Archive for March, 2008

Please Help James Rhoades

It may be too late to post this, and if it is, James, please accept my heartfelt apology. I don’t check my gmail account as often as I should.

I had a conversation over lunch last week with a dear friend. She and I often disagree with one another and, because of our differing views, we often have deeply passionate discussions. But even if we still disagree at the end of the conversation we walk away knowing we love each other. We’ve been friends for too long to let political views or other highly charged subjects get in the way. And I adore having those kinds of conversations with her. Iron sharpens iron, you know.

Anyway, we had a long conversation about James’ ordeal, and I’d like to share the way the discussion went, because I think it illustrates exactly why James is in this situation.

When I brought up the comments James posted last week, and asked her thoughts on them (because she reads the blog), her immediate response was, “He should just leave the poor kid alone until he turns 18. Then if he (the child) decides he wants to pursue a relationship with James, so be it.”

I was immediately taken aback. Really, truly taken aback. Mostly because I hadn’t expected this argument from her. I honestly thought we’d be on the same page. I asked her why she thought what she had just expressed. She explained.

“Well, the child is in a nuclear family. He has a Mom, a Dad, siblings. It’s a stable environment. I think that’s what is best for him.”

“How do you know?” I responded. “How do you know that it’s a stable environment? How do you know that they’re not child molesters, or abusers, that they don’t fight all the time, that they have a healthy marriage, that the child is even having his needs met? How do you know that James wouldn’t be the better parent in this situation? Just because he’s not married and doesn’t have a nuclear family?”

She thought about that for a minute, then said, “I don’t. I don’t know. I guess I didn’t really think about it that way.”

I went on to tell her that Family Court was in place specifically to answer those questions. I explained that the child’s mother, her husband, and her husband’s father, had successfully legally stonewalled James for quite some time, that although DNA testing proved that James was the child’s father, this ancient law on the Kentucky books was allowing the mother to keep James and the child from each other. I asked her to consider what might happen if the roles were reversed.

Let’s say that James was married and the mother was not. Let’s say that shortly after the child was born, James went to the hospital and took the child. Because he’s the father, you know, he would be allowed to do that. Let’s say that he and his wife reconciled, or agreed to stay together for the sake of their existing children, and the mother was unmarried. Let’s say he spent the next year of that child’s life denying the mother access. Let’s say that he passed his wife off as the child’s “real” mother because it was best for that child to stay in a nuclear family.

There would be outrage the likes of which we have never seen! How dare he keep that child from his mother! Barbaric! Awful. The public outcry would be massive. The courts would have no choice but to intervene. James would be villified for using the legal system to keep them apart. His reputation would be sullied. His name would be slandered. How dare he?

And yet, that’s exactly what the courts have allowed. Only in this case the child is being kept from his father instead. Is it somehow less impactful to the child? Since it’s only his father?

I then went a little further to examine James’ options here. Because the child’s mother wants James out of the picture, she is, of course, not asking for child support. But if she wanted him in the picture, if she wanted his money, she would have the right to ask that James pay it. She would have the right to request the DNA test, if James denied that the child was his, and pursue him for the money, garnish his wages, have him put in jail for non-payment if he could elude the garnishment, whatever other punishment the court might see fit. If she wanted him in the picture.

Because she doesn’t want him in the picture, because she wants to pretend that she can continue her life as it was before she met James and they conceived this child, she can legally keep him from the child. Does that make sense to you? That fathers, biological fathers, have no control over their own destiny as it relates to their children? That this man could either be fully responsible for this child, or could be kept from ever seeing this child until the child turns 18, at the whim of the mother? That seems like an awful lot of power to grant one parent over the other.

Under normal circumstances, they would have gone to Family Court, and likely James would have been granted liberal visitation unless she could prove that he was somehow unfit. In this case, the mother, because of the legal pull her family has, has acted as his judge, jury, and executioner. She has made the decision that James will not see his son, and his son will not see him.

That decision, and the fact that the court system is continuing to allow her to keep his child from him, is frightening to me. It is frightening to me that a biological parent could be stripped of his rights by the other biological parent. It is more frightening to me that this is happening to a father, because we would never stand for it if James were instead the child’s mother. I have two boys and I don’t want to see them grow up and face this kind of pain. Should they marry, or not marry, and be 50% of conceiving a child, I would never want them to go through the unimaginable pain of not seeing that child, not being able to be a part of that child’s life. I wouldn’t want that for my boys. I wouldn’t want that for anyone’s boys.

More than that, stripping a biological parent of his/her rights without cause seems to be a horrifying slippery slope. What will be next?

My last point was that, if the child grows up and discovers that his stepfather is not his biological father, he will have questions. And what will he think if James gives up? Will he believe that James did it for his own good? Or will he feel like he missed a huge piece of his life? Would he be glad that James just “let him be”? I don’t think so. I think it would mean the world to him that James fought to see him, to be a part of his life.

On the face of this situation, it seems natural to assume that the child is in the best situation, right? It does. Nuclear family. Mom, Dad, family dog, siblings, whatever. But it’s important to note that the only person who has decided it truly is best is the mother. The courts have not decided. There has been no child and family investigator appointed. James and his son have had no chance whatsoever to even explore a relationship with each other.

James is his biological father… of that there is no question.

The only remaining question, then, is how much power do we give mothers over fathers? In this case, she has the ultimate power. Why? Because she has a uterus? Again, if the roles were reversed, we would be outraged at a father keeping a child away from his mother. Why do we not feel the same here?

Please, urge the courts to give James his due process. Urge the courts to give James and his son the chance to know each other. Because that boy needs his Daddy, whether his mother thinks so or not. And lies have a way of being found out eventually. He will know eventually that his mother lied to him and he will be damaged by that.

In the greater picture, urge the courts to treat fathers equally. Don’t let them grant this kind of power to mothers, because all of our children will suffer.

An excerpt from an e-mail that James sent to me:

The Kentucky House just passed a bill that would allow me to re-petition for custody and visitation with my son. So I need your help. If the Kentucky Senate does not push the house bill thru before April 1st it will be dead.

Please call 1-800-372-7181

And ask the Kentucky Senate, Senate Committee on Committess, and Senate Judiciary Committee to push and pass HOUSE BILL 685 before the end of this session. Tell them you are in support of HB 685 and you support equal parental rights.

They will ask your name and address, and it does not matter that you don’t live in Kentucky. Please, please, please help me, for I love my son and want to see him. They take calls until 11pm eastern.

Please do.

And please check out his blog. All of the information is there–the good, the bad, and the ugly.

James needs our support.

Fathers and children everywhere need our support.

How to Earn Minimum Wage

I went to a popular fast-food restaurant yesterday to pick up some lunch. Given the fact that I had a tooth forcibly removed from my mouth, I was looking for something soft and squishy, with no sharp edges. French fries? Nope. Chicken nuggets? Ouch.

Nothing sounded good, or soft or squishy, until I got to the sides. Ah, chili… and a baked potato. I’m not usually a big potato fan, but I like baked potatoes with cheese and bacon. The menu said “Baked Potato with Chives and Sour Cream”. No problem, I thought. I can order cheese on my chili, surely they can hook me up with cheese and a couple of bacon bits on the potato.

The conversation went like this:

Drive-Thru Lady: Hello. How ca’ hep you?

Me: Yes, I need a large chili with cheese, a large Diet Coke, and a baked potato. Can you do that potato with cheese and bacon?

Drive-Thru Lady: No.

Me: No cheese or no bacon?

Drive-Thru Lady: No. The potato come with sour cream and chive. You wan’ that?

Me: No, I want it with cheese and bacon.

Drive-Thru Lady: No.

Me: Do you not have bacon?

Drive-Thru Lady: No.

Me: (Wondering if she’s just lost her marbles, because they do actually put bacon bits on their salads and I KNOW they have a bacon cheeseburger) How about cheese?

Drive-Thru Lady: No.

Me: But you’re putting cheese on my chili…

Drive-Thru Lady: Tha’s shredded cheese, not melted cheese.

Me:  But the potato’s hot?

Drive-Thru Lady: Yeeeesssss……

Me: So it should melt eventually, like in the chili, right?

Drive-Thru Lady: (I guess she gave up on the conversation) $6.52 at the window. Please pull aroun’.

I did get the potato with cheese, no bacon. And the cheese? Was only like six little shreds. I guess that’s what I get for trying to muck with the drive-thru program. I should not have expected her to be able to think outside the box. I mean, it IS fast food, after all.

And that’s why she’s making $6.50 an hour.

Sweet Relief

I showed up at the oral surgeon’s office yesterday morning at 9:16. My appointment was scheduled for 9:15, but my driver (my mother) was a tad bit late, having gotten a whopping three hours of sleep the night before due to a nasty flu-like bug. Still, she managed to get me to the office in, like, three minutes flat. I was impressed with her driving for someone so sleep deprived. One minute late was pretty amazing. In fact, in Stephanie Time, that’s like 15 minutes early.

Anyway, I sat down to fill out my paperwork, excited that I was there by 9:16, thinking my appointment was probably not until 9:30. That’s what they do, you know–they tell you to be there fifteen minutes ahead of time to fill out the paperwork so you’ll be ready by the time your appointment actually rolls around, and I can write like the wind. So I was on line 3 of said paperwork, patting myself on the back for being so quick with this stuff, and a lovely woman burst through the door and barked my name. Already distressed at having to have the “S” word (surgery, for those of you that have potty mouths, not the OTHER “S” word), I was now upset about not having completed my paperwork.

As we walked to the back, she turned to me, took the clipboard from my hands and said, in a very sweet, syrupy, I’m completely annoyed with you, voice, “We’re just going to have to fit you in… since you were LATE.”

Huh? Late? By one minute? Seriously?

It took me about 2.3 seconds to snap out of my unhappy place and move right on into my sarcastic place. This woman could NOT be for real. Here I was, shaking in my shoes because I was having a tooth yanked out of my head, and she was complaining about one minute? Weren’t surgery places supposed to hire folks with some sort of decent bedside manner? This woman had the bedside manner of a drill sergeant!

“My appointment was for 9:15. I was here at 9:16. I apologize for the one-minute delay, but surely you could cut me some slack on that!” I responded to her as she marched me back to the room.

“Your appointment was at 9:00,” she replied, in her best “I’m more annoyed than you” voice.

“Well, perhaps you should let your office personnel know,” I snapped back, “because the word I got was 9:15. And here I am.”

She gave me a forced smile, and said, “Let’s get an x-ray then.”

“I brought the x-ray with me, as requested,” I said. “I gave it to the same folks that scheduled my appointment.” I’m not usually this curt with people, but I had been in severe pain since Monday, I was going to have someone pry my tooth out of the socket, I was probably facing some serious pain, I was already sick of Jell-o and was dealing with the prospect of several more days of it, I had gotten very little sleep because Advil only goes so far, and I was DONE with her attitude already.

“Yes,” she said impatiently, “but the doc wants a panoramic. Let’s get it out of the way so we can get that tooth out.”

Evidently my curt response to her made her think twice about her continued attitude. Suddenly, she moved on to sweetness and light, directing me to take out my earrings, getting me an envelope so they wouldn’t get lost, and even putting them in my purse for me. She asked a few questions about the amount of pain I was in, clucked sympathetically when I told her that it had been very painful since Monday, and generally tried to be a decent human being from that point forward.

Unfortunately, she had already ruined the mood for me. I deal with ugliness with humor and she had ripped the humor right on out of me, long before the tooth extraction had even begun.

Thankfully the entire extraction process was about 15 minutes, from anesthesia to stuffing my mouth with gauze. The doc was very pleasant and almost restored my good mood. The drugs helped a lot. Thank God for novacaine, is all I can say. I didn’t feel a darned thing (after the initial stick, which he called “a little pinch” and made me want to stab him in the eye with whatever blunt instrument I could lay my hands on), just lots of pressure.

The sound is pretty disgusting. I’m not fond of hearing the bone break and crunch at all. But when it finally came free, it was a little slice of heaven. It was instant relief. The doc stuffed that whole side of my mouth with gauze and gave me a dozen instructions for after care. The best part, I thought, was that he gave me both his cell phone number and his home phone number and advised me that, should I have ANY issues whatsoever, even after hours, I should call directly. Very cool. That pretty much made up for Senorita Stuffy Pants.

The rest of the day went as I expected. The local wore off and it was pretty painful, although it never reached the level of pain I was in on Monday. I took some Advil to keep the worst of it at bay. I ate a lot of popsicles, which made Freddy very happy since he was home with me and matched me pop for pop. And I slept last night. The deep, sound sleep of someone that has been up all night with tooth pain for several days.

By this morning? No Advil. Just a little pain. There is definitely a BIG hole back there, and everything seems to get stuck in it, but I am so gloriously, deliriously relieved at not feeling that horrid, throbbing, infected pain anymore that I could dance for joy.

Ah…. sweet relief. It’s a beautiful thing.

Adventures in Pain

Tooth pain stinks. Let me tell you.

I went through labor and I’m pretty sure that labor was easier than having a root canal go south.

Back when I was young and silly and did not yet appreciate the thousands of dollars my folks spent on orthodontia for me, I did not have a regular dentist. I had a fear of dentists and decided that if I just did not go, I would not have to deal with the fear… or with the pain. So I didn’t go. I didn’t go to the hygienist every six months for a cleaning, I didn’t go to the dentist even annually to get things checked out. Worse, I didn’t go when things started to cause pain. I stubbornly refused to go when that upper right molar (#2) started to really bug. I figured it would eventually stop. I figured wrong.

I let it go for far longer than a few months. Those few months turned into a couple of years and I’m honestly a little surprised that I didn’t end up with an abscess or something. No abscess, but I did end up shelling out just over a grand to have a root canal and a nice porcelain crown put on it. That was when I first began to appreciate the thousands of dollars my folks had sunk into my dental health, and when I first began to actually try to take care of things on a regular basis.

Since then, I’ve seen the hygienist faithfully every six months and the dentist has poked and prodded regularly. No more crowns required, thankfully, but I have had a few fillings. That one ugly crown, though, has caused me nothing but heartache since I invested in it so heavily. Every time I see the hygienist she clucks when she digs that sharp little measuring stick up into my gums so far I’m sure she’s hunting for grey matter.

“Nine, eight, nine,” she’ll say to the person doing the charting, in a disappointed, head-shaking, corners of her mouth turned down, kind of way.

Just ten days ago, at my last cleaning, we had another conversation about flossing (which I’m terrible at), and using my Water Pik regularly (which I’m great at).

“I would have thought the Water Pik would have caused significant improvement,” she said.

I nodded. You know how those conversations go when you have sharp instruments in your mouth. Nodding is about as interactive as I get.

Every cleaning, it’s the same. It never gets better. The gum tissue is inflamed, the tooth hurts occasionally. It’s just not good. And every visit the dentist tells me, “You’re not going to be able to hang onto that one forever. Don’t know how long, but not forever. See you in six months!” So I’ve been prepared that my tooth and I will not be lifelong friends. But they just checked it out again ten days ago. Ten! And the hygienist inserted some antibiotic stuff up under my gums around that tooth, in hopes of “stabilizing it”, whatever that means. Ten days ago…

On Saturday night, I started to feel like it hurt. It was that little twinge when I ate dinner, you know, like I had bitten down on an olive pit or something, and it just sent a shooting pain right up into my jaw. Only I wasn’t eating olives, I was eating mashed potatoes… the pitted kind.

By Sunday, I was popping Advil like candy, sure that I had something stuck in between my back teeth that was causing this pain. Perhaps I had a popcorn hull stuck in there from our family field trip on Easter morning to see Horton Hears a Who. No, it couldn’t be that. I distinctly remember chewing only on the left side because the pain was already bad when I put pressure on it. Maybe it was a potato skin. Or a piece of carrot. I went to work with the floss, flossing every 2.3 seconds, sure that the next round would dislodge whatever it was that was causing me such grief. It didn’t happen.

By yesterday morning, the entire right side of my face was swollen up like a chipmunk fresh from the nut farm, and my whole face was throbbing. I could tell what my resting heart rate was because every heartbeat caused some more searing pain to arc right up through the gum, through my sinus cavity, into my eye socket, around the back of my head, down behind my ear, and wrap right around into my lower jaw. It was bad.

I called the dentist first thing, hoping that they would have an immediate appointment. They didn’t. I had to wait until the afternoon, an eternity I tell you. When I finally got there, I laid in the chair, throbbing and miserable for almost a half hour, thinking of ways that I might be able to pry the tooth out myself. The dentist had an Easy button on her counter, I suppose to keep bored kids busy. I pressed it hopefully, but nothing happened. No computers fell out of the sky, no cell phones, no reams of paper, or anything else that Staples sells… and no improvement of the throbbing pain either. I contemplated getting someone to hit me as hard as possible on that side of my face. Maybe that would make it fall out. I looked for pliers, a claw hammer, a hockey stick, or any other dental or non-dental tool that might do the trick. Nothing.

Finally when the dentist made it in, I said, “Thank God. Can you just rip it out of my head please? I can’t take anymore!”

She smiled in response and said, “Well, we might just have to. But let me take a look first.”

She proceeded to poke and prod, say “Hmmmm” a lot, pull my lip so far out that I thought it might detach permanently from my mouth, and then tell me that it would be best to see an oral surgeon. “They’re really equipped for things like this,” she said.

“An oral surgeon?” I questioned. “How long will it take for me to get in? Because at this point, I’m considering finding a How-To video on YouTube or something.”

That made her laugh. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t aware of how serious I was.

“It won’t be long,” she said. “We already talked to them and they’re expecting your call. In the meantime, we’ll put you on some antibiotics to reduce the infection.”

The antibiotics are helping now, although I got about a millisecond of sleep last night despite copious amounts of Advil… far more than the recommended dosage! I have an appointment with the oral surgeon tomorrow morning to extract the tooth from my head. The dental assistant assured me that it would be no big deal. “It’s just a number two!” she chirped with a smile, as I walked out the door yesterday. Like everyone has had a number two extracted. “At least it’s not a bony growth that’s attached to your jaw bone or something!”

Love those people that can find joy and happiness in the most miserable of circumstances.

Anyway, keep your fingers crossed that the oral surgeon can just use his pliers and yank that sucker out… that there’s nothing underlying… that the antibiotics work as designed… that I never have to have another crown or root canal that might possibly go south. Because this? Stinks!

And you? Don’t forget to brush and floss.

And see your dentist regularly.

Because I would hate for you to have to have a number two extracted later in life because you were too scared to go…

Protected: Escalation – Follow-up

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Protected: Escalation – And Then…

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Protected: How to Escalate – An Expository Essay

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