Well, I have weathered a rain storm, which would be great if it really happened because there is a drought in these parts (although my iPhone says that it will rain on Sunday, maybe).
So what does that phrase mean – into each life some rain must fall? It was rather amazing to research this, finding that expression came from a poem written by Longfellow in 1842. I had no idea, and neither did you I can imagine. This 1842 poem has the famous line “Into each life some rain must fall,” meaning that everyone will experience difficulty and heartache at some point. There is more, and is so uplifting. The poem uses the themes of lost and renewed hope, youth and grief t show how much our past and future experiences affect our lives and how though we face multiple struggles in life we can overcome them. That is so encouraging – at times I wish I were a poet. I do remember that silly joke. “ I am a poet and you do not know it. My r feet show it, they are Longfellows.” I once said to a man who spoke of his poetry and the richness it added to his life.
Me: It makes me wish that I was a poet instead of a prose person. Experts say that poets also have other qualities – empathy being one.
I do not recall that he responded. Who was this man? Simply put, the Ruler of Dubai, although he does have a name, I can say it but its spelling is complicated. We sort of exchange messages which are public through Instagram. But it is not really him, it is a machine as it is hhshkmohdfan – but perhaps he controls its content. I recently bantered
Me: I get almost as many readers to my blog as you do to your Instagram. I write it myself and it has greater content and is not instantaneous.
I did not get a response to that one. It is merely a Like anyway. Perhaps he will get more followers because of the mention on this blog. You are welcome,Your Highness. It is interesting that Comments are given special attention on Instagram but almost all of his Comments are mete emojis. That, as far as I am concerned, is not a comment. But, to each his now. Perhaps he is fond of emojis, do not know as I have never met the man. His son, yes, but he no.
But back to my life and times. I copy this from my handwriting which was written by hand and not on my computer because I was incarcerated in the Crisis Unit of Marin General Hospital. Yes indeed! I wrote during the pandemic:
Me: It feels as if I am being placed in solitary confinement for a crime I did not perform.
Well, it happened again. But, as usual I survived – not only survived but thrives, Here we go!
No one could ever believe where I am or what happened to me. Even I cannot believe it, and as you know, I have a vivid imagination.
I am in the loony bin – yes been here for approximately 12 hours or more. There are no clocks so it is hard to know. I FINALLY got my glasses from my purse about an hour ago – before I could not see it anyway.
Now, here is the good news. It is not crowded here at the loony bin. I am the only patient here – not sure how many beds are here. I guess I could walk about and count. It is the most ridiculously designed loony bin I have ever been in and I have been in several loony bins, but as staff and not the patient. Despite the fact that I am the only patient here, there were last night two staff members, who scarcely acknowledged that I was here. And I was in the Emergency Room for about two of these hours. That is a whole other story, believe me! When I finally was superficially treated it was a nurse who was born in Saudi Arabia whose name was the same as mine. Well it was Alix which was a diminutive that only my parents called me – to everyone else I was Alexis, upon my insistence. Alix Residences in Malaysia – google it, it was named for me. So I received no attention – much less treatment which one should receive in a loony bin. Wonder what the staff were doing all night? It is so poorly designed it is hard to know. Places like this should be in a circle, the radius being the nursing station. Not this place which is a total maze and was newly constructed. It used to be better, this Crisis Unit. I was the attorney that represented the doctors who put holds on patients. How ironic.!
How did I get in this revolting situation?? Hell, If I know?!?! I am here on a Welfare and Institutions Code 5150 hold for being a Danger to Others. How the hell can that be, you say? Never have I harmed or threatened anybody or anything my whole 78 years. So why did the Central Police Department knock at the door of my apartment – grabbed me out of it without my teeth (upper plate only), without my Hijab, not clothed in a modest fashion as required by my faith. How could they do this? You ask.
Well, apparently a woman whose name is Amanda (do not know her last name) called the police to report that I had threatened to kill her daughter. Her daughter is one, her name is Hartley and she probably should be removed from her mother’s care (or lack of same). I am an expert in those matters as well. Once, as a probation officer, removed children from abusive parents and then as a lawyer wrote continuously successful Appeals supporting social worker’s actions. Recently I was at a restaurant, many were gathered. It was a retirement party for a social worker. At that time I had been retired for about fifteen years. The retiree said:
She: Alexis, it is you! You were there for us!! You won all of the Appeals. You were amazing.
Me: OMG! Thank you! Never received any recognition for that when I was working there, goodness knows. Nobody wanted to do it – it required research and writing and one was alienated from the workings of the County Counsel’s office. But I loved it!
This whole mess is bogus. I do remember the criteria although I think the D.A’.s office handled Danger to Others. But I am positive that one cannot be punished for mere words, there must be evidence that one could follow through with the threat – past behavior,, a gun or a knife. I was armed with none of those.
That is the end of my hand writing. I was, of course, released. Dr. Chung the psychiatrist on duty arrived at ten am – met with me and released me immediately, as required by law. Sean, a helpful staff member – finally gave me a copy of the Hold, not previously provided to me by the night staff. He also retrieved my glasses from my purse and gave them to me. Sean gave me a pen and paper to write as well. My teeth not in my purse, had to wait until I got home to be reunited. But, in a way I was richly rewarded, as mentioned on a Reel on Instagram. I have a bracelet (the hospital identification), a wonderful man at the hospital gave me his sweat shirt as I was cold, and to cover my arms. No head covering, but the night staff did assist me with this. A pillow case and a towel covered my head, It actually looked rather stylish, in a weird way.
I was given a taxi ride home, laughing with the woman taxi driver. Showed a photo of my arm to G.E.M. bit he was being trained on the telephone. In all fairness, he offered me two appointment times but I was busy. As I told Dr. Chung when he asked about my day.
Me: Well, I have a mani and a pedi scheduled for one. Then a doctor appointment. My PCP has been my doctor for 43 years. He shall be appalled when he learns of this.
So I saw Holly – now have a mani and pedi that is beautiful. My PCP was appalled. The photographs circulated earlier were nothing compared to how it looks now. You shall see my arm now. You will. The doctor and his staff cannot bear to look at it – it is that bad. They bandaged it – so I do not have to look at it. You get to see it as have thousands on Instagram.
Social media does beat and excel the courts at times – and this is one time. I called the Chief of Central Marin to request an interview. He is artfully playing telephone tag with me. He clearly does not know about social media. He shall learn too late. I do have a solution to the situation but he seems deaf to my solution. More later.
