Showing posts with label CNA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CNA. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

And So, I Became A Dancer, On Broadway. And No, I Do NOT Mean THAT Broadway!

I had first met my feisty friend, Debbie, while in the Certified Nursing Assistant program that we graduated from, together, at the local community college. We were the top two students, in our class, and I had just barely beat her out as the Honor Graduate, by my pulling off a 4.0 GPA to achieve that. Although we went our separate ways, after graduation, due to our finding work in different medical facilities from one other, we had remained friends over the years. My being a CNA had eventually injured my lower back due to doing all the patient lifting, which had begun to be an ever-increasing problem, as I needed to work full-time to be able to support myself in what was then a barely-above-minimum-wage job. Now, not only was I losing work hours due to having to recover each time my back went out but the pain and weakness in my lower back also prevented me from being able to fully and safely perform all of my nursing duties with the patients, on the medical/surgical hospital floor that I worked on. This type of injury happens to many people in this career field. With my tall, slender frame at 5'9" and 128 pounds I suppose that it was surprising it hadn't become bad enough to end my medical career sooner than this.

The hospital had well respected my high-quality contribution to their patient care and because of that had reassigned me to work in the business office doing billing and insurance duties, to retain me as an employee. Although I had deeply loved working in this hospital I found myself completely miserable in this new work environment. I had felt so fulfilled in the nursing side of things there; something I clearly could not ever return to doing again now, though. Seeing the other nurses, around the hospital, such as in the cafeteria at meal times, left me feeling, even more, despondent, over how things turned out for me. I missed the camaraderie of caregivers working together for a noble common cause, and the tender aspect, at the core of the nursing profession. My heart had been so depleted by the distressing things I had been through in my own life. This, loving, environment had helped heal my own broken heart in ways, because of the nurturing and hopefulness, surrounding me, then, as we helped our ailing patients to heal. The behind-the-scenes of the business side of things was catty, and cold, both among the co-workers and even toward those patients who stopped by regarding their payment for services rendered. The situation in the office environment quickly and steadily deteriorated for me and things simply seemed to only go from bad to worse there. It just wasn't for me. I realized that I would have to let go of the hospital that I loved, now, because to stay there would mean I had to go on trying to force myself to do what just felt, to me, like petty paperwork, with a bunch of backstabbing bitches as co-workers, all of which I had absolutely no heart for. I felt empty and sad. This place that had once been such a blessing to me, of hope and happiness, when I got hired for the job to work on the patient floor there, as a Certified Nursing Assistant, had turned into a source of despair and growing depression for me, as each moment 'pushing papers', in the office, felt like emotional agony. Unable to continue living at that level of pure misery, I left.  I had no idea what I would do, for a living, now, but I knew that I could not do that, any longer!

I was lying on the livingroom floor of my apartment, not many days later, trying to help heal my remaining back injury which I was left with from working there, when I thought to call my friend Debbie, and tell her, what had happened, to me. She and I had both truly enjoyed our work, in the patient care field, so I knew that she would really understand why all of this was so deeply upsetting, for me. Debbie was a fiery, red-headed, take charge type of personality! Wanting to be helpful, in a practical and proactive way, she had come over to my apartment, as soon as I called to tell her about my dilemma, and she brought the current newspaper along with her for potential employment possibilities, to aid me in my job search. There wasn't any internet back then. Job searches were primarily done through simply checking the local newspapers for any current employment opportunities. As she read the various job ads to me I continued lying flat on my back on the floor which seemed to help my lower back problem. With each ad she read we discussed my current skillset, and any possible new skills I could learn, in light of what was actually available now, as a potential job for me. 
Whatever it was going to be, I needed it to be an immediate hire, which most jobs weren't, because my monthly bills were almost due. It also needed to pay weekly, to keep me from falling further behind financially than I was now; again, something that the large majority of jobs did not do.  

Almost all, of the conventional employers, had lengthy application and interview processes which often lingered over several weeks, with no assurance, at all, of ever even being hired, after all that! Even worse, since time was of the essence, for me, financially, those mainstream type of jobs usually only paid every two weeks, so the first paycheck wouldn't actually be in hand for 3 to 4 weeks from the actual start date; if hired, for any of those. At that point all of my bills, including the rent, would be past due, which could even put me at risk of possible eviction from my apartment, if I couldn't get caught up on what I owed by then fast enough. I had been living at poverty level even though I was working fulltime, at the hospital, so I did not have the luxury of having any money saved up. I had lived paycheck to paycheck, just barely making ends meet, while living an extremely frugal lifestyle. My bad back was also an issue as it affected what types of employment I would be able to do. Employers wouldn't have much patience with it interfering with their expectations, of me, as a new hire, in any way. Especially if it hurt my attendance, productivity or the quality of my work.

Working her way down the page, with all these things in mind, Debbie eventually said, to me, "Here's one! Dancers needed. Good money plus tips. No experience needed!" When I asked what kind of dancers she went on reading from the Help Wanted ad. "It says 'Razzle Dazzle'. Their address is just across the river, over in Council Bluffs. They hire on the spot!  I think it's one of those 'Strip Clubs'." She looked at me from over the newspaper she was holding, as I responded from where I was still lying down on the floor, "I could NEVER do that!" I said that, to her, because those few days in Biloxi, Mississippi when I had been an actual stripper were not fun or fulfilling, for me. There was nothing, about that experience, that I wanted to repeat. Now or ever! There was no rapport there, with any of the other strippers or staff. The patrons were completely voyeuristic, which I suppose one must expect in such an establishment, but were not socially engaging at all, aside from wanting to put their sweaty hands on me when I had to sit with them, in the dark, on hard, sticky-feeling chairs, in between my dance sets. I'd used so much peppermint breath spray to try to ease some of my discomfort in being that up close with strange men, that one, nearly, keeled over off his chair, after he'd asked me to join him, and I breathed out that strong scent while introducing myself, as I sat down, next to him; as was required of me. I had felt humiliated doing my striptease, on that stage, even though I was far removed from the tables the patrons sat at, there. The contrast, between how distant from everyone, and impersonal, that had felt, for me, and my being completely naked, while I was on the stage during my 3-song-striptease in the most physically vulnerable way possible, except for my high heels, and a feather boa, was something that I couldn't reconcile, about it, in my emotions. Rather than my feeling classy like Gypsy Rose Lee had seemed to me to be,  I felt like, what I was doing, there, was, at best, only some disgusting display in a dingy dive. I couldn't do that again. I couldn't feel like I had felt there about me, and where I worked, again.

However, my friend, Debbie, unclouded in her judgement by the emotions I was feeling about all this, saw my getting a job right away where I could make some good money now as a real necessity for me rather than as just an option which I could afford to choose to ignore. In fact, after covering the entire Want Ads section of the newspaper, with me, it seemed, to her, to be my only option! Literally pulling me up off the floor she hauled me outside and to her car, then drove me across the bridge, over the Missouri River, and into Council Bluffs, Iowa. It was late afternoon, when we pulled up, in front of 'Mickey's Razzle Dazzle', one of those bars with live female entertainment, which is often euphemistically referred to as a gentlemen's club. It was not far over the bridge, from Omaha, Nebraska, where I lived. It sat right along Broadway, the city's busy main drag. I did not want to go in! I was determined, not to go inside, actually. But, Debbie persisted, prying me out of her car and then pulling me toward the door, saying that it wouldn't hurt, just to go in, and see what it was like! As I continued to refuse, she then took it upon herself to, literally, drag me toward this rather ramshackle Go Go bar. I lost this struggle with her, when she pulled my hands away from gripping the outer doorframe, of the entrance, in a last ditch effort to try to keep her from pulling me through that door. She was determined, to help me; even in spite of me! So, she did, eventually, manage to get, both of us, inside the door, of this dilapidated structure. She had ignored my protests and overrode my attempts at evasion. To see her physically pulling me into this Go Go bar, by force, onlookers might have thought that what was going on was, actually, a kidnapping of me, due to my resistance, to it!

As we entered, this very dark room, and were standing, just inside the door, it took a moment, for my eyes to be able to see well, after coming from outside in the bright afternoon sunshine. Some sexy-sounding song was booming, in my ears, and I heard Debbie, talking to someone over the loud music, assertively announcing about me, that, "SHE WANTS A JOB!" Since my eyes were adjusting now, I was able to see small, white, lights, blinking continually all around the floor of the stage which extended out into the center of this cramped room, that was filled with small tables. I turned to look at whomever Debbie was speaking to about me, and saw a large, intimidating-looking figure with his bald head and his black suit. I guessed that he must be the doorman, but he actually turned out to be the manager of this bar! He had been sitting, perched on a bar stool right by the entry door, watching the room, when we had walked in (or, rather, Debbie had walked in, dragging me, with her!). Although this guy was a little unnerving to me, because of his sheer size, and a seemingly thug-like toughness, I retorted, to Debbie's statement to him about my wanting a job there, with "NO I DON'T." Then I turned back toward the door to try to exit as fast as I could, but my friend grabbed my arm, to stop me, and just as she did this menacing-looking man, we were speaking to, stood up from his seat, blocking the door now with his large frame. His body almost eclipsed the door so I had no escape. He said to me, very curtly, "Get up, on the stage, on the next song, and let's see, what you've got." So, between Debbie and this guy, I was left with no choice it seemed, but to get through this thing.

The stage was completely edged with very-close-sitting tables, except where the large mirror was attached to the back wall of the stage. Because of the seating arrangement, some of the bar patrons were easily within distance of being able to actually reach out and touch the girls on stage. There were tables packed in as tightly as possible throughout the room; not just up by the stage, and a long bar at the back of the room with several bar stools for customers, as well. The only other part of the club, I could see, at the time, was a somewhat separate room, slightly partitioned off, from this main room with the stage, which had a pool table inside. The bar had a completely different look and feel from that actual stripper bar I had worked at for a few days, several years earlier, back in Biloxi. This place wasn't set up at all like that bar, had been. This one was, and felt, very up close and personal. As the jukebox playing the 45 RPM records changed those out, there was a gap, of silence, as it rotated to the next one. With my exit blocked, by both, my friend, and the man standing in front of the door, I knew that I would simply have to humor them, to get through this, and then just never come back, once I, finally, got myself out of there! When the song ended for the dancer that was performing up on stage the manager motioned, to me, with the hand holding his cigar, for me to get up on stage, next.

I stepped up over some of the blinking floor lights to stand up on the stage, which wasn't very high above the floor at all; feeling completely ill at ease, as the song started. I don't recall the song. I only remember feeling like I was lost, in a panic mode internally, and just trying to get this ordeal over with, as best I could; and leave! I didn't know how to move my body, the way that I had seen the dancer, on stage, doing when we came into the club. It was very sinuous, and nuanced. Actual dancing, rather than just 'strutting her stuff', like I had basically done, in the strip joint, as I'd traipsed around the stage, and bent over, and such, much in the style of Gypsy Rose Lee. There, the primary focus had been on just doing a striptease, which meant getting those few clothes off myself during my set on stage and ending up nude, while doing strategic strutting, and stretching, in the process of that. This Go Go bar had bikini-clad girls, working here, which did real dancing, with no nudity, although the bikinis that they each wore all had a thong bottom, exposing each of their behinds fully, except for their butt crack. I was not sure how to do this type of dancing during my audition on stage. It wasn't stripping so the focus was not on actually taking off any of my clothing although I later learned that there was sometimes a, legally limited, degree of that, done, during the dancers' performances. Go Go dancing seemed to be much more about the skill of the dancer. I really had no experience to draw on for my audition as far as this particular style of dancing, and that really showed now.

I did the best I could, which, I admit, wasn't very good. Plus, my heart wasn't in trying to do it. All I wanted was to just get through this and leave. I stayed back by the large mirror covering the back wall of the stage, for most of the song, trying not to look at the customers who were sitting there sipping their beers looking at me. As soon as the song stopped I quickly hopped off the stage, and stood in front of this man, who was still blocking the door, hoping he would say that, I sucked, at it, and could leave, now. Moving aside, to allow that to happen! Instead, he regarded me with a look of slight amusement, across his, otherwise, emotionless face, as he puffed on his cigar, looking me up and down, as if he were taking total stock, of me. Then, breathing out cigar smoke, in my face, as he spoke, he said, to me, "You're the 'GREENEST' thing I've EVER seen, but I THINK I can make a DANCER out of you!" There was something about that--- what he said to me, or perhaps, the way that he said it, or even that slight smirk, of bemusement, on his face, that caused something to rise up, in me, almost as if I had been given--- not an ultimatum but--- a challenge. A challenge that for some reason I found myself suddenly wanting to actually accept. He told me to return the next night to start working there and Debbie and I left. She was smiling from ear to ear with an ecstatic, satisfied, grin, as she drove me home and dropped me off. "I TOLD you I'd find you a job!" she said to me. To her it was that simple; and I really did need this job, I realized, on the way back, to my apartment. I didn't see another way, to survive, and not lose my apartment, without this kind of immediate income that dancers make; especially from customer tips. At least, I hoped that I would make money, as 'green' as I was. . . . I would need to do well enough for the guys to want to tip me. There was alot to learn in my upcoming on-the-job training to become the Go Go girl 'Stevie'. [Please refer to my blog post dated 10-30-19, for how I selected that dancer name of 'Stevie':  https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/10/from-my-giving-all-i-had-to-my-showing.html]

I really didn't know, what I was getting into, at the time. I just needed a way to survive; alone. My heart was still broken, from the divorce from Jim, and the transfer of our son's custody to him; and to his second wife. Pouring my heart out, for patients in the hospital, had been very therapeutic for me, but once I was no longer able to do that, the despair had settled back on me, overwhelming and nearly suffocating me. God knows, I needed someone, or something, that could capture my heart, again, to carry me through some of the dark days into hopefully better ones, at some point along the way. I never would've expected that becoming a dancer would replace being a Nursing Assistant as my favorite job. It's said that God doesn't give us what we want, but what we need. All of these colorful characters, that were about to become part of my life in the entertainment business, would cause me to fall in love . . . with them all! Well, with most of them. There were a few bitches, along the way. And, of course, some real assholes, also. But, none of them were in my path, for too long, to make my life permanently painful for me. One of the worst parts of it, though, was when I became one of those bitches, myself, for a short time. But, I get ahead of myself with that, here. That would be years down the road. I am just going to describe the very beginning of this career change for me, now. It will take me several posts, to share everything there is to say, about all the different aspects, involving my work, relationships, and lifestyle when I became a dancer. This was going to be quite a big transition, for me, to make! Even a culture shock. Going from my being a hospital caregiver, with an altruistic mindset, to a nightclub dancer, with the confidence and even ego needed to be able to handle this type of job and do it well, meant that I was about to embark on a, long, journey, clear across the expanse of my own soul; to the other side of myself! My alter ego was waiting, there, in my subconscious, for me to unearth it, and breathe life into it.

Later that evening when I was alone, I drove myself to a nice, quiet, bar, the night before my life would change, as I stepped onto the stage, as a working Go Go girl; to have a drink, and ponder whether my dreams, of finding and having real romantic love, would ever happen for me, again, now. I had never been completely in love with any man, until, and except for, Jim, whom I had set free, by divorcing him, when it was obvious, that he would never choose me, over his parents, over the opinions of his co-workers, over his own doubts about us together; married, or otherwise. I knew there were alot of strong stereotypes, associated with girls that worked as dancers, which I felt would only make it more impossible for me to experience the loyal and lasting love that I always longed for, with one, good, man, in this life! Strictly based on those assumptions, made about people, I felt that no good man would ever want me now.  There were already too many strikes, against me, from the failures in my life, that brought so much heartache to my existence on this earth. It's said that women want love and men want respect. But, I've always wanted respect more than love, if I had to choose, between the two, from someone, and I was very well aware, that respect isn't something normally extended to nightclub dancers. There was still, at this time in my life, which was my late twenties, a small hope, lingering, deep, in my heart, that Disney movies weren't lies, and that my prince would come, and I would live happily ever after with him. It just seemed impossible now because of my new job which I was about to start. I had always had very high standards, for myself, and therefore, for others, as well. So, I could not imagine meeting any guy, that came to ogle me, and the other girls, dancing, in the Go Go bar, and thinking that he had the values, character, and integrity that I was now starving to see in any man I would ever know. For me men were the single biggest let down in my life. Pure disappointment and disillusionment for me. Still, I thought, there must be someone, who fit my image of what a good man would really be like! How else was I even able to see that so clearly in my dreams? My Disneyesque dreams. . . .

There was no one in this upscale neighborhood bar, located in a strip mall, in the suburbs, of Omaha, that evening, other than a male bartender, and one lone male customer sitting at the far end of the bar, from where I sat, as I came in. I really wasn't 'a bar person', by personality, so when the bartender asked me what I wanted to drink, I told him I really had no idea, so he concocted something he called an 'Elk Creek Springwater' with shots of gin and vodka, some 7-Up, I think, and a squeeze of lime (or, something similar, to that). As I sipped it, through the straw, from the tall glass in front of me, he made the usual, bartender, small talk with me. The man at the other end of the bar sipped on his drink in total silence. As I finished the second of these drinks, I opened up about what I was feeling that night as I sensed my life was about to change drastically, by the next evening, and that my new job would make my heart's desire to really be loved, by someone, even more impossible for me than it already felt. I told him that I couldn't even find someone who liked to actually talk about things, the way that I liked to do. I am an Aquarius which are known for that. I doubted that any man I would meet at my new job would have any interest at all in having a real conversation with me, either in or outside of the Go Go bar they met me in. Sensing my deep loneliness, and grief, the bartender set a refill in front of the man sitting at the far end of the bar, and then he said, to both of us, two obviously very lonely and sad people, "Why don't you two talk to one another?" The customer had been sitting and listening to me tell the bartender that I couldn't even find a man that could or would carry on a conversation with me, so, as he picked up his drink, and came over to sit by me, at the bar, he introduced himself, and said to me, "Good evening, Ma'am. I can talk to you about politics, religion, philosophy, or the subject of your choice!". I liked that response, from him, so we talked from then on, until the bar was closing for the night, in what was now the wee hours of the morning. We went, and sat, together, in one of our cars, and with the help of our drinks, for liquid courage, we began to make out, like two starving people, that hated to even have to come up for air. He seemed like a really nice man! A good man. Right there. With me. It could have been magic, for both of us; the start of something real, and romantic, together. But there was no way, that it could take root, or survive, in the soil of our separate sadness, in our lives.

He was an Air Force officer--- a captain I believe. Because I could tell that he definitely wasn't any jerk, and because he had been a gentleman, from the start, and, because I trusted him, I agreed to follow him back to his home, in my car, because he lived closest, and he needed to get home to check on his children. It turned out that he had 2 young sons living with him after his divorce. His wife had left him and the boys, because she simply couldn't handle the death sentence hanging continually over their two beloved sons. Both boys had Cystic Fibrosis and weren't expected to live, to see adulthood. His ex-wife was racked with guilt, because of their having children, since this was an inherited, genetic, condition, that had been thrust upon her babies, and always considered fatal, up until the 1980s, which is when all this was happening in this family. It was chronic, progressive and required daily, energetic, chest percussion to be done, on both boys, to help clear their airways. Although there have since been great medical advances making the prognosis so much better, and longer, for Cystic Fibrosis patients, back then, about half of the people, with this infirmity, did not live to see their 20s. It was certainly a sad situation, for this family. Unable to cope with the grief and the guilt, the mother had exited the picture, leaving the boys motherless and this devoted dad with his hands full as the single parent, and, an active duty officer, in the U.S. Air Force. I liked him. He literally was 'an officer and a gentleman', and very similar to the real-life prince that I had always wished I would find. Only, we just wouldn't work out, because we were both drowning in our sorrows over our own children, and simply could not take on the additional heartache, from one another's situations.

I had told him all about my deciding to let go of, my own son, Jay, leaving him, with his father, and stepmother, to have a two-parent home, and a better life, than a struggling single mother could give him. This, of course, hit a nerve, with him, because of his wife leaving their picture, with their boys, although the motivations were much different for us two women. With my son, it was only due to having his best interests at heart. Also, I made sure he was in a stable, two-parent, home, because I believed that it would be the healthiest, happiest, home life he could have, growing up. Many people feel, very emotionally, that, a mother, should not or could not, 'abandon' their own babies, birthed from their own bodies, under any circumstances. But that doesn't always fit with the realities, of the relationships involved, when other choices must be made. I interacted with his boys well, but I also could not cope with getting attached, to them, and watching them wasting away toward death, which would be, another, horrible loss, in my own life, as well; if I let them in, to my heart! My heart was, already, so shattered, from losing my own son, from my life, that I just couldn't do it. This was a great guy; and he always made me great grilled cheese sandwiches, with Velveeta, every time that I went over to their house to visit them because he mostly needed to be at home, near his boys, to care for their needs. Knowing that, given the situation, I just couldn't cope with getting more attached to him or the boys, I parted ways, with him, before we would start to fall in love, and add more pain, to one another's lives, that neither one, of us, needed, or could deal with, now. Because I'd told him, about my new job starting, he showed up, there, one night, in Mickey's Razzle Dazzle, to see me. He sat at the end of the bar, just as he had been sitting the night we met at the other bar, weeks before, and I went over, to speak to him, as soon as I saw him. I just couldn't go there, emotionally, though, and I never saw him again after that night. I pray he found healing love. I never did. But, I know that he really deserved to have that, in his life. He was so loving! There just seems, to me, to be too few, of these, really, good, deserving, men, like him, in this world.

My first night, going to work, at the Razzle Dazzle, I had no idea what to expect. Dick had told me to just show up and what I needed, to get started as a Go Go girl, would be waiting for me. After seeing how tiny those thong bikinis were which the girls wore I had shaved off almost all my pubic hair, and put on, what I thought was, plenty of makeup, before I left home for the Go Go bar. When I walked in, one of the bouncers called one of the dancers over, and told her to take me back to the dressing room, that she shared with a few of the other girls and now also me because the manager had assigned me to that room as well. As we headed to the back of the bar, and down a dark hall, toward this dressing room, she introduced herself as Nikki, and explained to me that there were a few different dressing rooms tucked away in out-of-the-way places throughout the bar; each having several girls in them who had to share that very small space, as they got themselves ready to go out on stage, to do the show. As we were about to pass by, a larger room, with its door open, I saw a big desk, and the manager, Dick McGinnis, who had hired me the day before, sitting behind it. He called out for me to come in there for a moment. (People in the bar later told me that he was the spitting image of a wrestler who was nicknamed 'Mad Dog' Vachon*. So much so in fact, that many people actually insisted that he was him! In size, appearance, gruffness, even menacing attitude, etc., Dick was, definitely, an intimidating person, to be around! As I got to know him, there were many times that it seemed he definitely lived up--- or down--- to the name Dick.) Going into the office, I saw that an Asian woman stood off to one side of the desk. Her name was Lee and she was there asking to sew costumes, and bring them in, to sell directly to the girls there. He asked her to look at me, and asked if she could sew something for me because I was just starting in the business. She said she could, and would bring something in for me within a couple of days for me to buy from her. Dick told me if it cost more than I could afford, that I could take a draw against my base/hourly pay to be able to purchase that from her. That was such a nice perk, of working in these clubs that I danced in! If an employee ever needed quick cash, to pay a bill, or purchase something, and was short on funds, they could just take a cash draw against their pay usually on the spot.

Then Nikki took me on back to our dressing room and told me that, before I came in, Dick had asked her to find me something, that I could wear, to dance in, that night. She picked up what looked like two skinny pieces of fake fur, and handed them to me. I stared at them, wondering what they even were, before I realized that one small piece was a tiny top, like from a bathing suit, and the other little piece tied, on both sides, making it into a slender, thong, bikini bottom. Somebody had simply cut them out of furry fabric. There was no sewing involved. No lining or elastic. Nothing, but the fur. I got the top on. Then Nikki tied it much tighter on me, for support, and told me to bend over at the waist, and pull my breasts upward, and inward, to make them look bigger, by creating cleavage. It was so tight, I could barely breathe! Then she handed me a package of brand new, nude-colored, seamless, pantyhose. She told me it was an Iowa law at that time that dancers were required to wear pantyhose underneath their costume bottom. I had no idea at all how to do that, because once I pulled on the pantyhose they came up to my waist and the costume bottom did not, sitting further down on me, along my hip bones. I could not even figure out, which part, of the costume bottom, was the front, and which was the back, because either way, the fabric covered so very little of me! Nikki had to show me. Then, taking safety pins she rolled the pantyhose down from my waist until they were hidden just below the top of the costume bottom and pinned them in, all around, to hide the fact that they were even on me. Nikki basically dressed me, for the first several nights that I worked there! I brought my own high heels, so I was as ready to go on stage as I was going to be for my first night there, I thought, until she also darkened my eyeliner, to make it more dramatic, because the room with the stage was so dark. Even the walls were painted black. When the seamstress, Lee, brought the costume she made for me, it was so plain, basic, and not very well sewn (the seams came apart, and I had to mend it!), or professional looking, but it was a start. At least, I had a change of costume, now. Both Lee and I were clearly both new, to being around this business, and we both had alot to learn, about it. Nikki sold me a pretty purple costume, with white lace trim, that she had owned, and it was the prettiest, of my 3 'starter' costumes. I was wearing that one, the night that the sweet man, with the 2 sick boys, I had briefly been seeing, stopped in, to see me. I was glad that he hadn't shown up one of my first few nights, working there! Those went badly.

Not only was I struggling to learn to dance this way, when I first started, and studying the other girls' moves, intently, as they did their routines on stage, but I also had what would, now, likely be referred to as humiliating 'wardrobe malfunctions' wearing that fake fur costume, those first couple of nights I was working there. At the time, I was such a sweet girl (even still quite naive, almost innocent, in alot of ways) that when I went in the restroom and saw and read the graffiti on the walls, I honestly didn't really know what it meant! The drawings, or the words. I was just a very decent human being by most standards. Too much so, for where I was now, I would say. So, in the beginning, I looked, and felt, like a fool, at times, as I tried to learn the culture of this, basically, other world, that I had entered! Especially, in those early days, I sometimes felt like I was Alice, in Wonderland, in the Razzle Dazzle, and had fallen through, the looking glass, into some strange, new, world that was topsy turvy. . . . So, I figured out why the girls had so easily parted with that, fake fur, costume, simply giving it to me, when I started working there; though no one warned me, about it. (Maybe they thought it would help my tips!) I had to find out about that costume in the worst way. Due to the pantyhose underneath the costume bottom being so slick, the bottom slid, over the nylon, shifting to the side, completely exposing my private parts, through those very sheer, nude-colored, pantyhose, underneath. I was on stage doing a leg lift as I had seen some of the other girls doing, right over the head of a customer that was right by the stage. He said something to me then, but I couldn't hear his words over the extremely loud music, and my own pounding heart, from being up there on stage, so close to these men, who were watching me. When I shook my head, that I didn't know what he said to me, he stood up, to get closer to my ear, and even when I finally heard his words, I didn't know what they meant. He said, to me, "DO YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE 'SHOOTING BEAVER?' " ** When I got down from the stage, I asked one of the girls what that even meant, and she told me, it meant, that I was exposing my crotch! I was mortified. I didn't do any more leg raises wearing that costume, and as soon as I had a couple more to wear I never wore that thing ever again, nor did I give it to another dancer, as some 'rite of passage'. Nikki had not given me that to be bitchy. She had dressed me for the first week that I worked there, and was always supportive, helpful and kind. She had just given me what someone else had left behind, probably for the same reason that I stopped wearing it; making it available then for whoever came along next, which was me. I did make some tips, in it, too! Only, now, I was left wondering what, exactly, I had gotten those for!

One of my first couple of nights working there, I was standing near the back of the main room, watching the dancers on stage, and waiting for my turn, that was coming up in a couple more songs. A busty young woman with long, auburn, hair, came and stood next to me, introducing herself as June. She was very open and friendly and she started telling me that her boyfriend worked there, too, as one of the doormen, but that she couldn't introduce me to him, because he was not there that night. When I asked if it was his night off, her red-painted lips started to quiver, and tears began to roll down her cheeks, as she wailed, "No, he's not off tonight. He's in JAIL!" Apparently he had been arrested, for doing some type of, petty, misdemeanor, crime.  I met him, after he got bailed out. June bounced up to me, holding him by the hand, saying to me proudly, "Stevie, THIS is my boyfriend, LYLE!" He seemed like he was a nice enough guy; just really goofy. They were so cute, together, though, because they were so in love! I'd never even known anyone, personally, that had actually been in jail for anything! So, it was just part of this whole new scene I was experiencing, that I had never really been, directly, exposed to, before. Compared to these people, that I worked with, in these bars, I must have lived a more sheltered life. Or else, they had also been naive, like I was, but were now far ahead of me, on the learning curve, regarding the lingo, and the landscape, of what was, for me, at least, such a strange new world. Surprisingly, for the person that I was, rather than being repulsed, by it, I was captivated, and even charmed, by these people. I truly liked them, and I also learned alot, from them. We never do forget our teachers, in this life. Even when they aren't in a classroom.

[There had been this one girl, that I knew of, at the stripper bar back in Biloxi, that I had, finally, figured out, during those few days, that I worked there, must be doing prostitution, out of there, with the management's involvement and/or approval. When she'd kept on disappearing, out of the stage lineup, I had, innocently, asked her where she went, sometimes several times, in the same night. Usually for an hour or two at a time, and while we were (supposed to be?) at work. She, always, simply answered me, that she had 'gone out for donuts', and left it at that.  I must have seemed so ignorant, to her, in my naivete, because I kept enthusiastically replying that, I liked donuts, and asked her, if she would bring some back, for the rest of us, next time, since I never saw any other girl leave, during the shift, like that; just her! She was a very pretty, young woman, but also extremely closed off emotionally; and never smiled, so, she always looked so serious. Of course, she never did bring any donuts back with her. That was 40 years ago, now, and only because of my doing the background research for this post, did I Google whether the word "donuts" could ever be used as a, sexual, euphemism; and this is what I found, online, in that search: 'doughnut: slang. A woman a man chooses to have sex/relationship with based on proximity first and foremost; based on a theory that men are lazy and will reach for the nearest doughnut.' Who knew?!? OBVIOUSLY NOT ME! She could also have been referring to me, for asking something she likely saw as being none of my business, however, because, I found this on the internet, as well: "What does a 'donut' mean, in slang? In informal speech, the phrase is used to highlight stupidity, e.g. You Donut means an individual whom is extremely stupid, lacks intelligence and common sense." In these rougher, cruder, types of environments, where I was completely 'out of my element', initially, my total lack of understanding, of how things were, and what people were even, actually, saying, when they talked to me, very likely made me look like a foolish person, to the people that either worked in, or were used to being around, these bars! There were alot of dirty words, and dirty deeds, that I was exposed to, working in the bars, that I had no clue about, when I was new, to the business. Especially, alot of language, which I was wholly unfamiliar with, such as, several, 'street slang' terms, that I couldn't comprehend, at first, until I learned what they meant, from working in these places. I heard some really crude words, that took the decency and dignity right out of the thing that they were referring to in such ways.]

Because I would go back, to the dressing room, in the back hall, to check my hair, lipstick, and overall appearance before going on stage now, I would often stand in that one spot at the very back of the main room, waiting to go up on stage. In between dances, we were encouraged to go sit and talk to the customers, to get to know them, and of course, sell drinks in the process. I had not had any real problems with bad behavior, from the men, there, those first few days, I was new to the scene. They had several bouncers, watching over everything going on in there too, which made me feel like the men would not risk stepping out of line toward me. So I admit that I was completely shocked and even indignant, when I was just standing at the back of the room, waiting, to go up on stage and, suddenly, felt a man grab one of my, thong-exposed-but-nylon-covered, butt cheeks with his whole hand, as if it were a melon he was squeezing at the supermarket! Feeling violated, by that, and still ladylike enough, then, to be affronted by it, too, I jerked my head around, to see who this was beside me, doing this to me. Looking downward, from my 6' tall height, in my high heels, I saw, an almost midget-like man, who looked no more than 5' tall. This very short, older man was looking back--- or rather, up--- at me with a big grin on his face. That is, until, I said, to him, very emphatically, "Who do you think you are?!? Don't you EVER do THAT, to ME, AGAIN!" As I was walking off, then, in an annoyed huff, toward the stage, to dance, next, I passed by one of the dancers, that had seen what just happened, with this 'midget man'. She said to me, as I walked by her, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "Way to go, new girl. THAT is Mickey. YOUR BOSS. He owns this bar! So, YOU'RE WORKING FOR HIM."

My heart sank, into my toes, as I stood on the stage to start to dance, all the while wondering if this would be my last dance, there . . . . But, Mickey didn't fire me. He remained, very genial, to me, after that. But, in all the years that I worked, mostly, in his nightclubs, he never, ever, laid a finger, on me, in any way, ever again. Even though, he did, put his arms around, and his hands on, the other dancers, in his bars. That said to me that he never forgot that encounter, with me, anymore than I ever forgot, that incident, happening, with him. He was a Leo, and Leo's do not take kindly to being rebuffed, by a woman, since they see themselves as being the 'King of the jungle', which he was, in his realm, having the best nightclub entertainment, in the area, in that era. (As a side note, when I was very pregnant, with my son, my husband Jim had taken me to Mickey's, in downtown Omaha, one night, to watch the dancers, and we had been seated right up by the stage. I didn't know anyone, who was working there, that evening, although some of those people would become my co-workers, at Mickey's 'Razzle Dazzle', in Council Bluffs. The other bar that he owned. And later, at 'The Twenties' nightclub, the classiest of the bars that he had, where I was one of the first 3 girls, hired, to work there, for him. I had NO idea, when I sat in 'Mickey's', with my husband, with our baby boy, in my womb, that I, would be working, in this business, with these people, a few years later! I am sitting here, shaking my head, at the sheer unlikelihood, of that! But, it happened!) After being hired to dance at the Razzle, I was told that Mickey used to be a gym teacher for a school, or a kids' coach, or such, before getting into the bar business. I was also told things, about him, like he had mafia connections, which, because of things, that happened, later on, I believe it to be true! And, that he was actually the one who killed his wife, to get her out of the way in his life, and had his son 'take the fall' for that murder, going to prison, in place of his father.*** Whichever one, committed the actual crime, both men were there in Mickey's nightclubs, where I worked, because the son went to work for his father, when he got out of prison. I believe I was working at The Twenties, when I finally met him, but I cannot recall that, for sure, now. It was not central, to my own life. However, the few times I did interact directly, with Mickey's son, there was something 'not quite there', about how he looked, and behaved, that was quite unnerving, to me, even apart from my having been told, about the murder of Mickey's wife who was this young man's mother. I knew Mickey's mother, Angie, too, because she was the bookkeeper, for him, at his 'Twenties' nightclub, and did our payroll there.

As for those dancers, that I first worked with, at the Razzle Dazzle, they were a great group of very talented girls! I learned alot about who they were, as people (not as sex objects, which is what the men coming in there saw them as, for the most part), and how, and why, they ended up in this business, that was so, extremely, negatively, stereotyped, by both, 'church folk', and 'good people'. I felt blessed to know these girls, who danced on the stage with me every night. Clearly, I have never forgotten them, and that time, in my life, was almost 4 decades ago now. Nikki was a tiny, petite, young woman, who could out drink a sailor, and not even stagger. I've been a size 6 for my entire adult life which is considered to be small, but I looked large next to Nikki. She must have worn adolescent kids size clothing, because she had to be even smaller than a Misses Size 0! She became a dancer, to make good money, which has, almost always, been harder for women to do; to be able to care for their children after her husband bailed, on them all; disappearing, and leaving her to be a single mom to their children, with no income to provide for them. I feel so angry, whenever I see this happen, to women and children, which it does, far too often, because, so many men--- BOYS really!--- are so selfish! She worked hard, wasn't bitter, and never complained, though. That little lady, was actually one big tough broad!

People's passing judgment, on how these women got through the ordeals, in their lives, when these people had never been in their situation, or their shoes, upset me. The crises that I had been through, myself, which were also primarily precipitated by men, in my life, had led me to the same place. I did make, some, different decisions, though, in this environment, than many of the staff did. For the great majority of my years working as a dancer, I basically kept myself clean; especially, considering where I was working, where I was constantly surrounded by the things that people perceive as being temptations to sin, which were often associated with this business. I never was a smoker. There was only a couple of seasons, in my life, during all the time I was a dancer, that I actually accessed the availability of alcohol, in these bars, to drink. I never did drugs. Later, near the very end, I did do prostitution, but that part of the story comes many years later. Now I was just at the beginning, of this long and winding road, at the Razzle Dazzle. From the start, I saw girls doing cocaine in the dressing room, but I never did. As they came in at night to prepare to go up on stage a couple of the dancers would lay a small mirror down on the table, pour out a little packet of white powder, onto that, and use a razor blade, to divide it, in half. Then, they used a short straw, to inhale, their part, of the cut, into their nostrils. For the most part, I live, and let live, as my philosophy on this life, where others are concerned. (Except where I tell them about the love of Christ, for them; because I am Called to do that, as a Christian, and people really need to hear that!) One night, because I have a sense of humor, I came into the dressing room and told the girls, that did the drugs, in there, that I had brought MY 'drug of choice', to share, with them, that night. They were so surprised, since I hadn't ever partaken, of their cocaine, and didn't show any signs of the social habits that many people did, there. As I laid down the mirror, just like they, always, did, and picked up the razor blade to cut it into equal parts, to share with them, they were excitedly asking me, "Where did you get it?!?" I found out, that night, not to mess with people, that do drugs, though, as their curiosity quickly turned to, momentary, disdain, toward me after I pulled out a Snickers candy bar from my bag, and proceeded to cut it, into pieces, for us all to share. Sugar--- sweets--- happened to be 'my drug of choice'! I ate candy, to get my boost. They did NOT appreciate MY HUMOR, however!

Penny, was at the opposite end, of the physical spectrum, from Nikki! Penny, was large-boned, and tall. She made my 5'9" and 128 pounds look small in comparison. When she stood next to Nikki it made me smile, because it looked like a Great Dane standing next to a chihuahua who had no inferiority complex whatsoever! Penny did this move up on stage, where she bent over, backwards, and her belly ended up being like the tabletop in this pose. I guess you could even say, that she, literally, bent over backwards to do her show, for the customers! The trouble was, her falsies would POP OUT, of her costume top, when she did this; landing on the stage, if she was lucky, or onto some, shocked, customer's lap, when she wasn't so lucky. Her 'special skill', to me, though was something that I had first observed her doing back in the dressing room the first night I met her. As Nikki was dressing me, this extremely tall girl with long, black, Cher-like hair, came bursting into the room, due to running late, and having to hurry to get ready on time. Greeting Nikki with a warm, quick, "Hi", and me with a "Hey", that acknowledged she had seen me, too, but didn't have time, to wonder who I was, right then, she quickly changed her clothes, then knelt down beside the full-length mirror, to get close enough, to it, to work on her makeup. The thing, that amazed me, about her, was, she had a cigarette, in her mouth, this entire time! Despite all of her rushing about the room, and even more so in spite of all that she was saying to Nikki, at the same time, this cigarette simply sat, and stayed, like some, ostensibly obedient object, on her lower lip! The whole time she was doing all these things, to get ready, she didn't ever take it out, of her mouth, knock it out, of her mouth, or drop it, off of her lip, Most amazing, about this, of all, Penny was the Queen of the F-bomb****, with a rather hard edge, to how she carried herself, that even so didn't fully conceal the actual heart-of-gold which was underneath what was very apparently her pain, from living this life with all its heartaches. As she rushed to get ready, she had been talking, nonstop, to Nikki, about what this week's asshole had done to piss her off. So, hot with anger at being let down by, another, one, in an endless succession of jerks, she was saying the words "FUCK" and "FUCKING" about every other word, while all the while that cigarette stayed put; as if it were somehow glued to her mouth! I just stared, at such talent as that, in sheer wonderment! If only Penny had been able to train her falsies to stay put.

Kelly, was the 'Showman' of the group. She loved to strut, around the stage, especially wearing her favorite costume of an emerald green 'top hat, and tails', with her walking cane in her hand. She, was the classiest, of the dancers, on stage. Kelly was a very open, and friendly, girl, too. I really liked her! I could sadly see why she had ended up supporting herself by dancing though. Although she did it so well, moving with smooth, and sophisticated, gracefulness all around the stage, entertaining the customers, with her 'Class Act', she also had a severe stutter, whenever she tried to speak. Every single word, out of her mouth, was exhausting agony! Both for her to, finally, get out of her mouth, after she expended much effort, and some flying spit, as she tried, to talk, and for you, the listener, to hang on, and wait, to hear, what she was struggling so hard to say, if she was speaking to you, while witnessing her mighty struggle. I cannot imagine what other jobs she could have been hired to do, where she could make the kind of money, that she did, dancing, given the strong speech impediment, that she had. She had several trunks of the finest costumes. Most of those with some theme, like 'nurse' and others. Sooner, or later, all of us that had become dancers aged out of it, if we were still in the business by then because we had never found, who, or what, we were wishing for, or dreaming of, as a better alternative, for our lives. I have often wondered, what became, of these girls, that I worked with, at the Razzle Dazzle, all those years ago. Especially, Kelly. She was so very talented, as a performer; but, in this business, as well as in many other settings, women are often simply treated as disposable objects, once we begin to show signs of aging, or even just of the toll that life has taken, on us, that, visibly, weighs us down, stoops our posture, and causes us to look older, than our, actual, age. Every girl, including me, that climbed up on that stage, and danced, was living with, some kind, of, real, heartbreak, haunting them in their lives. I admired every, single, one, of them, for that, and appreciated, how kind they were, to me, in the midst of their own problems, and pain. They dressed me, taught me the ropes, and let me into their lives, and hearts. I owe them alot!

Since boys will, forever, unrepentantly, be boys, however, it wasn't always so gratifying, getting to know the club customers. Sometimes, the guys, that worked there, were jerks, too. Even, at my expense. I'm a very cerebral person. I am fairly intelligent, was in the chess club, in school, and studied philosophy, in college. I have very eclectic interests and enjoy conversing in depth, and in detail, about all manner of subjects. I also love lifelong learning. This is me; this is who I am; or rather this is who 'Deborah' is, in me, as opposed to who 'Stevie' is, in me, which is that other, opposite, side of me, that learned, how to speak, act, and even think, in those ways that are appropriate for, and even expected from, a stage dancer, working in a Go Go bar. Because of my leading with my brain, and not, my body, especially, before I created, and developed, my dancer alter ego, 'Stevie', I had a great deal of trouble, trying to sit and talk to the customers in the bars, in the beginning. I have always been a purposeful person. The name "Deborah" even means "industrious; busy as a bee". I, really, dislike making small talk. I prefer not to chitchat. I enjoy delving deeply into conversations, especially on subjects of mutual interest, because, for me, that makes a more meaningful connection, with someone. However, all that being said, we dancers were required, to find some customer(s), to sit with, between our sets on stage, and to talk, with them. I quickly found out, though, that many males, that come into those places, want to talk about, or ask you about, things like, "What size are your nipples?", "Do you shave 'down there' into a heart-shape?", and other inane topics, such as these. It is unbelievable to me, that males spend their, entire, lives, being so concerned with, and consumed by, female anatomy! I am shaking my head again typing that statement. Unless they're gay it never gets old for them.

I had to really try, very hard, to, in effect, 'dumb down', to be able to even talk with, or relate to, the club customers, at all, for the most part! It took, a long, time, for me, to get the hang of that, and even once I did, it felt insulting, to me, to HAVE TO do it. It was part of my job, though. So, it had to be done. When I first started, at the Razzle, I would, sometimes, simply give up trying to talk to these guys, in there. I did not know about this, going on, at the time, but the manager, Dick, would send over some of the, regular, customers that he knew, to talk to me. They would sit down and introduce themselves, and then, both of us, would live to regret it, as I would lead with my intelligence, in order to be my best self, to converse with! So, they would talk for a few minutes, then, and leave, because deep subjects, and intellectual conversations, with a mostly naked woman, was not why they were in this place. I had no clue at the time, though, that men often seem to prefer operating on such a low level, socially! I had actually been trying, my very best, to be respectful toward them by--- apparently wrongly--- assuming they were more highly evolved, than they were, by my 'rising to the occasion', of conversing with them, when the only thing that they were focused on rising was their dicks, by asking me things like 'Did I enjoy oral sex?'. Watching this, going on, from across the room, without hearing the conversations taking place between me and these men, including the ones he had sent over to talk to me, Dick was confused, about why, this was happening. I was not physically unattractive, and he knew that I was a nice person. So, Dick began to ask them why they didn't stay and talk to me longer, and he came to understand, that, I was working their brain, way too hard, by making them use it, to talk to me, and they didn't want that part of them to be engaged in there. They had high hopes, that their OTHER, smaller, but more powerful, 'brain' might even, shall we say, 'come into play', in there, instead. Who alive has not heard the statement--- apparently of fact!--- that men think with their dicks. So, especially because of the price of drinks in these places, which customers had to pay, for their own beverages, as well as those for any dancer, sitting with them, I wasn't worth their time, or their money, as far as what they came into that place to experience. While I was not required to drink alcohol, in these bars, which the great majority of the time, I didn't do, the price, of my drinks, was still steep; even for a soft drink or fruit juice, for me. The glass was also heavily filled with ice by the bartender, leaving little room for the actual drink in the glass. I believe that's why most of the customers ordered bottles of beer. When Dick learned that I was running them off, from me, he started laughing about it, I found out later. Just to amuse himself, then, he would deliberately send some uninitiated guy over to talk to me just to watch the 'poor guy's' face when he was suddenly tasked with trying to make real conversation, with this girl in a thong bikini, that had great legs, pretty eyes, long, brunette, hair, flowing down her back, and a real brain, to go along, with all of that, when he'd only wanted to ask me if I like to suck cock.

One guy came in, after I had been there about a month, that did talk to me in an intelligent way, and I was so excited, to be able to use my brain, as I sat and talked, with him, for hours, during that evening, in the bar!  He was a 'tall, dark, and handsome' Staff Sergeant, from the Air Force base, in Bellevue, and at the end of the night, he tipped me, during my last dance. When I saw what the bill was, though, as I removed it, from where he had folded it lengthwise and then slid it into the waist of my costume bottom, I felt so bad about it. This was a one hundred dollar bill! Minimum wage was $3.35 an hour, back then, so that was around a week's pay after taxes, for me, when I had worked at the hospital just prior to this. That was my very first time ever getting that large of a tip from a customer. I didn't know people even did that, for dancers, then. Also, I couldn't imagine, as a new and not-yet-very-proficient Go Go dancer, my having done anything on that stage, even a month into this new gig, that had deserved such compensation, as that. I thought, that he must have given it to me by mistake, as he had reached into his wallet, in that dark room, because I had heard stories about, and even complaints from, customers, who had mistakenly tipped employees too much of their money. That such mistakes had been made, at times. Especially, with people drinking, while they're in there. So, I ran, to catch him, before he went out the door to leave, to give it back, to him, thinking that he would be relieved to not find that, unexpectedly, missing from his billfold later on. He looked quite surprised, when I held the hundred dollar bill out to him, trying to give it back. But I was more surprised when he said that he knew, what amount he had tipped me, and that he had enjoyed talking to me, that evening! So, he had actually WANTED me to have it!  Then, he asked me out, and thinking the evening had gone so well and he seemed to really like me, I agreed to go out with him. We lasted for a very short time, though. He turned out to be just another jerk, only alot smoother operator than all the others I was used to dealing with in my life, before him. This guy was a complete player.

He led me to believe that we had something special, and real, going on, between us, and were a couple. One evening, I was over at his place, and it snowed so hard I couldn't get my car out of the pile of snow, that it got covered in, and had to call in, to work, that night, spending it with him, instead. After that, he had me come over and stay, at his apartment, while he was at work, at the base. We were together so much, that I was shocked, when I went over to his place one night after I had gotten the night off to surprise him, and when he answered the door there was another woman lying in his bed, whom I could see over his shoulder, as he opened the door to find me there. He did not invite me in. He basically told me he had been humoring me and that she had just had an abortion, of his baby, earlier in the day which he had paid for; and that she was sleeping it off, after that procedure. I had been a little fling, for him, a fill in while they were at odds with one another over his baby being inside her, and him wanting her to abort it; which she had obviously just done, for him. As he was telling me all this, suddenly being truly honest, with me, I felt like he was physically punching me, in the gut, with each of these things, he was saying to me now. Something in me changed, over that, and I started to see the big bill that he had tipped me, the night that I had met him, in the club, as having MUCH MORE VALUE, than HE had; which became the beginning of my developing a dancer mindset, from then on. It was like I had, finally, just turned off the switch, for that place in my heart that had dared to believe I could, and would, be desired, due to my being lovable, as a person, and I turned on the switch, that challenged myself to make the best tips I could possibly get, from club customers' billfolds. My attitude changed. My goals changed. My focus changed. I packed the 'Deborah' part of me away, completely, and started to allow the 'Stevie' side, of me, to rule, and reign, the rest of the time that I worked as a dancer. I carefully calibrated and calculated everything, about me, now. I threw out that simple sincerity, which had, always, been at the heart of who I was as a human being. I tossed it, like trash, right out the window, of my soul! I changed. The way that I walked. Dressed. Even the tone, of my voice; along with what I said, and how I said it. I learned, slowly but surely, to speak to club customers in nuance and innuendo, which seemed to be what they wanted, from me, and made me much better tips, which is all, that I wanted, now, from them. It became all about, power, prick-teasing, and prosperity, for me, . . . as I learned to say, from the other dancers at the Razzle, "FUCK THESE ASSHOLES!" I never wanted to open my heart up to another man, again, in my life. It was never worth all the heartache and betrayal and misery, they gave me, in exchange for my giving my heart to them. My opinion of men got, and stayed, really bad. As much as I had needed some man to give me evidence to the contrary, there only seemed to be more jerks, driving a nail into the coffin, of my opinion about people with penises.

When I had first started dancing, I had, still, brought to it, my highest forms of integrity, honesty, and excellence in my overall work ethic--- all of which created problems for me, in my job, now. It went beyond just the usual cycle, that I felt that I was in, in my life: trying my best, but always believing that my best just was not good enough, somehow, to make things turn out right. I still strived to do my best, in this job, though, diligently seeking ways to do more than was asked of me to show that I was supportive of this establishment that I now worked in. My doing that had the completely opposite effect, of what I had intended, by all that, though. It wasn't met with the appreciation that I had expected, when I stepped up and showed initiative, going out of my way to be (what I truly had thought was) helpful. I had to learn, what the actual priorities were, here, for this, new, social, landscape, in order for it to start going smoothly, for me. The dancers were told to take turns, cleaning the very large mirror, on the back wall of the stage, to keep if free of greasy smudges, caused by sweat, and hand lotion or body oils. This meant that we, generally, had to do that chore while some other dancer was up, on stage, doing their thing, to make their money, for those few minutes, that their song(s) lasted. It never took very long, for the mirror to go from being shiny clean, to a largely non-reflective surface, as it quickly became increasingly clouded by hand prints, over much of its surface, as the dancers rotated on stage through their individual sets, in the night's lineup. Because I was the new girl, and wasn't occupied, by sitting with any 'regular' customers, who came to the club, just to see me, as yet, I took it upon myself to do my co-workers a favor, and keep the mirror clean, myself, by jumping up quite often to go up on stage and clean it, for us all, so that no one else would have to get up, to go do that. But, unbeknownst to me, rather than appreciating it, the girls had begun going up to the manager to complain about me distracting from their dances, by being up there, on stage, with so many, of them, so often, rather than any of them coming to me, directly, and simply telling me to knock it off, themselves.  I believe that they handled it, this way, from a good-hearted place, toward me, though, as they had all liked me, as they met and got to know me, because they could see that I was supportive of them, cared about them, and respected them! So, I think they'd wanted me to stop doing that, but they just didn't want to hurt my feelings, by telling me directly; especially since, it was as clear--- as I was keeping that mirror!--- that I was really just trying to be helpful.

So, Dick, the manager, called me over, to him, where he was sitting, by the front entry door, on the barstool where he had been the day my friend Debbie had dragged me in there to audition; and from where he kept his eye on the goings on, in the room. He began to speak to me about my cleaning the mirrors, and glad that he seemed to have noticed my good efforts, which were meant to show everyone, there, including him, how grateful I was, to have this new job, I knew, that a compliment, was coming any second, now! That never happened, and it really threw me off. He was speaking in a normal voice, to me, because he was used to being in there with the extremely loud music, so he didn't even attempt to talk over it. People, working in there, simply learned to, either, eventually hear one another, in spite of the music booming, so loudly, or lip-read; or both. I, still, struggled though, with both hearing, and speaking, over what seemed like noise that was equivalent to a jet engine next to me, in there. I had also learned just enough of the lingo to be dangerous, to myself, as I was just about to learn the hard way. There were alot of unspoken nuances, to be learned, by me, about how to communicate oneself, at this level of social interaction, among, what was, for me, rougher-talking-and-acting bar folk, which I did not fully understand, at this point. I guess, you could say, that, rightly or wrongly, I still did not really grasp 'the lay of the land', as yet, in this whole, new, world, which all, of this, was, to me!  I was continuing to learn how to fit in, with this unfamiliar environment, now that I worked in this club. Everything the dancers ever said, that I heard, was, liberally, peppered with the 'F-bomb'****. I hadn't really been exposed to that word, in my life, before coming to work here. But now, it was the thing that was most often in my ears, there, penetrating them, and therefore, my mind, and because of that, it was coming out of my mouth. It had seemed, to me, to be the accepted way, of expressing oneself, in this particular place, and I'd wanted to reflect the culture. So to speak.

As I realized, that the manager was describing, to me, that the other girls were upset, about my being in the way, on the stage, because of my coming up there, so often, during their dances, I felt hurt. It hadn't even crossed my mind, that they would feel this way, about it, because, when they had been taking turns cleaning the mirror they had also been up on the stage during other girls' performances. Including mine. There were just more, of them, coming up there, to do this chore, before it had become only me because I had been trying to relieve them of having to do it. Besides, when it was left up to them, they had, usually, let the mirror get so grimy that it was rather gross, to have to look at, as the backdrop, for us girls, when we were dancing, up on the stage. I felt both, misunderstood, and unappreciated, for trying to make it better! My feeling like my very best efforts are, somehow, never good enough, has been a thread running through my life, bringing me one disappopintment or even heartbreak, after another; so this was just a part of that feeling, for me, however small, this incident actually appeared, compared to some of the things that had happened, in my life. Over the years, I had become very reactive, to things that caused me to feel like this, because I had suffered so much let down, and loss, in my life. Now, between my still tending to yell over the very loud music and my feeling upset that the girls had not appreciated my doing, all, the mirror cleaning chore myself, I replied, to the manager, that 'I was just fucking trying, to do my fucking best, in this fucking job!'. I liked these people, I worked for, and with, now, which had surprised me actually, given how very different they seemed from me. I was not very much like them, in so many ways, in the beginning. I was trying, my best, to figure out how to fit in with them, although, my cerebral conversations, multisyllabic words, and genteel mannerisms, often didn't mesh well, with the often rude, and crude, behaviors, of those around me, there, and these things didn't exactly help me to blend in, to this group. I shake my head, now, and even laugh at myself, a little, as I just typed that response from me to my boss.

At the time, though, I, really, was clueless, as to how Dick could suddenly get so angry, at me! I watched his face go from kindly inquisitiveness to complete shock at my reply, as his eyebrows shot up to the top of his bald head in sheer disbelief, at what I had just said, to him. Seeing this reaction, I knew that I must have crossed a line, with the F-bomb usage, that I clearly shouldn't have. Although, everyone else there, including him, said that word routinely. I think that he was taken aback, because, not only was he my boss, I was saying that word to, but Dick had never heard me say that, or anything like that, before, which made it have more of an emphasis then, when I said it, rather than just being considered as normal, like it was when anyone else, there, used that word. But, before I could backtrack, explain myself, or apologize, he went from being benign to ballistic. The next thing I know he was screaming at me to "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! NOW! YOU'RE FIRED!" Even in his, momentary, anger, with me, I think that Dick could tell, from my reaction, to him firing me, that I had not, in any way, intended to even seem as if I were mouthing off to him as a subordinate hireling, or disrespecting my job he had hired me to do. But, still, it was too late to turn this thing around, because he had to save face as the boss, and, my just being fired--- something that I had never had happen before that--- left me feeling that it was too late, now, for me to try to fix this. This had happened in the main room, near the entry door, in front of everyone, although the loud music probably drowned much of it out, and most eyes were on the stage. 

Because I had just been fired, losing my job, I liked and needed, I began sobbing so hard that I was physically shaking. Having this very large, and intimidating, man, get that angry, at me, shook me up too. I rushed back to the dressing room, to put on my clothes, over my costume, and get my belongings. Crying, hard, the whole time. Adding, to the humiliation and fear, that I felt from all this, Dick even sent Mike, one of the bouncers, to stand outside the dressing room door and then escort me, out of the building, over to my car, and off of the property! Mike was a handsome, hot-tempered, Mexican man and former Marine, whom I had once seen almost kill a man, in the bar, that got out of line, by jumping on top of him, and choking this guy, until the other bouncers pulled Mike off of him. That was truly terrifying to me! At the time that all of this happened, with me getting fired and being escorted off the property, I was so shaken up, by it, and felt, so ill-matched, to this bar environment, that, I assumed, that I would never, again, work in or even enter, this or any other Go Go bar, in my life! I would, get a job, in another field, for awhile, after this, becoming a Nanny. Something more aligned, with my nurturing, nursing, side, and skill set. But, as it happened, I would be back, again, someday. To work at Mickey's Razzle Dazzle, and even for the manager, Dick McGinnis. But not both, at the same time, again. As Beatle John Lennon, once said, "Life is what happens to you while you're planning on doing something else."  That, sums up, the twists, and turns, in my life, pretty well!

* Interestingly, 'Mad Dog' Vashon, who so many people swore that Dick McGinnis actually was, before retiring from wrestling, died, November 2013, at age 84 . . . . in Omaha, Nebraska! So, I don't know . . . ! Maybe he was; maybe he wasn't . . . ? They could have been twins, though!   https://www.wwe.com/superstars/mauricevachon

** 'Shooting beaver': The slang meaning is a sexual term about furriness (and as such most obviously refers to 'pussy'); the female pubic hair, the vagina, esp. in commercial pornography; a beaver shot is a pornographic photograph graphically displaying the 'beaver' (i.e. external female genitalia.)

*** https://www.newspapers.com/clip/31580553/son-charged-with-urder-lincoln-star-6/ ; https://www.newspapers.com/clip/31579807/sparano-accused-in-stabbing-death/

**** F-bomb - used as a euphemism for the word “fuck”, with reference to the latter's (taboo) status, and potential to shock, or offend.




Mickey's RAZZLE DAZZLE, on Broadway, in Council Bluffs, Iowa


Wednesday, September 11, 2019

My Caring For Others, & Killing Someone

My ex-husband, my son's father, paid for me to take a course, which would help me to make a living, for myself, since I was a homemaker and a mother, prior to our divorce. The course was taught at the local community college. The RN who was my instructor wrote  "Strives to do her best" on my student evaluation, and "Final Grade   96%   A".  So, I became a Certified Nursing Assistant which, like my being a mother had been, was also a caregiver, immediately following my transferring custody of my baby boy, to his father and step-mother, in order for him to have his best chance in life. [Reference my post "My Son's Other Mother Was Heaven-Sent", dated 8/28/19] Despite my very best efforts, to care for my son, 24/7, as a struggling single mother, I simply couldn't meet all his needs as well as they would be met in this two-parent home which included more stability and income. As heartbreaking as that decision, and the relinquishment, was for me, I simply had to do what was best for my child. It also says alot about me that, right in the middle of the process of transferring the custody of my precious toddler, Jay, to Jim and Linnea, I graduated from the CNA program; and as the class Honor Graduate, with a 4.0 GPA.

I think that speaks to my always trying to do the very best that I can, in a situation, even though the outcomes, many of which are out of my control, can often make it seem as though I am not doing that, in some way or other. I still have my student assessment from the instructor and my job references from nurses I worked with in the hospital, which reflect my striving to do my best and, to provide the best quality care, for the patients, that I could. I had also given my baby the best quality care I could, as well, but it didn't help me to be able to keep him, with me, since he needed much more than that. Both through, and because of, such situations as this was, in my life, I have come to feel that, no matter how hard I have tried, my best is just not good enough, somehow, for me to end up with happier endings to the chapters of my life. Because trying my best, and doing my best, are very important to me, it's been both frustrating and disheartening that I have not ended up with more to show for all of my effort, in my own life. At a time when I personally could not have been more burned out and brokenhearted, I had to step into the role of giving excellent, direct, hands on patient care. By God's Grace, and my self-discipline, I was able to do that, and well. Underneath, though, my own needs were still there like a thorn in my side (Reference 2 Corinthians 12:7-9), throbbing, but silenced by others' indifference, to them.

To add insult to injury, when I did reach out, to others, for help with my heartbreak, they did not understand where I was coming from, at all, with all this pain and loneliness inside me. When I confided, to two of the nurses that I worked with, my very recent, and raw, custody decision for my son, Jay, they seemed sympathetic, to my face. Not long after, though, I was in a bathroom stall, in the ladies room, on our hospital floor, when the two of them came in, together, and, not knowing that I was in there, they began to discuss what I had told them, concluding that I could not possibly have really loved my son to have done that with him and that the only reason they could think of, for my doing that, was for me to simply want to 'free myself up', to be some kind of party goer (which I didn't do, and actually have never even been comfortable doing because that just seems so superficial, to me). That told me what they really thought . . . of me. I wasn't partying, by any means! I was making a little above minimum wage, and, was barely surviving, financially, or emotionally. I was living in an old, low rent, apartment, that I walked to work from because I had to let my car go back to the dealership after I could not keep up with making the payments, because I was barely even eating, as it was, due to a lack of money. I lay awake, at night, listening to mice, scurrying around my apartment, and chewing on my belongings. Even eating my loaf of bread, that I needed, myself, to survive. The maintenance man set traps, but then I lay in the dark hearing them SNAP, and then, often, the mouse screaming in pain before it finally died, while I lay there as horrified for it as I was for me. Once, a mother mouse died in the trap, and when it did not return to its nest of helpless babies, which were living underneath my kitchen sink apparently, the panicked babies all began to cry out for their mother. Just what I didn't need; their real heartbreak added to my own, which it already felt like I was drowning in.

I went to see the pastor, of the church I attended at the time, for one counseling session, about all this that I was going through. I described my unmet needs, my loneliness, and the challenge of my pouring myself out, for others, day in and day out, all while feeling that there was no one pouring anything helpful or healing into me on a personal level, causing me to feel dangerously depleted, in my spirit. His only response to all of this, during our one time, one hour, scheduled session, together, was to keep looking at his watch, indicating to me that he would much rather be doing something else, than discussing my heartache, and then, he summed up our session, by simply saying to me "I don't know how God stands any of us!" implying that I was just being selfish, for wanting, even needing, my very human needs to be met. People had come through my life, with their needs, and then trashed it, while getting their own needs met by me, often at my expense. When was it my turn? My needs were just as real, and as valid, as anyone else's, though it certainly hadn't seemed that they were treated that way by others, very often. Feeling further wounded, by his characterization, of my intense pain, and longing, I felt as though I was suffocating from lack of love, during the next couple of Sundays that I attended church, and sat listening to this man preach. I finally fled from there, during the service, and I never returned. I didn't feel that my soul was being fed, what it desperately needed, there, and I didn't feel loved there, either, except for my friendship with Vivian Gulleen, whom I had met there, and I went to a play, and on other social outings, with. [Reference my 8/21/19 post, "A Lesson To A Younger Woman, From An Older Woman . . . ."]  I had felt like I was just being told to shut up and 'stuff it', by that pastor, which was how my parents had treated me, my whole life, in their attempt to control me by robbing me, of my voice, to speak out about what was going on, and how I felt it.

Since I was so squeamish, about all medical procedures, it was an odd career choice for me to become a CNA, working first in nursing homes and then in a hospital. However, my being such a devoted nurturer, to others, made me an excellent nurse's aide. The nursing staff all had high praise for my work with the patients, but for me the most important thing of all was the fact that the patients themselves frequently told me that I was their favorite nurse! I was able to make a positive difference in the lives of so many people, in that job, and I loved doing that! I was in an interesting career field, which was ever challenging, and ever changing, also. As I took his vital signs, the older Jewish gentleman would teach me Yiddish, calling me a shayne maydl. When I was making the bed with clean linen, in a middle-aged woman's room, I listened to some of the audio tape, that she was playing, on 'Jesus Counseling', which explained how to go to a place, spiritually, using your imagination, and have talks with Jesus there, so to speak, which took on an interactive energy, with Him, then. [Reference Romans 12:2, Ephesians 3:20, and Matthew 13:34]. It so fascinated me that she told me to take the cassette home, to listen to all of it, and bring it back, which I did. The concept it taught me helped me, then, and for the rest of my life!

Very rarely did any patient not want me to be directly caring for them. One, that did not, was a diabetic man, who was admitted to the hospital, to have both of his legs amputated. His nurse told me that he requested I not be assigned to him, because I was too cheerful for him, to deal with in his despair. Once a female patient was admitted who was seriously ill. The doctors and staff were trying to figure out what was wrong with her. I also had to chart on the patients that I cared for so, in her case, I ended up being the one that put them all quickly on the right trail for her diagnosis. I charted that she was very jaundiced which is an extremely important symptom. The nursing staff challenged me, about that, before the doctor saw it, saying that the lighting in the patient rooms caused skin to have a more yellow appearance. I responded that, while that was true, when I was standing beside her, at the mirror or by the window, and she appeared to be alot yellower than I was in the very same lighting, that she is very jaundiced. The nurse then went in to check, between her skin and the patient's, and came out saying, in a quite surprised way, that I was right about this, and that she had overlooked it earlier, because she assumed it was simply due to the lighting in the room. They let the doctor know that I was the one who had observed, and charted, it originally, greatly helping with the accurate diagnosis of her condition. I felt like I was doing important, meaningful work, as a Nursing Assistant, which also helped me adjust, to not having my son, with me, since I gave that conscientious care to my patients, now.

The Assistant Head Nurse, whom I had worked for at the hospital, wrote this reference for me:

                                                                                                        "June 11, 1985
                                                                                                         Omaha, Nebraska

To Whom It May Concern:

     Debbie Carlin was a nurse's aide under my direct supervision . . . . During this time I observed her giving direct patient care at Lutheran Medical Center. Debbie likes working with people. This is reflected by her caring attitude and the kindness with which she carries out her assigned duties. She is very conscientious and strives to meet the needs of those people she works with.
     Debbie is an excellent employee and would be an asset to any employer.

                                                                                                        Sincerely Yours,
                                                                                                        Martha Binkard
                                                                                                        Assistant Head Nurse"

There is both good and bad to everything, in life, however. At my first CNA job that I had, which was in a nursing home, a co-worker stole my paycheck, when I already could not keep up, with my rent, and could barely afford any groceries, after she had offered me a ride, somewhere, to seemingly be helpful to me! I got the check back, after alot of hassle, and stress, and lies, from her, about that, but the camaraderie evaporated for me there, from that incident, and others. At the second job that I had, as a Nursing Assistant, in another nursing home, I slipped, and fell--- hard!--- on a wet floor, which had simply appeared to be shiny clean, to me, because there was no CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign on it, at all, as a safety warning. I was lucky, that I did not get any permanent back damage, or other serious or lasting injuries, from that fall, but the chaplain for the nursing home, who was part of the managerial staff, but also a personal friend, of mine, was privy to a conversation between the Head Nurse and HR, in which they planned to run me off after, and because of, my fall, because they wanted to avoid a Workman's Comp claim, or a potential lawsuit, if my consequential injury from that proved to be a serious or a lingering one, although I never sought to do either one of those things. They had also put the required sign in that hallway, after I fell there, claiming that it was there, all along, when it wasn't, to try to cover their own negligence, which had caused my fall, and injury. I applied at the hospital as soon as the chaplain told me about their plan, to get rid of me, now, and was quickly hired there. I liked this third, and final, nursing job environment, the best of all, which also seemed to be the most honest and ethical, of them, as well, as far as the people that I was now working with, and for!

Still, cleaning colostomies, shampooing away peoples' head lice, and dealing directly with the patients who had tuberculosis, and other potentially contagious illnesses (this was before HIV came onto the scene), were not pleasant tasks for me to do, nor was helping the patients who were uncooperative, overly demanding, and irritable for no real reason. One of them even cost me my career in this field, by injuring my lower back due to her selfish and hysterical obstinacy in such a way that my back then began to continually be a problem for me, following that initial incident, until I was finally forced to leave this type job, altogether. This was a woman who was a chronic alcoholic, and was continually in and out of the hospital because of all the damage to her body, from that. She had ruined her liver, and her abdomen was very distended. I was told to take her for a procedure, downstairs, on one of her (many) re-admissions to the hospital. At the most vulnerable point (for my own body to be put at risk of injury) during the transfer of her from the bed to the wheelchair, as I was supporting much of her weight with my slender frame, without warning or reason, she suddenly lunged back toward the bed, in the opposite direction than I was in the midst of taking her. As she did that I had to bear all of her weight with my own body to keep her from hitting the floor with hers, and as I got her back onto the bed, then, I felt a tearing sensation, across my lower back, and was then barely able to stand, because of that.

After making sure that she was safely settled, back onto her bed, where she had begun taking herself (and me, with her) after suddenly screaming out that she did not want to go, during the transfer to the wheelchair, I limped toward the Nurses Station in alot of pain and let them know what had just happened. After several (unsuccessful) rounds of Physical Therapy, for this back injury, which she had caused, along with prescriptions for muscle relaxers and pain pills, which did not seem to help me, very much, and had undesirable side effects, I became despondent. I was dealing with several serious, and sad, things in my life, all at the same time, including now watching my career 'go down the toilet' because of this patient's behavior, who did not seem to care about herself, or her own health, and had badly damaged me, and mine, due to that. One evening, out of despair, I drank alcohol, along with taking some pills, and after reaching out, to my mother, by phone, in my intense physical, and emotional, pain, only for her to simply hang up on me, I managed to call an ambulance, to take me to the ER, which was in the very same hospital that I worked in. [Reference my 5/8/19 post "More Of My Memories Of My Mother" for more on this] My career, in nursing, where people had needed my nurturing, and I could make such a difference, with that, had been very therapeutic for me, especially as I was just learning how to live my life without my son, Jay, being with me. So, losing that career was a huge blow, adding to my distress, and discouragement, at the time, which I already had way too much of.

During this time in my life, while I was working at the second of the two nursing homes, I met a neighbor, at the apartment complex, where I lived. We never dated. We never even had a real relationship. Certainly not a romance. I was not even attracted to him, or impressed by him, in any way. I was just really lonely, and he was there, just to talk to some. One day he invited me over, to his apartment. It was the only time that I ever went over there. When I arrived, he just sat on the floor with his back against the furniture reading the newspaper. I was so grateful for any company, at all, to distract me, for a while, from my heartache, that I sat on the floor, near him, and watched him read the newspaper. It reminded me of how my mother had always held the newspaper up, like a barrier, to communication, between us, as I was growing up, shutting me out and causing me to feel that, whatever was in its pages, must be far more important, or interesting, than me, since that was the situation, in first that, and now this, attempt of mine at interaction with this other person. As I describe this interaction with this guy to you, now, it will likely sound as if I MUST be leaving out some details about all this, but I assure you that I am not. So, this IS as pathetic as it sounds. After I had simply sat there, in silence, for some time, watching him read the paper, just to have the crumbs of this human contact in my own life, he finally finished reading and sitting the paper down, he came over to me and began to undress me. I simply sat there and let him, because by then it was deeply drummed into my soul that I wasn't worth any more than this; by my parents, my husbands, my employers and co-workers, the pastor . . . . There seemed to be abundant evidence that I was not of any more value than this, to other people. There is also an extremely strong message sent to females, even from a young age, both subliminally and overtly, that we must bargain, with our sexual desirability, to have any hope at all of our ever having any of the love that we so need in our hearts and lives.

Here is one of my free verse poems, which reflects these things in my thinking, from my social conditioning, that was written during this period, of my life, on September 1, 1984, and is very revealing, as far as how I was feeling, and what I was struggling with, as a young woman then:

                                                             September Saturday

Evening.
               Late summer.
A warm wind whips the trees and teases my body,
            my hair, with its caresses.
                                                       Soon it will rain.
Dare I acknowledge--   tho I cannot acquiesce to--
these emotions within me?
                                      I long to lie naked
with my feet raised against a tree trunk,
letting the rain beat down upon my vulva and run into
                                                                    my vagina
and down      over my breasts.
                                                 I ache to be caressed,
explored,
               appreciated for my being a woman.
Such a lovely creature to be, in a man's grasp!
Ummmmm . . . I close my eyes & fantasize.

Curled up now instead among pillows on my bed,
                                                                               alone,
with the latest copy of Cosmo,
stroking my thighs as I read an erotic story and
feeling my nerve endings                   tingle!
How lovely to be a woman!
How lonely to be a woman,                alone,
on a stormy, sensuous, Saturday night.
How inexplicably, inescapably marvelous and torturous,
                                     simultaneously.

The rain begins, softly, in perfect harmony with
the romantic songs I have on the stereo.   Sin?
Don't tell me about it, tonight.
TONIGHT . . .
I'm sure the biggest sin           is      that I lie here alone
with no one to give my love to.
My cuddly, caressing, warm, wet, musky, moaning
love . . .

With all the social rules, regulations, restrictions--
                                           & incompatible
astrological signs--
                                 it's a miracle any two people
ever find each other & get past it, all, into the
  beauty of sharing . . . the love, the joy, the peace.

(I wonder if I have anyone out there? Somewhere?
 I long to sail away, on a wave of sensuality, but there's no one to
                                                                                     man my vessel,
 swim my     ocean,
                                     taste my salty spray on their lips.)

Only fantasy keeps this September Saturday night
from being a total waste of me as a woman.

I sail into a reverie on a wave of longing . . . .

                                       ----D.C. [Note: for Debby Carlin]     9/1/84

He had not conversed with me at all, while I was there, nor had he even tried to 'sweet talk', or romance, me. He had barely acknowledged that I was even there in the room with him, and he wasn't saying anything to me now, either, as he took my clothes off of me, while I just sat there, silently, and let him do that to me. I simply sat there like a statue, rather than a human being, a person with a will, of their own, while he undressed me. Then, once he had my pants off of me, he put his penis inside of me, still saying nothing at all to me, and for less time than a minute, I simply sat there and let him, because by then I believed that this was the best that I could ever have, of human interaction, or anything close to companionship, affection, or even love, since I WAS DAMAGED GOODS. I felt that, for this guy to also be treating me this way, now, he must have sensed that 'invisible sign', which I now felt was, apparently, permanently tattooed across my forehead, which people seemed to, somehow, know was there, and treated me accordingly, when they came into my life; which informed them that I was nothing but 'DAMAGED GOODS', that they could therefore treat casually and carelessly, due to that depreciation. I wasn't on any birth control, because I was not having sex, with anyone, and I was not trying to have sex, with anyone. I was trying--- hoping--- to be, and to feel, loved at some point, by someone. That was what I wanted, and needed, which is the deepest longing of the human heart; but what this guy (and I don't even recall his name, because we never really had any type of real relationship, at all, and I was only around him this one time) was doing was not 'lovemaking', by any means. It was sex. He was sitting on the floor and after taking my pants off had pulled me onto his penis, in an upright, straddling, position. As I realized what he was doing, to me, I still let it happen. I didn't try to stop it. I sat like a zombie, dying inside, all over again, for so many reasons, in that moment. Then, somehow, as if I woke from a bad dream (instead of the actual nightmare, that was really going on, at the time) I simply said to him, "I can't do this" and I stood up, put on my pants, and went back to my apartment. The entire thing was no more than one minute of time.

[Note: By this point in my life, I had already experienced my uncle Jim touching me with sexual intent, when I was an adolescent, and, rape, by a virtual stranger, and, several other, assorted, sexual assaults, and attempted sexual assaults, along with what I would certainly characterize as emotional abuse, by my parents, throughout my relationship with them, and in my marriage to my son's father, which had led to the break down of that relationship, and ultimately then my giving up custody of my son, all of which I was still suffering from, as I was struggling to adjust to what was left of my life, now, after all of this had happened to, and taken a huge toll on, me. Reference my posts on my parents, my first two marriages, and my Air Force career, for more on all these things that I went through. So much of that backgound, on me, dovetails into why this moment happened, in my life, that I am speaking of in this post, now. Additionally, this link is for an extremely enlightening, and informative, article, by Farahnaz Mohammed, titled "The Repetition Compulsion: Why Rape Victims Are More Likely To Be Assaulted Again", that really does an excellent job of explaining exactly why I felt, and therefore acted, like I did, now. I saw myself, very clearly, in what she was saying, here: https://www.girlsglobe.org/2015/08/04/the-repetition-compulsion-why-rape-victims-are-more-likely-to-be-assaulted-again/  Please read it!]

It wasn't surprising that I felt upset, and was emotional, with me going through so much. At the second nursing home where I worked then, I had fallen on the freshly mopped floor and gotten injured, in that fall. I was having to job hunt, again, because of my employer's position, toward me, after my injury made them legally liable, although I never threatened any action about that, and it healed up well, after some time. I was experiencing extreme poverty issues, since I was making close to minimum wage, which were causing me to be unable to fully cover my rent, at times, putting my residing in my apartment at risk. With so little money I hardly had anything to eat. I had to turn my car back into the dealership, because they told me that they were about to repossess it, from me, anyway, since I was already a couple of payments behind, on it, with no way to catch up. Last but not least, I was still trying to deal with missing my son, so badly, after transferring his custody, from me, to his father and step-mother, for his sake, which had felt like it nearly killed me, as a very loving mother, who had so conscientiously cared for her child. So, with all of that going on, in my life, which was more than enough to make my stomach feel like it was in a knot, it wasn't until the ER doctor, at the hospital that I had applied to, was doing my pelvic exam during the pre-hire physical, and said to me as he palpated my abdomen "Did you realize that you are pregnant?", that I even really confronted that possibility. It was hard for me to believe that was possible, from so little contact between me and that guy, the one time! All I can say is, apparently, I got pregnant very easily, both with my son, and this time; and, I was a woman that never wanted to ever be pregnant, in my life, for reasons that I've already covered in other Blog posts, here. In fact, after, and because of, this happening to me twice, now, I had my OB/GYN 'tie my tubes' (and to "burn or scar the ends of them, so they can't somehow heal back together!") by a Laparoscopic Tubal Ligation, which he did for me when I was still a much younger age than this was usually agreed to, by a woman's doctor, because he knew well that I remained a woman that had not ever wanted, or intended, to be pregnant in my life. I was 28 years old when I asked to be, and got, sterilized, on January 7, 1985. Even after that, I had an underlying fear, since I had gotten pregnant so extremely easily, both times that I had, that my body might heal itself, from the sterilization procedure, and I could still end up pregnant, again, then, which I had heard had happened to some patients, on occasion. Being concerned about protecting myself, from STDs, as well, I have gone through the rest of my life having very little sex, anyway, and the few times that I did outside of marriage, I also used condoms, for added protection. I have been very risk averse, to any, and all, complications which could come from my having sex, making me extremely (pun intended) 'gun shy'. I've lived celibate for decades.

I was absolutely flabbergasted, that the (one minute, or less) physical connection with that guy had gotten me pregnant! It did not seem that he had even had time to ejaculate, at all, before I had mustered the last little bit of self-respect, that I still had, and pulled myself away, from him, that day. He and I never were even around one another, except for that one time, nor had any type of real relationship, together. It was confusing, and horrifying, to me, and, became part of my employment physical for my brand new job, that I had to have, since the nursing home was trying to get rid of me after I was injured there from their negligence. It felt like the bridges were being burned, in my life, not just behind me, but ahead of me. I had to have this job, to survive! I was alone. My being able to make a living was all I had. I remembered from when I had been pregnant with my son that once the Morning Sickness kicked in, I was rendered literally unable to hold down a job because that was so severe for me. I came home from the job physical and called my mother. She gave me the 'You are shaming the family' speech, again, only this time, she also said that she was sending me money, for me to get an abortion, although I didn't ask for, or want, that from her. What I did need from her I never got, in my life, which had alot to do with how I ended up in these situations, to start with, due to extreme emotional deprivation, in me. [Reference my Blog posts on my mother, for a better understanding of (the effects of) this]

I called my close friend, Ada, and told her I was pregnant. I knew that she cared about me, and I trusted her. This time, however, she agreed with my mother, saying that my only option, in the dire situation that I was currently in, financially, physically, and emotionally was for me to get an abortion. I balked at that, even though I could see why she would say that, given my desperate situation. She advised me to exercise really hard, saying that she had heard some women had miscarried their babies, that way, so, since this was still extremely early on, in the pregnancy, I did that, but I didn't do it much, or long, because it made me so sad. In the meantime, my Start Date, for the new job, was approaching, and I knew that I could not hold down a job, when the Morning Sickness started, for me. Also, I had very little food to eat. My mother's check came in the mail, for the abortion, and I showed it to Ada, but I still didn't want to do that. However, Ada, seeming rational, in a world where everything was either upside down, or falling apart, for me, continued to calmly but urgently tell me that I had no other choice, at all, in my situation, but to get an abortion. So, she drove me to one of the abortion clinics, and went in, with me. I'd been told to bring a robe, and the check, from my mother, over the phone, when I had called, to ask about an abortion. As I sat there, answering the intake questions of the lady behind the desk, I suddenly got up and ran out, leaving my mother's check sitting there, and tossed my robe onto a fence, a ways down the street, as I fled, from there, so I could run faster. I heard Ada behind me, calling to me, but I didn't stop. Eventually, she got her car, and coming alongside me, after she finally caught up with me, she said "Debby, just get in the car!" Getting in, I said, "Ada, I'm NOT going BACK there! I CAN'T DO THIS! I don't KNOW what I am going to do but I can't DO this!" She said she would take me home, and that she had retrieved the check after I left there, and also my robe from off the fence, as I fled, and she was trying to catch up to me on foot, at first. Once we'd gone back to my apartment though, she logically, and lovingly, went back over the dire straits of my current life situation, again, while continuing to say that, this time, at least, my mother was right, and I HAD NO CHOICE but to get an abortion. With the new job looming closer and closer, and my situation seeming darker and darker, I acquiesced, once again, and on a Saturday morning, Ada drove me to another abortion clinic, and this time, that happened.

There was the intake with the woman behind the desk, again, asking me the questions, which I can't even recall now, because I was so overcome by horror at this whole situation. The check, from my mother, to pay for this, was signed over to this clinic, and Ada was there, with me, for emotional support. I went through my life having almost no emotional support from anyone, for anything, but I had it now, from her, for this. There was no advocate for the baby there, though; not even me, it's mother, now, which I assure you, to this day, I have never forgiven myself for. I have been crying even as I am writing this post, but I am hoping that my sharing this will lead other women to choose life, for their babies. Just choose life, and let God work out the details, whether a childless couple adopts the child, or some other viable solution presents itself. I am telling you, truthfully, that, in your heart of hearts, you will never be able to get over doing this, to this helpless being in your belly, if you have the abortion. We are made to love our offspring, not to kill them. I was shocked by how full this waiting room was, with other young women like myself, all silently sitting there, looking down at our feet, no one talking, to one another, at all. I daresay that all of us would rather not have been there. Something else striking, to me, about this scene, at that abortion clinic, that I strongly feel needs to be pointed out, was the absolute absence of any of the males involved in this. Every one of these babies, that were about to be aborted, came from their fathers, who had impregnated each one of us. While our society rails at the women getting these murderous procedures, WHERE ARE THE MEN WHO CREATED THESE LIVES? Why are THEY never in this picture, it seems? They were most certainly right there, present and accounted for, when these women, including myself, got pregnant by them. THEY should NOT be ignored, in this equation. THEY DO share the responsibility, and blame, for the death of these purely innocent beings. We women pay such huge prices for these men that see the extent of THEIR sexual responsibility going no farther than getting themselves off. I did see that guy, who'd impregnated me, in the parking lot of the apartment complex one day as he was coming home, and I told him that I was pregnant by him, then. His reaction seemed to be the standard, male, one, of complete unaccountability, and selfishness, as he said to me those two all-too-common comments, "How do I know it is mine?" and, "Just get an abortion!", and that was the end of that, as far as he was concerned. To him, this just wasn't his problem.

As the intake was done, on each one of us, they led us into a large room, where steel gurneys were lined up in a long row, and IVs were started on each of us in turn. Starting with the young woman at the farthest end of this row, of us, we were each wheeled in to a much smaller room, one at a time, one after another. I was somewhere in the middle, of this row, of gurneys, laying there, listening, to some vacuum noise, in the otherwise solemn quiet, start, and then stop, not long after, which began shortly after each woman was wheeled, out of sight, into that adjoining room. I don't know, now, what was in that IV or if I ever knew, even back then. It might've been a sedative, or even something to start the death of the baby (Yes, 'the BABY'; NOT 'a speck of tissue', or a non-person, but a CHILD, there inside of me. We are talking about MURDER here, whether you acknowledge that, or agree with that, or not, and I AM A MURDERER, because of this moment in my life. It IS what IT IS!). When the nurse came, and wheeled me in, to the little room, she folded my arms, across my chest, then pulled up the lower half of my hospital gown, wrapping them tightly inside it until it looked, and felt, like I was in a strait-jacket. I attempted to sit up, but I couldn't, while I immediately started saying to the doctor and to her, "I don't want to do this! I have changed my mind! You can just keep the check! STOP! STOP! STOP! . . ." until it just went black, for me, as I heard that vacuum noise begin. The next thing that I recall, I was still saying "STOP!  STOP!  STOP!" only, I groggily heard the nurse, saying to me, now, "It's all over, honey" and realized then that I was back out in the larger room again now. Someone told me, later, that, with the open IV, in my arm, they had simply pushed a button, to release a drug into it and had knocked me right out. But I had told them, before the vacuum noise began, that I had changed my mind. So, was that too late, to do that? They hadn't listened to me! Did they want the money, that much? Or the baby dead, that badly . . . . Or, both? I didn't know. They'd put a big menstrual-type absorbent pad, on me, because I was bleeding heavily, now, Helping me get dressed, they relinquished me to Ada's care, and she drove me home to my apartment.

On the way there, I turned my face toward the passenger side window, away from Ada. By the time we got back to my apartment I was bleeding so heavily that it had leaked through the pad. Ada said that she would go, and get me some more pads, but I told her to please just go away, and leave me alone now, so she did. With that blood leaking out and down my legs, I lay down on my bed and turned my face to the wall, with tears just streaming down my cheeks. I wanted to, and started to, reach out to the Lord in my deep pain and distress, because all my life I had turned to Him, about anything and everything. But I stopped myself, this time, saying to myself, silently, through my tears, "I CAN'T do that NOW! I can't do THAT, anymore, EVER AGAIN. I'm a murderer, and He KNOWS it! I can't EVER go to Him, again, about anything, now . . . ." [This is how our sin makes us feel, toward God! Reference Genesis 3, especially verse 8, to see the very first time that this ever happened, between people and God.] As I lay there, more alone in that moment that I ever felt in my entire life, feeling the sticky blood underneath the pad and on my legs, feeling certain that I could never come to God about anything, ever again, because of this BIG sin, I just took in the stillness, and the aloneness, and the hopelessness, I was feeling, while also realizing that my back was hurting alot, because of being on the steel gurney, for the murder of my child. My subconscious thought, in that moment, was a longing, to have my back rubbed, to rid it of that awful aching, which was reminding me of the reality, of this tragedy, that had just occurred. No sooner had I had that unspoken thought, than I had that feeling, that one gets, when you are in a room, alone, but then, sense someone else has entered; and you look up, and see them, there, after feeling their presence, before you ever saw them. For a moment I thought that perhaps Ada had come back, after all, bringing more pads, as she had wanted to do, for me, because my face was to the wall, and my back was to the door, of my apartment. I turned slightly to look over my shoulder, intending to tell her again to just go away, because all I wanted was to be alone, right now, in my grief. I was shocked, to see that this was NOT Ada.

It was the Lord, Jesus! He is so completely pure, righteous, and sinless, and I could FEEL that, emanating from Him. By contrast, all I could feel, oozing FROM ME, then, along with the blood flow, from the abortion, was that I was now a MURDERER. I was feeling mortified, by that, so I quickly turned my face back to the wall. I just could not look at Him. I was so ashamed. I didn't say anything to Him, at all, because I didn't feel that I could, now. He was so holy, and I was so sinful. I couldn't fathom WHY He was even willing, or wanting, to be with me, there, then, at all. He didn't say anything, to me, but HE began to rub my back, which was hurting BECAUSE OF the gurney that I had lain on while my baby was killed! It felt so good, to feel the pain leave my back, from this warmth, and motion, of HIS loving hands. I KNEW that I deserved to be hurting instead, and, even worse than that, after what had just happened, rather than feeling the relief, and the healing, that He was providing me, now. I also knew why He was not saying anything, to me, at all, about it. Since He is TRUTH, and SPEAKS only truth, He couldn't comfort me, in my deep distress, by telling me anything like "It's okay" or "It's alright", because BOTH OF US knew that those things were NOT TRUE. His pronouncements are always righteous; but He is always loving. What I had just done was NOT okay, and was NOT alright, in His Book; literally. What He was demonstrating, to me, that day, though, as He lovingly rubbed all of that pain out of my back, which was due to the abortion, was HIS GRACE! That memory, of HIM, doing that FOR ME, on that awful day, became the very picture, to me, of what HIS Grace IS, and what it DOES. By definition, Grace is UNMERITED FAVOR. He offers that to each of us, because "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). "Grace" had always been more of an abstract, and a religious, concept FOR ME, until that day, in my life. Ever since then, this memory has been the defining moment, that has allowed and enabled me to comprehend and experience God's Grace, in my life. It is personal, and relational. It truly is AMAZING GRACE!

Romans 5:12 ESV “Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned—"

John 3:16-17 ESV “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."

1 Corinthians 2:9 ESV “But, as it is written, 'What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him'—"