It’s the first Wednesday of the month and that means Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is enjoying its monthly blog fest invented by Alex J. Cavanaugh. IWSG is a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds.    

It’s the first Wednesday of the month and that means Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is enjoying its monthly blog fest invented by Alex J. Cavanaugh. IWSG is a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds.    

The awesome co-hosts for the June 3 posting of the IWSG are Pat Garcia, J.Q. Rose, and Natalie Aguirre!

MY ANSWER: I thought about my secrets from the time I went to Donovan State Prison in the US and Puente Grande women’s prison in Mexico. I was there to listen to their stories. Most of what I heard was dark and best saved for a different time.

Let’s move to a lighter part of my life. For the last eight years, I’ve managed an international group of writer’s called La Cruz Writers’ Group (LCWG). I will tell you my secret. But first, I must tell you last month we featured author Michelle O’Healy. She presented us with this question, “What Happens When Unicorns Fart?“

Michelle is a long time member of LCWG and frequent reader. Even as grownups, we sat spellbound and giggled as we listened to her childrens’ stories. Michelle loved telling her kids original bedtime stories. Now she is beginning to publish them.

Rusty Debris, another long time member often entertained us with his guitar and we learned the similarity of song writing and story telling.

Take a moment, if you will, and enjoy the poem Rusty wrote in honor of “What Happens When Unicorns Fart?“

“Unicorns”
There’s a wild and wooly creature
With a spiral horn-like feature
Tho’ not a goat, wild ass or horse
We’re talking unicorn, of course

Bearded beasts from antiquity
Eat pomegranates constantly
The crimson fruit that’s slightly tart
Makes them pee red and want to fart

As to unicorns’ flatulence
These days we strive for more nuance
Now farts are “anal acoustics”
Here are some more popular picks:

Cutting cheese or breaking the breeze
Squeezing wind or waxing the skis
Air biscuits, plonkers, anus noodles
Afterburners or fluff doodles

It sounds like stepping on a goose
When unicorns are cutting loose
Making stinky or a tooter
A mouse on a motor scooter

Butt trumpets, gas plants, ass rippers
Trouser coughs, Dutch ovens, air dumps
Subcutaneous tissue disorders
Arkansas barking spiders

Drop the bomb, play the tushy horn
Blame it all on the unicorn
When gastric gas begins to pain
Better let fluffy off the chain

©️Rusty Debris 2020
Holdingforth, MN
Always on time and in tune.

La Cruz Writers’ Group is open to all writers and our purpose is to support and encourage. Folks are encouraged to read an excerpt from their writing. Next, they receive invaluable and positive feedback on their piece.

We are a transient group. Snow Birds flock via sail, air, or land to La Cruz and surrounding areas (near Puerto Vallarta, Mexico) each winter. For years we met each Saturday in the air conditioned marina VIP room. 

Earlier this year we transitioned to monthly Zoom webinars. I host our Zoom gatherings from our sailboat, La Vita, moored in Marina La Cruz, Mexico.

P.S. I’ll forever grateful if anyone can tell me how to:
     1. Create a One Click link to join Zoom
     2. Create a custom Zoom Invitation page

It’s the first Wednesday of the month and that means Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is enjoying its monthly blog fest invented by Alex J. Cavanaugh. IWSG is a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds.

The awesome co-hosts for the April 1 posting of the IWSG are Diane Burton, JH Moncrieff, Anna @ Emaginette, Karen @ Reprobate Typewriter, Erika Beebe, and Lisa Buie-Collard!

QUESTION: How are things in your world?

MY ANSWER: “Attention the fleet, attention the fleet,” a male voice commands from the VHF radio. The vast majority of folks living on boats leave their VHF radio on 24-hours a day. This how we exchange information and call for help.

My world is a floating sailboat docked in a Mexican marina about 3 to 4 days drive south of the US/Mexico border. The aroma of fresh coffee fills the cabin and squawk of squabbling sea gulls fad into the back ground as I stare at CNN in an attempt to learn the latest about the CoronaVirus.

The announcer on our VHF grabbed my attention. The speaker goes on to say, “All ports in Mexico are closed.” Apparently, the local government finally realizes visitors spread the virus.

Good friends returned to their home country and rarely heard from. Even with social networking, I guess out of sight, out of mind. They’re busy with their own life, so easy to forget those they left behind. This is an annual ritual. This year was especially painful because I lowered my guard and formed a close friendship.

My cheerful spirit dived under the covers seeking to escape uncertainty. I pop back up and read stories about medical teams exposed to COVID-19 and their pleas for protective gear fall on deaf ears. Government so slow to react, both in Mexico and USA.

I’m less focused. I want my life back. I want to walk in the outside in sunshine. A local doctor advised: no walking outdoors. The US doctors advise time in the fresh air. Although, they caution social distancing is still required.

I screwed up my courage and decided to write about my world and fears. Maybe, exposure will stop them from twisting my dreams into nightmares.

I was trained to face facts and mentally focus on the desired result. This time, I struggle to retain my internal balance. A wise person said, “Focus on the how.” I’m trying.

Local news reports are in Spanish. The English translation says: tests must be ordered by a doctor and reserved for folks with active symptoms. Just because someone was exposed, they won’t get tested. I’m convinced without more testing the number infected is under reported. Similar to certain areas in the USA.

Rick and I are in the high-risk group. Rick lives with underlying medical conditions. Without exercise his body stiffens and less oxygen in his lungs results in less stamina and reduced immune system.

I recently posted blogs about clogged arteries in my heart and neck. As i recover, I need to build my endurance. Now days, I tend to sit on the couch and either tap the keys or click to read text messages.

Mexico’s slow to recommend social distancing and need for frequent hand washing. It’s hard to do as most live with extended families live under one roof.

Food handlers rarely wear masks. If they have one, it’s usually around their mouth or chin. I wonder if other food prep folks around the world are equally lax?

Water is a precious resource on most vessels. To conserve water, I shower at the marina. Yesterday, I realized putting my shower stuff on the bench was contaminating everything. I view every door handle and all touch points as potential virus cesspools.

I wash my hands constantly. Rubbing hand sanitizer is a regular ritual. Downside? My chronic eczema thanked my efforts by flaring up.

Refrigerators on a sailboat are notoriously small. I stocked up on pears and apples leaving no room for bagels. The last two developed enough mold to cure the CoronaVirus. If I only knew how to transform fuzzy green and gray stuff into a life-saving serum.

We decided to strap on our three-year old N95 masks and walk outside. We will practice social distance. Now I read these masks can expire? I’m told wearing my mask will help prevent the spread of the virus, but not protect me?

I’m back…I just peaked at the online news. Grim. Tearful pleas for help. States bidding against each other for masks, ventilators, etc. Why in heavens name, don’t they join together and make a collective bid? Then distribute the stuff among them? Why hasn’t FEMA taken over the supply chain and kept a lid on the prices?

Thousands of folks flock our sandy beaches during Semana santa (Easter holy week). Similar to Florida Spring Break, although this time it’s Puerto Vallarta, MX. Most with little regard to social distancing and washing hands.

Mexico is waking up. Local governors are ordering self-quarantine through the end of April; possibly continue into May or beyond. As of today, charter boats filled with tourist are prohibited from going whale watching in the bay.

No paychecks for hard working folks. I’m listening for a local group to announce a food drive. If nothing presents itself, I’ll send a few inquiries.

In a week or two, we will be forced to go to the grocery store. I’m doing my best to be prepared and smart. I’m focused on the how.

I’ve spilled my guts and feel better for it. I’m curious what changes we’ll write about in our April IWSG blog hop.

Before I close I must tell you what I’m grateful:

• My husband and I enjoy each other’s company.
• My daughter tested negative for the CoronaVirus.
• A good friend and mentor share Joy through in regular contact.
• The La Cruz Writer’s Group and monthly Zoom Web Conferences.
• Insecure Writers Support Group for giving me the opportunity to share my insecurities with fellow writers.
• I just learned how to clean my phone.
• I can still taste and smell…so I’m free of Covid-19, right?
• An English online news paper: Puerto Vallarta Daily News.
• Excellent local medical information posted by Pam Thompson-Webb.
• A fellow on the docks said to call if we needed anything.
• A simple text exchange restored a close friendship.
• My gratitude list is alive and growing.

Request: I’m seeking positive podcasts and calming medications. Any suggestions?

 

It’s the first Wednesday of the month and that means Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is enjoying its monthly blog fest invented by Alex J. Cavanaugh. IWSG is a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds.

The awesome co-hosts for the The awesome co-hosts for the March 4 posting of the IWSG are Jacqui Murray, Lisa Buie-Collard, Sarah Foster, Natalie Aguirre, and Shannon Lawrence!

QUESTION: Other than the obvious holiday traditions, have you ever included any personal or family traditions/customs in your stories?

MY ANSWER: I decided to not answer this month’s question. Instead, I’m going to tell you what happened after five stents were installed in my heart. For that part of my story read blog post: IWSG Nov. 6, 2019: Strangest Thing.

February 2020 Rick and I flew back to the States for my follow-up doctor appointment and three-week vacation. I was excited to show my US physician the CD created by my heart doctor in Mexico.

While in Mexico, my cardiologist performed an angiogram of my neck proving the blood flow in my carotid artery was normal. He was adamant: my artery was clear. No blockage. I saw the proof: a video showing my artery with normal flow. I was convinced. No surgery.

I proudly showed my US doctor the CD. I fully expected his agreement. Instead my specialist said, “The artery on your CD is not the carotid artery. That image is your vertebral artery. There is still plaque in your neck and it is blocked 80%. I advise surgery.”

I squeezed my hands in an effort to contain my astonishment. How could two specialist have such different opinions?

Whom do I believe? My heart specialist in Mexico? Or my vascular specialist in the States?

Do I trust this US physician that discovered the blockage in my neck and did not bother to check for blockage in my heart? Why was his PA (Physician Assistant) so reluctant to give me copies of my medical records? I was torn with indecision and filled with uncertainty.

As you can see from my picture, I accepted the US diagnosis and choose to operate.

I was totally unprepared for the magnitude of this surgery, or the recovery time, or the disfigurement.

I had no idea it was considered major surgery, high risk, and a two month convalescent period.

Our 21-day vacation in California was jammed with appointments including two five-hour round trips to my eye specialist in Los Angeles.

Life was a blur as we jumped to met our demanding schedule.

Meanwhile, Rick was diagnosed with basal cells carcinoma on his forehead. He was operated 11 days after my surgery. Neither of us realized Rick’s operation would be so painful.

Apparently, all the nerves from the back of the head converge near the forehead. Rick suffered intense nerve pain while I struggled to regain my strength.

We flew back to Mexico 48 hours after Rick’s surgery. We needed help getting our suitcases down the dock and placed on our sailboat, La Vita. We were both weak and exhausted.

My first opportunity to completely rest was 16 days after surgery. It was heavenly.

I’ve included a photo of my neck after surgery (see above). They assured me when the scar heals, it’ll just be a white line. Right now, I feel a long rope of lumpy flesh.

Reminder: Plaque can suddenly break off and cause a stroke. That’s why this condition is called the silent killer.

Other than being tired, I had NO symptoms of heart disease or clogged arteries.

QUESTION: Have you or your characters been forced to make a life or death decision? How did it turn out?

 

It’s the first Wednesday of the month and that means Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is enjoying its monthly blog fest invented by Alex J. Cavanaugh. IWSG is a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds.

The awesome co-hosts for our January 8 posting of the IWSG are T. Powell Coltrin, Victoria Marie Lees, Stephen Tremp, Renee Scattergood, and J.H. Moncrieff!

QUESTION: What started you on your writing journey? Was it a particular book, movie, story, or series? Was it a teacher/coach/spouse/friend/parent? Did you just “know” suddenly you wanted to write?

MY ANSWER: It was 2am and shivers of adrenaline surged through my body. I was alone at the helm of our sailboat, La Vita. My first night at sea. Ever. Rick was off watch, down below.

The power to control a 33-foot vessel and the freedom to glide along without a care in the world was breathtaking. I was in the grip of freedom, control, and the dark unknown.

The wind ruffled the sails and the rhythmic throb of the diesel engine filled the air. We were in Mexican water and motor-sailing south to Ensenada, Mexico.

Fog erased the stars from the sky. The compass needle pointed south, assuring me we were on course. To the west, there was nothing between me an Hawaii. On my left, the rugged Mexican coast line.

Time passed, the fog remained. Then I saw a ghostly image moving through the hazy white mist. I stared at it in wonder. Was it getting closer to us? The blinding lights blurred the image.

With a sense of panic, I called, “Rick, can you come on deck?”

He looked around as he came up the companionway steps. “What’s going on?”

Rick studied the brilliant white form. “It’s coming towards us! Quick, turn the wheel to port.”

I did as I was told. I gripped the wheel and turned hard left. Shore lights twinkle as the La Vita headed toward shore. The sea slapped her hull.

About 100 yards behind us, a vessel emerged from the fog bank. A thick rope was dragging an enormous barge concealed in a blaze of white light.

La Vita weighs 15-tons and lethargic in the calm seas. She was in no hurry to complete 360 degree maneuver. Was the barge going to ram us?

Time stood still as we lumbered through the gentle waves and returned to our southerly passage. The vessel towing the barge was ahead and crossing our bow. They were headed for port. That was our destination, too.

We were on the inside route to Ensenada. The tow boat and barge were on the outside and intent on passing in front of us. The minute Rick saw the heavy tow line hanging off the stern he realized it was connected to a vessel blanketed in fog. Thanks to his quick thinking, we avoided a collision as sea.

This first night adventure at sea ignited my desire to write and a craving to draw the reader into my experience.

 

 

 

It’s the first Wednesday of the month and that means Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is enjoying its monthly blog fest invented by Alex J. Cavanaugh. IWSG is a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds.

The awesome co-hosts for the December 4 posting of the IWSG are Tonja Drecker, Beverly Stowe McClure, Nicki Elson, and Tyrean Martinson!

MY QUESTION: Let’s play a game. Imagine. Role-play. How would you describe your future writer self, your life and what it looks and feels like if you were living the dream? Or if you are already there, what does it look and feel like? Tell the rest of us. What would you change or improve?

MY ANSWER: Words flow freely and alive with creativity. The scenes are exciting and dialog engaging. The computer rests in my lap as my fingers glide with purpose across the keyboard. 

I am filled with a sense of freedom as I’ve given myself permission to live without failure. Recognizing there are simply experiences from which to grow and learn.

Could you take a moment and share with me how you enrich your creative writing ability? How do you stimulate your imagination? Do you draw from actions of the people around you?

Thank you for visiting and taking a moment to comment. I promise to visit your site and return the favor.

It’s the first Wednesday of the month and that means Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is enjoying its monthly blog fest invented by Alex J. Cavanaugh. IWSG is a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds.

The awesome co-hosts for the September 4 posting of the IWSG are Sadira Stone, Patricia Josephine, Lisa Buie-Collard, Erika Beebe, and C. Lee McKenzie!

MY QUESTION: Did you know blocked arteries are silent killers?

I tracked mine from the States and to Mexico.

American Doctors

I discovered first clue with simple question. Uncertain if he’d agree, I asked my American family doctor if he’d order an ultrasound of my neck. He looked over from his computer, squinted, asked, “Why?”

Feeling a bit embarrassed, I avoided his gaze. “I’ve heard they are a silent killer.” Out of nowhere, I remembered my mom had an aortic aneurysm and told him so.

His eyes grew large.

The next thing I knew I was lying on a bed beside a nurse as she rubbed a medical sensor device over my stomach and neck performing an ultrasound procedure. I was completely unprepared for the results.

Driving back to our motel, I started to doze watching the scenery fly by. Rick focused on heavy freeway traffic. Then doctor called and told me. “The study showed severe blockage in your neck. Your condition is critical.”

I had the doctor on loud speaker. Rick gripped the wheel then slammed on the brakes as vehicles ground to a halt. I wasn’t the only one shocked by the news.

The doctor referred me to a heart specialist, who ordered a CT scan. My iPhone buzzed as the doctor stepped into his office. I ignored the message. The doctor picked up the report as he sat down. I tensed when he confirmed the blockage. Then he delivered the craziest news I’d heard yet. “Go back to Mexico. We can do the surgery six months from now.”

He pointed to a drawing of a blocked artery and explained my plaque had been there for a long time. Therefore, I could delay treatment. I was flabbergasted.

Mexican Doctors

I simmered during our entire flight back to Mexico. I needed a second opinion and so visited Dr. Rios, our family doctor here, in Puerto Vallarta. Dr. Rios removed his glasses as he leaned forward. He said, “If you have that much blockage in your neck, we need to check your heart. Plaque doesn’t just build in just one area of the body. He picked up his iPhone and dialed. Looking over at me he said, “I’m ordering a 3D study of your heart.”

Why didn’t my American doctor care about my heart?

The study confirmed Dr. Rios’s theory. The CT scan proved 95% blockage. He said “You need surgery right away. You are a ticking time bomb.”

My throat went dry as I absorbed the news. I‘m the care-giver. I’m the healthy one. How would Rick manage without me? I turned to Rick and reached for his hand.

Surgery

Fact: the blood in my heart was severely blocked. If I wanted to live, the arteries had to be opened to allow the blood to flow. We discussed my options: bypass surgery or stents.

Bypass: the surgeon spreads open the rib cage, takes a vein from the leg and replaces an artery in my heart. Weeks of painful recovery.

Stents: On the other hand, with stents I’d be home the next day. No pain. I didn’t need any convincing; I chose stents.

October 1 Surgery. The anesthesiologist, flips to a page in his chart and asked, “When were you born?” I told him. He murmured, “Oh, so you were born during World War II?” Hearing him say it like that made me feel really old.

I drifted off. Completely relaxed, I felt his fingers ruffle my hair and he said, “How are you feeling?” I said,
“There is pressure in my arm.” Poof, the feeling disappeared.

In my twilight sleep, I’m vaguely aware Dr. Valadez, my surgeon’s voice, “You need five stents. Do you want bypass surgery?” Not really understanding the reason for the question, I said, “I want stents.” Later, I learned he asked Rick the same question and Rick told him stents. No bypass.

I opened my eyes as I regained consciousness. Dr. Valadez waited patiently. We looked at each other as he summarized what just happened. Three arteries were blocked from 80 to 99%. With extreme care he installed five stents and one is 48 mm long. He reassured me my heart was strong and in excellent condition. My surgery was a total success.

More good news, during surgery they manipulated a tube inside my arteries up to my neck. From this internal view, they determined one artery was 30% blocked. The other side appeared to be blocked, but it was simply an anomaly; a curve in my artery. This procedure proved my artery is open. No need for surgery.

I was discharged the next day and instructioned to walk 30 minutes every day.

Recovery

As my arteries collected plaque, my heart adjusted and compensated as the blood flow decreased. My entire body slowed down to keep pace with my heart. A massive fatal heart attack just waiting to happen.

After surgery, I have a new heart but not the stamina I expected. I walk every day determined to rebuild my endurance. It’s still there.

Thanks to my American family doctor and a team of highly trained Mexican doctors, we destroyed the silent killer.

Dr. Rios’s final prescription, “Go Live your life.”

Final Thoughts

Doctors wait for symptoms. Then if we’re lucky, we get treatment. What if we reversed the sequence? Diagnose first? Check the arteries just like we do routine mammograms and prostrate examines. Install stents whenever possible and thrive.

It’s the first Wednesday of the month and that means Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is enjoying its monthly blog fest invented by Alex J. Cavanaugh. IWSG is a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds.

The awesome co-hosts for the September 4 posting of the IWSG are Gwen Gardner, Doreen McGettigan, Tyrean Martinson, Chemist Ken, and Cathrina Constantiner!

IWSG QUESTION:  If you could pick one place in the world to sit and write your next story, where would it be and why.

MY ANSWER: Exactly where I am. On my boat, in La Cruz marina, moored just north of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.

Occasionally, the boat sways with the tide; the air conditioner hums and blows invigorating cool air; birds sitting on the life lines are tweeting in celebration and shitting on the deck. 

Interruptions! A voice from the dock yells, “Are you there mi amiga?” Carlos, our diver, wants to dive the boat and scrape barnacles off the hull. At the exact moment I’m totally immersed in writing a scene filled with thrills and chills.

Why is it, we can find fault, even paradise?