You Could Have Had A Career in Writing.......

 I was searching in your "box" and came across this paper you had written. I am not sure exactly when, but one clue in the story leads me to believe it was when you owned your silver VW Beatle. You were late teens at the time. (I copied it precisely how it was written).

 

 

I wish we could find out how the story ends......in more ways than one.

Anticipation

 

By Monica Fowler

 

 



Yelling and laughing children scurry past us while I uncertainly track the progress of the next line of victims clicking their way up the steep incline, definitely I'm sure, towards certain death. My mind is temporarily taken off their perilous situation as I wonder out loud to my best friend Trey, "Where are these kids parents? It's a good thing I'm not a serial killer or some creepy kidnapper with a fetish for loud smelly kids or anything, because if I was this is where I would hang out." He giggled under his breath as another one of the sticky handed ones in question bounced off of his calf and almost knocked him down. "Hey get a job!" Trey called at him as the little boy ran off with his cotton candy and without an apology to Trey. "Or tell your mom to do hers..." I mumbled as my attention drifted back to the object of my extreme terror. Funny how I can give great advice on things I know nothing about first hand, like say, raising a child but I can't seem to take my own advice about there being nothing about a stupid roller coaster that should provoke such intense fear. (Still, I don't think I would let my 5 year old run free in an amusement park but hey, who's an enormous baby like myself one to judge?) Trey's interest in the pin balling little boy has waned, and he's now back to grinning like the Cheshire cat at me and looking very much like a five year old himself. Actually, in the state that I'm in, his expression makes him look incredibly evil, not cute and mischievous which is what I'm sure he's going for. "Come on baby......I'll hold your hand." He drags out the word hand as if his is something I really want to touch right now. "Your hand is the last thing that I want to hold at this moment, I'm much more comfortable holding on to this fence" I tell him matter of factly. I glanced at the wrought iron bars under my sweaty palms, safely holding me, (may I add, where I belong) firmly on the ground. "Jacks, you promised, this is the whole reason we came!" His five year old persona was really showing its pouty face at the moment and I decided that I like Trey's 29 year old self much better. "That was before I realized that I really don't like roller coasters. Now I know, and we can have a funnel cake and go home." "No way, no way, no way," he sing-songed shaking his head back and forth before I had even finished my sentence. There's that five year old rearing it's ugly head again. I guess I had to give him just a little wiggle room since we were at an amusement park and that does sort of give everyone permission to act as if we're under ten. Well fine, if he wanted to act like a kid than I would just act like your mom. "Don't interrupt me, you weren't even listening," I scolded, "I said I don't like roller coasters." Shaking his head and repeating his "No way" mantra, Trey proceeded to grab both my arms and wrench me away from the relative safety of the entry way gate. Trey who was almost a foot taller than me, and could possibly bench press my Volkswagen. I was apparently not going to be lingering at the entryway any longer according to this overgrown child. With his arm firmly around my shoulders, Trey marched me very obviously reluctant, to the end of the line. I scanned the winding line of brave people who were anxiously (but make sure I clarify, willingly) waiting to ride this death train as the procession disappeared around a corner. Who are these people? I thought to myself, why in the world would they put themselves through this torture?  I looked at my captor who was now almost trembling from excitement (or maybe just shaking from the reverberation of me trembling with fear) and remembered. They're people like Trey, people who skydive, bungee jump and like to watch extreme fighting when they go home to their parents house that's equipped with cable. Are they nuts, suicidal? I don't get it. Why did I let myself even get talked into coming here? Okay, can't change the past, deep breaths an deal with the situation, our wait in line was definitely long enough for me to talk my way back to my nice safe fence again. Maybe I'll try the mom approach again...."How about I watch you from down here and when you go down that first pitching nose-dive, without of course coming off the track and crashing to a fiery death, you can wave at me?" His chant, the only thing I'd heard from him in the past five minutes which I might add I was very sick of, cut off the end of my sentence and began again. Rationally speaking to this sorry excuse of a best friend of mine was clearly out of the picture. I decided to try to work on his selfish instinct and told him in  a sly voice, "Hey if you're alone some hottie might sit next to you and then she'll grab your big, sexy man muscles in terror and you can get her number and have someone to go out with this Valentine's Day!" My sly voice had sort of turned into a hysterical rant of panic since this line we were in seemed to be moving much more quickly than I had anticipated. "Never, it would be a huge fat man who hasn't showered in a week." Was promptly inserted between  "no ways". His Cheshire cat grin that I did not like at all was back on his face and I decided our relationship was definitely toxic.

These were pictures you made in rehab where you open the page and theres another creation inside. You had made 2 of them. (Kinda random, but I thought I would throw these in with this post.)

 

miss you, always......m

 

 

 * To the readers of this blog...please feel free to leave me comments, I would love to know how you feel about this blog.  Thanks!

 

 

Fancy..Expensive Rehab Does Not Necessarily Mean "Good Rehab"..Part 2

We would talk almost every day and I remember being so proud of you for sticking it out. You were restricted to a wheelchair so you wouldn't burn any unnecessary calories. I would get daily updates on your progress which after about 4 weeks started to sound familiar. You used to say to me that when you started to feel better it really made you feel much worse. So in other words when you would start to gain weight that is when your body would start to physically feel better, but emotionally was another story. That is when you would feel like crawling out of your skin and Anorexia would rear it's ugly head and then things came to a sudden halt.

I received calls from the staff that things didn't look good and you were misbehaving. You didn't get along with the one person who you should have gotten along with and that was the chef. He had little patience with you and unfortunately he was the son of the owner of the program.

They gave you contracts and ultimatums. They pleaded with you, tried to scare you into complying with the program..I believe they tried everything including the all too familiar, "If you keep on the path you are going, you will die".

Dad and I finally had to fly out to CA to come and get you and to have a family meeting to see what we could do to help the situation. When we arrived they treated us like royalty and cooked us meals so we could have dinner with you, we had meetings with the entire staff, but to no avail. You were stuck again and asked to leave the program. During our stay you called me one evening crying and hurt. You told me that you were coming down the hall in your wheelchair pushing it instead of sitting in it, you claimed you were going to get into it in a minute but was pushing it to the middle of the hall when the owner caught you. He grabbed your arm and asked you to get into the chair...when you tried to explain he said under his breath, "You Disgust Me"!   I remember how upset you were, I called the clinical director on that weekend but couldn't get a hold of him. We let it go, but it would come back up for discussion several months later when we did obtain a lawyer to try and collect the remainder of our money which they refused to return to us. In the end we did settle out of court for some of the money they tried to keep.

They couldn't just throw you out without a referral for a different program to go to. On the other hand if you left on your own without having a place to go they threatened you with a 51/50. In California it is where you are held for 72 hours against your will and are forced to have a psychiatric evaluation, if they think you are a threat to yourself or others.  So those were your choices.....not great since we came out on a Wednesday and by Friday they had found you a place in which they recommended to you as a residential facility which provided a higher level of care. It belonged to a friend of the owner and he assured us that insurance would cover it. It was located in Missouri, but we would have to wait until Monday to leave SD and would arrive later in the afternoon. We hung out all weekend together in their beautiful gardens, then we collected you early Monday morning to begin the journey to Missouri.
Things did not go smoothly and one of our flights was detained so we missed entering you on that Monday so we had to wait until Tuesday. By this time you had dropped even more weight due to the stress and travel plans.  First thing Tuesday morning a car was sent for us from Castlewood, which was one of the most beautiful residential facilities I had ever seen. It was set on several acres of gorgeous woods and the building was placed on a cliff with a view which was breathtaking.

We met several staff and we were very hopeful that this would be a good place for you to try and recover. I got an unusual feeling every time we met a new staff member, they were acting rather strangely, kind of talking behind closed doors whispering around us etc. By the afternoon my worse nightmare had come true.  They kindly informed us that they had no clue that you were as compromised and underweight as you were and this was not the place for you by a long shot! So here we were after traveling across the country with our critically ill daughter to find out that we had been steered in the wrong direction by our trusty fancy shmancy treatment center. So now what do we do?? We hadn't a clue....Castlewood was wonderful and did the best they could to find us a place to go in a short amount of time...they even delivered us back to the hotel at their expense. I know they felt terribly sorry for the 3 of us.

I tried to speak to the place in SD but got nowhere, they didn't want to take responsibility for their referral mistake. They even instructed your therapist not to speak to us. Ooooooh I have never felt such stress and anger all at one time in my life. I felt terrible for you too! 
We ended up going back to Chicago and admitted you to the hospital there for a short visit. We were back to square one...I know that you felt like a failure, but I always looked at it as a wonderful attempt and happy that you tried your hardest to take the steps to beat the uncrushable...the relentless....the insidious disease known as Anorexia.

Here is a poem which was given to you by one of the staff at SD, he was a maintenance man who really cared about the patients and I know you liked him very much.

 

 

Miss you more than ever......m

Fancy..Expensive Rehab Does Not Necessarily Mean "Good Rehab" Part 1

 

 

 

While recently going through your "box" of things I came across a cellophane bag with all of these loose clippings from magazines. I remembered that you were in the process of making a collage while you were at your stay at the very fancy, very expensive, very posh, and I might add very exclusive inpatient program in beautiful San Diego, CA. It was December of 2007, you had been searching for a place who would agree to accept you in the critical condition you were in, since most places you called wanted no part of the liability and strongly suggested a hospital-based program.

Using your charm and positive attitude at the time and also of course your promises, they agreed to allow you to come.

Dad and I were ecstatic and immediately made arrangements to have money wired to CA out of our retirement funds to the tune of $60,000 for a 2 month stay. An exorbitant amount of money, but well worth the assurance that this could help our beautiful, wonderful, much loved daughter to get better. We would have done whatever it might have taken.

I want to start by saying that this particular program had many wonderful components to it. Most of the staff was fantastic, caring, accommodating and basically wonderful. However, the man who owned the program, we would eventually find out.... was a greedy, arrogant man who originally owned and ran an exclusive nursing home at the same location, but found that there was much more money to be made from changing it to an eating disorder program. The experience we would have at the end of your stay there would be the most stressful, horrible couple of days that I can ever remember having.

The journey began fine and we all had so much hope for what this program would give you. You and I flew to SD, which itself was a difficult feat. The fact that you were so terrified to fly and also because you were totally taken out of your regular schedule of eating. Although, disordered it was, it was at least eating regularly. Traveling presents all sorts of problems when it comes to food and what to eat. You couldn't possibly lose even an ounce or you would be even more compromised.

We were amazed at how gorgeous the facility was when we arrived. The circular driveway which led to the locked filigree double door entry looked like something comparable to a Four Seasons Resort. When we entered they had beautiful fresh flowers on many of the tables and the bedrooms had fancy bedding on those huge over sized mattresses. Something out of an exclusive Interior Designer magazine. You were in such a good frame of mind, yet very scared to be so far from home and also the thought of any kind of change or giving up even a small amount of control was very scary for you. 

I will never forget the analogy one doctor once explained to me. She said that to a person with an eating disorder, it would be like asking them to jump out of an airplane without a parachute and asking them to trust you that it will be okay. That would be as terrifing as giving up their eating disorder. I never forgot that.

I remember that at the facility they were so afraid to admit you until they were sure you were medically stable, which meant you had to spend lots of time in the nearby hospital before admission.  I remember you needed a few blood transfusions also while in sunny CA. Once I knew you were situated I left to go home and wait.....wait for the magic to happen. All was good for a while, you hung in there for as long as you could...then it started to go downhill after about 4 weeks. It was difficult not to have you over the holidays, but Anorexia doesn't care one way or another...holidays don't mean anything to an eating disorder!

To be Continued Very Soon.............

Knitting is so Therapeutic!

In 1973 Grandma and her friend opened up Needlepoint Junction in Skokie, IL. She was so unbelievably exited about it. Aunt Roni and I worked there and loved every minute of it. We would watch soap operas on the TV in the back room where all the ladies would meet and Needlepoint together.

After several years of selling Needlepoint, Grandma began to sell yarn for knitting when it was all the rage.  You were just a few years old when we would go and visit her at the store and you would play in all of the rooms which housed everything from frames to hundreds of beautiful and brilliantly colored yarns.   Grandma taught you how to knit at a very young age, but you really didn't take it seriously until you got into your late 20's. You always did your own thing, for sure when it came to knitting, you never used a pattern or anything like that. I think that your true knitting career was strictly for therapeutic purposes.  I remember Roni, who is a fantastic knitter and is the only one of us who can really knit well, tried to help you make things look more professional, but you weren't interested.

As you spent time at home and especially when you were forced to spend time in the hospital against your will, (I might add), you would pace back and forth in your room and knit.......all day long...for months! You were so adamant at being there it was all you could do to not go crazy. The knitting kept you sane...

Needless to say we had lots of scarves, homemade creations by Monica! I remember so many trips to the yarn store to get you more yarns. When you were at the last 2 hospitals all you did was knit.  You even made scarves in which the hospital gift shop displayed some of them in their store to sell to the public. I am also posting some of the many items, mostly scarves, in which you created.  I found the knit bandanna for Niblet and also the grey dress you made.

When we were in California at The Compassionate Friends Conference one of the workshops was a beginning class in Knitting. This wonderful woman, who reminded me of a young Grandma brought a starter kit for all in the workshop and taught the people to knit as a form of grief therapy. I am thinking of taking it up myself and knitting more, in between my other projects and art...I just need to find the time. 

  Here are a few cards that were sent to you by your friends at the hospital in Missouri.

 

 

Here you are at Grandma's store one day.

In the upper right hand corner is the dog sweater you made for, I think, Star. Also leg warmers and the bandanna for Niblet is on the left.
Grandma would have been proud of you!

 

 

 

You are greatly missed.....every day......m

 

 

A Few Artistic Items Made During Time Spent in Prison, I Mean Rehab!

It has been a while since I have posted and I apologize, but we have been doing a bit of traveling and I've been away from my computer. I am also planning on putting more of my time and efforts into writing the book I am so determined to complete. I have found that blogging is rather addictive, not to mention emotionally draining, so the book has taken a back seat, which I am not happy about.

I was going through your "box" earlier today to retrieve some of your things to put on this post tonight and found some artwork that I saved while you were in treatment at one time of another. You really weren't in a residential situation that many times considering how many years you suffered from your illness. Looking at the big picture I remember one of your many therapists used to say to us that she had some patients with eating disorders that would be admitted to an inpatient hospital sometimes 22 times before they actually turned things around and wanted recovery. You just never know how many times it will take. 

In any event here are a few of your many pictures you created while being stuck in the hospital. You had so much patience and made some amazing intricate artwork. Here are a few I found.......



This one opens up into a box made out of paper, it's decorated on the other side, as well.

Here are a few cards you gave to me and Chelsey, also known as B.S.  (baby sis)

I remember one day coming to visit you at one of your stays in the hospital and you had made this sign on a piece of paper and taped it to your wheelchair. The doctors forced you to be in a wheelchair so you would be sure to not burn any calories whatsoever during the day, even by walking. You were definitely Hell on Wheels! It seemed that everyone either loved the shit out of you or really couldn't tolerate you when you were in treatment. Very little in between...but I will say I still have relationships with some of the staff from a few places you made your mark over the years who absolutely adored you. 

Last but not least here is one of your famous poems you wrote to me for mothers day. I will cherish it forever!

We miss you tremendously.......m





The Compassionate Friends, Costa Mesa, CA; Our Final Destination

Here we are in Costa Mesa, California at The Compassionate Friends International Conference. The sun is beautifully setting outside my window in the most amazing color orange you can imagine. I can't say enough wonderful things about this conference and for those of you who are unfamiliar with TCF, it is an organization of  people who have lost a child, grandchild or sibling and who find comfort and support by sharing their grief experiences with one another. Last year was our first time at one of these and it was amazing and very healing in a lot of ways. First of all, last year it was in Minneapolis, near The Mall of America, which btw is the reason Chelsey joined us....it turned out she was doing us a favor by coming with us (aside the fact that Chel does love to shop) and when we got to the conference the "Siblings" or better known as the "Sibs" took her under their wing and basically we didn't see very much of her. This year she is the one who asked to come to CA for the Conference....she has made so many new and wonderful friends who all have one thing in common. They have all experienced the loss of a sibling.....
There are 100 workshops...speakers....dinners....sharing sessions....people who walk around and talk to one another not ever having met one another and feeling so connected it's truly amazing! The people who meet here once a year are some of the friendliest people I have ever met.

What I have just experienced this past weekend was difficult to describe. It is hard to express the gratitude to the fact that TCF is here for us. Being at our second conference of The Compassionate Friends is so special because it’s kind of like you are here with us again. It brings you to the forefront and we get to talk about you a lot.

All of the children/siblings of the bereaved families who have left us too soon are discussed on a daily basis…it allows us to share stories, talk about the reasons why you are no longer here and people listen….and we listen…    Everyone walks around with lanyards and photo buttons of their loved ones….and everyone has a different story of how their child died. It’s not uncommon for a stranger to walk up to you or be waiting in line and just say, “ So, tell me about your daughter” . We are all so different yet brought together by one similar component. You can be in an elevator, or at the pool or at a Workshop and its an automatic conversation, not like in the real world at all. The difference between day to day life and being at the conference is that when we live our lives in society we don’t get the opportunity to talk about you very much, because a lot of the time it makes people feel uncomfortable….I tend to talk about you a lot anyways…whether people like it or not.

We did meet a friend of Chelsey’s there who was sharing her feelings and said to us, “ My brother would think we were crazy for being here, he would probably laugh at us”. I understand what she means because I have thought that myself at times. I think you would laugh too, but also understand that we are just doing what feels good for us…..since not having you here feels so bad.

The 2014 Conference will be held in Chicago and someone suggested that I head one of the workshops perhaps regarding something to do with eating disorders. I need to really think about that. I need to think of things which may help people cope with the loss of someone who suffered from an eating disorder. I do feel the need to help in some way…if anyone has any ideas or suggestions of what to include in a workshop to help people deal with the effects of losing a loved one to an eating disorder, I would be eternally grateful!

  When people have asked me in the past for help or suggestions when they see people whom they love, going down that ED path.  I always used to say that I am well versed in the world of Anorexia, and deeply understand the disease and it’s intricacies, but was never able to help my own child try to find the ideal recovery solutions so how can I help others.

  I can only say that I was there for you in the best way I knew how.

We are on our last leg of our Seattle/California and are now heading home. I almost freaked out a while ago because I couldn’t wake up Chel up from her little nap…those drugs work really well when you take an abundance of them.

I truly wish that you were here with us and that we never ever had to be in the secret club that nobody wants to be a member of...................but since we are..... I am glad it exists!

love........m

"Shortney's" Thoughts

I was trying to think of some happy things to write about and asked Chel for some ideas....she suggested that I tell the funny story that happened with Monica and her friend, Courtney years ago. I thought it would be better to just post the entire letter (which included the story) written by none other than Courtney herself....

 She wrote these words to present at Monica's memorial and read them beautifully........

we love you Courtney.....



Those of you who don't know me I am Courney Downing and I have been lucky enough to call Monica and her family my friends for the past 15 years. I first met Monica when I was 15 years old and she was 16. I was young and angry at life having just moved across the world and back twice in one year. I was struggling to make friends at the small private school I had just started attending and I was feeling so very lost in the world. The day that we moved my horse, Dexter, to Canterbury Farm I was sure I would never find close friends there like I had at my old barn in Pennsylvania.

 I could not have been more wrong.

 I remember very clearly when I first saw Monica, she was tacking up Malmo in the aisle at Canterbury and she was talking to Malmo the whole time. The first thing I noticed, of course, was how beautiful she was, then I saw her ride and life seemed to become even more unfair when I saw how talented and graceful she was. Of course being 15, I automatically assumed that such a beautiful girl could n't possibly be nice or approachable...again I was wrong. The thing about Monica was that she didn't go about making friends like most people do, she just WAS your friend.
There was no getting to know you process. She just seemed to overwhelm and encompass you in her personality and her warmth. Within a few days it was like I had known her forever. I spend most of my Friday nights sleeping over at the Fowler's, eating pizza and watching silly movies like "Drop Dead Fred". I felt like the luckiest girl in the world to have Monica and Chelsey as my friends. I have so many memories of the fun we had and the trouble we got ourselves into.

Monica taught me to drive in her purple Geo Prizm. She and Chelsey were the first people to nickname me "Shortney", and it really stuck. Whenever I would sleep over, her dog Arnold was always in the middle of the bed with us. He was so afraid of thunderstorms and she was always so kind and comforting to him. Monica truly had a deep love for animals. Some Saturday mornings, I'd have to be at the barn early, so my dad would pick me up for driver's ed. Getting Monica out of bed and moving early was always a challenge, and I started devising tricks to get her going, such as resetting her alarm for an earlier time or jumping on the bed until she got up. We always ended up laughing and never once did she complain. We laughed about everything, even when she had way too many Shamrock Shakes from McDonalds and made herself sick.

The water was shut off at Canterbury that day and I tried to drive her to the gas station bathroom, but on the way I got into a car accident and the police and ambulances showed up. I looked around for Monica to give them her info, and there she was sprinting across traffic on Route 59 to get the the bathroom. When she came back, the paramedic asked her how she was. She said,''not too good", referring to how she felt sick. The paramedic assumed the she'd been injured and she ended up strapped to the immobilization board in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. The whole way she was screaming, ''Shortney...get me off this board! Tell them I'm fine"! she only stopped when the ambulance driver let me operate the siren to amuse her. Afterwards, when we went to court for the accident, her reenactment of the events was so animated that even the judge had to try not to smile.

I remember when she had a day off from school and decided to come pick me up at my school. I came out of the building and every boy in the whole place was standing in the parking lot, watching in awe as she and Kramer danced around to No Doubt, wearing chaps and paddock boots. I spent the rest of my high school career explaining who that beautiful girl was and that no, she was not available as  a prom date. She also managed to convince our headmaster that riding should be considered a sport, which exempted me from gym class. My parents and I had been trying to accomplish that for months, and she did it in a matter of 15 minutes! We had so much fun going dancing at the under 21 clubs and were so excited when Chelsey was finally old enough to come with us. We laughed so hard at the look on Chelsey's face the first time an awkward guy tried to dance with her. I can still see it now.
After I went off to college, Monica and I stayed in close touch for the first few years. She started to become more distant and each time I would see her I would become more worried. We finally lost contact for a while, but one morning as I arrived at the gym for my pre-work run, I was greeted by a familiar voice yelling, "Shortney..its you"! across the atrium. Then there was Monica, flying down the stairs and onto me. She was taking an early morning spin class, and when it ended she would wait for me to get there so we could chat while I ran. At first it was difficult for me to see how thin she had become, but soon that faded away and all I saw was my wonderful friend who was one of the most stunningly beautiful girls I've known. What had always attracted people to her was her effusive and warm personality. The same held true even years later as she struggled with Anorexia. We would spend those early morning hours talking about everything, our lives, what we were and weren't doing now and what we dreamed of doing and how differently things had turned out than our teenage selves had expected. Monica always had the best advice about everything, whether it was guys or work or family. She asked me one morning why I was running so much and why I was losing weight. This was a sensitive subject for me and many people in my life had asked the same question. I couldn't lie to her, I never could.  I told her that I wanted to get to my goal weight of 95 lbs. She stopped walking on the treadmill next to me and hit the emergency stop button on mine. she grabbed my arm, looked at me in the eye and told me in no uncertain terms to stop losing weight. I could see the sadness and desperation all over her face. She said that she didn't want the life for me that she was living. I don't know what would have happened to me had she not reached out like that, but I do know that I was headed down a dangerous and destructive path and that she was the only person who could convince me of that. Afterwards, we went back to giggling at the impressions she did of the meatheads lifting weights and the ladies who would flirt with them. Monica was the only person in the world who could actually make me look forward to going to the gym at 6 a.m.
I will forever miss my amazing old friend.  Monica came into my life when I needed her most and she will always be in my heart. She'll always be Monkey to me. I can't find the words big enough to express my sadness and grief at having lost her. I think of her every time one of my dogs wakes me up looking for comfort during a thunderstorm. Every time I'm riding a horse and I mess up, I think of her and how hard she tried to teach me to be a better rider. I think of her whenever I hear songs that we used to sing and dance to while driving to so many horse shows...and of how young and carefree we were. I know the impact that her friendship had on my life and I know that she touched so many others in the same way. Monica was such a rare combination of intelligence, perceptiveness, beauty and wit. Sherri, Dale, Chelsey....please know that your dear daughter and sister will always be remembered with love and will never be forgotten.

Monica was truly one of a kind.

you are truly missed by all.........m