Riding the Amigo

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Coming home from the hospital with only 70% of my blood, the doctor did not want me to even use any energy going up the stairs to my room. But each day I gained strength and pushed a little further in order to heal. What I needed most was normalcy. I needed to do errands, to be up and about, to care for my kids, to make dinner. So my goal was to make a trip to Walmart. I had a tendency to push myself too much, too soon. Eventually I did make it to Walmart but I had to ride in the Amigo. Most people probably don’t even notice the motorized wheelchair “Amigo” at Walmart but after having to ride in it just to get around while my husband simply followed behind, I now notice it each time I enter Walmart. This was something that stayed with me, even to this day. Being less independent and having to ride the amigo at Walmart set heavy with me. I was determined to heal, rest and get out of the amigo the next time I went to Walmart. If anything pushed me more to not push myself, it was the amigo.

 

No Judgement…

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I once read that you shouldn’t judge someone on their actions or choices if you are unaware of their resources. That’s how I feel about my husband’s verbal abuse. He has no resources, he has no options, he has no way out. When being involved in an upbringing that provides limited resources, it offers no options for individual’s choices. Is he just out of resources, out of better options? Does he abuse verbally because he knows no better, because he feels trapped, unsure, limited, etc? Maybe…

It doesn’t excuse it, doesn’t justify it, does’t make it better but maybe to a small degree it explains it. I am not broken but I am married to a man that is broken. He is limited on his ability to do better, to know better, to feel better. Is it my responsibility to understand this and support or is it my job to stand up and defend myself?

Incoherent.

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I insisted on going home as soon as I could from the hospital. Nine hours of surgery, six blood transfusions and three days of incoherent state and one baby later, I went home. My newborn was healthy and ready to be discharged but I was not even awake until three days after the birth. With the pressure from the hospital to send my baby home but not even being able to make any coherent decision, my husband was in a tight spot. Trying to take care of me in the hospital, waiting for me to respond and being the only one there for our newborn, how could he be expected to spend his time now at home with the newborn and at the hospital waiting for me to come around. This was hard…unfair….a decision that should not have been made by a brand new father.

12 going on 13…means to an end.

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When it was time to now focus on getting my transgender daughter hormone blockers, there were hoops to be jumping through. And as her mom, I would jump through an infinity amount of them. I did my research, I joined discussion groups, I asked around on everything I needed to know about the hormone blockers for transgender youths. The first requirement was to see a therapist. I, as an adult, understand the reason behind the therapist approval is to check in with the youth and confirm that they are not “confused” or misunderstood. I, as a parent, hated that my child now has to be labeled with gender identity disorder. Disorder? Is it? Hardly…but as a parent, if I had to jump through the therapist hoop, I would. Luckily for me, I found the one therapist who specialized in transgender youths and she was fantastic. So I explained to my daughter that this was a formality, a means to an end, not something that was to define her, not a disorder to label, but just another hoop to jump through, a very necessary hoop in the transgender world. So we made an appointment to see the therapist.