Posted July 5th, 2014 by Francine Craft
There are few things in this life that I hate, but my dislike of hospitals comes close. I’d been in the small, considered excellent hospital in D.C. before for two months forty years prior to this. As a writer, at that time I was plauged by a morbid fear of success. Each time I had even a story published, I wound up in a hospital suicidal. And I never agreed with the diagnosis. Needless to say, I didn’t sell much. The first time was in this hospital in the locked ward. I was on disability from a Federal government agency, and I couldn’t get it together. My therapist at the time worked diligently with me as I tried to write and failed. It wasn’t long before I began to dream of storms that were sweeping me off the bed. Frightening! I’d get up, look out and all was calm. Wracked with the fear of going crazy,I found dealing with life impossible.
The only good thing happening was that I read thirteen of Shakespeare’s plays several time and studied them intensely. This seemed the only lucid spot in my life, and I absorbed this as I couldn’t believe. An older woman friend who took an interest in me tried to help. She offered me a job as playground supervisor at a church school. I couldn’t take it and I shied away from friendship with her, while wanting to be friends. I got a couple of reasonable job offers, but couldn’t take them. The therapist kept assuring me that he didn’t think I would lose my mind. That I wasn’t my mother!
Fianlly, one day after trying all day to reach my therapist. I called his home and was less than civil with his wife who had always been very pleasant when I’d needed to call. Trembling, feeling deserted,I lay down and fell asleep feeling terrified, alone and anxious. When he did call. I could hear myself answering in a man’s voice. After a moment, he gently asked in a puzzled voice as he spoke my name. I came to myself then and knew who I was, but I could only answer in a very small child’s shaky voice, “Yes.” He immediately ordered me to go to the hospital that night. It was early and at that time there was little danger in the city. Read the rest of this entry
Posted June 25th, 2014 by Francine Craft
Almost a month later, I checked into the small hospital in D.C. where my operation would be performed. So many last minute glitches had occurred. An aide taking my blood for use in case I hemorrhaged had left my arm badly bruised for about six inches above and below the elbow. I didn’t understand how she could hold her job and be as hostile as she was. I said nothing to the surgeon about it. Two days before the operation, someone called and said my operation had been reschedule from l0:40 to nine a.m. I hit the ceiling, pointing out that since they want patients to be there two hours early, this would not afford me nearly the sleep I needed. I was furious and I showed it, quite unlike the fact that I usually argued with no one. I have a sharp temper and it hurts me when I lose it. The snide woman talking with me became more conciliatory, checked around and again rescheduled for just one-half hour earlier. I accepted.
Glitches notwithdtanding, friends were unfailingly kind. By this time I was on a walk-aid and could barely make it to the friend’s apartment where I would spend the night before the operation. We got lost on the way going in. D.C. streets can be incredibly difficult to navigate, but we got there on time. I had been promised a few minutes with the surgeon before the operation. This didn’t happen. Fortunately I had told him what I felt he needed to know. First, that I had a small degree of personality changes. Under severe stress, I could regress to a much earlier age or progress to a much later one. I also had hemorrhaged badly years before in another hostpital from a psychiatric abortion. I said I would probably storm and curse under sedation. I might hate them for “taking my baby,” or reliving that abortion and blaming them. I might even rouse and try to attack them. Read the rest of this entry
Posted June 17th, 2014 by Francine Craft
Dear friends, please accept my aologies for the many errors in my first posting of this a few days earlier. I simply placed it on the website, intending to correct and repost. However, my allergies wreaked havoc on me quickly. In hardly being able to breathe, I forgot to go back in and update. I re-read it and I do think the meaning and language throughout was understandable in the previous post. Here’s hoping you’re allergy free and having a great summer! The first excerpt will remain on ths site. Herewith, the second.
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In the days following the cancer diagnosis, my life was a constant round of turmoil. How could I have cancer? I was a health nut. I spent a small fortune on vitamins, minerals and food supplements. And I took them all religiously. This together with proper sleep, rest, and relaxation. I had just successfully finished years of psychotherapy. My writing career was going well. Everything was coming up roses — or so I had thought.
Cancer! My mind fled back to my maternal grandfather’s colon cancer. His death from that scourge after two years of suffering still hit me hard, in spite of therapy. He had been my world. I still consider him the only one in my entire family who had loved me unconditionally until he died during July of my ninth summer. Even now, I feel cold as I write this. Read the rest of this entry
Posted June 10th, 2014 by Francine Craft
I know I promised you a new excerpt from BUILDING FAITH: A Journey from Death to Life by now. Allergies are fierce in D.C. this time of the year. For the past two years I’ve been in the suburbs and have escaped, in spite of the trees. This year in the heart of the city, I’m getting it blasted full in the face. With God’s blessing, this, too, shall pass.
I will do the excerpt as soon as I possibly can. Please remember me in your prayers as I will remember you in mine.
Stay tuned into this space please.
Posted May 17th, 2014 by Francine Craft
Because the title is long, I simply call this book Faith when casually referring to it. I’ve tried to make this a simple story. And that’s because in my estimation life can be beautifuly simple and simply beautiful when you link to God, to Jesus, and the Holy Spirit as I have come to do. I don’t believe anyone would have you believe that life never gets painfully complicated at times. But the solutions to grievous problems often can only lie in the hands of God and those allied with Him.
So, this is my account of two years from the day the gynecologist told me I had a “small growth on my uterine wall and it is cancerous.” This after a regular yearly physical after which he called and cheerfully told me to “worry no more. Your test is clear. You don’t have cancer, so you can be happy.” Happy? I felt lightheaded, weightless with happiness. Two of my grandparents had died of colon cancer, and I simply felt this was my fate. So this was a reprieve from the scourge I had always felt I would suffer. You bet I was happy. Read the rest of this entry