SheenaLMartin.com

I’ve wondered often what I could really blog about, have a podcast…

Is it the Adoptee stuff I’m finally looking at deeply in 2020?

Is it DNA research, the search, the finding, the techniques?

Is it the self-help, how is it I keep being attracted to the wrong men for things to last issues?

Is it the Alzheimer’s with Dad – the being a caretaker of your father. Of Alzheimer’s itself because it’s a shit show.

Is it about being a grandma, how that’s so different than the parent?

Is it dreaming of living on the road? Is it about the RV life dream, can I do it alone as a 50-something woman?

Is it about what I think about our current political climate, and how we women need to get out and vote and help heal our country?

I’m pretty bad at one-thing. I want to be everything. I’m inclined to think it will be EVERYTHING.

Thoughts?

I’m the responsible party for my father, his well-being, his health, his life. Over 2 years now, this role is still odd to me.  But I’m the kid!  Well, Dad doesn’t know squat, he just knows he’s lost, and I’m the last person he recognizes on sight.  Alzheimer’s Sucks!

So it’s been 3 months since I got to hold Miss Corey. Age 4 months to 7 months is a crazy growth time as humans blossom into well, humans.  Thank God for video chats and the internet.  Can you imagine waiting weeks for a polaroid to show up in the mail?  Or those posed on boxes shots from the JC Penney’s studio?

So the plan has been for months to go for a visit this week, September 12th, for my daughter’s 5th wedding anniversary.  Let her and the hubby go off like adults, without a baby, and celebrate, have a break.  Gratefully, my daughter does indeed trust me to act in her steed, I am humbled and grateful, because she’s an exacting task-master grammer-nazi, that one.

Helping me in my role of Dad-keeper is his younger sister, Aunt Angie.  She has her own health issues, but is just fine spending time with him watching Animal Shows on the Smithsonian network, holding his hand, cajoling him.

I’m the bad cop “mom” roll, and she’s the good one.  Whatever, that’s not new for me.

But her being physically able to cope with 24/7, well, it’s not really ideal.  We let the nurse from the agency come in for a few weeks in July, and welp, she exposed us to Covid19, we spent 2 weeks on pins and needles hoping and praying. (I did get 3 chapters of my book spewed out because I thought I was going to die, now that I’m not, at least not imminently, the writer’s block has returned.) The poor nurse girl, in her early 20’s, very sick, it turned into pneumonia. She is recovered now.  

Ok, so no outside nurses.  Check.  I’m going to lose my mind if I can’t be around that granddaughter I’ve been waiting a decade for!  Can’t put Dad in one of those places, I can’t even tour them, and well, nursing homes appear to be ground zero for death in 2020.  That wouldn’t be very responsible of me.

So I brainstorm options.  Bonus Mom, nope. She’s up in the mountains like a smart woman, where the high is in the 80’s, not 110, because her wonderful daughter bought her a bitchin’ house under a 200 year-old oak tree.  It’s fun to visit, and I wouldn’t come down here to hell either.

Well, the ex boyfriend circa 1984 and 2004-2012, he’s living in a senior-only facility in San Bernadino, and with Type 2 Diabetes and heart disease, his paranoia of getting the Coronavirus is in the same ballpark as mine.  So, I go get him.    I think, well, he cooks, he could stay with Dad during the daytime, and let Anigie take over mid afternoon, as we do most days.  

He also says, “I’ll meet you downstairs,  I don’t want you to come in, there’s been some bed bug problems in the building…”

You know how, someone tells you something, and you have an instant visceral reaction, but you rationalize “Ah, that’s someone else.  It’s nearby, but it’s not HIS apartment.” ?
Kind of like, when the anesthesiologist comes in your room in small town California in 1990, and says, “Oh we’ve been doing these epidural spinal blocks now since the first of the year. (It’s May.  5 months.  Hmm, big needle, my back, 5 months.) The ladies really like ’em.” And the botched block, the headache and drama that ensued…

If the bells go off in your head, LISTEN.

That’s big life lesson #1.  LISTEN.  Quit rationalizing.

Any way, so I get him.  I don’t tell the kids (the adults, the 30 and 33 year-old adults)  because they don’t like him,  I don’t know if it will work anyways, why invite judgement?  I’m not rekindling a romance, I’m trying to solve a problem, and make a win-win situation.  Safe help, he gets a few bucks to buy more video games (Guesses about why we didn’t work out?)

So I instantly wash all his clothes two times, with two rinse cycles each.  Throw out some shoes, buy him another pair.  

He spends way too much of his time in my room watching YouTube Jim Gaffigan clips.  Look, it’s hard to step in and “parent” a man you remember being the leader of my family.  It’s taken a lot of adjusting for me, that’s my Dad.  But, truth is, Dad is gone.  Late stages of Alzheimer’s, Dad doesn’t make any new memories, the two sides of the brain don’t communicate, reason has left the building, and a PET scan shows cottage cheese in the front cerebral cortex.  (Such a heartbreaking ending to a man with a 160 IQ and an MBA. Life is so unfair.)

So, we go try out camping with Dad.  It goes ok.  Worse thing, he’s a little confused about the bathroom, but it all works out.  In the meantime, bug bites are chalked up to two nights of camping.

Thing is, it’s been 6 nights the ex here, and even upon return from the mountains, the bites get worse.  What hell of a mosquito or “no see ‘um” is lurking in Phoenix when it’s the hottest summer in recorded history?  What lives through that?  Where am I getting these bites?  What the hell is going on??

So, I see this is NOT a solution, he’s not going to handle this Dad thing, so I have my answer.  Don’s got a huge bite on his forearm that’s getting infected.  I worry, but drop him back at his place.  I hug him, tell him I love him, because I do and will, just we’re not destined for forever.  There’s stuff love doesn’t fix. Two days later he’s in the hospital.

So it’s really bad now, Diabetes makes things worse of course, and he’s on an IV drip.  He spends 9 days in the hospital.  Is it MRSA?  I don’t know for sure, but it was BAD.

And I’m back home (it’s 600 miles of driving, that’s nothing.)  But I’m still getting bit up.   I end up at the doctor, I’m googling bites. I have a row of welts up my thigh that is NOT enticing or sexy in the slightest.  Bed Bugs.  Are you kidding me?  Bed bugs in my room where he laid that soft-sided suitcase thing. 

OMG I’m pretty hysterical.

So, like anything you avoid paying attention to the details about because it’s a nightmare, bed bugs.  They make cockroaches look wussy.  Bed bugs can live for A YEAR without food.  Their life cycle is instantaneous.  She reproduces in a way that makes rabbits look infertile.  

Swear words.  Lots of swear words.  I have a new favorite word.  It’s not eloquent. 

It begins with the letter “F.”

I pull back the mattress, find two things crawling, pop my next steroid to reduce the swelling and call.

Bed bugs only die if they’re in sustained over 120 degrees for at least 90 minutes.

I can’t have this spreading throughout my house, with my disabled Aunt and Dad.  Best rated Pest Management company comes to the house.  Identifies the little assholes.

It’s Tuesday.  So Saturday morning they’re going to be here at 7 am, we have to vacate, and they’re going to boil our house.  Ok.  They’re going to go into each room, mine in particular, and blow hot air in there for 90 minutes.  Heat it to 140. 

Die bitches, Die.

This takes place in the whole entire house.  I have to remove all stuff that will melt, bag up my clothes after scorching them in the hot hot dryer (so much for my delicate hand washing and line dry) and place them in big trash bags out in the yard.  I guess the Phoenix blazing 113 degree heat, comes in handy on this front.  Inside a car they can’t live either, because it gets so hot.  

I can’t believe I’m learning this much about bed bugs.  But I’ve heard enough to know they won’t go away unless big huge measures are taken.  I take them.  I don’t skimp.  I pay the pros.  I’m the neighbor with a big huge pile of black trash bags in my backyard.  I try not to make them look like a body.  

Ok so, even in the time of Covid, we have to leave.  It’s over 110 everywhere.  I get two rooms at what should be a nice place in Scottsdale.  The McCormick Scottsdale.  They have a “staycation” offer on their website.  Stay 24 hour period, check in flexible.  I talk to the girl, tell her the need to leave, special needs elderly, adjoining rooms, yes, please, a Lake view.  Seeing water after the year of locked in a desert home, sounds nice. Girl says 11 am, at least one room ready,  

We have a drive-thru McDonald’s breakfast, and go to the nail salon.  We all three have pedicures.  It’s noon fifteen by the time we arrive in Scottsdale.  Room NOT ready.  I explain again, situation, decide to go to the famous ice-cream shop down the road for finger sandwiches and coconut ice cream.

Get back, now it’s 2 pm.  Yes, rooms are ready, but we’ve been moved to a “mountain view” instead of the lake.  I’m not happy, but too late, too bad, so sad.  These rooms must have been the last vestiges of this hotel, because they’re where the sun beats directly on the upper floor. We, the people who don’t want to leave the room.  Worst rooms.  Then the Air Conditioning wall units just can’t stand it.  Maintenance changes out compressors.  Come 8 pm that night, he’s wheeling in a different unit all together to cool down my now 95 degree room, Dad and Angie’s next door is maybe 82, at least something cold is blowing out of it.

This time I let Angie handle the phone call, because I’m now near tears, and my new favorite word, that begins with “F” doesn’t elicit helpful people.  Aunt Angie explains, shuts up, and we get half cost rebated, and they’re going to sneak us dinner when they’re NOT doing room service.  I cased the place late afternoon, there was ZERO social distancing, the bar was packed, and I wasn’t having it.

So the AC made it almost 78, an extra fan blew air on me, and we got some semblance of sleep.  Got up and was out by 10:30, meeting my also immune compromised friend with a heart condition at US Egg in Old Scottsdale.

Every other seat was NOT enforced, and while the table we were sat at was OK, it was near the main aisle, and I said a prayer and hoped for no spread.   Breakfast was OK, but Angie only wanted fruit, and only melons.  I had a Mimosa, because I needed a Sunrise Mimosa. 

So the food comes, and the $6 fruit side is 3 slices of Canteloupe (half slices) and 3 slices of Honeydew, WITH THE PEELS STILL ON.
Germ paranoid mom-She is nearing apoplectic now (me) because if you know anything, it’s the peels that the Salmonella and Listeria bacteria live on.  Manager comes of, “that’s just how we’ve always done it.”

“Ok,”  Sip the Mimosa.
“All is fine.  Just fine.”

Now they start putting two tables together for a big party.  I’m taking deep breaths, please Lord, let us get done before this happens.  We’re paying, my friend gets the tip, I sign the card slip… and in starts the big party.  Chair now 6”, not 6′, from where we’re sitting.  My thighs do NOT fit through this opening, let alone my ass.  And here comes the group, 10 college-aged super spreaders, not a mask in sight.  I am handing Dad the mask, and up and OUT we are.

The song by EMP, “It’s Unbelievable” is now running through my head, and I’m practicing the deep breathing I counsel others to use.

Ok, in the car, bye to the friend.  Take the city streets home, stop by Krispy Kreme drive-through on the way, get a tour of Phoenix, across the Valley of Fire.  I’m saying a prayer, “Please God, let the house be cooled down.”   Said it outloud, reverent and all.

I park in the drive, leave Dad and Aunt…and walk in the door… It’s literally 110 in my house.  No AC at all.  Look, the sales rep, the tech, both there as I left knew what I was doing.  Knew I was going to stay away and with them overnight, and could see the situation.   They knew, and the rep had said it depends on how long it takes to cool the house down, hence my choice to go overnight.

I turn the AC on, swearing that favorite word of mine like the sailor I must have been in my last life, and I get back out to the car.  So we go to a friend’s empty place, where we can wait awhile.  I go over and check a couple of times, now it’s 5, it’s still 93.   So let’s go to dinner.  An empty restaurant in Sun City I like, family owned.

It’s 7:15 pm when we all return.  It’s 88 now.   The scathing voicemail I left at the Pest Control company does include my favorite word, conjugated with an “ed” on the end.

Apparently customer service lost it’s way during this pandemic too.

So now it’s been a few days.  The follow-up inspection showed nothing, which when it comes to bed bugs, is a good thing.  Now to get all those bags undone and to put my room back together.  Amazon is due to deliver a new mattress soon, because that old Serta went OUT. I can now speak about it.

So, remember.  Listen to your instincts. 

There’s a reason it ended 8 years ago.  Alone is better than going back.  It can’t be fixed.  Go forward.

I don’t need a man for any of this. (I’ve never “needed.” I just like them.)

There’s a lock on the pantry where all the medicine now resides.  This house is on lock-down.  Hoping Aunt Angie can handle this alone.   (And she did.)

Labor Day, #2020dumpsterfire

2010 dawned in Dolores Colorado.  I was all-in on the hotel, struggling along in that horrible economy, and Don, Doug and I were probably freezing our asses off in the wooden box which was The Rio Grande Southern Hotel , built in 1893.  That was the Christmas I got a heated toilet seat for up there on the 3rd floor where we lived. That bathroom was like 45 degrees some mornings, and sitting down on 80 degree heated seat was a deeply felt pleasure.

From January 2010, this is the icicle that hung between the two eaves of the roof:  

Today I’m reflecting on the experiences of this decade.  It’s been a decade of adventure, and change change change.

I kept hoping something would turn around economically, and struggled through this winter, and the 2011 winter I worked on the Gondola in Telluride to supplement and try to stay in SW Colorado.  Finally, in November of 2011 I analyzed my cash flow, and gave the business back Susi.  She’s got it up for sale today.

Dolores was where another huge thing happened, it’s where I was able to bring my son from California, and stand next to him as he struggled through rehab.  June to November 2011, he got sober, and was able to go back home strong enough to not repeat.  I realize I am incredibly lucky to have that be the story.  So many others have not had that experience.  About a year into his sobriety, he finally submitted to God.  The man he’s become today brings me pride.  He’s the spiritual leader of his home, he’s handled some real crisis’s with grace and faith these last few months, and he loves a woman in a way that all women deserve to be loved, as a husband and protector.  I’m so proud of him.

My kids are quick to point out, I’ve been bouncing around non-stop since then.  I think I’ve landed for the long-term here in Phoenix.   At least for most of the year, although I think we’re going to have to be camping in the mountains come July and August.

I’ve lived and worked in Telluride, worked on a Dude Ranch south of Yellowstone as the cook, outside Albuquerque in Mountainair at the Shafer Hotel, Hawaii, in Pahoa where the volcano was flowing again last year in a Castle, near Aspen, Ruidoso New Mexico, near Waco, TX, Pagosa Springs, and a few brief months in Fredricksburg, TX, Tucson, and north of Dallas.  It was May of this year I brought Dad back here to Arizona, and we’ve settled into a routine that handles this stage of Moderate Severe Alzheimer’s with enrichment programs, good support groups, and nearby VA offices and services.

My heart was broken not being able to make either my relationship with Don or the business work in Dolores.  Hope was restored, and I really thought I had a great partner in Chris when we got together 7 years ago this week.  I mean, he told me I was the greatest thing since sliced bread, over and over.  Turns out he wasn’t just telling me that, but a couple of other women at the same time, and betraying his wife.  I get the prize as the most gullible I guess.  Perhaps 5 1/2 years is a good run.  But it wasn’t my intention.  I thought I had a life partner to walk the rest of the road with… I was hopeful enough to actually marry him after 18 years of not being married.  That heartbreak almost killed me this time, I think because of the compounded grief of realizing my Dad’s stuff wasn’t just normal aging, but the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s officially only 4 weeks of Chris dumping me.  Never ever have I felt compelled to Google “What are the symptoms of a nervous breakdown.”  But well, I think I came close last November.

2019 certainly has been better than 2018.  2019 has been about rebuilding a situation that allows Dad’s sister Anita, who moved from Florida, and I to care for him safely.  To get my bad habit of eating my way through stress under control.  To exercise.  To reach out to others going through the same challenges of caring for someone you love with this horrible shit show of a disease that is Alzheimer’s.  Never ever could I have imagined how debilitating this is… Every 5 minutes right now, as I sit at the dining table typing, Dad walks in and goes over his “You live in Phoenix with your daughter Sheila and sister Anita” board, and he tells me he hasn’t seen Sheila all day.   My support group is amazing, and the counseling I’ve been doing to heal myself continues and starts 2020 on a the right track emotionally.

Great things happened at my core this decade.  I found my greatest passion, using DNA to find the truth of my genetic heritage, and do so for others.  I’m on the brink of answers for a couple of close cases I’ve been working on.  It’s an amazing tool.

Finding my birthdad Warren with my DNA 3 years ago, has blessed me with amazing people who love God and me, and have helped me navigate this season of caring for my Dad so well.  They’ve been here in Sun City for a long time, and Falba my “stepmom” has helped many many families navigate over the years as she was the Care Pastor at her church for many many years.  Just another example of how things work together for good.  My birth family has completed my picture of who I was genetically.  Not having that be a secret has helped my psyche more than I could have imagined. I’ve gained a sister I hope I get closer too, I’m good friends with my birth mother. I’m blessed with answers and relatively healthy family relations on many fronts.

And as I sit on the brink tonight my daughter is due to give birth to my first grandchild in a mere 6 weeks.  Such joyful hope.  She’s successfully navigated from teenager at 19, to falling in love at 23, and marrying the first boy she kissed.  A terrific complement to her.  I also see in them a real couple, a team.  My kids learned the lessons.  They took their grandparents over 50 year marriages as a model.  I’m so proud to have them both.  I managed to raise two great people who I love, and look towards this next decade with such excitement of being a grandmother.

My Dad continues to hold steady while slowly declining.  The grief of your father being gone, yet still here, scares me personally, and scares me for us a society.  Alzheimer’s last about a decade, and is the most expensive disease we are facing, and 3x’s the numbers are anticipated in the next 20 years.  A few weeks from now I’ll be starting a podcast with my college roommate’s mom as we share our experiences and wisdom learned caring for our loved one – her from the standpoint of the wife, me as the child.

I also can actually imagine coming to grips with my anxious attachment style romantically, and maybe damper down my reactions and “stuff”  Maybe develop a secure attachment style, the kind I have with my friends and others.  Why I’ve repeatedly messed that up is the big question of my life, and my generation.  It’s not over yet.  And I did at least find in 2019 my juices still flow and I actually felt attracted to someone.  That first year after Chris’ betrayal, I thought maybe I was dead inside.  I’m not.  That’s a relief.

God has blessed me with a PT from home job opportunity, opportunities to serve others, and create.  My family is growing.  And the tools to cope with the stress of the Alzheimer’s journey have been growing, and I can see a light at the end of the tunnel.  I am grateful to have the ability to be here for my Dad who was here for us his whole life. I am grateful for friends, life long and new, who’ve come around me with love and support.

So as the sun sets on this decade right now, I’m ending on a hopeful note.  For growth, love, and giving back to the world some of the love and grace that’s been given to me.  My biggest goal is to speak my truth without fear and filter.  To help others know they’re not alone, whether it’s their aging parents, disappointment, or coming out of the fog of secrecy as an Adoptee.  I’ve always been one for truth over fantasy, even if it sucks.  Here’s to the next decade being authentic and truthful in love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two days ago I hit double digit milestone 55.  I’ve been thinking about a lot of how I got here, and how the being relinquished at birth and adoption affected me. 

Here I am, tiny, pleasing almost #BabyYoda like cooing and smiling at age 4 months.  Basically, the last few weeks I’d been here, with Barbara and Tony in the mountains of southern New Mexico.  Yet, for 75% of my life to this time, I have no idea what went on.

I know my birth mom relinquished me in El Paso, and then I was in foster care in Las Cruces, and kept there for 10 weeks.  10 weeks.

What the hell went on in those 10 weeks?

There in lies the core of the trauma.  And 55 years later, I’m trying to damper the power of this trauma, and I think speaking about it, saying what I really think, are the steps I need to take to put it fully behind me.

I’m thinking a lot about this, because in a mere 6 weeks or so, my first grand child is going to be born.  My daughter and I were discussing what it would be like to just hand her over to someone else.  I can not even imagine doing this.  It’s the core of ever single story, every single family. Every love story.  Every tragedy.  Every connection.

10 weeks.  What on earth, just a baby alone with strangers and other babies.   10 weeks.

 

 

My new found with DNA distant cousin brought me a case I’ve worked on about 10 hours… and I think I’ve identified the missing American GI – at least narrowed it down to one of 3 brothers and it’s matching the math to the cousins.

Trying to solidify who a certain wife is – especially when, like in this case, they died in 1899 at 29 years old… now she’s not on the Census.  And her tombstone etc says “Pinky”  and well, that’s a nickname – but drilling down in cousins I find the Kennon descendants of other daughters there and bingo, solved.

That is how using your DNA and logic leads you to FACTS that solve your mystery, whether it’s as momentous as “I don’t know who my dad is” or I can’t identify which “Smith” family my 3rd great grandmother is from… clues are there, and new ones pop up all the time!

And my new friend/cousin was like “did you make that new cousin match appear overnight?”  Bwhahahaha.   I don’t make anything appear.  Someone actually spitting in the tube is the only way you have matches to any of these people! 🙂

Best hunting fellow genealogists.  Best hunting. (Ps don’t believe the paper, believe the DNA.)

Whore Genes: A memoir

I think I have it.   A book theme.

See,  a Gedmatch cousin emailed me.  She matches bioDad at 47 cms.  She’s got a story… her mom was born to an English teenager, WWII American GI and poof – that’s her mom.

She’s around my age.  Wants to know who grandpa is…

So I’ve spent a few hours here and there over the last few days – and now I have a few ideas of this Smallwood family and Ring – IDK how this matches dad mind you…Maybe the Adoptee matches will write me back, let me see there DNA results.

Anyway, I’m struck, again.  Does this whole “spreading the seed around” go with biological imperative? Or just slutty?  I mean, c’mon. I can point out some unknown parentage, adoptee stories down almost every.single.line of my kids.  I’m just the tip of the iceberg.

I certainly have behaved opposite of repressed much of my life.  I’ve had spurts of repression, and now that I’m ancient and the oven has been removed…

But what drove all these before me to make such a mess of defining an actual truthful DNA tree?!  Seriously.

Am I a cluster?  Is it in the blood?  Or am I just more aware because of my personal experience these last couple of years, and I attract it?

Hmmmm

Whore Genes.

I’ve thought a lot this year about Ambiguous Grief.

Where what your mourning isn’t cut and dry.

Learned a new term that’s similar, and appropriate.

Disenfranchised Grief:

“Grief that persons experience when they incur a loss that is not or cannot be openly acknowledged, socially sanctioned or publicly mourned”. 

So as an adoptee, all of childhood.  All of the questions you can’t speak, all of the loss you feel but don’t know of what and who and any questioning gets the parents mad…

So you cope by leaving it alone.

So odd.  So much resurfaced this year.

The idea that a career using DNA to find the truth has long been an desire of mine.

I made this site to talk about this with others, and to help find clients, gigs, projects.

It’s a unique set of skills and personality traits that makes me ideal at this pursuit.

Being an adoptee.  Being one who relishes the truth, even if it sucks.  One who has been building family trees and doing research for over 20 years.  A pro at Ancestry.com.  Educated myself by reading, working with, and pursuing who my birth father was when DNA revealed that the birthdad named was not that guy.  And overcoming, even with a great grandfather of unknown parentage that clogged up the pursuit!  I solved a family mystery that the family didn’t even know was a mystery.

I desire to help YOU.  I desire to help others know their truth.  And I desire to use these skills to find out the truth for people seeking closure and justice.

I send up a prayer and intention to the universe.  Bring it.

 

Today is October 13th.

2018.  The shitiest year in recent memory.

My found biosister’s birthday, and my ex’s too.  Good Libra triskaidekaphobia.  A day I like historically.

Today I analyzed, researched and booked the travel, truck for moving, and my brother locked down a room for Dad, in Texas.

We’re moving him in about a week 1/2 very near my brother and his wife and kids and extended family.  I’ll follow soon after…

The thing is, this is my Dad.  The diaper changing, sacrificed a lot to make everyone happy and safe, Dad.  He’s 81, and the dementia got so bad weirdness was happening.  My brother and I had to step in her and get him really seen, diagnosed, and are following the recommendations of the doctors at the VA.

I went through a lot of photos, picking out those that will give a good picture of his life and memories, to remind him…

And to pass on to my Uncle Ray Robinson’s family, after he crossed over yesterday, after a heroic battle with cancer.  His family was gathered around him for the last couple of days, and he went quietly in the wee hours of the morning.

I couldn’t help but picture my mom, their brothers Guinn, and Philip and their parents there to greet him, and usher him into heaven with his Lord and Savior.

It’s a big time.  Lots of life and death, major changes in 2018.  Sometimes, I think my “put it in a box and take it’s power” trick comes in handy in crisis situations.  It’s a super power.