To everyone who ignores, uses, abuses, ridicules, or in any other way mistreats the elderly.

You will eventually be elderly.

By then the world’s population will be nearly ten billion. No one will care then if you live or die. Probably they’ll want you dead since famine, not enough clean drinking water, or suitable housing will be the norm. Masses of people will migrate from country to country fighting for survival. You’ll be considered unnecessary baggage.

Think of it as justifiable Karma. The respect you give now is the respect you’ll receive then.

When the lights flashed and blinked out, Robert stood in the center of the dark unfamiliar room. He had entered the Victorian house by invitation finally to meet the man he had most wanted to confront since Annie Blaine had disappeared. He hoped the man would assist him in finding her. Now, moments before the meeting, the lighting failed. The room filled with a blackness that felt tangible.

I looked down into a valley filled with stones. A light breeze rustled my hair, lifted odors of dried and freshly cut flowers to surround me with the mystery of their presence.

www.youtube.com/watch

An ER nurse says this is the best description of a woman having a heart attack that she has ever heard. Please read, pay attention, and SHARE……….

FEMALE HEART ATTACKS

I was aware that female heart attacks are different, but this is the best description I’ve ever read.

Women rarely have the same dramatic symptoms that men have … you know, the sudden stabbing pain in the chest, the cold sweat, grabbing the chest & dropping to the floor that we see in movies. Here is the story of one woman’s experience with a heart attack.

I had a heart attack at about 10:30 PM with NO prior exertion, NO prior emotional trauma that one would suspect might have brought it on. I was sitting all snugly & warm on a cold evening, with my purring cat in my lap, reading an interesting story my friend had sent me, and actually thinking, ‘A-A-h, this is the life, all cozy and warm in my soft, cushy Lazy Boy with my feet propped up.

A moment later, I felt that awful sensation of indigestion, when you’ve been in a hurry and grabbed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with a dash of water, and that hurried bite seems to feel like you’ve swallowed a golf ball going down the esophagus in slow motion and it is most uncomfortable. You realize you shouldn’t have gulped it down so fast and needed to chew it more thoroughly and this time drink a glass of water to hasten its progress down to the stomach. This was my initial sensation–the only trouble was that I hadn’t taken a bite of anything since about 5:00 p.m.

After it seemed to subside, the next sensation was like little squeezing motions that seemed to be racing up my SPINE (hind-sight, it was probably my aorta spasms), gaining speed as they continued racing up and under my sternum (breast bone, where one presses rhythmically when administering CPR).

This fascinating process continued on into my throat and branched out into both jaws. ‘AHA!! NOW I stopped puzzling about what was happening — we all have read and/or heard about pain in the jaws being one of the signals of an MI happening, haven’t we? I said aloud to myself and the cat, Dear God, I think I’m having a heart attack!

I lowered the foot rest dumping the cat from my lap, started to take a step and fell on the floor instead. I thought to myself, If this is a heart attack, I shouldn’t be walking into the next room where the phone is or anywhere else… but, on the other hand, if I don’t, nobody will know that I need help, and if I wait any longer I may not be able to get up in a moment.

I pulled myself up with the arms of the chair, walked slowly into the next room and dialed the Paramedics… I told her I thought I was having a heart attack due to the pressure building under the sternum and radiating into my jaws. I didn’t feel hysterical or afraid, just stating the facts. She said she was sending the Paramedics over immediately, asked if the front door was near to me, and if so, to un-bolt the door and then lie down on the floor where they could see me when they came in.

I unlocked the door and then laid down on the floor as instructed and lost consciousness, as I don’t remember the medics coming in, their examination, lifting me onto a gurney or getting me into their ambulance, or hearing the call they made to St. Jude ER on the way, but I did briefly awaken when we arrived and saw that the radiologist was already there in his surgical blues and cap, helping the medics pull my stretcher out of the ambulance. He was bending over me asking questions (probably something like ‘Have you taken any medications?’) but I couldn’t make my mind interpret what he was saying, or form an answer, and nodded off again, not waking up until the Cardiologist and partner had already threaded the teeny angiogram balloon up my femoral artery into the aorta and into my heart where they installed 2 side by side stints to hold open my right coronary artery.

I know it sounds like all my thinking and actions at home must have taken at least 20-30 minutes before calling the paramedics, but actually it took perhaps 4-5 minutes before the call, and both the fire station and St Jude are only minutes away from my home, and my Cardiologist was already to go to the OR in his scrubs and get going on restarting my heart (which had stopped somewhere between my arrival and the procedure) and installing the stents.

Why have I written all of this to you with so much detail? Because I want all of you who are so important in my life to know what I learned first hand.

1. Be aware that something very different is happening in your body, not the usual men’s symptoms but inexplicable things happening (until my sternum and jaws got into the act). It is said that many more women than men die of their first (and last) MI because they didn’t know they were having one and commonly mistake it as indigestion, take some Maalox or other anti-heartburn preparation and go to bed, hoping they’ll feel better in the morning when they wake up… which doesn’t happen. My female friends, your symptoms might not be exactly like mine, so I advise you to call the Paramedics if ANYTHING is unpleasantly happening that you’ve not felt before. It is better to have a ‘false alarm’ visitation than to risk your life guessing what it might be!

2. Note that I said ‘Call the Paramedics.’ And if you can take an aspirin. Ladies, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE!

Do NOT try to drive yourself to the ER – you are a hazard to others on the road.

Do NOT have your panicked husband who will be speeding and looking anxiously at what’s happening with you instead of the road.

Do NOT call your doctor — he doesn’t know where you live and if it’s at night you won’t reach him anyway, and if it’s daytime, his assistants (or answering service) will tell you to call the Paramedics. He doesn’t carry the equipment in his car that you need to be saved! The Paramedics do, principally OXYGEN that you need ASAP. Your Dr. will be notified later.

3. Don’t assume it couldn’t be a heart attack because you have a normal cholesterol count. Research has discovered that a cholesterol elevated reading is rarely the cause of an MI (unless it’s unbelievably high and/or accompanied by high blood pressure). MIs are usually caused by long-term stress and inflammation in the body, which dumps all sorts of deadly hormones into your system to sludge things up in there. Pain in the jaw can wake you from a sound sleep. Let’s be careful and be aware. The more we know the better chance we could survive.

A cardiologist says if everyone who sees this post would Share or re-post, you can be sure that we’ll save at least one life.

*Please be a true friend and SHARE this article to all your friends, women & men too. Most men have female loved ones and could greatly benefit from know this information too!

(¯`•.•´¯)¸•´¯`☆

.`•.¸¸.•´•• Thanks for visiting my Page daily and for passing my posts around!

F♡llow me for more Great Stuff https://www.facebook.com/HealthyTruckin

After the gulf war, I returned home to mixed reviews. Some Americans believed saving Kuwait was necessary. Others felt all OPEC nations should be left to defend themselves, or not.

I didn’t give a damn one way or the other. I enlisted with my best friend after a night of bar hopping. We actually broke into the recruitment center, managed to get past the computer password and filled in our enlistment papers before dawn. I suppose if we’d not successfully enlisted, we’d’ve been arrested for several crimes.

Basic training sucked as did subsequent training, but we did okay. Then Bush the elder decided it would be war. Shit, I’d thought. This can’t be good in any way.

Finally, my enlistment time ended and I almost regretted signing over my weapons. However, I concluded I’d used them plenty, and as a civilian I’d not miss a firefight.

But shit really does happen.

Why I chose to start a private investigation company is still an unanswered question even to me. I didn’t need the income. I inherited a fortune. Yet that, money I mean, wasn’t enough. Perhaps serving my country instilled a need for true purpose. Whatever it was, I began helping people in the New York metro area.

What I hadn’t anticipated was the reaction. A year after my first job, a pissed off husband hunted me, nearly killed me. That day altered my future. I wasn’t about to quit. Instead, I got a federal carry permit.

With that in hand, I went to a gun shop in New Jersey where I lived. The moment I wrapped my hand around the grip, I felt an odd sense of comfort. As if the contact included a warm voice that said, “welcome home, friend.”

It wasn’t until my long absent father decided he should appear like an unwanted poltergeist that I actually needed to use the weapon. At the time I was tempted to turn it on him after he’d managed to get a gangbanger to threaten us with a semi-automatic Uzi, which forced me to kill the drugged up hired gunman. Self-defense gone awry.

Lenny Oliver’s secrets ended his life—lies he dressed up in detailed and occasionally elaborate finery. But only the secret holder is fooled in the long run, as Lenny discovered in a dark alley in the Wall Street neighborhood. Michael McKaybees is a private investigator working in New York’s five boroughs. He specializes in money crimes like insurance fraud, with the occasional cheating spouse (his partner’s favorite since she thinks all cheaters should be flogged in public). Now, however, he has been forced to expand his investigative work to include homicide. Implicated in his best friend Lenny’s death, Michael finds himself entangled in a web carefully woven by someone who wants to destroy him—and there’s no doubt he’s up to his neck in shit. Then there’s his father, Marlowe Black, who has decided now is the right time to show up after an absence of more than three decades. Hell, Michael didn’t even know he was still alive. Marlowe’s reputation as a combat-hardened PI is well-known among the City’s criminal element, making him a hated man. And he, too, is a suspect in Lenny’s murder. When McKaybees discovers the body of Lenny’s wife, Jill—Michael’s childhood sweetheart—hidden in his apartment, murder becomes seriously personal and the need for vengeance demanding.
— Read on anyflip.com/nzlo/hkhz/

Many people ask why those who live in an area that is occasionally hit with a disaster don’t move elsewhere. I’ve asked. However, I’ve always been a bit of an army brat, a wanderlust. I’ve lived in several different U.S. states on both coasts, several different towns, counties in some of those states. Moving never bothered me much. It’s often annoying, or a challenge but for me a new area means new experiences, new places to visit, new people, and increased knowledge.

If I’m honest here I need to admit that I may be something of an exception. I’ve been surprised repeatedly, although by now I no longer should be, with the information that most people don’t move as much or at all. Okay, they might move to a new house in the same town, or a town or two away from their original hometown. But up and move to a different state? Not really, unless it’s a seriously great job offer or a retirement decision, and even then the majority don’t.

And that’s the basis for what I’m getting at. People are not comfortable living in a place they don’t call home, or where their roots are. Consider a family that’s been working the same farm for three, four, or five generations. It gets passed down to whichever child wants it the most. Other siblings relocate nearby. They usually have family dinners weekly or monthly. The holidays mean “I’ll be Home for Christmas” literally. They love where they live in a way that a wanderlust like me doesn’t understand except abstractly.

People they’ve known and been friends with since early childhood are important to them too.

I get that funny gut feeling when I hear that song but when in my head I try to imagine heading home for the holidays, well it just isn’t there. But I’m different and I kinda like it, but too wish I could share that feeling of being needed of having a home to go to for the holidays, I guess.

So after a disaster hits, people pick up the pieces and within a while, they’ve restored their homes, farms, businesses, and resume life as their forebears did. They honestly don’t think there might be a better way or a better place.

Don’t be hard on them if they don’t do like you think you’d do if in their shoes, because without understanding the meaning of home the way they understand it, you can’t be in their shoes. Period.

For me it’s live and let live, care about people and stop criticizing what you cannot understand. For me a disaster or two means pack up and move, but hell that’s what I’ve done because, well I did it. And who knows, the next move might be to a place I’ll learn to call home in the same way they do. Or perhaps home to me is inside, not a tangible place at all.

Perhaps truth is an illusion. Since none of us think, act, or feel like anyone but ourself, then the same must apply to truth. Thus making truth quite subjective. Your truth cannot be my truth. Mine cannot be yours.

Wondering how people get along? By avoiding truth that applies to all of us. Shallow perhaps but that does explain the behavior of the haters among us. Twist fact with a dose of the mind drug ‘fantasy manipulation’ and a alternate reality squeezes between truths like worms feeding on mental lesions.

I wonder about many things. Some are ‘why did it happen’ things that litter the past like leaves twirled about by a autumn breeze. They land and perhaps stay until time pulls them back into the earth. And they are then forgotten. Others swirl about every time the air moves when a person or animal passes. Those are curious as if the person or animal passing somehow stirs up the ‘why’ like they are connected to the original event. And is that even possible?

Links that weave through time, my time. Perhaps it’s the original event that created a ‘why’ that could not be resolved then or maybe ever. I can wonder and spin around until gravity yanks my feet out and I am left with nothing but a small ache that chooses to remain forever tugging at my heart with a sadness or little grief.

I wonder why I allow people to be so important that their actions affect my ability to understand? Or even function normally whatever normal is. I’m of a nature, I suppose, that requires answers. Wish I didn’t. That could be a wonder too.

Then I wonder about daily events like watching activities too incomprehensible, too impossible for me to alter. Why watch? Why care? Each moment of life is an entity in itself. Most trickle into the next without noticeable transition. Then there are those that baffle thought. Why did that just happen? Why did they just do that? Why do I care?

Nothing. That is the best moment. When nothing of significance occurs. My cat decides this is the moment you need my company. No complications. A moment like that.

Yeah, I wonder. I’m supposed to be a social creature yet when I have to deal with other people I know whatever is alive in their minds is nothing like mine or anyone else’s. Their expectations are alien to me. Mine is to them. I often look at a person and see someone who has neglected their physical self. They are wounded by the life they lived. Their moments left battle scars. So I wonder have mine? Perhaps I cannot see them. Maybe others can.

Yeah, the wonder. Emotions are traps. If I felt nothing I’d be more at peace. Is that possible? My cat doesn’t feel emotions as I do. He’s got his needs, his desires. But they seem so much more logical.

Maybe I’m just tired of it all. Give as much as possible and get in return, what? At some point in time, I believe it just stops mattering. Doesn’t it? Giving became obligation. I wonder. Nothing fills the hole inside, the little sadness that sits in the center of my being seems permanent.

Obligation is not fulfilling. There is no sense of selflessness. There’s no warm feeling of accomplishment or satisfaction. It’s more like well that’s one less thing I must do. But honestly, occasionally the needs of others seems like a bottomless pit of darkness and despair, draining life. I imagine it’s their sense of selfishness that’s draining. The ‘give me’ some glances holds, some gestures. Words rattle around but most often don’t match with the actions that follow them. That’s a ‘get me’.

Yup, I wonder.