The Flight Response

The Flight Response

Yup. I was hiding in the bathroom again.

Don’t worry; it isn’t always going to start like this!  I eventually break the habit. This day was actually a turning point. The journey had its highs and its lows. Remember, this was all new to me. I had never faced the death or illness of a loved one before.  And even though I worked as a CNA, it was a lot different caring for other people than someone close to me. The responsibility and heart connection was a whole new experience.

It had started that morning.  Darrell had insisted on sleeping in the nice recliner they had in his room. It kept his side from aching as much. He always liked recliners. I stayed with him every night, so that left only an empty hospital bed or a plastic chair for me to sleep in. I was exhausted from almost a week of hospital living. He insisted I take the bed. We decided to ask the evening nurse if this was okay, and she said yes.

The morning shift nurse that found me slumbering in his bed was not amused nor a happy morning person.

“This is against hospital policy, ma’am.  This bed is for the patient. Get out of it now.” Of course this was at 6:00 AM.

Darrell growled back at her. “We got permission and my wife is exhausted. I prefer the recliner, because frankly the bed is hard as hell.”

She huffed and bustled off, giving me the evil-eye.  When she left the room Darrell and I giggled, feeling like we had won something grand.

Next in was his Doctor, who informed us tests had come back and the gastrologist would be in to see us shortly. Relief flooded me because we would finally have an answer.

The gastrologist got right to the point. His voice quietly washed over us as he pronounced the findings.  “You have a tumor in your colon that has perforated the bowel. It has come back positive for cancer.  The best treatment at this point is surgery. Your surgeon will be in to see you next. Do you have any questions?”

I held my breath to block the sudden wave of adrenaline that turned my blood cold and tears that threatened to pour out. I thought it was a death sentence. Looking at my pink-cheeked husband, who was in the prime of life, I couldn’t see the invisible specter of the enemy.  I thought they had made a mistake. It happens, doesn’t it?  A misdiagnosis?   There was a scrambling of thoughts crashing through my mind as I stared at the demure-looking man who had just torn my world apart.

I glanced over at Darrell. He was nodding his head, a blank look in his eyes. I suspected we were both experiencing something similar except for him it had to be far worse since he was the one who actually had the cancer. I knew I had to ask questions. Darrell just went with the flow of things and depended on my limited medical knowledge. I found my voice. “Is this where the bleed is?”

The gastrologist looked relieved for some strange reason. “Yes. From the looks of it, it has been going on for a while. Mr. Gabel, have you had any black tarry stools?”

Darrell’s eyes focused and his eyebrows rose. “Yes, but I just thought it was something I ate.”

“For how long?”

“Well for a couple weeks at least.”

The gastrologist went on to explain the body couldn’t break down blood so it came out colored black and sticky. I was thinking other things, like how I wanted to strangle my husband. Why hadn’t he said something? Why hadn’t he mentioned the tiredness, the pain, the change in bowel habits? I would have known immediately to get him to a doctor. Was it all men or just Gabel men who were oblivious to the fact they were not immune to disease or illness?

Silence filled the room after the gastrologist left. Darrell’s pleasant baritone filled the air as he stated, “Well that sucks.”

I turned away from the window I was staring out of while I forced myself into emergency mode and put the tears on hold. “You think, Sherlock?” I fired back.

He smiled. It was our way to handle stress with humor and sass. Anyone else would have expected my condolences and comfort. We just teased each other. It was where we were comfortable.  Besides, I was angry with him at the moment, but lecturing him now wouldn’t change anything.

The door opened again. For a room that had been empty of any medical personnel the last few days, but usually crammed to the brim with family and friends, it seemed suddenly Darrell was most popular patient on the floor.

A tall, boyish-looking surgeon strode in, offering his hand. “I’m Dr. Brown, and I will be doing the surgery to remove your tumor.  I need to do a brief examine and discuss your options.”

The usual litany of questions went on as he lifted Darrell’s gown. “Are you allergic to any drugs? How old are you? Any other health concerns? Do you smoke? For how long? Any family history of cancer? “

I watched him, wondering just how old he was. The shock of hearing the word cancer was wearing off. I wanted to hear reassurances. I wanted him to tell us that the surgery would cure it. That this was survivable. That all would be okay. Instead….

“Mr. Gabel, the surgery should take about two hours, depending how much the tumor has spread. We will be checking lymph nodes, and taking tissue to test to see if the cancer has metastasized. From there, after surgery, you will see your physician and discuss any further follow up of treatments including chemotherapy. Now…”

He stood back, staring at Darrell’s abdomen.  I had to know what was going to happen. I started asking questions. Absently the surgeon answered while still staring at Darrell.

The he turned and looked at both of us. “So I can either cut down laterally between the abdomen muscles here.” His finger traced the path down Darrell’s stomach. “Or I can do what is called a ‘Mercedes cut ‘across the chest here…”

It was at this point I panicked and ran out of the room.

It would be the last time I sought out a porcelain sanctuary during his hospitalization.

And Your Opinion Is?

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And your opinion is…..what color is this dress? Really folks! Why is this even a debate?

If you haven’t seen the furor over the black/blue or gold/white dress, you are blessedly ignorant and I’d suggest you stay that way. Unfortunately for those of us immersed in social media, it has become a maelstrom of fierce opinion.

Actually, I feel it is an indicator of a much deeper problem. With the freedom of the internet comes the ability for everyone to have their own soapbox to stand on. A simple question easily becomes a heated argument.  But it also shines the light on how much discontent there is in the world today.

If you are a photographer you know how light striking an object can determine the perception of what color it is to the human eye. If you are an optometrist you know how the eye is constructed and that no one has the same vision. Color can appear different to each person. If you are a psychologist you understand that trapped as we are in these bodies, with limited senses, we feel and think we are the center of the universe. Or our perception is limited only to our five senses and they are different for each of us.

And there you go. The crux of the problem.  Perception. Since we are locked into this one body we assume our perception is the only one out there. If you disagree with me, then you are wrong because I don’t see it that way. Throughout our society on every level we see this today. Chat sites, politics, religious views, environment, money, even the lowly product or book review!

Now there are those who understand they are not the center of the universe and are curious to experience what the other person perceives. Then there are those who are stuck in their limited perceptions.

More and more, in an age where we live much more comfortably than our ancestors, we are spoiled and have far too much time to ruminate on such trivial matters. It is much different when you all are running for you live from a natural disaster, or starving to death in a drought. Our herd instinct kicks in and we suddenly put our perceptions on hold to help one another, instinctively knowing we need numbers to survive. In a time of plenty though, our self-centered sides take over and we have time to nit pic.

Of course I’m simplifying a complicated species and problem. And yes, I’m viewing this through my very limited perception. But one thing I perceive, with the internet comes a lack of respect, common sense, and manners.

I, myself, see different views of this dress and understand that some will see blue, others white. I’m okay with different views, unless I hire you to paint my house. Then we will have to discuss our different views of color and I hope we can come to a compromise.

So for the sake of peace, and your blood pressure, realize we are not all alike. Thank heavens.

So Close…..

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Recently I decided to raise awareness of the upcoming release of “Norse Hearts” by entering the cover in Little Book Corner’s Book Cover contest on Facebook.  https://www.facebook.com/littlebookcornerpage

Thank you to all who came out and voted! I am touched and very appreciative of your support. Now I would like to give you a little reward for your effort.

The following is the first chapter of the soon-to-be-released, “Norse Hearts.”    Enjoy!!

Norse Hearts – Chapter 1 – The Raid

“That which has a bad beginning is likely to have a bad ending.”

Britain – 760 AD

Einar stood in the ship’s bow as its oars sliced the water in perfect unison, powering the ship effortlessly towards the riverbank. Uneasily, he rubbed the back of his neck. There would be no honor to Odin in what they were about to do. Watching the giant man at the steering tiller, he waited. At the helmsman’s nod, Einar raised his arm in a silent signal. The oarsmen quietly pulled in the sculls through the oar locks. The dragon ship’s momentum sent her bow onto the shore with a hiss. He glanced over as a second ship, with a larger, ornately carved bow, slipped in beside them.

Leaping ashore, the men took on solid form in the ghostly fog. Woolen cloaks covered their broad shoulders and leather tunics studded in various designs of worked metal. Heavy brows pulled into fierce intent and created granite profiles framed by beards. Unhooking their shields from the railing of the ship, those who had swords slid them into wide leather belts or scabbards. Others carried heavy war axes. They shoved helmets—wrought into fiendish metal faces—over wild sea-salted hair.

Church bells pealed, sounding hushed in the fog, as they called to the faithful for evening vespers.

All went silent.

Then, from far off, Einar heard something faint and growing steadily louder: a deep-throated singing—people chanting. Rolling through the humid air, their voices rose in ethereal waves.

The band of warriors moved silently around the trees. Finally reaching the edge of the forest, Einar saw a small, grassy incline with the chapel and monastery at the top. The little hamlet of Seletun had the only church on this stretch of the River Ouse. The stained-glass windows in the sanctuary glowed with jeweled colors. Quickly scanning the area, he saw that there was no challenge. It looked like there were riches to be had here, but he had no desire to kill unless in the heat of battle. In this moment, he was simply being loyal in following his jarl’s orders.

Time slowed as the choir’s chant gave an unholy rhythm to the sounds of creaking leather and the warriors’ heavy breathing. With brightly colored shields, black shadows for eyes under helmets, and swords or battle-axes now in hand, it looked as if heaven and hell were about to collide.

The chant ended just as Einar and his horde hit the chapel doors. Crashing into the sanctuary, he stared at the worshipers’ startled faces. The monk turned from the altar and froze in fear. Women raised their hands to their mouths that had opened in screams.  The faithful scrambled to their feet to escape their impending doom.  With an animal-like howl, his shield in front of him and his sword held high, Einar led the charge as they fell upon the hapless victims.

Terrified monks pushed over an iron-wrought candelabrum as they fled from the invaders.   Flames crept up the heavy tapestries hanging behind the altar, adding the acrid smell of smoke to the carnage’s hellish glow. The warriors struggled and fought with any who stood against them. Their swords’ bright glint was now dulled by blood from those hacked without pity.

Einar’s gaze swept the front pews, noting a kneeling woman. Her bowed head was covered in auburn plaits. A fur-rimmed brown cloak, held together with a large gold brooch, draped over her thin shoulders. He strode forwards, catching an arm, and pulled her up, looking into her fear-widened eyes. He stared for a second at a plain silver cross that hung from her neck and then tore it from her violently. Reaching for the gold brooch, he ripped it from the cloak. Shoving her aside, she fell to the floor with a thin scream.

He whirled, facing the cry that had erupted behind him. A slim girl with copper-tinted hair ran past him, kneeling at the woman’s side, helping her to sit up. He watched a peasant rush the chapel door, and a single slash by the Norseman guarding it sent him into eternity. In the confusion, a monk who had a blonde, petite woman clinging to him screamed as she watched her family and friends die. Einar saw one of his men raise an axe to forever quiet the blonde, but the kneeling redhead lurched to her feet and darted forwards. Shoving the monk and the girl behind her, she glared at the warrior with her arms spread wide, protecting them. The sword hung in midair as the Norseman hesitated, startled by her defiance.

The twinkle of jewels caught Einar’s eye as the cross around her neck swung with the swirl of her cloak. He grasped the warrior’s axe hand, speaking roughly, “Gunnar, hold!  She is the one we seek.”

Glancing at the weeping blonde, Einar snapped out, “Spare them. Slaves bring good profit, and we still have room for a few more.” His eyes narrowed as his gaze raked over the redheaded vixen.  Her breast rose rapidly with quick breaths, anger setting her face in hard lines. A tan wool cloak, edged with gold embroidery and lined with fur, covered her slight frame. Without another word, Einar grabbed her arm and yanked her against him, fingering the gold cross, staring into her wide green eyes.

“Slitting her throat would lose us a chance of a better profit in ransom. I am taking her with us.”

Gunnar ground out angrily, “Then I claim first rights to her.”

Einar shot back, “No, she is mine. Take the other two.”

He watched Gunnar’s brow furrow and his knuckles whiten as he gripped his axe handle before bringing it down on a bench with a dull thud, the wood splintering. Kicking at the shattered bench, Gunnar pulled the axe loose. Looking at the trembling blonde who still clung to the monk, Einar heard him grunt, seemingly unimpressed with what was left. Slipping the axe handle into a leather loop on his belt, Gunnar grabbed them, joining him.

The redhead beat at Einar with her fist, screaming, “Nay, nay, let me go!” He tightened his hold on her wrist, smiling grimly to himself when he heard her sudden gasp.

Heading out of the church, the warriors grabbed everything of value and quickly searched the bodies lying about for anything of worth. Einar led the horde as they made their way back to the dragon ships, going a little slower for the captives taken and the loot carried.  A few Norsemen trailed behind to discourage anyone who found the bravery to get back what had been stolen.  The only noise in the foggy evening was the heavy breathing of men fired up from battle and the occasional whimper from the prisoners.

A few of the monks who escaped had gone into the bell tower, and clanging tones now called for help from the village.

Impatiently, Einar tugged on the struggling girl to hurry her along.  Breaking from the forest’s edge, he almost lost his grip on the arm he was clutching.  Grunting, he turned around, seeing she had wrapped her free arm around a slim tree trunk and dug her heels into the damp soil. Teeth clenched, her lips curled back, and her green eyes had a feral gleam.

“Nay. Nay!” she cried as he increased the pressure on her wrist again. Suddenly, she let go of the tree and braced both feet against his calf, throwing herself back. Her move startled him, and for a brief second, her hand slipped in his grasp. Twisting, she kicked up with her right foot between his thighs. White-hot pain seared through his groin, the air in his pain-constricted lungs leaving in a whoosh through his clenched teeth. His grip loosened while he instinctively sought to clutch his injured manhood. Wrenching free, she fled like a startled rabbit.

Suddenly, Gunnar’s laughter turned into a shout. “After her! She is the lord’s daughter!”

Gunnar had a head start on him, but Einar scrambled over damp rocks, stumbling through the deadfall littering the ground, until he came across a small path. Up ahead was a small meadow, and he watched her run across it, thinking that if he wasn’t in so much pain, he might appreciate the deer-like grace she had in full flight. She definitely knew the forest and had the advantage.

Still limping, he watched Gunnar gain on her. They both disappeared into the woods. His ragged breathing sounded harsh in his ears as he tried concentrating on any nearby noise.  Tripping over a tree root, he muttered, “By all that is Thor’s, if he does not beat you, I will!”

Suddenly, he heard a loud shriek and a muffled “umph” as something hit the forest floor. Pushing past the pain, he started jogging. Finally reaching the forest’s edge, he saw Gunnar stretched out over the girl’s small frame. He had both hands imprisoned above her head as his weight pressed her flailing legs into the moist earth.

Gnògr!” Gunnar growled.

Einar noticed the girl’s sudden stillness, and before he could call out, Gunnar shifted his weight, holding her wrists with one hand while his other hand slipped down her cheek, resting on her throat. The girl tried to move her knee to escape, and suddenly, his fingers tightened, cutting off her air.  She froze again, and Gunnar loosened his hand and slid it down over her body, checking out the soft curves.

“Get off of me, you filthy lout! Murderer!” she shouted, struggling wildly again.

“Shhhh,” Gunnar hissed in her ear, pressing her against the ground with his full weight to stop her from moving again.

“Gunnar!” Einar barked.

Gunnar looked up, his brow wrinkling in anger. “What? I caught her, and I have claimed her—again—since you can not seem to hold her.”

“I have first claim and am holding her for ransom. Get off her.”

“Let me have a few minutes; then you can have her back, if you can keep her.” A smirk covered his face.

Ekki! Let her loose now. Her ransom will cover the worm’s debt. Will you interfere with the jarl’s profit?”

“She is mine!” Gunnar spit back.

Folding his arms over his chest and leaning a shoulder into a tree, Einar stared impassively down at Gunnar. “Fine. You explain to the jarl why she is no longer a maid and why we have nothing to bargain with. I will wait here until you are finished.” He noticed that the girl had stopped struggling, watching the two of them intently.  Finally, with a glare, Gunnar brought up his knee beside her hip, still holding her wrists, and with a rough jerk, he drew her up with him as he stood.

“I am not conceding my claim,” he snarled, pushing the girl towards Einar.

Pulling a length of leather from his belt, Einar quickly wrapped it around her wrists, binding her hands before her. Tugging at the length of remaining leather, he started back down the path as Gunnar walked behind, pushing if she slowed.

“You heathen swine! Give me one moment with that fancy sword on your back and I will hack you to pieces. You are nothing but thieving barbarians with pig dung for brains. Lord Allard will see to it you are nothing but food for worms.”

Einar glanced back at her, one eyebrow raised in surprise. Quite a bloodthirsty little thing, he mused. Maybe this is why her betrothed wanted her dead. He could see how her fiery temper might be daunting for a pasty-white worm like Cecil Allard. But Einar found her insults to be quite entertaining.

When the dragon ships came into view, the little vixen planted her feet—having caught her breath and strength—and started fighting again. Gunnar’s laughter grated across his nerves.

In one swift turn and scoop, he slung her over his shoulder. Putting his arm around her legs, he kept her still. She beat against his back with her bound hands and screamed.

“You son of a boar! Murdering heathen! Put me down!”

Loud laughter from the warriors around the boats drifted up, only adding to her agitation. A young, lanky warrior came up alongside him.

“I see you caught her. She sounds like a cat in season. If they did not hear the bells, they certainly will hear her.”

Einar grunted.  With a few long strides, he reached the dragon ship. Her shifting movements and the tug on the scabbard strapped across his back warned him that she was trying to pull the sword out. Suddenly, Einar dropped his shoulder, dumping her on the ground. She took a deep breath to scream, but his large, rough hand descended over her mouth, cutting it off. He felt her lips pull back as she bared her teeth to bite, but he pressed her head against the side of the boat, his hand pushing against her mouth.

He said to the lanky warrior beside him, “Tell her to cease.”

“Why? You can speak Angles just as well as I can.”

Einar glared at him. “Do it.”

Stepping up, the Norseman spoke quietly in the girl’s language. “Ladye, if you do not cease your struggles, Einar will bind and gag you.”

Taking his hand away from her mouth, Einar’s fingers grasped her arm in a tight grip.

The girl stilled, staring at the warrior who had spoken.  She took a deep breath and spoke softly. “How is it you speak as I?”

Einar watched Dagfinn pull his shoulders back and straighten. “I was born in this land and once was slave to the Norp weg. I am now called Dagfinn, shield hand to Einar Herjolfsson, your new master.”

Her eyes opened wide as she stared at the youth for a few seconds.

“I . . . I am no one’s property! I will not be anyone’s slave. Tell your lord to slay me now.” She drew herself up, squaring her shoulders, and stared into the dark holes of Einar’s helmet, seeking out the eyes behind it to convey her defiance.

Einar chuckled. “She is worth more alive. Quite dramatic, is she not?”

“Ladye, Einar refuses to slay you. A dead slave brings no profits,” Dagfinn said, a smile quirking at the edges of his lips.

“My father, Lord Landis Forthred, will pay him, if this is about coin. I am to be married tomorrow. My dowry is substantial, and my father will meet his demands,” she said, standing straighter, pushing her chin out.

Einar’s intense gaze sized her up.

Gunnar joined them, leaning against the side of the boat. “If what she says is true, there are several Forthreds who are related to the King of Northumbria. They can well afford a large ransom, but we have to meet with Roald in a fortnight, and he may not appreciate the problems she brings. Or did you think about any of that before you spared her?”

He gazed coldly back at his stepbrother. “We held our end of the bargain. She is gone—he does not have to marry her—but he did not hold up his end, so she will pay his debt, one way or another. You would pass up a chance for increased profit?”

“I think she would make a wonderfully obedient wife; do you not agree, Einar?” Dagfinn replied with a wolfish grin.

A scowl darkened Einar’s face. “Boy, if your sword arm was as quick as your wit, I would not need half of my men.”

Sudden silence fell between them as they stared at her. The girl shifted, her hands twisting in the bindings. Einar finally snarled out, “We need to go.”

Dagfinn translated quickly. “We are leaving. He will consider your offer.”

She beat her bound hands against her legs, the fingers laced and white as she spit out, “Did you not tell him I am to be married tomorrow? The lout can speak to my father now!”

Einar grabbed the leather lead; she pulled back against it, stomping her foot to emphasize her words. “I will not go. I must marry Lord Allard tomor . . . .”

Her words were muffled as Einar suddenly grabbed a length of leather from his belt and turned her around, his brawny forearm crushing her against his chest. She started to scream, but he shoved a rough piece of leather into her mouth, tying it off behind her head as she thrashed. Trying to shriek around the gag, she choked.  She brought up her elbows, shoving into his gut. He caught his breath, scooping her up and pressing her against his chest, squeezing the air from her lungs.

“Move it, boy!” Einar ordered Dagfinn. “I am tired of her beating me like a dog!”

Gunnar’s laughter rang out as Dagfinn quickly tied another piece of leather around her ankles while she kicked, hampering the efforts. Einar lifted the squirming bundle up to several of the men in the ship, and they dumped her against the wooden mast.

The sound of wood clacking against wood sounded muffled in the fogged air as Einar and his men hung their shields along the gunwale of the ship. Nimbly vaulting up and into the ship, he made his way to the bow, meeting the glare of the bound and gagged redhead. Seating themselves on wooden trunks, his crew set the oars on end, waiting for his signal. Loot and other captives had been put in the holding area at the base of the dragon ship’s tall mast, and the captives knelt with their hands bound, their faces reflecting misery, fear, and shock.

Einar raised his hand, and, as one, the crew slid the sculls out into the water. Glancing up, he watched the ghostly forms of trees slipping by the dragon ship as it moved silently through the fog. The mist rolled around them in a moist caress as the proud bow disappeared into the gray.

 

 

Susan Engle – Horsewoman and Author

I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and knowing Susan Engle from the Missouri Fox Trotters Horse Breed Association. A very out-going, gentle, fun loving person, she leaves an instant impression that leaves you smiling. Recently I read her new book and couldn’t wait to share this with everyone.

From her childhood “pony” days, to her eventful re-connection with horses in retirement, Susan Engle has kept her humor and love of fine equines. Fate brought her to become a companion to two young Missouri Fox Trotters. She discovered you are never to old to learn, or ride in her on-going adventures. Meet the author of Susan Fox Trotter – A Seasoned Curvy Cowgirl’s Journey from Ker-Splat! to Riding Bridleless – at any of the links listed below. Enjoy!

Susan FoxTrotter links
Author Page -Read the reviews!
http://www.amazon.com/Susan-Engle/e/B009H9RDGO/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

Kindle page- read the reviews!
http://www.amazon.com/Susan-FoxTrotter-ebook/dp/B008NXGFOG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1358007603&sr=1-1

http://www.facebook.com/SusanFoxTrotter Susan FoxTrotter book page
Susan’s Viewpoint – Blog of Current Stories of Life with Susan FoxTrotter

http://mofoxtrot.com/viewpoint/ Susan is riding and dealing with book four right now, Lucky Star. Book two, The Just Right Horse is currently in progress.. Book two is about JR. Read about all Susan’s experiences with her horses from the late 90’s up to the present! The books come from these blogs.

Susan Engle Facebook page – http://www.facebook.com/susanfxtrt
For the Horse Facebook page where an active list of horse events with Tony and Jenny Vaught are listed. Susan FoxTrotter is the administrator. Ask to join!

http://www.facebook.com/groups/forthehorse/
Rick Lamb interview with Susan FoxTrotter on 9/22/12- http://www.thehorseshow.com/listen.aspx
Join the SusanFoxtrotter Life!

Amazon.com: Susan Engle: Books, Biography, Blog, Audiobooks, Kindle
http://www.amazon.com
Visit Amazon.com’s Susan Engle Page and shop for all Susan Engle books and other Susan Engle related products (DVD, CDs, Apparel).