his parole hearing, I'm pretty sure that he will be denied parole when it comes up in 5/08/17. It's a private hearing (unlike TV shows us, you cannot be physically at the parole hearing, however, the DA
can either read a letter, or show a video tape of your feelings about him being paroled), so I will write the DA a letter to be read at his hearing, but it's just scary to know that this man
will be free one day, and as much as I'd like to put it behind me, I can't.
I'm afraid that he will want to retaliate against me. Technology is a
great thing, but in the wrong hands, it's something that can track me down, as if I have a GPS inside of me! I can't worry about that now, I have
much more pressing issues
right now with my health.
Alright, so I'm asking everyone or anyone who
has published a book before, if it would be a good idea to write a book, or if you think it would be therapeutic, or if it will just remind me of things that I'm trying to forget.
Life is always a battlefield. Everyone has his/her own definition of what a 'crisis' or 'problem' is, and, I'm going to say it...but since I've been diagnosed with a life-threatening disease, I think that, as a whole, I've been though
so much more, and it makes me
completely insensitive to other's petty problems.
I guess I just always assume that my 'friends/family' would automatically be there for me, and be willing to help in any way, shape or form, but a family member of mine is
really giving me a hard time. Claiming they're been 'reluctant to help me' cause of...... Reluctant to help me?? Is that serious?? Your my
family, I shouldn't have to even be
asking them for help, in times of crisis, all the BS gets set aside, and we stick together, like a family should!! I mean, what part of "I'M DYING" do they
not understand? So yes, I may get a little bitter or angry when I have to ask my own flesh & blood to help me, their dying sister/cousin/aunt/niece, whatever! I feel that I have
a right to be a little pissed off that I have to ask my family for help when they know darn well that I
need the help!
I've met some
awesome and amazing people from all over the world through this site and Face Book, as well, and they're
total strangers to me, and they're helping me more than my
own family is! I'm very grateful for that, but I'm also a little depressed and disappointed that total strangers (who have now become good friends) are more willing to donate their time/effort for me, than my own family is! I shouldn't even have to
ask! I should be
asked if their is anything they can do to help me through this awful time.
Some people are so
self-centered & self-absorbed with themselves, that they don't care about anyone else but themselves! I just can't see how people can stroll through life thinking that the world revolves around themselves, and have no heart towards
anybody else's problems, including their own family & children.
Well, that's enough of that, and like the saying goes "When s**t hits the fan, you find out who you can really trust & rely on", or something like that! So, please leave comments, click on "Comments" right below these words, and another window will open and it will have space for you to "Post a Comment". Thanks for listening...Till next time...
