Positive Feed-back

Posted by:

MONDAY, MARCH 15, 2010 2:36 PM, CDT
Kevin and I have received over-whleming positive feed-back on the healthcare advocacy book we wrote based on his experience. Publishers are interested in contracting the book, and using it as a comprehensive case analysis to support nursing class, patient advocacy classes, physician communication classes and even 9th grade reading curriculum (since it is written by a ninth grader!) The last detail we need to go to press is to have an advance confirmation that an organization or class would consider adoption of the book as a course supplement, a comprehensive case analysis or a common read. If you teach a class that might use a compelling book written by a 15-year-old and his mother, please, let me know! With a confirmation that someone would consider the book as a classroom adoption, we can have the book published by the first of June!

So – if you have any contacts for book adoptions, send them my way:

Here is an excerpt to give you a feel for the ‘voice’, though you’ve all been hearing Kevin’s and my voice for many months now!:

(From Chapter 4)
MomHopelessness. I’d never felt hopelessness before.

I’d seen this look in the faces of friends. At times, I worked to alleviate it from the lives of the less fortunate. But never had I truly felt helpless like this.

As we checked Kevin out of the hospital, with no diagnosis for his pain, I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror of my car. He had a feeding tube snaking through his nose, dropping like a fishing line into his GI tract, and I felt hopeless.

They sent us home with handfuls of prescriptions: anti-spasm, anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, anti-acid and anti-pain. We were lost in pills. We had been knocked off center. It was as if our son was a prisoner of war in a foreign camp, and we didn’t know whether to mourn or fight for his freedom. There was no closure. We had no way to help our son. No one seemed to have a way to help our son. We felt helpless.


Journal Entry – November 2, 2007

“I’m so confused. Why does it hurt so much when I’m not even anxious? I’m really getting sick of forcing my way through the pain. Almost every morning I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to face the pain; I just want to lay in bed and cry. Is life really worth living?”


There were lots of nights when I wished that I could just go to sleep and not wake up the next day. It seemed like that would be so much easier for everyone.

There was one night especially that I can remember. I had come home from the hospital the second time. I had the feeding tube shoved up my nose, and I was taking like ten pills a day. They weren’t helping at all. Nothing was.

Dad had to help me to walk out to the end of the driveway and back. Worse, now I was tired, too. Mom brought in an old telephone book. I tore pages out five at a time and ripped each page into hundreds of bits of paper. The pages were the pain that was tearing me up inside. I tried to fight back, but I couldn’t any longer.

I couldn’t even think well enough to be able to shoot at aliens or bad guys on my video games. That took too much concentration, and I couldn’t even think about anything but how much my life sucked, and how it wasn’t fair and how long this had been going on and how no one knew what was going on and how it was never going to change and how I was going to have to live like this forever.

There’s no other way to say it. My life sucked.

And from a more upbeat section (The Epilogue):

The policeman pulled me over and informed me that he had to impound my car.  I looked confidently at him and said, “You really don’t want to do that.”

I went on to explain that my son was ill and had called. He urgently needed me to pick him up from school. Without a car, my child would be stranded.

Apparently the registration on the Honda had elapsed. The tags were nearly seven months overdue. I didn’t have the energy to explain to the officer what had transpired seven months ago that took precedence over renewing car tags. I merely reiterated the fact that impounding the car was not a good idea. The young man in uniform verified my safe driving record, secured a promise that I would report to the DMV and register the car, and sent me on to pick up Kevin from school.

After settling Kevin back at home, I did as I was told. I updated my license plates, paid my back taxes then secured the sticky new tags to my dusty license plates. And so it was with surprise that I opened up an official looking notice that contained a warrant for my arrest three months after the policeman had stopped me.


It seemed weird to drive my Mom to the jail.

She made me drive her there so she could clear up the warrant for her arrest. I had just gotten my driver’s permit, so I was willing to drive her practically anywhere.

I guess Mom had let some things slide while I was sick. One of the things was renewing the car’s license registration. Another thing was clearing up the ticket she received for driving with expired tags. I hope this is the only time I see what a warrant for a person’s arrest looks like. Still, I think it will always be a funny story to tell people that I drove my mom to jail when she got arrested, even if the story sounds a lot more serious than what really happened.


About the Author:

Professor and award winning author, world traveler, Mom, thought leader, mentor, friend, and advocate Vicki Whiting, Ph.D. is dedicated to the facilitation of learning and the development of leaders in all walks of life.

Add a Comment