McNeeley Real Estate

Name says a lot. For many years i used to believe it has something to do with kneels. Makes you kneel that is. I know one guy there. Mark Hessel. And there was another woman i spoke with in the agency, short, fat, looking Japanese.

 
In January 2010 we've been kicked from Sussex. There was a guy there Kaleb whom i knew only by seeing him and seeing his name on the mailbox.

At Sussex there was an episode that just came to mind. The 2002 Seattle earthquake. There was a handyman scheduled exactly at that time in the apartment. He went outside to pick something from his Volvo, i went to the door to see what he's doing. Then the earthquake started, a series of ample movement, i stood in the door frame when i heard somebody running on the roof. I looked at the handyman while he was staring the roof.

There was a broken pipe in the wall in there that got never fixed. Every time i was opening the water at the bathroom sink, a pipe was moving in the wall. Probably leaking in the wall and making mold.

While i was there at first i was not aware of the mineral insulation problem. After, or when when i realized the attic was full with loose mineral insulation, i taped the lid to the attic so it won't fall down at least through there.

There was this guy with a red Toyota Supra i guess who looked like a South American drug dealer who was showing from time to time, pretending living there. La Tuta i guess.

Christine McVie, Carole King acting like managers. John Winquist, owner of Regent, the management company i think is a now Hungarian top politician.

Across the street, BNC. A church that looks like an UFO.

And Tom Cruise, the mechanic.

That's all about Sussex, here and now.

So we've been looking for a place to move. Actually applied in two different places. One Saturday in February they called us from Sunflower Apts, i believe we were approved there too but for some reason i can't explain right now none of us wanted to answer the phone. Monday (hopefully i will come with the date, it think it was February 2010) i had appointment with Mark from McNeeley, i went at the apartment in Lake Oswego and signed the papers. As we climbed in the truck to go in Lake Oswego they called us again from Sunflower and told us we were approved but i already made my mind. I was moving to Lake Oswego. Rent was about similar but location, one of the best in Portland area. Not knowing it was actually on the top of an extinct volcano.

Don't know what was wrong with me in that day. I didn't feel the terrible stink in there. Maybe because window was open. Maybe i was hypnotized (to us, Mark appeared like he had severe strabismus (not seen in the picture above). All i saw was the view, the pool (which Mark told us wasn't "ours", the apartment was the only one rented in the building, the others were individually owned condos). The place was a dump. I will select some pictures. The pan of the fridge filled with some sort of glue that resulted from combination of asphalt and silica from roof shingles. Hardwood floor was stinking so bad from being contaminated with that stuff and food that i had to cover it with shelf liners.

The rusty, leaking toilet, discoloration of the vynil.

Everything was leaking under the kitchen sink

And the endless hole.

There are many other things to be said about that place before i start getting to the reason for this post. But before, a word about Apt.9 or next door. There were a couple of celebrities that were showing as Anna, the young single neighbor. One of them was Kelly Clarkson.

And the guy at Apt.2 (two levels down) who looked like Jinichi Kawakami posing for a young single guy who was never cleaning and smoking the stinkiest cigarettes (natural tobaco, not treated for burning faster like most brands). There i found out for the first time of the existence of ninja dojos in the US.

The woman who lived at nr.6 (right under) left after one week (came back at times). I forgot where she said she was moving. The apartment was vacated for a long time, more that a year. Then the short old man with the green van moved in. He lived there for about 6 months. On June 6 2011 i took this picture.
And this one on July 2nd the same year.

I think he left in September that year. That was after they poured asphalt on street. Because the day after he dragged me into a short conversation.

What was about him. As you can see from the first picture he was handling some high tech tools. Sometimes at night i head what i though him was chiseling, maybe the walls.

After him i remember Christina Minnis moving in there. Found the name on a site that gives you names of neighbors and googled and found this.

She was wanted in Texas for some minor offenses and she found shelter here. However, she was living in that dump with a guy (i forgot his name now), black, who was working for a British company, somewhere in Downtown Portland.

She found a job here in Portland at David Killer Bread. I remember the day when Dave Dahl, the owner, was arrested. A few days later they started the bathroom fan downstairs and was on until December 2014.

They had a dog probably she dog, probably sick cause it was actually crying every they after they left in the morning.

Story is much longer. To make it short, today i figured the purpose for that fan to be on for so long was to pump in the floor (or their ceiling) and into our apartment the same stuff they pump in here for more than a year now or since i heard upstairs the same chiseling sound, December 2019 and then i heard the dog making the same crying sound as the one down stairs more than 6 years ago. That is litter dust. When those neighbors moved in spring, i saw the woman carrying a small dog in a pouch at her chest, like a baby. Both dogs were probably sick, probably infected with some parasite that eliminates in the feces and ended up in the dust that gets in here, that gives me the same symptoms and probably.

This summer upstairs moved a woman who looked like a Japanese actress. They also had a dog and they had a portable AC in the kitchen area vibrating the walls and floors and allowing litter dust to get into the walls and from there in here. The current neighbor does not have a dog but a cat and uses only one "in wall" heater, in the dining area or about the same area where the AC was and for that reason (the others are off) it runs a lot, that also vibrates, in about the same area.

Last night i covered more holes and cracks in the laundry closet area because after cleaning for many days it started to stink after i used the washer and drier yesterday which shook the walls and more stuff came in. But i believe somebody was in here last night and took out of the sealed bag an old injector (forgotten from Nissan) that today started to stink to mask the hole story.

Both stinking places are responsible for creating and maintaining my diabetes.

The woman at Apt.9 driving a blue Jeep reminds me now of Christa Jacobson. After her in that apartment moved in a guy who resembled Andrei Postelnicu whom i saw last time the day before he went missing in Florida. In the spring of 2014 i believe Bill Cosby moved in there.

The apartment nr.7, next wall, slightly below, had a chimney. I believe this is where the smoke came from. When i moved in here the smoke didn't get out of our clothes until i washed them at least 5 times each. I believe in there at times was a woman from Hungary, Nora Gorbe.

I once called Lake Oswego Police. The guy who came, Sergeant Sparkle, was looking exactly like the President of Hungary, János Áder.

One more thing. The more i look at Jim McNeeley's face the more i think he looks like the old man who moved lately at Sussex in the apartment under. I don't know, it's been more than ten years. I think it was around 2007 when he came. He parked some sort of old RV vehicle and had it parked there for a long time. Then he got an old car. Lately he put a blanket in kitchen's window and i think he was not airing and cleaning a lot and the whole place started to stink.

To be continued (having a break).

Shawn Robert Parker

In January-June 1997 i worked at Epson Portland Incorporated assembling printers. I remembered one night on the line we did 521 printers in a 25 people team, an Epson world record. I remember the name of the supervisor, a Mexican guy. Her wife was a QA auditor and many times she was spending minutes next to me trying to figure out how i do it without making one mistake. I was at the station 4 i guess and i put 9 parts on the printer, including gears and 4 screws with an electric screwdriver. In June one day i became sick. I went home and started not to be able to sleep, eat or drink. At night i was driving my car around on the streets. I went several times to different ER rooms. After about a week or so i went to the Beaverton Police, told them some of the story. They called an ambulance that took me first to the Tuality Medical Center in Hilsboro, then to Emanuel in down town Portland and they called a cab and sent me to Pacific Gateway Hospital in Sellwood, the one who lost its license and closed after Police shot an out of control Mexican inside. It was a mental facility that treated both mental and drug related conditions. I never used drugs in my entire life. Here is my picture after being released from there

In front of what used to be Pacific Gateway Hospital,
Sellwood, OR, July 1997
(Prozac Head, can still click me!)

One of the symptoms was chocking. I only wish i knew back then where that was coming from. It was a simple nose congestion due to some allergies and was preventing me from sleeping. The other symptom was severe stomach pain. It lasted from 96 to 06. No doctor ever explained to me why but now i suspect i might be related to spine alignment because it went away after going to the chiropractor. But the pain was real and was alleviated by antacids or acid blockers that i took for many years constantly increasing the dosage.

Many weird things happened in the hospital maybe one day i will tell the stories. But let's concentrate now on something else. A couple of weeks after coming from the hospital one day i was walking on Hall Blvd and talking to my wife and thinking about going to a Romanian church. But then i changed my mind, crossed the street and went into BNC (Beaverton Church of the Nazarene). A church in the shape of an UFO.

I was well received in there. Like they were expecting me. They prayed for me laying hands on each other's shoulder.  I met pastor Dennis Swift and others.

Beaverton Church of the Nazarene

The next day a guy shows up at our door. He asked us, me and my wife if we wanted to go for a ride in a boat. I looked over his shoulder and there was a big boat in the parking lot hooked to an old green Ford SUV. He insisted a lot and then i said yes. In the car they were his three daughters. I remember only the name of the younger one, Trinity.

Shawn Robert Parker with "his girls", near Cannon Beach, OR,
summer 1997

He took us on the Willamette river that day. Accompanied by my usual stomach pain and thirsty all the time, i didn't drink anything in the morning and Shawn only had a few cans of soda i couldn't drink because of my stomach pain. Still on Prozac. I think we started in St.John area and went all the way to Willamette Falls and back. We stopped on a channel near an island. I think we ended the day back at the Nazarene church.

I had this 83 Fairmont sitting in the parking lot for almost a year. He came one day with a 20 dollar bill and asked mE to sell it to him. The manager at the apartment already told me several times to get rid of that car so i sold it to him.

My ex 83 Ford Fairmont, at Sussex Village Apts, Beaverton, Oregon, 1997

In April 98 i was working at Quadramed. I was teaching my wife how to drive. She took the computer test and had a permit. I think i spent hundreds of hours on the right seat on Nimbus St. in Beaverton teaching her. I remember at first she was terrified by the cars that were coming on the other side of the road from the opposite direction. But in spring 98 she was driving OK and she drove all the way from Portland to Tillamook, some 70 miles. Then from Tillamook to the beach near Tillamook bay there is a narrow winding road and i kinda pushed her because i was impatient to get there but she was tired and driving under speed limit and in a sharp left curve she went with the right wheels on the gravel near the road. I think we were in legal speed limit. Quickly and gently i grabed the wheel with my left hand and corrected in time. But she reacted too after, and over corrected. Unbelievable, we went to the... left, inside the curve, we missed the bay, the huge truck parked on the right on the gravel, the incoming car from the opposite direction, made an 180 degree turn and rolled in slow motion in a ditch full of ... mud, that was soft. It is very hard to describe in words the trajectory of the car.

It took me about a minute to figure out which way was up, untigthen her seat belt and roll the driver's door down cause mine was in mud and with the broken window while she was kicking me in the head with her legs. Finally she made it outside and i followed. The only thing that happened to us was me having some scratches on my right arm from the broken passenger window.

The guy with the truck parked outside the curve, kinda illegal i think, on the right, that was kinda like waiting for us in there, with the cell in his hand. Minutes later five cop cars showed but no ambulance. But we didn't need one either. One of the cops cited my wife for careless driving with 180 dollars. Then they called a towing truck and they put our car back on the wheels and i started the engine and it was working.

View Larger Map

Then guess what? Shawn Parker with the girls unexpectedly showed up in a green van with windows also old i haven't seen before or after coming from the beach. He insisted we went with him back to Portland, but i was too attached to that 89 Escort GT to leave it there with the towing guys and i drove with no problems all the way to Portland. (I was also paranoid about that being a recognition of my part we've been somewhat hurt in the accident which we weren't. 04/26/2014).

Did i mentioned the prayers at BNC that morning for each of our country? Dennis repeatedly asked and we both went to the altar, me accompanied by Ron Boger and my wife by his wife. Than we had lunch at Old Country Buffet in Beaverton and i also saw a bunch of people from the church in there. Then we decided to go to the Ocean. Those days we didn't need much to take that decision because we were still young and full of energy.

This post needs to be extended. I will dig into my records to put in more data and pictures.

Conștiință vs dreaming

Conștiința era un concept invocat adesea în timpul comunismului în incluziunea "conștiință de clasă". De pe la Marx. Tot de la Marx am aflat de conștiință ca fiind o reflecție. A realității economice spunea el, specialistul.

Problema e că în limba română nu există distincție lingivistică între conscience și consciousness, pe care eu aș traduce-o ca și conștientizare.

Ca și acum, și atunci era aiurea. Auzeai profesori, activiști de partid care foloseau alcătuirea "conștiința de clasă", alte fragmente de filosofie marxistă (care deși era o derogare, sau deviere de filosofie totuși închegată cumva) definiția era greșită sau confuză chiar din punct de vedere semantic din cauza problemelor de limbă (adică nedigerarea unor neologisme) și dădeau naștere unor "semințe" de grave erori viitoare în mintea crudă a unor tabula rasa post belice doi.

Am cunoscut odată un tip la o biserică (BNC, ce mai, unde am cunoscut pe mai mulți, inclusiv un avatar al lui Tom Cruise iar pastor era cântarețul Meatloaf cred. Carlton (care cred că era un sociolog faimos acum decedat) venea la noi acasă în Beaverton (Sussex), se așeza turcește (sau lotus cum vreți) pe canapea, deschidea Biblia și spunea. "Let's get back to basics".

Nu mă miră acum că eșafodaj a ajuns să fie în românește sinonim cu construcție. Pornești greșit, nu ajungi nicăieri, nici o șansă.

Din păcate nici în alte limbi, universuri, nu găsim o definiție satisfăcătoare a conștiinței. Conștiința e mult mai mult decât o cale spre regrete. Nu vreau să mă bag să spun aici că e o chestie care vine de la creștinism, deși filosofia vestică nu e altceva decât o distilare a creștinismului. Însă creștinismul a fost dat oamenilor într-un moment când erau practic niște sălbatici.

Din fericire, avem jurnaliști care mai scapă și mici analize științifice uneori surprinzător de riguroase, care uneori ne deschid porțile, pomenind, către cercurile înalte și închise ale filosofilor, oamenilor de știință de vârf și necunoscuți publicului iar google acum ne arată imediat calea spre aceștia. De la ei poate știu câte ceva despre conștiință. Am citit undeva că e legată de limbaj. Când e vorba de știință, totuși mă deranjează metaforele.

Aș vrea să fac aici o analogie cu limbajele de programare. De când von Neumann a inventat computerul așa cum îl știm, limbajele de programare, adică uneltele programatorilor s-au clasificat în limbaje de nivel înalt și limbaje mașină, cu ceva între, care este limbajul C. Este foarte greu să te exprimi ca programator în cod mașină, dar un program realizat astfel, presupunând că programatorul este bun, este cel mai rapid posibil fiindcă "profită" (take advantage în engleză) de resursele hardware cele mai intime.

În schimb, limbajele de nivel înalt, care sunt intuitive pentru programator, au nevoie de compilatoare, adică niște programe care le traduc în cod mașină, însă nu întotdeauna optim. Programele astfel realizate sunt greoaie și de obicei mult mai lente. C este limbajul de nivel înalt cel mai aproape de cod mașină.

Deci o conștiință care se bazează pe limbaj, care este o formă de comunicare de nivel înalt dar foarte greoaie și de multe ori ne-intuitivă, care necesită mulți ani de educație și asimilarea a mii de cuvinte și care poate include erorile predecesorilor și care dă uneori naștere la confuzii și posibilități de manipulare, este în primul rând lentă (Gigi, gândeai prea repede!), fiindcă nu funcționează în timp real.

Omul stă și se gândește, folosind în mintea lui cuvinte. Își analizează propriile idei, care îi vin în minte din memorie sub formă de fraze. Mintea de pe urmă a românilor, sleep it over în engleză. Modelarea realității în interiorul acestui tip de conștiință este greoaie și necesită timp și chiar amânări. Nu există altă scăpare decât stereotipurile, adică niște analogii cu niște situații, concepte cunoscute, care de cele mai multe ori nu sunt identice cu cele reale iar indivizii, societatea își petrec de multe ori timpul în grave erori sau abateri de la realitate car pot merge până la conflicte. (Ce e mai grav, deși e o deviere mare de la discuție, în timp ce gândește omul își mai și mișcă limba, aproape imperceptibil, ceea ce este suficient însă pentru cei cu niște device-uri, poate chiar antice, antrenament și pregătire să audă gândurile cuiva, dacă-l interesează. O altă metodă ar fi oprirea șirului gândului printr-o distragere și analizând reacțiile, atunci când se știe cam în ce gama gândește omul în acel moment, și mai ales cunoscându-l foarte bine).

Cred că ați ghicit unde vreau să ajung. Pot exista și alte tipuri de conștiință, exprimată prin alte tipuri de comunicare, la societăți izolate pentru zeci de mii de ani de restul omenirii, cum ar fi gesturile, mimica, artele vizuale, simbolurile (distilate în timpurile noastre de masonerie), poezia, muzica, (însoțite de un limbaj primitiv), care nu pierde timpul pentru reflecții, sentimente de regret și deși nu folosește logica poate ajunge la modelarea realității mult mai precisă dar mai ales în timp real și comunicare intra socială în timp real iar societatea respectivă funcționează mult mai eficient, iar când intră în competiție cu alte tipuri de societăți, le decimează instinctiv. Eu bănuiesc ca acesta este conceptul de dreaming in societatea antică australiană.

Cândva, poate 4-5 mii de ani BC un grup provenit dintr-un nucleu al acestei vechi societăți paralele s-a deplasat și a reluat în sfârșit contactul cu restul omenirii. Rezultatul îl știm din istorie. Sumer, Egipt, China, Japonia, America, Imperiul Roman etc..

Decimarea noastră se face pe mai multe căi. Uneori folosind limbajul necunoscut nouă (uitat de mii de ani), cu accente imperative în subconștient, al gesturilor. Alteori folosind chiar cea mai mare vulnerabilitate și povară a noastră, limba și logica greoaie. Evocarea sau invocarea de evenimente emoționale. Stereotipurile. "Cultura".

Fake Doctors I Know About

I once knew, again, at Woodland Park hospital in 2002-2003 a doctor named Hiren Rana, psychiatrist. By his face and badge when i saw him at the nursing station and name on the duty board. I remember in the last day at my second stay they just admitted a very obese woman who could not move from her chair. Shortly after they took her into her room i saw them at the nursing station acting in a way like she passed away. I think i heard a few words. My English back then was still limited. I picked one word though. Pancreatitis.

Then when i went at a dr.'s office in Lake Oswego, back then named Doctor's (urgent care) i got to see a dr.Vandana Rana whom i thought was the wife of dr.Hiren Rana. (Not to be confused with dr.Vandana Bindal whom i saw at an office on Allen Blvd in Beaverton, those were times when i saw lots of doctors, maybe once a week). Now i know the reasons, i picked another batch from around the building today. But cigarette smoke is just a cover, the reasons are other smokes.

So i went to dr.Vandana Rana, on a short notice or no appointment at all. I remember it was around a Christmas or New Year's day, i felt very sick, and when she showed up of course i was expecting to see an Indian looking doctor, like the other Vandana in Beaverton. However i saw something looking like this.

Though i was exercising half hour to one hour daily those days, i wasn't looking exactly like Schwarzenegger, but it thought she threw some glances at my "muscles" when i took my shirt off, and made other lascivious gestures. In the end she told me to go home and eat something. During those days i already had some stains on my legs and i believe my diabetes or pancreatitis was on already.

Can't remember exactly, i will try to pull it off my records, a year or two later or after i saw in the news that dr.Lisa Masterson quit the show i went back to the same office, i believe it already changed its name to AFC, asked again to see dr.Vandana and when she entered the office i saw this.

Though this person looked more like a doctor (now i'm not sure anymore, there is a bit of attitude on her face) it intrigued me enough to give up the appointment. In fact i think it was then when i started to stop seeing doctors. I would just endure the "anxiety attacks", taking by blood pressure, oxygen level and maybe going for some air. Again in Lake Oswego i was gathering pounds of dog poo weekly from around the building.

About my adventure with dr.Emilia Bertani at Providence Immediate Care in Tigard i wrote in a separate blog post.

I believe both episodes contributed to me starting the match thing. I think i remembered other things from the past and started putting them together.

Years later, one day i was searching for faces (by now systematically, with lists from one or two countries only) i ran into a face that looked familiar, from  TV (nose, ears look bigger or smaller according to focal length, age).

But i think it was after i found this guy

And way before this one.
Anyways. Of all the most i hate dr. Kenneth Erickson. I was introduced to him by "a common friend", Ron Boger, a guy whom i met at BNC who looked like Leslie Nielsen. He was acting weird from the start. I was trying to describe to him on the phone my "symptoms" (in fact, symptoms created by bad environment, a stinky apartment and other controlled stimuli that were driving me nearly psychotic) and he told me "i can't play doctor on the phone". Should i had been more familiar with English language and American culture, i would have stopped the conversation in that second. I was at the end of a very bad period, 2002, after i had a very painful endoscopy, with light sedation (done without my knowledge) when "doctor Parent", don't know if an ordinary guy or actor can be trained to stick a 10 mm endoscope through your throat, it was dark in that room, could have been someone else in his place, i counted 16 pinches for biopsies i didn't ask for, i felt a very sharp pain a couple of times and then after a week or so i realized i had two broken ribs that were never diagnosed or documented.

So dr. Erickson admitted me at Woodland Park about a month after my ribs have healed for a simple nose congestion, malaise, and soon my hell began. I had this nose congestion that wouldn't let me sleep i didn't know about. I was chocking all the time without realizing and all i had to do was open my mouth and breath like i do now. He would see me daily and had this attitude, like, "you are now paying for everything". (I remember now, i had a psychiatrist, after, dr. Welch who sent me a letter while i was in Romania in 2004, it was conceived actually more for Angela, basically saying, "George, you are too crazy, and can't see you anymore, you're driving me nuts"). It was a real torture. At times i thought i was going to die. I even called the chaplain one day when walls seemed moving because of very high blood pressure, who said, "George, maybe you are dying and should really let go". And the stomach pain that never went away. So after the first two weeks i went back to the ER at Providence and they sent me back to Woodland Park but i was assigned to a different dr. (Collier, a woman, part native American with again a very vengeful attitude and i caught Christmas and New Year in there) and then i went to Riles Center, a more relaxed place but that is another story.

And the assistant who looked like Carrie Fisher (an old woman already at the time). A real bitch. "Independently wealthy" she said. One Sunday, the lunch room was full of visitors and i was sitting with her at the same table and she told me who i was denying using drugs (as per her earlier question), "George, if you are saying so, why your tests [for drugs] come always positive" and for some reason i understood exactly the opposite and i didn't say anything after.

I remember there was another patient, a small but not old and still attractive woman who from time to time would fall on the floor, head first. And those days when they came at my window in the street to brake pavement with a pneumatic hammer driving me nuts.

And every time i was hearing Trans Siberian Orchestra on TV in the lunch (common) room playing that Christmas song, it was driving me nuts as well. Like every note hurt. Years after, that song was still traumatizing for me, every time i heard it.

And that male therapist who one day told me he sold everything, bought and RV and went for a long trip knowing he had some money in the market when the market crashed. He told that to me like i was guilty.

(I now remember at Riles Center there was this young therapist named Michelle, i think she was too young to be a therapist, looking of course like Michelle from Glee who one day took me for a long walk in the street - i could barely move back then - and another day we went alone in a room in the center where there was a computer and i tried to explain to her what is internet and i even made quickly a web site and uploaded one of her pictures on it. And the older assistant who told me later: "You amazed Michelle with your bubbly personality!". Michelle seemed very nice, young, sexy and embarrassed, it was after Riles Center that i started my walks in parks, cause i realized i was almost paralyzed, for staying in home for years and not moving, prior to that).

I checked today and i found of course an office belonging to dr. Erickson that has a phone number, i guess i could make an appointment but what if i see the same dr. Harrisson and still can't prove anything after i get out? There is one clue though, it's got a fb page attached to it that hasn't been updated since 2016.

In fact, i wrote this blog post trying to remember and systematize all my memories cause i'm thinking about suing. In small claims, cause i know i'll never find a lawyer.

But then i was thinking about Angela. She's got even more reasons to sue. Wrong direction radiation therapy leading to early menopause and shrinking other things in 2004. How could the doctor who operated her for cancer, many others, in 2004 have missed ASD which is since birth. I myself right now, after "training" on some web sites with heart sounds i could diagnose a person for ASD after a few seconds of listening to their heart with a stethoscope. 3 extra surgeries after open heart for "forgotten" wires. And after last one, Angela told me today she had never had an X-ray to confirm the last 2 wires were indeed removed.

Ok so i finally came to the point. What do i do. First, i don't know if i can call witnesses in small claims. But if i could, then what? Call both dr. Ericskon and dr. Ford in the same time? And what if a dr. Ericskon shows but is not the same in this picture above, like it happened to me when i went to see again dr. Vandana Rana and he identifies to the court as dr. Erickson?

As for Angela. It's been over two years and can't sue for malpractice either. But if the doctor (surgeon) is not who he says he is but an actor (and of course somebody else operated in his place) is not malpractice, right? Is something else. Can it be attempted murder, torture?

I remember Angela came home after surgery in 2016, was on Oxycodone and saw the clipped wires coming out from the suture and she remembered dr. Jerry Swanson earlier that day pulled a piece of suture from there and she nearly pulled the wires that were tied to her heart thinking they were sutures?

I went earlier that day with her and dr. Jerry Swanson took us in an office with medical supplies and pulled a kit and tried to grab the piece of hanging suture with some sutures and his hands where shaking like one inch to the right and left and it took several attempts to do it. How could he had done the surgery?

And why dr. Swanson kept tell me, George, you have to think about your happiness while trying to i introduce me a nurse or assistant in a white robe who looked exactly like

days after Angela's surgery when she was hanging by a thread in her 1500 dollars a day room with a stinking toilet and high on opiates?