I am Tallulah

Need translation for:

Nama depan anda

Nama belakang anda

Nama panggilan anda

Alamet anda -- this is address?

Kontak cepat anda

Keterangan

Korban -- that means victims?

I found a victims list but need to log in to access it and I think the above is for doing that, but I'm not certain of the exact translations. I checked out an interactive Indonesian/English dictionary, but the translations were a bit vague.

Hopefully someone here might be able to help. Thanks.

After receiving some help with the translation below, and then shifting between the Indonesian site and an Indonesian translation site out of Hawaii, I managed to list Dewi with another organization.

Plus, I was contacted by the Red Cross and they asked about Dewi, so maybe they will do a search as well. I had listed her with them as soon as I found out she was missing.

Next is to find hospitals and see if they have email addresses, and then send her photo to them.

If I could actually *go* to Indonesia, I'd circulate her photo at the camps, and anywhere else I could find.

I know it's been a month now since the tsunami, but I am not prepared to accept that she is gone. She may be in a hospital, or a camp. And there may be no way for her to contact her family. It's the least I can do for a friend. I would hope that were I in a similar situation, someone would search for me.

The last two days have become a blur.

Mother has had severe stomach pains, bloating, and gas off and on since starting the heart meds over a year ago. However, in the last two weeks she has had this recur three times. Sunday afternoon she finally consented to go to the emergency department. She was admitted and we've spent the ensuing hours alternately waiting and regurgitating all the info.

It turns out Mother has an infected gall bladder. Apparently that has been the problem all along, but her doctors fluffed it off to an ulcer, and didn't do any further testing.

The staff doctor at the E-unit said the gall bladder had to come out right away. However, this morning the surgeon changed his mind and said he wanted to keep her on antibiotics and then remove the gall bladder later.

She is dehydrated, and they had a hell of a time finding a vein that wouldn't blow out once the IV needle was threaded. She is bruised from the over a dozen attempts to insert the needle. Finally they used a vein in the crook of her arm, but now she cannot bend her arm for fear of removing/displacing the needle.

I spent over 24 hours at the hospital and before I left they said she would be remaining in the E-unit because there were no beds. So I went home, got a couple of hours sleep and then the phone rang. They had moved her to 6th floor, and could I bring her meds list with me. I have given her meds list to at least four people in the last 24 hours, and each of them has written that list down in her charts. But instead of reading those charts, they start the info gathering all over again. What a waste of nursing time!

So now she is in a small semi-private room with an elderly lady who coughs and gags throughout the night. Mother is feeling very claustrophobic in this room, and I can't say I blame her. James says if she has to stay longer than another day he is going to see about getting her a private room. Good for him! Especially since he's the only one who can afford that luxury.

Anyway, she isn't allowed to eat any solid foods, but they have neglected to bring her any broth -- twice today!! She's had water, apple juice, and a jellow. That's no way to regain her strength!

I don't know what is going to happen next. If they stick to the plan the surgeon said, she will stay a day or so in the hospital and then come home. The operation will happen at a later date. However, that can change by tomorrow, if the doctor decides he'd rather operate now.

Mother is terrified of the operation. The doctors said the chances of success were very good, 99 % of the people have no complications. However, in mother's mind she heard him say some people have complications so now she thinks she only has a 50-50 chance of survival. That's how messed up she can get information when she is in panic mode.

She is 70 years old, and even though I don't tell her this, I do worry that once they open her up they might find something more seriously wrong. At this age, all kinds of things can go wrong. However, I am not getting any serious feelings of dread. I kind of wish the doctor had operated now, but making sure the infection is under control and that she is hydrated first is probably for the best. Especially with her heart condition.

I would have stayed with her longer tonight but I am exhausted. I could feel myself getting groggier, and knew I still had a half-hour drive home in fog. She will probably bitch that I didn't stay, but I knew I needed to get home.

I hope she will be okay.

Received a phone call this morning saying Mother could come home. When I got to the hospital she was sitting there waiting for me, eager to go home. Apparently they still hadn't brought her any soup. So she went two days without anything to eat, except water and a bit of apple juice. The nurses had requested food but it never came. The healthcare system in this country is falling apart!!! I hadn't been in favor of private healthcare, but I swear, if I could afford it, I would never take her to a public hospital again!

She is bruised so badly from all the attempts to thread that IV! And I have no idea what has happened to her INR numbers. I can't ask her to have another blood test this week. There is no room to draw any more blood! She is scheduled to have one next week so maybe things will be okay for that long. She also has an appointment to see the surgeon in his office on Monday.


Mother apologized to the surgeon for not being able to remember the events leading to her being in hospital. It isn't because she is senile, but because she panics and shuts down. She can remember some things extremely well, but when it comes to her own health issues, she gets scared and freezes. She shouldn't have to apologize for feeling afraid, and for not being able to answer his questions about her health. It makes me boil to think she felt she needed to, but that's the way this family has done things. No wonder I have spent so many years apologizing for my very existence. Years of conditioning.

My father said to me tonight that maybe I should apologize to the surgeon for telling him about mother's condition instead of her telling him. There is no way in hell I am going to do that! I am not sorry for advocating on mother's behalf and I refuse to apologize. And I will continue to speak on her behalf regardless of what the doctor says. The surgeon was wrong to chalk me off that way -- it was rude, and I didn't deserve to be treated that way! He's the one who should apologize.

Last night Mother was in one of her claustrophobic moods and suggested I throw out materials I have been saving for art projects. When I mentioned that is what they were for she gave me one of her looks, and replied that wasn't it time I got real about that, and realized all of it was just a lot of dreaming. I mean, really... when am I going to do any of this? I should just get rid of all this stuff and forget about all this nonsense.

Good to see she is returning to her old form.

We two have had a long bitter-sweet relationship, and no matter how much I have tried to mold myself to what she wants me to be, it just isn't going to happen. We will never have one of those warm fuzzy mother-daughter relationships.

Her comments last night only intensified the gnawing inside me. Not an eagerness to triumph over all adversity, but that old insecurity that in the past had kept me from taking a step forward. And that's when the song lyrics started in my head.

Then the rainstorm came over me
And I felt my spirit break
I had lost all of my belief you see
And realized my mistake

Those four lines speak volumes to me right now.

Perhaps it is just the worry over missing friends, mother's health problems, insomnia, or the never-ending debt load. Whatever started this inner turmoil, the uneasiness is rising. Insecurities of the past should be gone by this point in my life, but there they are, lurking in the shadows, still haunting me.

Everyone else knew. They could see what I couldn't. I was the one with the big ideas, but lacked the motivation to put them into practice. Everyone else could see this -- why couldn't I? Instead I lied to myself, to everyone, that I was just biding my time, waiting to get my ducks in a row, and then I'd be off and running.

Well, I'm still waiting, but I don't know what I am waiting for anymore. My opportunities are gone. I know I made the only decisions I could live with, but I should have found a way to do both, and I didn't.

Maybe it is time to lay down the sword, accept that the battle cannot be won. Victory does not lie beyond the horizon. There is no shame in facing the truth head-on, dealing with facts instead of losing oneself in flights of fantasy. There comes a time in everyone's life when they must accept that what is, is. Why continue to tilt at windmills?

It should be easy to do. Get a big garbage bag and start tossing everything that has anything to do with the dreams. Be ruthless; if it hasn't been touched in a month, out it goes. Think of all the room this will free up. It might be cathartic, even. Then my physical space will equal my internal space.

Empty.
**********
This journal has always been public, with only sporadic friends-only posts. I cannot guarantee it will stay this way. Sometimes it is hard to be completely honest here when I know others will be reading the words. It is embarrassing to openly admit truths about my life. Try as I might, sometimes I am envious of the successes of people I know, and as much as I hate to be that way, I am. I hide my realities from those within my physical life and lately have felt the need to do that here. This is supposed to be my place to open up, but I find myself editing instead of letting the words flow.

Perhaps the words are not flowing because I have little of value to say.

I am drowning: in a $17 thousand debt load with only a 6-hour-a-week job to try and handle it, in my mother's healthcare issues, in family baggage that will never be resolved, in my own fears and frustrations that I am not, nor ever will be, the creative soul I profess to be. All those negative chant-like voices telling me I will never amount to anything, will never be good enough, will never be able to get out of this deep pit, and that I will fail, fail, fail.

Life is passing me by and I am letting it happen. I am creatively blocked, spending more time justifying why I am not being creative than actually being creative.

So I started a process today that, hopefully, will unlock this creative block of mine and let me find a way to fly free.

I began "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron, and one of the first things the reader is asked to do is to start a Morning Pages where each morning you are required to write three pages. The subject matter is unimportant, the focus rather on simply getting the mind working, and dumping the felgarcarb that accumulates in the mind. Another requirement is to set an Artist's Date. So today, since I had to take father to town, I decided once I had dropped him off and then done the photocopying for the church, I would sit at a coffee shop and do my morning pages. I spent about an hour and a half there, writing and then reading. It was the first time I had done something like that in ages.

Whether I will succeed in following the process of this book remains to be seen. But it was nice to think that, at least for today, I took a tennative step towards re-discovering my own creativity. Creativity in which genre is a question still to be answered, but somehow I will find a way to free the waiting creative-me.

Reorganized, to stir up the dust so to speak. If I've deleted you from my Friends list and you wish to be reinstated, let me know. If you hadn't been on the list to begin with, but wish to be included, let me know.

This weekend I began what I hope will be a positive journey towards rediscovering my creative self. To facilitate this journey I am utilizing "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron.

One of the requirements is to keep Morning Pages, and so far I have managed to do that, although this is only day two. Today's writing was a bit more challenging partly because I could feel the stresses of my life creeping over me. The tension in my back, and the growing twinge in the muscle of my left arm, was testament to the stress. Yet I wrote. I am proud of myself today.

Another requirement is to set a weekly Artist's Date with yourself, and I did that, too, albeit an unexpected one. I spent a couple of hours yesterday in a coffee shop, just me and my Morning pages, and I wrote the required three pages, and enjoyed the time alone amidst the crowds of people. I hadn't realized how much I enjoyed this kind of adventure. It felt a bit decadent and forbidden. I should have been doing something useful with my time, doing for those who demand my time. Instead, I sat there with my large decaf cafe mocha and my warmed ham and cheese biscuit, and I wrote. The sun was warm through the window and I felt at peace. I want more of this, and am planning to steal another hour or so sometime this week in yet another coffee shop. I don't care if I have to tell a little white lie about errands taking longer than expected. My creative self has become so buried under everyone else's issues and I need to reconnect with that part of myself.

So this community will be my Check In aspect of the process. I invite those of you who are searching for your creative selves to join me in this journey.

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up." ~ Pablo Picasso

I strongly believe in omens, signs and divine intervention. When you least expect it, tiny bits of inspiration/advice/warnings are put in your way, meant to urge you on, or steer you away.

Today I received one of those divine inspirations, from a spot I visited on the internet. A line stood out amongst all the other lines, and I felt that little elation one feels when a psychic moment is realized.

I am imaginative and beautiful; a unique individual.

I know this line was meant for me because of the word "unique". I have been referred to as unique most of my life, and for much of that time I mistook it as a put-down. It has only been the last couple of years that I realized this was a compliment.

This line is meant to be a personal affirmation. My internal dialogue has always been tinged with negatives, and the concept of positive affirmations has been very uncomfortable. I could read the words, but never believe them.

This line, however, feels right; like something I can grow into, grow with, and make my own.

"Mamma said there'd be days like this... there'd be days like this, my mamma said..."

And she was right. Had to take mother to see the surgeon who looked at her gall bladder during the emergency visit. He informed her that it was time to have the gall bladder removed. She was upset by this, hoping she wouldn't have to deal with any more stress. He feels, now that the inflamation and pain has subsided, it is time to remove it. Apparently she has many gallstones and it's only a matter of time before another one gets lodged, causing more pain.

She is worried because of her heart condition, and because they have to take her off the coumadin, and she will have to undergo injections of a safer blood thinner for six days, which might mean visits into town every day, something neither of us is keen on.

I am worried because her state of mind isn't good. Her fear and belief that if she undergoes this operation she won't come out of it. That fear can cause many problems. And she is 70 years old. Operations aren't always safe even in younger people, so there is the chance something could go wrong. But I can't let on I'm worried. Just wish I could make her feel less depressed about her health problems and life in general. If she had a better outlook she could deal with things like this. She has always looked at the negative side of everything -- a glass half empty kind of person. I guess that will never change.

The operation is scheduled for the end of March. In the meantime there is a visit with the blood specialist, and pre-op. And tomorrow she has to have another INR, and more blood tests. She is still bruised from the hospital nurses! Hopefully this blood test won't be so destructive.

[img:546254] Dewi is still missing, and I don't know where else to look. I cannot find names/addresses for hospitals. There has to be a way of finding out for sure if she is dead or alive.

Tasks

Morning pages, positive affirmations, and turning negative blurts into positive affirmations: My first affirmation: I am a talented and creative artist.

Blurts:
You don’t really know if you are talented! I know that I am talented!
You are a mediocre writer! As a writer, I am continually growing and improving.
You don’t even know where your talents lie! As a creative person, I will look for creative ways to express myself.
You don’t have any talent! If you did you would be making a living doing it by now! My creative journey is an ongoing process and each step I take allows me to become more creative. It is a lifetime journey.
You are lying to yourself if you think you are a real artist! Believing in ones inner voice is no lie. Because I believe I am an artist, I AM an artist!
You won’t make it as an artist. I will accomplish whatever I set my mind on.
You should just give up on this foolish idea and start focusing on real goals. Pursuing my creative energies is a real goal, and I am energized by this.
No one wants to hear what you have to say. If I have something important to say, I will speak up, because my opinions matter as much as anyone else.
You are not good enough. I am worthy of good things.

Come from: Mother, relatives, Mike Bray from high school, teachers in school.

Old enemies of my self-worth: Mother – as much as she supported me, she was also one of the biggest nay-sayers against my creativity. Father – didn’t understand my creativity, felt I should focus on getting “a good job” instead. Neither one of them would have supported my pursuing an acting career. Mike Bray from High School – he sat there in class and as I had my hand up to answer the teacher, he said out loud “Put your hand down. No one wants to hear what you have to say.” The teacher didn’t stop him, just let him speak out like that. No support for me or my opinions. I wanted to disappear, felt humiliated. As usual in my life, no one stood up for me, no offer of support.

Defense Letter: To Whom It May Concern, Mike Bray was an ass!! Who the hell did he think he was? His comment was rude. No one asked for his two-cents-worth. And the teacher, Miss Feenstra, was a coward for not telling him to shut up. She could have handled the situation like the adult she was supposed to be, but she let him have his say. I had every right to contribute in class discussion and my opinions mattered as much as anyone else.

Champions of my creative self: Mrs. Monteith, who stood up for my decision to keep the wording of my poem back in Grade 8. Jack Banks Sr., who never failed to let me know he read my articles in the local newspapers and looked forward to my writing; said I was a good writer. May Parry, who always said I was talented.

My Thank You Letter (this will be written out on nice stationery and mailed!)

To Mrs. Montieth: I am almost certain you do not remember me, but I was one of your students from Bellview Public School – Grade 3 or 4, I’m not certain right now. I was a quiet, shy student, an average student, except in math. In that subject I was terrible. You offered to tutor me after school. I wasn’t thrilled about staying after school – it felt like punishment more than help. However, I came to realize that you were giving up your family time to give me extra math help. That was above and beyond the teacher-student requirements. At the end of the school year I presented you with a little plastic table centerpiece, for which you thanked me in a lovely little card. I still have the card. That gesture of thanks meant so much to a little girl with low self-esteem. I was sad to leave your class because it felt as if I was leaving a friend. Surprisingly, we reconnected in Grade 8 at Joseph Brant Senior Public School. This brings me to the point of my letter – a long-overdue Thank You! During that year the school put together their first yearbook and, as part of that, they ran a poetry contest. I submitted a poem for the yearbook, and was eager to see my piece in print. I never expected my contribution would get a notice. It did, although not in any way I expected. Apparently the teachers objected to my choice of words, wanting me to change the word “beer” to “cheer”. I remember you approaching me in the hallway, telling me about their request, and that they might not print the poem in the yearbook unless I made the change. You told me the decision was entirely mine and that you would support my choice. I asked that the word remain as I had written it because the students didn’t use the word “cheer”. You accepted my choice and said you would let the teachers know my decision. At that point I was sure the poem would never get printed. Imagine my shock when, not only did it get printed in the yearbook, but it won first prize! It was my very first published piece, and the first time my creativity was really supported. I am so grateful that you came to me and treated my work with such respect. It was a true defining moment in my life and one I will always treasure. Many people have voiced objections to my writing over the years. It goes with the territory. It is rare, however, to have people support my writing. You are the first, and I thank you. I have meant to write this letter for many years but always got sidetracked. Then one day I saw you in the drug store. I wanted to speak to you but didn’t think the time was appropriate as your mother was ill I believe. Please know that you are remembered fondly and that your dedication as a teacher, and the respect you showed to me, will always be one of my treasured memories. Thank you so much. Your grateful student.

Imaginary Lives: If I had five other lives to lead what would they be? A movie actress, a singer, a ballerina, an archaeologist, a professor of British history.
The task was to pick one and then do it this week. What??? Sorry, I wasn’t able to figure out a way to do this task.

Also did not manage to “take your artist for a walk”.

Check-in for Week 1

Doing the Morning Pages proved more difficult than I anticipated. I managed to do six days, but none of them were done in the morning. And after the first three it became more difficult to find things to write about, other than family issues. I had to force myself to do this task, but I also didn’t want to just let it slip by the wayside. I wanted to give it a real go and see if I could commit to the process. Even though I didn’t actually write any of the pages in the AM I feel good that I at least wrote them! That is an accomplishment, at least to me. The contents of the morning pages were mainly about family issues, and this made it feel as if I was writing my journal rather than this creative process. I am going to keep the book by my bedside and maybe I can managed to get some morning writing done, and maybe the flow will be better.

I took an artists date this week. Went to a little coffee shop and sat there writing my morning pages and reading, whilst enjoying a large cup of decaf coffee and a salmon croissant. I felt so free in that small amount of time. I refused to look at my watch, and tried to enjoy the time. It is something I plan to do again this week if possible.

I found an affirmation that I feel very strongly about, and have posted on my bulletin board above my computer monitor: I am imaginative and beautiful; a unique individual. This will be my personal mantra because I believe it to be a gift from my spirit guides. Thank you!

It has been difficult at times to stay motivated through the first week. Onward and upward to week two!

- I am a channel for God's creativity, and my work comes to good.
- My dreams come from God and God has the power to accomplish them.
- As I create and listen, I will be led.
- Creativity is the creator's will for me.
- My creativity heals myself and others.
- I am allowed to nurture my artist.
- Through the use of a few simple tools, my creativity will flourish.
- Through the use of my creativity, I serve God.
- My creativity always leads me to truth and love.
- My creativity leads me to forgiveness and self-forgiveness.
- There is a divine plan of goodness for me.
- There is a divine plan of goodness for my work.
- As I listen to the creator within, I am led.
- As I listen to my creativity I am led to my creator.
- I am willing to create.
- I am willing to learn to let myself create.
- I am willing to let God create through me.
- I am willing to be of service through my creativity.
- I am willing to experience my creative energy.
- I am willing to use my creative talents.

Mother was taken to the ER today, 18 days after the last ER visit. Her gallbladder started acting up again today. She was in a great deal of pain and decided, wisely, not to wait this time. She is scheduled for an operation the end of March but I think that may be moved up considerably. When I left her tonight she was still in pain. The morphine doesn't seem to be very effective this time. She is 70 years old and terrified of operations. Please send her some prayers and positive energy. Thanks.