Suzzanne Carlson

MY STORY

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The time is 05:21:23am

Forward

1) Maroa

2) Hollywood

3) Decatur

4) Okeechobee

5) Spunky Pre-Teen

6) Freshman Year

7) Sophomore Year

8) Junior Year

9) Senior Year

10) After School

11) Failure to Insanity

12) Half Way Down

13) Darkest of Times

14 Was this a light?

15) Where Are YOU?

16) The Road Back!

17) New Adventures

18) Comfort Zone!

19) Goin' Truckin'!

20) Life after Wealth!

21) Til Death do us Part!

Dedications



The Future
Life after School

Quoting a line from the poem Frank wrote for me, 'Who can say what the future holds, Surely not you or I'. I didn't have a clue. I didn't have any plans. I knew College was out of the question, I could not survive on one day a week at the Doctors office. I just didn't know what to do.

Vicki wanted to go to nursing school, she went to Indian River Office to register. While she was in the office, she found information on a program that would pay students to go to school. It was a training program for those who could not afford college or trade school. It was an attempt to educate the 'under privilaged' out of poverty. I qualified, being a single Mom.

The Doctor I worked for thought that taking some secretarial classes would be good. Then I would have something to show to other offices, and find a good job. Secretarial Science was the title of the program in which I enrolled.

It seemed redundant taking all the English and Math classes that I had been taking all through high school. But they were still included with all the typing, learning business machines, and computing stuff. Computers at that time took up whole rooms. What we worked on were 'terminal' that connected to a main frame.

Shorthand was interesting. I knew I would not be good at it. I had a problem with taking what I heard and translating into the characters. The issue was not comprehension. It took a little longer for my brain to process the information. I passed the class, but my speed was not good at all.

Translation was easier. You listened to a tape and typed what you heard. I could do that. I was actually pretty good at it. I could see how that would work in a Doctors office.

Xerox machines were OFFICE ONLY, very expensive and BIG. Putting paper in it required special training. Do Not get me started on refilling the ink, we didn't have cartridges then. A gallon jug of black ink and a funnel into a tiny ink tank. What a nightmare.

I finished the year without any real 'stories' to tell. School was always just school. I was placed in a temporary job with the Game Commission. If I could turn it into a full time job, that would mean state benefits.

The boss' name was Frank, just what I needed! He was a 'hard' man. I don't know how to say that any different. He didn't smile, he didn't participate in any office 'antics', when he spoke it was 'hard'. He was not my kind of person, but he was the boss.

He was working on his thesis for his doctorial degree in Wildlife Conservation. Any time I didn't have something to do for the office, he wanted me to type up his notes for his book. Not a problem for me, I hated sitting and waiting for something to do.

The end of the year conservation study report, something about ducks, was in it's final stages. The only thing left to do was write it up and send it to the main office. Easy Peasy right? WRONG!

There were 5 members of this team. The Boss and 4 researchers. Each of them had their own part of the report to work on. I had to type up each of their reports, in triplicate. Remember, we didn't have copiers in that day, and Xerox machines were rare.

I typed up the first one, and handed it to Frank. They had a meeting, made some changes, and handed it back to be to be typed again. By now I had the second one done, and they had another meeting, the same thing. I made it to the fifth report, then started on the changes for the rest of them. I can't tell you how many times I re-typed those 5 reports, in triplicate before we got to the final copy to be sent to the main office.

It took me days to type this report. It was 26 pages and included information about water tables, rain fall history, and very little about the Ducks. This was the final copy so I took great care NOT to make mistakes. I turned it in, they had a meeting and they came back with, 'You have to re-type it again, you made a mistake on page 15.' I had typed 'teh' instead of 'the'. I could have fixed that, but that was not good enough.

I went to lunch, I always went home. I was so 'steamed' about the fact that they wanted me to re-type the entire thing, for one little mistake, that I was positive would make no difference in the decision for the grant for which they were applying. I made up my mind!

I brought a box with me when I went back to the office. I started packing up the stuff I had brought in for my desk. Frank came out of his office and asked what I was doing. I told him I was going home, I quit. He looked stunned. 'You can't do that!' he said. 'Watch me!' I said. I told him that I didn't mind the work. The team was great to work with. I didn't mind typing up his notes. It kept me busy. I didn't mind answering the phone, or filing reports. I was trained to do it all. Why I was walking out had everything to do with his 'hard' way of doing things. I worked hard on that report. I did everything they asked me to do, and never said a word. There was no reason for me to type that report so many times, when they could have sat in the meetings, gone over each others notes, compiled ONE report and THEN had me type it all up for revisions. THAT I would have had no problem with. But to type it soooooo many times, just to be told I had to do the final ONE MORE TIME was not going to work for me. I walked out the door and never looked back.

I started a job at an Insurance agency. I was the book keeper. I had not trained for book keeping. It wasn't difficult. I picked it up quickly. I was responsible for 'petty cash'. I told the boss that if I was responsible for money, NO ONE, including him, would go into the drawer without my knowledge. He agreed, but the office manager did what she wanted.

The boss was offended when I would not go out for a drink with the crew after work. I told him I did not drink and he asked if it was a religious choice. I told him it was more of a personal choice. He did not press me after that, but I think I lost favor with him because of it.

A client came to file a claim, I was given the task of taking his information. The next day a dozen red roses showed up at the office for me, along with a request for a date. I was flattered and being easily influenced, I accepted the date. He was a truck driver and gone over the road often. We started dating. It didn't take me long to realize he was very controlling. He bought me a ring, showered me and Dannielle with gifts, and talked about our future together. I just could not see a future with us together.

I started buying my Mom a single carnation every Friday. I just wanted her to know how much I appreciated everything she did for me. I found a nice little flower shop, and then realized that our Senior Class President Karen owned it. We talked every week. It was the first time I knew that she had actually seen me in school. She knew who I was, and what I was about. I think we got close at that time.

Karen was getting married to her high school sweetheart. There was never any doubt that was going to happen. She invited me to her wedding and I felt recognized. I did, however, tell her that as much as I loved being invited, that I would just NOT fit in with the other guests. She accepted my decline, and we have remained friends, to this day.

It is hard to say everything that happened after I left the Insurance company. I did not fit in with the staff, or the clients. I had problems with money coming up missing from petty cash. I felt like there was someone intentionally messing with receipts and the books, I could never get them reconciled. I know the office manager did not like me. Rather than stay and be accused of something I know I was not doing, I left the job.

It was then that I took a job as a Nursing Assistant at the hospital. We did not have to be certified at that time.

Here I pick up and continue a story now from my youth. Remember the Truck Driver, George? Well Now I am 21. George is working as an orderly in another area of the hospital, turns out we work the same shift.

We see each other in the cafeteria one day and we strike up a conversation. Sometime within the first week of meeting up with him for lunch, I realize exactly what my Dad was so afraid of. This guy is strange. He even admitted having thought about it when I was 15, but he didn't do kids. BUT now I am an adult so it's okay.

I was alone, vulnerable, needed a friend, so well, you can guess the rest. It was a fling for a flings sake and nothing more. As years go by, we meet up again, have another fling, and over the years a couple more. Then worse things happen and he is no longer with us. I still cannot understand ONE, why my Dad didn't just tell me what he thought this guy was like, and TWO what was so wrong with his Brother, who was my age, and nothing like his brother?

I can't say how long between encounters with George, when the last one was, or how many there were. I just know that I never felt threatened.

As my spiritual life, I was certainly off key. Nothing about my life was going along with what I thought My Holy Father had planned for me. I was feeling pretty lost and alone.

I had been attending church most of the time, and trying hard to do what I thought was right. I felt alone most of the time and tried more often than not to find solace in my time at the church.

Hiding places were very hard to find, when I had a daughter to consider. Someone had to take care of her, while Mother worked, and when I worked Mother took care of her. So I found it harder and harder to find a quiet time that I could reflect on life, it's meaning and all that life encompassed. This was certainly not the way I had felt as a teenager, when I knew that My Holy Father Loved me and I could feel Jesus hold my hand, or give me a hug, and when I could hear and see and feel the angels around me to give me strength and encourage me. I could not quiet my mind enough to even talk to the “invisible people” that I always knew were just a whisper away.

I felt my job at the hospital was rewarding, and I believed I was good at it. Caring for people was an honourable job, and making them feel safe, and comforted when they were hurting, felt like it was a good way to live my life.

Most of my patients appreciated the time I spent at their bedsides, making sure they had everything they needed. I passed juices and snacks before bedtime, and made sure that everyone that wanted one, got a back rub. I made sure that before they went to sleep their pillows were fluffed, sheets were straightened, trash was emptied, and beside tables were cleared of trash and clutter. I was not a nurse, and never pretended to be, but when I went to work I knew I was going to help people feel better.

One day I went to work to find out that a patient who had been there for a while was finally going to go home the next day. I was so happy for him. His wife was so relieved, it was a very exciting time.

Shortly after I got there, he told me to tell the nurse he had a really bad case of heartburn, could he get some Maalox. I told the nurse, she said she would take care of it, and I went on to my next patient.

I tried to make it a point to see every patient every 15-30 minutes unless there was a problem that I could not get back right away. So I made my rounds, went to have a quick sip of coffee and started my rounds again.

When I got to his room, he smiles, still thinking how glad he was going to be to get home. We talked for a few minutes about what he was going to do when he got home. As I started to walk out of the room he said, could you tell the nurse I still have really bad heartburn. 'Yes sir, I sure will', and I did. The nurse said she didn't know why they fed heart patients such spicy food. And said she would see to it AGAIN.

This went on for most of the evening, and I did not think anything of it. The nurse was a great nurse and she was doing her job, and I was doing my job. I was not a nurse, I was not a professional, in those days you didn't have to be certified to be a nurses aide. I made my final rounds, wished him a great night, said I hoped we didn't see him back any time soon, and be safe going home. I went home and was off the next day.

The next night, one of the other nurses that was a good friend called me. She said Mr Jones had passes away at about 3 am. My jaw dropped to the floor. What happened, I asked, and she said he had a massive heart attack. But he was going home! All his vitals were fine, his color was good, all he complained was...........HEART BURN..........! A year of working on the cardiac ward, and I didn't see one of the biggest signs. I felt responsible. I was not a nurse, I was not a professional, I could not be responsible. I felt responsible, I should have pushed the nurse harder, I should have told her it was signs of a heart attack, I should have known something. I was not a nurse. I was not a professional; BUT ,, BuT,,,But....

]I had a two week vacation coming. I went to visit my sister in another state, and I didn't come back to work. I didn't look back. I stayed with my sister for a few months, where life happened like it always happened. I went to church, I prayed, I went through life's motions, but I still didn't get my alone time.

There was a young man in the church, younger than me by a few years, and he was going through a hard time, with some of the same emotions about our spiritual life that I was having. We met a few times prayed together, and talked about what we were feeling, and what could we do to change it. Other people in the church we were talking to, individually of course, didn't seem to know what we should do to make it better.

One even we had been praying together, reading scriptures, studying and trying so hard to figure out this thing called life, that time got away from us. When I got back to my sisters, much later than intended, I was met with the most accusing attitude I have ever seen. They actually accused me a defiling this young man, just because we had been out late, and we must have been doing bad things.

Nothing like that had happened, and that was not the first time that I had been accused of being an aggressor toward men. That the only reason I was even in church was to find a husband. More and more church was becoming a place that I dreaded.

I was accused of hateful things and yet these were supposed to be people who were loving and caring and help you find answers to life's questions. Now I was even more alone than I had ever been and I was surrounded by people.

I finally made my way back home to my Mom, and still had no further answers than I had before I had left. Everything felt like it was my fault. I was a terrible person that allowed people to die, that hurt people, that no matter how hard I tried I brought grief. How could God Love me. Hiding was almost impossible. There was just no time, and no place, and it was totally pointless.

My life had gone from Failure to Insanity

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