Practice certified medical assistant exams

Hi, I passed my cissp exam and would like to get rid of the following books:

• all in one cissp exam guide, Shon Harris, 8th edition
• all in one cissp practice exams, Shon Harris, 5th edition
• 11th hour, Eric Conrad, 3rd edition
• cissp isc2 official study guide, 8th edition
• cissp isc2 official practice tests, 2nd edition

Selling all 5 of them for only $100 plus media mail shipping ($8 ish)

My parents will not have enough in retirement to sustain them long term. I come from a single income household and I estimate they will have roughly 300k in total savings by the time they retire in the next 5 years. They are not home owners. I’m starting my PCP job this fall (salaried at 240k plus RVU bonus) and have a sibling in tech (making 140k). More established physicians in my practice who have moved to RVU based salaries make >300k, I’ll move to that structure in 2 years. We’ve always known we’ll have to support our parents as they get older, what’s the best way to go about doing so? I was going to put away a certain amount of my salary into a HYSA dedicated to them and let it grow.
Additional details: -Sibling and I have partners who are also high earners. Our partners parents do not need any assistance with retirement. -I have student loans and hoping to PSLF. -We already help them with unexpected expenses and pay for family trips.

Subject: Request for Financial Support for Accessible Beekeeping Grant
I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to express my gratitude for your dedication to the beekeeping community and to present an opportunity for your support.
My name is Justin Ruger, and I am the founder of Accessible Beekeeping, a registered 501c3 non-profit organization (EIN: 88-1338522). Our mission at Accessible Beekeeping is to provide training and resources for beekeepers with limitations, enabling them to participate in this vital agricultural enterprise.
Recently, Accessible Beekeeping was awarded a Sustainable Agricultural Research and Education (SARE) Professional Development reimbursement grant, set to commence on July 1, 2024. This grant aims to train agricultural professionals to assist consumers in adopting accessible beekeeping practices. Through our initiative, we will educate participants on various hive systems, practices, and tools to make beekeeping more inclusive.
The reimbursement grant model requires our non-profit to cover expenses upfront, with reimbursement provided by the USDA and SARE upon submission of eligible expenses. To facilitate this project, we are seeking financial support through donations.
Further information about the grant and our project can be found at the following links:

• Grant Details: https://projects.sare.org/sare_project/spdp24-031/
  
• Interview with SARE: https://southern.sare.org/news/ag-professionals-receiving-training-on-accessible-beekeeping-through-sare-grant/
  

Your support will not only contribute to the success of our project but also help us expand our reach beyond the SARE Southern Region to benefit beekeepers across the United States.
If you are inclined to support our cause with a tax-deductible donation, you may do so through our website: https://www.accessiblebeekeeping.org/donations.
Thank you for considering our request. Your generosity will make a meaningful difference in advancing accessible beekeeping practices and fostering inclusivity within the beekeeping community.
Warm regards,
Justin Ruger
Founder, Accessible Beekeeping
[jruger@accessiblebeekeeping.org](mailto:jruger@accessiblebeekeeping.org)

I have worked as a medical assistant for 8 years now, and I absolutely can't do it anymore. I am extremely grateful for the opportunities and im proud of the skills I have acquired during this time. I am good at my job and I love getting to know patients, building rapport, etc but I have completely lost my passion for healthcare, and I cannot say exactly WHAT I dislike about it either, its almost like a light went out and I just dont care anymore- which is a horrible feeling for me, especially because its affecting me personally and its obv. All that to say--- What are some career options that I can transition to without needing a degree? Advice and feedback is greatly appreciated.

This is in California.
The Short(er) Version
Mom (86), was hospitalized briefly last Christmas due to a freak medication reaction and was transferred to a nursing home to recover. Mom can’t walk unassisted (but can stand on her own), and is healthy enough now to come home, but Dad (84, also healthy) won’t let her and refuses to assist in what minimal care she’ll require there should she return. The nursing home won’t release her under her own recognizance unless she can demonstrate independence in her own care.
Though physically well, Mom, who for decades before rarely spent 48 hours away from home without a family member with her, is getting very depressed and is breaking down psychologically due to this development. She could easily last physically in that facility for years but her mind will crack at this rate
If she were home, she would only need a CNA to change her diaper three times a day, to sponge-bathe her, to prepare food for her, and to help with wheelchair transfers in and out of bed. They can afford to pay for it. Dad, who spends 95% of the day at home anyways, doesn’t want “a parade of strangers” coming into the house daily to help Mom. They have no major marriage issues I’m aware of and Dad has no terminal medical issues that might explain his decision to keep her in there indefinitely.
She’s used to complying to his wishes (but up until now they’ve never been pointed against her). She is very meek, is afraid of him being angry to her, and still greets him at visits like a puppy being happy to see its abusive owner. When she tells him she wants to go home or that she is in psychological pain as a result of being there, he tells her to stop saying that or he’ll stop visiting.
She wants out and has secretly given me (the son) permission to explore her legal options on the down-low. She doesn’t want divorce and the nearest relative who might take her in lives in another state.
Does she have a legal remedy, please ?
The Long Version
Mom (86) was in the hospital last Christmas due to a freak medication accident and has recovered. She had trouble walking unassisted before, and with the exception of that and some incontinence, she wants to come home.
Dad (84) transferred her out of the hospital to a skilled nursing facility when my mom was still pretty out of it. He’s told her that she’ll be staying there indefinitely. (This is to a woman who was been a stay-at-home Mom for several decades, has anxiety issues for which she takes meds, and has never spent more than 48 hours anywhere without a family member nearby.)
My dad, who is in great shape, has enough money to pay to keep her there indefinitely if Medicare ceases coverage. The facility won’t release Mom under her own recognizance because she cannot demonstrate that she can take care of herself (bathroom) unassisted and is in a wheelchair. We’ve seen that she can stand unassisted but the wheelchair transfer to her bed, toilet, car, etc. requires help.
My mom is physically well, but the stress of being in that place these last few months is breaking her psychologically. When she tells my dad that she’s in pain or wants to go home he shuts her down without explanation. She is very much used to him calling the shots in the marriage (63 years this July).
I’ve done a ton of homework on the matter and have shared with Dad that Mom’s needs can easily be met with some part-time home care from an CNA/LVN. She just needs someone to change her diapers, sponge bathe her, and give her her meds.
Dad shoots down every one of my suggestions on how to bring Mom home. Every concern he has expressed about bringing her home is either easily addressable or will require some flexibility on his part. For example, he claims that he’ll need to spend thousands to renovate the bathroom for a wheelchair user; I counter with the fact that as long as Mom requires only diaper changes and sponge baths from a CNA, she need never step foot in a bathroom again. Dad doesn’t want a parade of strangers in the house every day to car for Mom; I counter with the fact that he has a weekly cleaning service come to the house and it doesn’t seem to be a problem for them. I add on that should anything happen to him at home—where he now lives alone—at least Mom will be there to call 911 (as opposed to us finding him days after the fact).
Outside of him having some terminal disease that he’s not telling people about, there absolutely no reason why Mom can’t come home, and I’m now stating to wonder if a lawyer needs to be involved. He can’t just deny her the ability to return home and refuse to participate in her care there as long as Mom’s needs can be easily be accommodated, can he? (He won’t have to lift a finger except let home care help in and out the door.) He just needs to get over having strangers in the house.
Is he breaking the law and committing some kind of psychological abuse or neglect, or is he just a complete asshole? Am I being the asshole for trying to stand up for her? She won’t stand up for herself and I’ve told her that as long as she complies with Dad’s wishes, he has no reason to listen to her needs. She rarely gets any other visitors, and she greets Dad when he visits like the way an puppy still greets its abusive owner because it sees no one else all day.

Hello everyone! I am looking forward to write an exam and get certified my professor at my uni suggested me to write it from IPMA. Which I agree makes sense because it based out of EU. But I want to write from PMI the American equivalent of IPMA. Purely because it has much faster result processing time and a lots of preparation material is available online. Would any of you advice me not to write it and go for IPMA instead?
Thank you:)

I’m 21/F and I turn 22 next month. I feel so lost and confused. I left my house at 18 to move in with my best friend because my at home life was really bad. I spent my entire childhood and high school years in isolation, being bullied all through out my school years. I only came out of high school with one friend who had taken me in and she is the only friend I have to this day.
My parents had ignored and shamed my signs of autism as a child. Now as an adult I am left unable to function in many ways. I don’t have an official diagnosis but my psychiatrist strongly suspects autism stating my presentation highly indicates I have a developmental/ neurological problem.
I can not speak to strangers or people in public spaces. I have sat inside the house alone for years wanting to go to college, get a job, make friends, party, have fun. I feel like while I am still young but my youth is slipping through my fingers if I don’t act now.
My parents and family have given me no support. I don’t know how to speak properly, how to do many things those my age can do. I have been fired once and quit 2 jobs because I would have break downs in the work place and consistently work at a slow pace, struggling to adapt and learn my duties at any job. I have worked as a janitor, for a house cleaning company, and as a condo cleaner. Considering these are not very stressful jobs I would still have break downs because the environment is so difficult for me to adapt to. All of the jobs I worked for took months of searching to find. Jobs where I was accepted online without needing an interview. For every job I have applied for with an interview I have done so poorly. I would try to talk but would freeze up, my mind would go blank, the silence filled the room for minutes at a time until I was asked if I was alright or I would just walk out.
I am at my wits end. I don’t know how to go on disability, I do not have past medical records, nothing. I don’t have a diagnosis and my psychiatrist said he will not help me if I can’t give him medical records for past history or make phones calls for myself but he knows I am unable to do these things myself. He says because I can feed and dress myself he can’t get me a caretaker but I need assistance in someway.
I only got an appointment with my psychiatrist as it was the last favor my mom has ever done for me out of guilt for my condition. Everything else is scheduled directly by him for me in his office.
I am unable to speak over the phone, drive, most days I can’t bring myself to leave the house. I wish so badly that someone or something could save me from myself, tell me what to do. I would try my hardest to follow through with anything if I knew the right answers.

Hello, I hope anyone reading is doing well today.
After dragging out filing a claim I finally went through with it. My apprehension came from two areas. 1) I feel others deserve it more than myself.
2) My friends and family have beaten "deny until you die" into me and I was just worried about wasting my time.
I've made peace with the fact it is better to start the process and get these things looked into. So my post is a two part one.
First up. My current claim in progress is tinnitus and hearing loss. Have had my exam with loss in both ears, but worse in the one that I have the ringing in. So I am awaiting that, just curious how ears are actually rated? Like is there a formula, will I get to see the readings from the actual exam, simply out of curiosity.
Second, I have records of visits while active regarding a shoulder injury and headaches. So I submitted that documentation as well, someone told me the headaches could get lumped into the hearing? I just didn't know how that would work since I've only had the one exam for hearing.
Lastly, I have these issues that developed while in, BUT I have absolutely zero documentation. Being medical …..and young, we always just treated ourselves when I was attached with the Marines. These issues would be, lower back pain and GERD, but the thing about these issues is I manage them fairly well on my own with the occasional flare up, so I am very hesitant to even claim anything like this for lack of documentation and the fact that on most days they don't really impact me. However, the lower back when I do aggravate it, I'm out of commission for a solid 24-72 hours.
Anyway, I was just looking for some insight and to hear about some experiences. I have no expectations truly, just passing the time while I wait my current claim.

The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

Since the age of 12, I’ve had these episodes in my periods where I would become very nauseous, fatigued, throwing up and etc. at 15 I saw a gynecologist that didn’t perform any type of exam on me and just straight up gave me a birth control to help with the pain. Norethindrone For the past two years, I’ve been using that and the pain came back last year. I stopped taking in February, and finally saw gynecologist at the time I didn’t know the name of the drug. But I wish I did. Why don’t doctors have access to your recent medication that you were taking I feel like all doctor should have that to know they shouldn’t put you on a medication again? Anyway, after seeing her May 1, being diagnosed with endometriosis, we had options I prefer birth control only because I am terrified of pregnancy. The very idea if it sends me into a spiral, I went with the birth control option. I refused to get an IUD. She didn’t tell me that she was gonna go on a conference for five days and didn’t send in my medication until she came back. Why wouldn’t you do it before you left? Finally got in the medication check today and it’s the same medication I’ve been taking. No dosed change. I’ll literally am crying cause im back at square one. I have constant pain everyday, it never stops….

Hello! I’m an atheist, but I’ve started to read religious texts just to expand my knowledge on other’s beliefs and practices. I don’t understand a lot of them, and it seems Google has conflicting information on a few points. I hope you guys don’t mind if I ask for clarification here.

1. When it comes to medical interventions, what are the rules for male and female contact? I’m a medic by trade, and as a non-Muslim male, would me treating a Muslim female be wrong? Additionally, what medical interventions can’t be performed?
   
2. During Ramadan, how does one get a daily intake of food and water during night hours without getting sick? I would imagine trying to ingest so much food in a short amount of time would lead to upset stomachs
   
3. As a non-Muslim, what are basic things to avoid saying/doing when interacting with Muslims as to not offend their religious beliefs? This one sounds stupid, but one of our guys in our unit offered pizza with pork on it to one of our other co workers who are Muslim, as a gesture of kindness, but didn’t know it is against his religion. I would like to avoid making mistakes like this, that to me are acts of kindness, but to Muslims are incredibly rude.
   

These are all I have. I apologize if they are stupid, but I do truly want to know the proper practice of these. Thank you very much!

Hey legends, i'm ruminating a lot since last night peer support group...I'm based in Perth, Australia.
I'm anxious as F#ck and is taking over me! Can you please tell me what you think about my speech for next week? I don't necessarily need to introduce myself but i want to do it, here it is....
________________________________________________
Hello everyone,
I'm Ian, and I'm grateful to be here today to share a bit about my mental health journey.
I've been diagnosed with Avoidant Personality Disorder (AVPD) with high achieving and hyper vigilance traits. For me, social interaction often feels like navigating through a minefield, caught in a paradoxical conflict between my AVPD tendencies and my drive to excel. This drive to excel has been a coping mechanism, a way to manage the challenges posed by my condition.
For the past 4.5 years, I've been sober, a decision that stemmed from realizing that alcohol was merely masking deeper issues rather than addressing them. It's been quite a revelation to understand that what I initially thought was just anxiety actually had roots stretching back to childhood traumas.
My journey toward healing hasn't been linear. It's been filled with ups and downs, moments of clarity, and moments of confusion. But each day, I'm committed to putting in the work.
Therapy has been instrumental, as has joining groups like this one. I've also focused on improving my physical health through exercise and diet, shedding some of the weight I gained during tougher times. Additionally, I've been exploring holistic practices such as breathwork, meditation, and even ice baths to help regulate my emotions and find inner peace.
Depression has been a constant companion, but with medication and a newfound determination, I'm slowly moving past it. However, progress sometimes brings its own challenges, and I've learned the hard way about burnout, triggered by my relentless pursuit of success to compensate for deeper insecurities.
But amidst all the challenges, there's been growth. I've learned to recognize and challenge my negative thought patterns, incorporating practices like meditation and breathwork into my daily routine. And while there's still much to work through, I'm finding solace in knowing that I'm on the right path.
I'll spare you the details of my past traumas for now. Instead, I want to focus on the present moment and express my gratitude for being here with all of you. This journey of healing is ongoing, but I'm finding solace in knowing that I'm not alone, and that together, we can support each other through it all.
Oh, and I recently made a big career change—I sold my restaurant and am transitioning into the mental health field. I'm currently pursuing a Bachelor's in Social Work, but before that, I'm doing a Certificate IV in Mental Health and Community Services. It's a big step, but I'm excited to be able to contribute to the field in a meaningful way.
Thank you for listening.

Hey legends, i'm ruminating a lot since last night peer support group...I'm based in Perth, Australia.
I'm anxious as F#ck and is taking over me! Can you please tell me what you think about my speech for next week? I don't necessarily need to introduce myself but i want to do it, here it is....
________________________________________________
Hello everyone,
I'm Ian, and I'm grateful to be here today to share a bit about my mental health journey.
I've been diagnosed with Avoidant Personality Disorder (AVPD) with high achieving and hyper vigilance traits. For me, social interaction often feels like navigating through a minefield, caught in a paradoxical conflict between my AVPD tendencies and my drive to excel. This drive to excel has been a coping mechanism, a way to manage the challenges posed by my condition.
For the past 4.5 years, I've been sober, a decision that stemmed from realizing that alcohol was merely masking deeper issues rather than addressing them. It's been quite a revelation to understand that what I initially thought was just anxiety actually had roots stretching back to childhood traumas.
My journey toward healing hasn't been linear. It's been filled with ups and downs, moments of clarity, and moments of confusion. But each day, I'm committed to putting in the work.
Therapy has been instrumental, as has joining groups like this one. I've also focused on improving my physical health through exercise and diet, shedding some of the weight I gained during tougher times. Additionally, I've been exploring holistic practices such as breathwork, meditation, and even ice baths to help regulate my emotions and find inner peace.
Depression has been a constant companion, but with medication and a newfound determination, I'm slowly moving past it. However, progress sometimes brings its own challenges, and I've learned the hard way about burnout, triggered by my relentless pursuit of success to compensate for deeper insecurities.
But amidst all the challenges, there's been growth. I've learned to recognize and challenge my negative thought patterns, incorporating practices like meditation and breathwork into my daily routine. And while there's still much to work through, I'm finding solace in knowing that I'm on the right path.
I'll spare you the details of my past traumas for now. Instead, I want to focus on the present moment and express my gratitude for being here with all of you. This journey of healing is ongoing, but I'm finding solace in knowing that I'm not alone, and that together, we can support each other through it all.
Oh, and I recently made a big career change—I sold my restaurant and am transitioning into the mental health field. I'm currently pursuing a Bachelor's in Social Work, but before that, I'm doing a Certificate IV in Mental Health and Community Services. It's a big step, but I'm excited to be able to contribute to the field in a meaningful way.
Thank you for listening.

I BARELY passed my network+ exam today. Idk why but it took me a long time to grasp the concepts of networking and took me longer then most people to study for the test. Been studying on and off since November of last year but have been busy starting my new IT field tech job.
Watched professor Messer and used Jason Dion's practice tests. The PBQs had me sweating. During the test the resolution of the test changed and I was unable to do the drag and drop. Had to be moved to another computer to finish the test.
Subnetting was very important on my version of the test. Had Messer's 7 second subnetting chart written out on my laminated paper.
PBQs had me like a deer in headlights. All I can do was type help in the command prompt and try to fumble my way through the questions.
Good Luck everyone!

Filed for TDIU in November. Decision came back denied stating that I don't meet the percentage requirements... I'm at 90%.
So I hired an attorney and filed for HLR. VA found that I did meet the qualifications for TDIU and it would be reconsidered; as well as found a duty to assist error.
Now my claim looks reopened, but has "Cervical Spine" listed as the claimed condition. TDIU is no longerer anywhere on there. Went to my evaluation today, and the examiner said it was an evaluation for my cervical Spine....only I never filed for my cervical Spine! I do have cervical back issues, but I never filed for them. What in the world is going on and where did my TDIU claim go? Should I not be getting an occupation exam for the TDIU?