Roads

Return with me to yesteryear, just about three and a half years ago.

Nicole’s old blog

The county was ignoring the road.  How awful.  The county was ignoring the road and it did not go over well with Nicole.

She pays a whopping $200 annually in property taxes on that shitty property and for that, she expects service, god damn it. In February, on a gravel road.  Fix it.

She called the county and the state. She called everybody.

You know what?

Dave and I lived on an unpaved road in Alaska for ten years. Not only was it unpaved, but we had a slight hill to climb to get to the main road, which was paved about five years after we moved there.

The borough plowed the roads, but of course the main roads came first and our road was secondary. Alaska gets snow all winter long usually, and sometimes we’d have six inches or even a foot of snow on our road before the plow came.

And we managed.

It was amazing that we did.

Nobody griped and fussed and called the borough and state.

A few times, we all got together and put out salt ourselves.  Sometimes we got snow blowers and shovels and dug our way out.

See that?  That’s as good as the road ever got in winter. That’s typical.  And that’s midday.

And yeah, we had winter tires.  When you live in the wilderness, that’s what you do. You prepare to live in the wilderness.

You don’t move to the wilderness and then complain bitterly because the county doesn’t come plow your road immediately.  In Kentucky, if they wait just a couple of days, they don’t have to plow gravel back roads with only a few houses on them. It will melt. That means they don’t have keep as many people working plows, and it means they don’t have own as many plow trucks.

That’s why the taxes are only $200.  You pay almost nothing and you get almost nothing.

Guardianship

Because these are blurry and very hard to read without blowing them up to huge size, I am going to include transcription. The blurry quality is the way this came from the state. It wasn’t under my control.

IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS, BUCKS COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA

ORPHAN’S COURT DIVISION

IN RE: GUARDIAN OF THE PERSON FOR CATHERINE S. HARRIS

PETITION FOR APPOINTMENT OF THE GUARDIAN OF THE PERSON

TO THE HONORABLE THE JUDGES OF SAID COURT:

The petition of Catherine S. Harris respectfully represents:

1. That she is a minor, age 15, born on July 13, 1064, and resides with the proposed guardians at R. D. #1, Box 37-A, Zipp Road, Pennsburg, Pennsylvania, 18073.

2. That she was formerly known as Ann Elizabeth Tozar and Salina Catherine Smith, but now uses the name Catherine S. Harris, exclusively.

3. That the names of her biological parents are Edward John Tozar and Dorothy Elizabeth Haegle and their present addresses and whereabouts are unknown and have never been known by her.

4. That she presently has no legal guardian and needs a guardian of her person because her de facto guardian of 15 years, Cleo M. Smith, died on April 2, 1979.

5. That her de facto guardian, Cleo M. Smith, named Dr. Richard A. Harris as guardian of the petitioner in her last Will and Testament admitted for probate in this court, no. 9-79-437, a copy of that Will is attached hereto and marked Exhibit “A.”

That the names of her proposed guardians are Dr. Richard A. Harris, age 45, and E. Pauline Harris, age 45, his wife, who reside at R. D. #1, Box 37-A, Zipp Road, Pennsburg, Pennsylvania, 18073.

The proposed guardians are unrelated to the petitioner.

That the proposed guardians, the prior guardian, and the petitioner are of the same religious persuasion, independent Baptist. No information is available about the religious persuasion of her biological parents.

That the proposed guardians have no interest adverse to that of the petitioner.

That the petitioner is the beneficiary of and Dr. Richard A. Harris, a proposed guardian, is the trustee of a testimentary trust funded by Cleo Smith. Final distribution has not been made in her estate in this court at 9-79-437 of 1979. The approximate total trust will be $20,000.00.  The instrument of trust is included in the Will of Cleo M. Smith, attached as Exhibit “A.”

That the petitioner is receiving no support or survivor’s benefits from her parents, and it is unknown if her biological parents are veterans or deceased.

The the consent to their appointment by the proposed guardians is attached as Exhibit “B.”

WHEREFORE, Catherine S. Harris, chooses Richard A. Harris and E. Pauline Harris, his wife, and requests the court to appoint them guardian of her person.

Respectfully submitted,

Daniel W. B. Flint, Attorney for Petitioner

COMMONWEALTH OF PENNSYLVANIA

COUNTY OF BUCKS

CATHERINE S. HARRIS, being duly sworn according to law, deposes and says that the facts of the foregoing petition are true and correct, to the best of her knowledge, information and belief.

(signature)

Catherine S. Harris

Sworn and Subscribed:

Before me this 14th day of April, 1980

(signature)

Nancy L.  Kenna [NOTE: This is very hard to read, and I am taking Cathy’s word that is the name.]

Note: below the signature is notary stuff.

 

IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS OF BUCKS COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA

ORPHAN’S COURT DIVISION

IN RE: GUARDIAN OF THE PERSON FOR CATHERINE S. HARRIS

CONSENT

I certify that my domicile is R. D. #1, Box 37-A, Zipp Road, Pennsburg, Pennsylvania, 18073, Bucks County, and that I am a minister of the Gospel;

That I am the husband of E. Pauline Harris;

That I am 45 years of age  and a citizen of the United States;

That I am able to speak, read, and write the English language;

That I am a fiduciary of the Estate of Cleo M. Smith, Bucks County No. 9-79-437, in which the minor has a vested interest in trust in one-third of the residuary estate, and that I am sole trustee of the trust funded from this estate in which the minor is sole beneficiary and that I do not consider this interest as adverse to the minor;

That I have no interest adverse to the minor.

I agree to accept appointment as guardian of the person of Catherine S. Harris.

(signature)

Richard A Harris

Exhibit “B-1”

IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS OF BUCKS COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA

ORPHAN’S COURT DIVISION

IN RE: GUARDIAN OF THE PERSON FOR CATHERINE S. HARRIS

CONSENT

I certify that my domicile is R. D. #1, Box 37-A, Zipp Road, Pennsburg, Pennsylvania, 18073, Bucks County, and that I am a nursery school director;

That I am the wife of Richard A. Harris;

That I am 45 years of age  and a citizen of the United States;

That I am able to speak, read, and write the English language;

That I am not the fiduciary or an officer or employee of any corporate fiduciary of an estate in which the minor has an interest or the surety or an officer or an employee of the corporate surety of such a fiduciary;

That I have no interest adverse to the minor.

I agree to accept appointment as guardian of the person of Catherine S. Harris.

(signature)

E. Pauline Harris

Exhibit “B-2”

IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS OF BUCKS COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA

ORPHAN’S COURT DIVISION

IN RE: GUARDIAN OF THE PERSON FOR CATHERINE S. HARRIS

DECREE

AND NOW, this 14th day of April, 1980, the foregoing petition presented in open court, and the minor, over the age of fourteen years, appearing in open court, makes the choice of Dr. Richard A. Harris and E. Pauline Harris, his wife, as her guardians, and upon consideration thereof, Dr. Richard A. Harris and E. Pauline Harris, his wife, are appointed guardians of the person of Catherine S Harris as prayed for.

BY THE COURT,

(signature)

Harriet M. Mims

___________________

So there are the documents.

Now, Cathy is making some claims about these documents, saying that they are fraudulent.  First, she says that isn’t her signature.  However, I think it is her signature. You can decide what you think.

Second, she says this.

But there is.  It’s right there on the last page:  Harriet M. Mims.  See the “J” below the line?  That means “judge.”

How do I know that?

Well because of this.

There’s the judge’s signature, again. It’s on the last page, right under the part called “Decree.”

Here she is, four years later, on paperwork regarding the final adjudication of Cleo Smith’s will.

Notice how the signature is done the same way, with the “J” below the line?  But above, it says, “BY THE AUDITING JUDGE.”

But in case that’s not enough, we have this.

There’s her signature again, on a letter from her to Cleo’s lawyer, Daniel Flint.

Here’s another one.

Oh, but they don’t say that she’s a judge, do they?

Well, okay. How about this one?

There is most certainly a judges’ signature on those guardianship papers. And Cathy knew that. She cannot be that stupid.

Her guardianship papers that were filed in April of 1980 were “found” at the Bucks County Courthouse on July 13, 2017.

The implication here is that those papers were lost or unavailable for all these years and were just “found.”  Where?  Hidden behind a desk?  In Richard Harris’ safe? Where?

Karen is the one who posted them, on July 14, saying that they were “obtained” on July 13. That’s not quite the same thing as saying they were “found.”

But wait. Those papers were in a file, number 49635, as you can see, and that comes from one of the Manhater pages, from about 3 years ago.  And you know where they got that image to post it?

From Cathy.

Nobody else would have known where to look.

And you know what?

Anyone can call the courthouse and get a copy of file number 49635.  It’s not very hard. It does cost for the copies, but they’re available and they’ve been available for years and years and years.

How else could Cathy have looked at the actual copies of those papers hundreds of times?

Cathy, you really need to try to keep your lies straight.

I’ve had these guardianship papers since before you got them on July 13, 2017. Would you like for me to show you the time stamp on the images from my computer?

I had them three days before you say they were “found” at the courthouse.

I have a whole lot more.

 

 

 

 

 

Clutching at Straw

This screen shot is old.  It dates back about three years or so. It illustrates, though, the innuendo that Cathy Harris has engaged in for a very long time. She asks questions. That’s all. Just questions.  But they are carefully worded to cast doubt, specifically on the character and business practices of Cleo Smith.

It didn’t take me six years to figure it all out. I admit it took awhile to actually get the documents but honestly I didn’t try very hard, and in the end, I didn’t find them at all. Somebody else did and very kindly sent it all to me.  Nobody had to spend hours with musty old boxes.

First, what she is referring to with that IRS stuff (it was actually the Pennsylvania Department of Revenue, not the IRS) is the fact that Cleo’s will was tied up in probate from right after her death in 1979 until they finally finished in 1984.

But right now, let’s talk about what Cathy calls “aliases.”

Cathy wants people to think that Cleo was engaged in very illegal stuff with her real estate holdings. The implication is that Cleo ran whorehouses in Philadelphia and since she was already a madam, it wasn’t hard to stretch that into “she kidnapped Cathy when she was three and pimped her out to preachers for years.”

Cathy has insisted that she never, ever accused Cleo of running whorehouses, but yes she did.  Right there.

But let’s answer the question, why don’t we?  Why would Cleo need to own all those properties under different names?

This is a list, from the declaration made to the Pennsylvania Department of Revenue so they could figure up the inheritance tax owed by Cleo’s estate, of the property she owned at the time of her death. There was also the issue of the farm, which I will get to later. It left her possession years earlier.

And here is the page where Richard Harris, as executor of her will, filed the will with the probate court. The important thing to notice here is the “AKA” stuff.  Cleo used more than one name.

That has to mean that she was hiding something, doesn’t it?  I mean, doing that is just illegal, isn’t it?

Well, here’s what her lawyer had to say about it.

Richard Harris says that she “used this name as well as many other straw names because she felt she could avoid legal suits from her tenants.”

Frankly, I’d never heard of this.  So, I asked Lisa, my friend who is a retired attorney, the real kind, not the Beth James fake type.

First off, it’s not illegal to use a fictitious name. Samuel Clemens did it for most of his adult life.  Lots of authors, movie stars, musicians and other celebrities do it.  It’s only illegal if you are trying avoid taxes, for instance, or defraud somebody, or something like that.

It’s also not illegal to use another name to buy property. Some celebrity did so not long ago using the name of her dog. Today, celebrities often do so due to privacy issues.  Sometimes, people will do so because they don’t want property values to rise around them due to their having purchased property (because of their celebrity status) and they want to buy the adjacent property in the future.

Why did Cleo believe that using all these fictitious names would shield her from lawsuits?

To understand that, you have to go back in time a bit.

Harvard Business Services, Inc

Prior to the establishment of the law allowing limited liability companies (LLC), people like Cleo often found themselves between a rock and a hard place.  If Cleo wanted to shield her farm, for instance, from being seized because a tenant in one of the Phildelphia properties fell down the back steps due to a rotten board and sued her for more than the property was worth, she could do that by incorporating the property in Philly.  So far, so good. Then if the tenant fell down the stairs, that tenant couldn’t sue for more than the Philly property was worth.

But incorporating would have created a problem.

Because the corporation was seen as a separate entity for tax purposes, that meant that when the tenant paid his rent, the corporation would have to file an income tax return and report that rental income and pay taxes on it.

And then when Cleo needed to pay Cathy’s tuition at the Christian school, and took some money out of the corporation for that purpose, that would create another taxable event. That money would be income to Cleo and have to be reported as such on Cleo’s tax return.

Double taxation.

What Cleo wanted was a way to limit liability and at the same time, make the IRS not “see” all those separate entities as separate, so she only paid income taxes once.

Nothing like that existed until 1977.

So prior to then, it was a very common practice among landlords to own property under lots of different straw names. This was especially true among slum landlords.  They face a bit of a unique problem. They can’t upgrade their property significantly, because if they do, they won’t be able to charge enough rent to justify even owning it.  Anyone who can pay more rent won’t live there.  So, to make ends meet, slum landlords generally do shitty maintenance. Shitty maintenance increases the likelihood of the tenant falling down the back steps because a board is rotten.

At any rate, this practice of owning property in several different straw names was not only common, it was often recommended by the landlord’s attorney, and the courts were well aware of the practice. One of the ways that the courts determined who actually owned property held in straw names was to see who paid the taxes.

This is an excerpt from, as you can see, a title report. Cathy calls it a “deed transfer,” but it’s not. It’s the title report from the title insurance company.

Title insurance is something you buy, if you have any sense, when you buy property to make sure that the person selling you the property holds a free and clear title to it, so that twelve years later, a person you never saw before won’t come to you and say that really they owned that house and not the person you bought it from so please move out and leave the keys on the kitchen counter.

The title company does a search.

One of the things they look for is a history of who got mortgages on the property. And that’s what we’re looking at.

Notice the first listing?

It says that there was a $23,000 mortgage on the farm initiated in 1960 and held by a couple named Urbani and a couple named Snyderman.  The person who owed the money was named Claire Malanee.  In 1969 that mortgage was “assigned” (real estate-speak for transferred) to a local bank.

Claire Malanee was actually Cleo M. Smith. It was a straw name.

From the same title search, on the next page, they describe the property, and make it clear that Cleo M Smith transferred the deed to that property to the Christian Beacon on November 19, 1965.  To do that, she had to own it.

Up until then, though, she had owned the farm under the name of Claire Malanee.

There are more documents about all this, and I’ll be going through all of them, but the important thing to understand right now, before I begin with all this convoluted stuff, is that Cleo Smith used fictitious, or straw, names to own her various pieces of property, that there was nothing nefarious or illegal about doing that, that it was quite common practice, that the title company didn’t even bat an eyelash over it (and title companies go berserk if stuff isn’t just right because they are insuring the title).

Coming up next, we’ll talk about the farm, and why Cleo gave it away.

 

It Doesn’t Work

Not only does Joe not work, his arguments don’t either.

Yes, I fault him, his refusal to get a job, resulting in abject poverty, and his inability to stop impregnating his equally nutty wife, but I said enough about that last night.

His argument here is that it doesn’t make any difference where the money comes from to pay for his and Nicole’s stupidity.  If it comes from government, well, that’s from taxation, and that’s “theft.”  If it comes from insurance, well, that’s from pooled money and hence not all the money comes from the insured’s premiums but from other folks’ premiums.  And if it comes from GoFundMe, that’s other people’s money too, but voluntary.

It’s all other people’s money.

So it doesn’t make any difference at all how they get it, just so they get it.

And begging online is more honorable because government is bad and has somehow fucked up the insurance companies.

At least, I think that’s what he’s trying to argue.

But you see, his own GoFundMe is a total refutation of his argument.

This screen shot of their GoFundMe was just taken moments ago, July 29, 2017.  I know that they’ve been quietly urging people to donate via Paypal or directly with cash to avoid GFM fees, so we don’t know what the total actually is, but hell, let’s double that just for the sake of argument.

Let’s say that they have collected $1000.

We don’t know what the hospital bill will be, but Joe expects it to be north of $50,000 and I think he’s right.

It’s taken them four days to raise that money.
Four days.

Even if they could continue collecting money at that rate, which they can’t, it would still take them 200 days to raise enough money to pay that bill assuming it’s only $50,000.

And I am being really generous.

The reality is that they are never going to raise enough money to pay that bill. They aren’t even trying to do that.  They wouldn’t use the money to pay the bill if somebody gave it to them.

They are planning to stiff the hospital and the doctors and all the nurses who treated Nicole like an old friend. All the people who were so kind to them as they saved Nicole’s life and refrained from slapping the absolute shit out of both of them.

They can’t raise the money because everyone knows the scam now. They’ve tried this one time too many.  Too many of us don’t like them, won’t donate, and will actively try to keep everyone else from tossing their money into a cesspool if we can.

And that’s the problem with begging. It just works for a wee bit and then people figure out what you’re doing and it’s over.

The reason that Medicaid is better is that it’s vetted.

I know there are problems and scams with Medicaid. You don’t need to write endless comments about fraud.

However, it’s way more vetted than GoFraudMe is, and that’s putting it mildly.

There are hoops you have to jump through to get Medicaid, put there with the goal of making sure that those who get it actually need it, and that people like the Nauglers can get aid even though I hate them and wouldn’t give either of those adults water if they were dying.  That’s because when you’re handing out aid, you don’t want personal feelings getting in the way.

You want people to be treated fairly and impartially. You want everyone to have equal access. You don’t want a system where because I don’t like Joe, I deny him aid, but because I do like my neighbor, he gets a double dose.

Has anyone noticed that there are no mentions of all the friends of the Nauglers coming by and bringing food, or just dropping by to visit and spend a little time with Nicole, or just to wish them well, or anything?  Not one.

Sometimes I quote the Bible. I can’t help it. I grew up with it and memorized huge portions of it. Not all of it is shit, just most of it. This isn’t.

 

Screwed Up

Here’s the deal.

Nothing for the Nauglers is screwed up, except what they have screwed up themselves.

These people have been doing something that normal people don’t do. They’ve been doing it for years and years. They  have been fucking indiscriminately and making one baby after another.  Get it?  That’s what they’ve been doing.

And after they make these babies, they do not want to pay for them.

Joe refuses to work.

And don’t hand me that stay-at-home dad shit. I was a stay-at-home mother too, until one day it became clear that I needed to go back to work, even if it was just part-time.

I did, and for several years I homeschooled and worked full time simultaneously. [I worked nights on the weekends, twelve-hour shifts, and was home during the week. Mondays were always pretty tough because I’d been up all Sunday night.]

Nicole cannot possibly make enough money to support that family washing dog butts. Nobody could.  It doesn’t matter how hard she works, or how many dogs come through those doors. The math won’t work.

Having children carries with it some requirements for responsibility after they are born. The Nauglers have almost zero awareness or acceptance of this. Just posting nice photos on Facebook of filthy dirty children usually mostly naked in the summertime isn’t parenting. And using the hashtag #unschooling isn’t education.  Pictures of your pregnant belly that nobody wants to see is not prenatal care.

If you have functioning reproductive organs, having a baby is not an accomplishment of any sort. And not having functioning reproductive organs is not a failing. It’s just a fact for some folks.

What is an accomplishment is knowing how many children, if any, you can afford to raise and making sure you don’t have any more than that.

What is an accomplishment is understanding that bad shit can happen to anyone without warning, and making sure that you do your damnedest to prepare for that so you and the people who depend upon you aren’t put in jeopardy.

What is an accomplishment is making sure that the children, the ones you figured you could support adequately, are in fact adequately supported, even if that means you have to get two jobs and do without the internet and weed.

Society does not owe the Nauglers shit. We’ve already put in place a system to provide them with health care so they won’t be any more of a drain on our society, but they refuse to avail themselves of it.  They chose to have all these kids. The world does not need their kids. The world does not need for those people to reproduce endlessly. Their kids are not that great.  I see no signs of genius there. They are just kids.

Yes, our health care system currently needs some serious tweaking. Republicans have absolutely no idea how to do that, so I don’t think it’s going to happen any time soon, since what we need is some form of single payer health insurance.

But the Nauglers’ current situation is not because of that.  Nicole boasts about how she “trusts her body” and how great she is for having home births.  She would have done it that way if giving birth at a hospital was free.  You know how I know?  I know because she has qualified for Medicaid now for years and years and has never bothered to apply.  Under Medicaid it would be free.

So, Joe, don’t try this blame game.

This clusterfuck that is your life is not the government’s fault. It’s not the trolls’ fault. It’s not the health care system’s fault.  It’s not the insurance companies’ fault.

It’s your fault. It’s Nicole’s fault.

Own it.  Get a fucking job, you lazy fuck.

Which Is It?

Insurance covering most. . . Joe says.

No insurance, says Nicole.

Up until Friday they were self-insured. No insurance.

And considering we’ve never needed it till now. . . Joe says.

No insurance.

But. . .

Insurance covering most of it. . . Joe says.

Didn’t get Medicaid. . . Nicole says.

Just in case we missed it, we didn’t apply, she repeats.

No insurance.  No Medicaid (which is a form of insurance).

None.

We are not refusing aid!  However insurance will not cover everything. . . Joe says.

Does anyone else have a case of whiplash?

More Evidence

The original piece about this is here.

At the time that I wrote that, all I had was the image that Cathy had provided.  Here it is again.

cancelledCheck

As you can see, Cathy has obscured the year, along with the signature and the routing numbers across the bottom.  I know Cathy did the obscuring here, because that’s how she does it – with that pixelated shit.

At the time, I had no idea how Cathy got that check, or what it was for, or anything much. Cathy, of course, wanted to prove that Carl McIntire was raping her from sometime after she was kidnapped at age three until she was a young teenager.  He was paying Cleo monthly rape money.

Well, I now know exactly what the check was for, why McIntire was paying Cleo money and everything.

Here’s the check, without the obscuring.

See the date? The year?  1966.

That’s why Cathy obliterated it.

This check is clearly marked as “monthly payment thru December 1st.”  That means that the check covers some multiple payments that occurred monthly.  Those payments, those months, would have been prior to December, 1966.

Cathy was born in July, 1964.

She was three in July, 1967.

She was 2 years, five months old when that check was written. Remember, the check covers some number of months prior to December 1966 (five, to be exact).

The check had nothing to do with her. According to her own story, she hadn’t even been kidnapped yet.

I have the rest. I have everything that shows exactly what the check was for.  The signature is that of Maurice E. Bryson, who was the treasurer for the Christian Beacon, Carl McIntire’s newsletter. There was a very good reason for him to be writing Cleo Smith a check. He wrote her a lot of them. (This is interesting to me, because I thought that handwriting was surely a woman’s.  I assume Maurice was not a woman. )

All in good time.

For now, let’s understand that Cathy Harris knew perfectly well that this check was written in 1966 and had nothing to do with her.  She knew this.  She also knows exactly what that check was for, just like I do.

But she obliterated the year and presented the check, knowing what she knew, knowing that she was lying, to paint this stupid story that Carl McIntire was paying Cleo to rape her.

And just for the hell of it, here’s the back of the same check.

Cathy Harris is a pathological liar.

Some Truths

One thing that nurses do is interview patients.  Every now and then, you’ll see a narrative written by the admitting nurse which includes the phrase “Patient is a poor historian.”

This can mean lots of things, but the basic takeaway is that the patient does not know what the shit they are talking about. They either can’t put together a coherent narrative because they are too incapacitated to do so (I would have been like that in those early days after Nathan died, for example), or they’re simply unable to string together events in a chronological fashion with any accuracy (think about the person who tries to give you directions and you know it’s not gonna work).

Joe and Nicole Naugler are poor historians.  I used to give them the benefit of the doubt, but then one day I was involved with Joe Naugler personally.

I found out rapidly that Joe has no grasp at all of the truth of what actually happened, even when he was present and even when he recorded audio of part of it, and Nicole doesn’t mind just making up stuff even when she wasn’t present at all.

And I really do not think they always know they are doing this.  Obviously, when Nicole says that Nathan’s accidental death was really a suicide because I was a dreadful mother and Dave just watched me abuse him and didn’t stop me because he’s a wimp, she’s just plain lying, but sometimes I think Joe and Nicole hear what they want to hear, not what was actually said.

The only account we have, and the only one we’re likely to ever have, of the tragedy that occurred last week is from Nicole.

That means, because she is a very poor historian, that we have to take it all with a grain of salt.  Please keep that in mind. In addition, we have no other historian, so the only thing I can do is take what poor information Nicole shares and then explore the possibilities.

First, let’s deal with the facts, and there are some that we can be reasonably certain about.  We can begin with a piece I wrote in May. It’s a little bit eerie to read it now with hindsight.

Nicole is 41 years old. In obstetric-speak, she’s a very old woman. That in itself makes her high risk.

According to her, she has been pregnant 15 times, with 12 of those pregnancies (at least) going to full term.  That makes her a great grand multipara.  “Para” means birth, “multi” is obvious, and “grand” means more than 5 pregnancies, “great” is added for more than ten.  It doesn’t get grander or greater than that.

What you get in terms of reproductive equipment is genetically determined.  You can’t control it. Your mother can’t control it (unless she does genetic studies on reproduction and mates with a male who carries good genes).

I began my reproductive years with a very small compact car that just didn’t have enough room in it for shit, something like this.

Nicole Naugler began her reproductive years with a Porsche.

Here’s what she has now.

This is not her fault.  It’s a result of combining age and use.  It has nothing to do with grooming dogs, or living in a garden shed, or eating what some folks pick about and call a poor diet.  It’s simply a fact of life.

We age.  Our organs wear out.

And the risk of having the whole pregnancy thing get a glitch goes up the older you are and the more pregnancies you’ve experienced. Shit just gets worn out and there is no way to replace the brake system even if you do it carefully and don’t sit right under the damn thing while you’re working.

So we’re talking risk here.  How much risk?

A pretty good bit. Grand multips have a three times greater risk of placenta previa, for example (placenta low in the uterus, and it gets caught between the fetus and the cervix  during delivery ).  The one thing I found that gives grand multips an advantage is that they tend to be able to deliver breech babies better.

By the way, one criticism that the homebirthing crunchy crowd makes about studies involving multiparas is that they’re typically done in third world countries. They argue that those women aren’t comparable to American women, so ignore the results.

I’d call this third world.

at shitshack

The bottom line here is that these two factors, advanced age and multiparity, taken alone, increase Nicole’s risk of trouble in pregnancy.

But wait, there’s more.

In addition, she refuses to get prenatal care of any sort.  It’s anybody’s guess as why she does this. Her own explanation is that she eschews all medical attention, period, because it’s all stupid and a waste of money and time and she can study stuff on Youtube and know everything anyway.

I think it has more to do with money.  Prenatal care costs money. Doctors don’t do it for free.  Nicole hasn’t seen any benefit from spending that money, and so she doesn’t do it.

I remember prenatal visits. They seem like a colossal waste of time. You strip, sit on a examining table until your feet swell and you have to go pee yet again, and then the doctor comes in and takes ten seconds and you’re out the door. It feels a little like being one of our calves when we’re lining them up for deworming.

I sort of understand why women begin to get the idea that they don’t need all that. They have shit to do and sitting in the doctor’s office spending money on nothing isn’t on the list.

But not doing it is risky. Don’t get prenatal care and your baby has a 40% greater chance of dying.

Add in going overdue, as Nicole did, and that risk doubles.

Why is that?  Why does going to the doc’s office  and sitting on that examining table make your baby safer?  Hell, they measure you and every time it’s normal. They weigh you and yes, you’ve gained a little weight. You’re pregnant, so of course you’ve gained a little weight.

But they do other stuff. They take those measurements and they compare them with last month’s measurements and they draw some blood and they compare the results of that with what it was the last time it was done and they see danger signals before it becomes a five-alarm fire.

What you’re paying for is a little insurance to reduce that risk. And whether Nicole thinks it’s important or not doesn’t matter.  The risk is there even if she ignores it. Science and biology do not care if  you don’t understand them.

Personally, I’d say that with 15 pregnancies, Nicole didn’t give it all enough thought.

So here’s what happened, according to our poor historian.

She was great. She felt fine.  She was perfectly healthy.  Except when she wasn’t.  She did multiple video rants during this pregnancy and she never really looked good.  Some of that could be attributed to poor lighting but not all of it. She seemed to have a constant cold or sniffles. And I seem to remember her complaining about headaches, but maybe I’m wrong about that.

The bottom line is that we don’t know what her condition was prior to July 21 and neither does she.  She has no idea what her blood pressure was. You cannot feel high blood pressure.  She does not know how much amniotic fluid was present or when it started to go away. She doesn’t know what her blood work looked like.

Anyway, she was fine, and she got up on Friday morning and found time to argue about prenatal care.

They go to the hospital when things are more than they can handle.

Well, things became more than they could handle right after she wrote that.

On her way to work, she says, she had some pain which she thought was “gas or contractions.” She felt dizzy, nauseated and began passing out. She basically collapsed at the grooming facility.

Joe plopped her in the van, raced to the hospital, and she was admitted immediately. They did blood work which was so bad that they repeated it because they thought it was a mistake with the machine.

I can guess that the blood work involved clotting stuff and that’s where they figured out that she had DIC or disseminated intravascular coagulation. Those are big words that just mean that her clotting mechanism was all fucked up. The blood clots but all wrong. It’s a life-threatening medical emergency.

DIC is not a primary condition. It always has a cause.  To cure it, you find and cure the cause.  In her case, the cause was pregnancy related.

She also tells us that she had no amniotic fluid. Amniotic fluid doesn’t just go away. If there isn’t any, and the membrane hasn’t ruptured (it hadn’t), then it went someplace.  It was reabsorbed and no new amniotic fluid was made, which means that the placenta in that old VW microbus was basically out of gas.  Or perhaps it had an alternator that quit. Something was wrong, and it didn’t go wrong on the morning of July 21.  It had been wrong for days.  There is no suction mechanism in the uterus that sucks up amniotic fluid like a wet-dry vacuum cleaner.

Here’s the poor historian stuff. She tells us that she had pain on the way to work.  She then turns around and says that she did not have any pain or “distress.”  I would say that throwing up and passing out constitutes distress, but that’s just me.

At this point, the doctors were between a rock and hard place.  To cure DIC, they had to get rid of the cause. The cause was the contents of Nicole’s uterus. Come hell or high water, they had to get everything out.

Surgery is often the answer in a situation like this because it’s fast. That’s the big plus.

The big minus is that it creates even more trauma (and trauma is one of the causes of DIC) and it also creates yet another place to bleed from.

Since she started into labor on her own, they decided to let her labor, but she says that they took her to ICU to do that.  I assure you they didn’t do that because they just love to have laboring women in ICU.  They did it because she was really in big trouble.  They were monitoring her progress by the second and they were ready to get her into an operating room pronto if they had had to.

Because her uterus was in fucked-up mode, her labor was also in fucked-up mode, and ultimately she needed a bit of pitocin (it’s a hormone which is made naturally by the body to make the uterus contract) to move things along. I am actually sort of surprised that they let her labor for five hours.  To do that, her labs had to be staying fairly stable after they loaded her up with some plasma and other stuff.

At any rate, she delivered the baby, who had been dead for quite some time.  Not a super long time, but probably overnight.

Their guess at what happened was that the placenta had started to calcify, the baby out grew what the placenta could manage and the amniotic fluid was too low.

Okay, remember we’re dealing with a poor historian here, but this is what she tells us, so I am gonna go with it.

None of this stuff happens overnight, folks.  It simply does not.  This is not a 12-hour deal.  The baby outgrew. . .  The baby was overdue. The VW microbus couldn’t keep up and failed.   But the dials indicated trouble before the sputtering began.

The problem was that there was no one to read the dials.

Not only was there no one to read the dials, Nicole made it clear on the previous Monday that she specifically would not go to the doctor for the very reason that she didn’t want them to read the dials, for fear that they would start labor.

She was monitoring her own health.

Only she wasn’t. She couldn’t.  How could she monitor the amniotic fluid level?  How could she monitor the function and viability of the placenta?  How could she know that her platelet count was falling like a rock?  None of those things cause anything you can feel until you’re in really big trouble.

They said even if they had detected it, we probably couldn’t have saved William.

Remember what I said earlier. Joe and Nicole both have a tendency to hear what they want to hear, not what is said.

The medical personnel involved in this were dealing with a gravely ill woman who had just delivered a dead baby. The last thing on earth they are gonna say to her is, “Oh, yeah, this was entirely preventable.  If  you’d just had prenatal care like you should have, you’d have a living child right now. We’d have probably induced labor last week sometime.”

For one thing, no doctor is going to give you a blanket, “yes, I could have saved the child” statement. They just aren’t. They don’t know if they could have or not because they can’t see what a prenatal visit or visits would have shown.

Since they cannot possibly know what Nicole’s condition was on July 4, they cannot say what they could have done or might have done or would have done on July 4, or on July 14.

What is absolutely true is that Nicole didn’t know what Nicole’s condition was either.  She couldn’t have.  She doesn’t have the equipment or the expertise to know.

So to summarize everything, Nicole’s pregnancy was high-risk.  It would be hard to get more high-risk than she was unless you had some serious chronic underlying illness.  Every pregnancy she had put her at higher and higher risk.

Yet she continued to ignore those risk factors and insist that she would somehow know that something wrong if anything were to go wrong and that her “body” would tell her.

This is sort of like pointing a gun at her baby’s head with each pregnancy.  During the first few, there were a lot of empty chambers and only one bullet.  The odds were in her favor.   She would pull the trigger and hear a “click.”

But instead of understanding that she’d played Russian roulette and beat the odds, she believed that her luck was due to her knowledge, or her experience, or her innate ability, or a combination of all three.

Over time, she was dealing with a gun, still pointed at the baby’s head, only now there were two bullets and few empty chambers.  She still heard “click.”  She had no idea how many bullets were mounting up in those chambers.

But as I said before, it doesn’t matter if she didn’t know.  It doesn’t matter where she placed her trust.  Science and biology give not one shit. They just went on adding bullets to the chambers.

And this time, when she pulled the trigger, there was a live round in the chamber.

And a little addendum:

In that case, Nicole, suck up your moral principles, toss your pride aside, apply for Medicaid and don’t stiff them.  They saved your fucking life, even if your poor choices made it impossible for them to have the slightest chance of saving your baby, and they also have house payments to make, and brakes on their cars that need fixing, and groceries to buy.

They owed you absolutely nothing.  You owe them big time. Pay them.

You know perfectly well you do not have the money to do it. You understand by now that people are not going to donate enough money to pay this.

Go get Medicaid.

 

 

 

 

Let’s Get Together

One Love! One Heart!
Let’s get together and feel all right.
Hear the children cryin’ (One Love!);
Hear the children cryin’ (One Heart!),
Sayin’: give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right;
Sayin’: let’s get together and feel all right. Wo wo-wo wo-wo!

Bob Marley, One Love

On a national level, the debate continues to rage over health care.

Seventeen years ago. . . WAIT.  It was seven years ago (our current president is a moron, I can’t help that).  Seven years ago, faced with a very horrible health insurance system in this country, Congress passed the Affordable Care Act, popularly known as Obamacare.

It was modeled after the Republican plan put in place in Massachusetts by Mitt Romney.

It’s not socialized medicine.  It’s not evil.  It has done a lot of good, and Kentucky is an example of that.

Considered a model for the nation, Kentucky embraced the ACA at the outset, expanded Medicaid and set up its own gateway, called KYnect.  Lots of people in Kentucky did not have health insurance, because Medicaid in its original form didn’t cover every poor person, but mostly children and pregnant women.

One of the immediate results of the implementation of expanded Medicaid in Kentucky was the early diagnosis of a whole pile of folks with diabetes who didn’t know they had it. That meant they got treatment early. Many of them never missed a day’s work. They continued paying taxes just like always, and are being treated for a chronic but manageable condition, instead of presenting to a health care facility at a later stage with permanent organ damage as a result and thus being unable to work for long periods.  Kentucky saw a huge savings as a result.

This was great.

There are also many downsides to the ACA, and it has been criticized roundly by Republicans (oddly, since it’s basically a Republican program). Some of that criticism is well-founded.

The problem, of course, is finding the solution to the problem.

My personal feeling is that the solution is to do what every other first-world nation on earth has done and institute some form of single payer health care. Everyone has it but us.

But that’s a bigger debate than what I want to talk about, which is the basic principle behind health insurance.

Nicole Naugler doesn’t seem to have the slightest idea how health insurance works.  Considering that she’s probably never had it, ever, in her entire adult life, that’s sort of understandable, I suppose, but still, she’s a grown woman who runs a business and is sort of raising 10 children at the moment, so she probably ought to figure this shit out.

Forgive me if I resort to some elementary ideas here, but really, I’m dealing with people who don’t get it.

And you do realize that people with insurance don’t pay their bills. The people who pay insurance do.

That is what she said.  She went on to clarify that a little bit with the numbers, but she just doesn’t get it.

Insurance works just like Bob Marley sang. Let’s get together and feel all right.

Because we cannot foresee the future, and because I have no idea if my house might burn down tomorrow, and I don’t know if I will be diagnosed, like John McCain, with a glioblastoma and suddenly face a zillion dollars in medical bills, and I cannot possibly foresee what would happen if I was driving and had an accident that was my fault and faced a bazillion dollar settlement, I carry insurance. We are not over-insured, but we carry insurance.

Back before Obamacare entered the picture, we were in a bit of a pickle.  We had both retired. Dave, who is older than I am, qualified for Medicare. I did not. That meant that I had to buy health insurance in the private market. And oh, dear me, what a nightmare that was.

It was very expensive, so much so that I really didn’t have health insurance at all.  As President Obama put it so well speaking about the sort of very high-deductible policy I had, I had asset insurance.  Because of that enormous deductible ($10K), I was basically self-insured for anything except a catastrophe. The joy of my life is that I never had a claim during those years.

I also almost never went to the doctor. I didn’t have a PAP smear. I didn’t have a mammogram. I didn’t have a colonoscopy. Nothing.  It was all just too expensive and the best I could do was insure against some horrible thing happening that would force us to sell our house.

On the day that the ACA went live, I was on my computer on the KYnect website applying for insurance.  I got it that day (I was lucky and KYnect worked very well in spite of massive numbers trying to enroll).  My premium dropped by about half and more importantly, I had real health insurance.  I got a physical, the first I’d had in years.

I only had that insurance a short time because I turned 65 and was able to get Medicare, which is far better.

But here’s the deal. We all get together and we feel all right.

We all get together.

That’s what makes insurance work.

We all get together.

Not just sick people. Not just those with diabetes or heart disease or glioblastomas.  All of us.

When we all get together, and everyone pays in, everyone then can rest easy because those ghastly unforeseen events, the ones we cannot help and cannot prevent and cannot see coming, won’t devastate us financially.

What Nicole conveniently ignores is that part about all of us getting together.

See what I mean? She doesn’t get it.

In 1986, Saint Ronald Reagan signed a bill into law that mandated that any hospital emergency room in a facility that got federal funding (and that’s all of them because they accept Medicare payments) had to take any patient who waltzed through the door regardless of their ability to pay.

I remember when this happened. I cannot remember all the details but there was a woman (I think it was a woman) who was taken via ambulance to the nearest hospital and they denied her treatment because she was indigent.  So the ambulance took her to another hospital and if I remember correctly, the same thing happened, and finally she reached a hospital that would take her, but it was too late and she died. This was horrible.  Americans didn’t like it, with good reason.

I mean, think of it this way.  In 1985, had Nicole Naugler been brought to the hospital by Joe like she was the other day, they could have just said, “Gee, I hate it, but you’ll have to go to Louisville to some other hospital because we don’t treat indigent patients.”  Just think about that.  It was perfectly legal and done more frequently than anyone liked to think about, so Congress acted and Saint Ronnie signed on the dotted line.

Congress mandated that all people have to be treated, at least for emergencies. Mandated treatment. The ER doctor cannot say, “Gee, I like being paid. I’m not doing this.”

All the ACA did was say this: If all people must be treated, then all people need to get together and we’ll feel all right.  All people need to contribute.

That is one of the cornerstones of getting insurance premiums down to something reasonable.  We all get together. We don’t just get together with other people who are sick, or other people who are older than dirt like me and probably facing illness sooner rather than later.  We all get together.

We all pay in when we’re healthy and don’t have any physical problems, and then when one of us has a car wreck and breaks a leg, or develops a glioblastoma, or is nine months pregnant and has a dead baby and develops DIC, we get treated and since we all got together, nobody is bankrupted by it.

It’s not difficult, she says.  Just do it yourself, she says. Watch Youtube videos.  It’s easy.

Is it still easy, Nicole?  Is it easy to recognize and treat DIC, Nicole?

The following few screen shots left me with whiplash.  Here Nicole tells us that they did not apply for Medicaid and “chose voluntary aid over coerced.”  What she means is that they are choosing to beg online instead of applying for the financial help we all have donated toward.  She wants us to donate again, on top of that, because she’s special and wants to feel superior to everyone who donates. They are all “rats in a cage” while she has true freedom.

But apparently nobody told Joe about how they didn’t apply for Medicaid. He clearly says here that they have insurance. They do not have insurance unless they got Medicaid this past weekend.  Nicole confirms that in the same thread at the bottom.

Up till last Friday we have covered every bit of our medical expenses ourselves.

That means no insurance. That is what that means.

And again, Joe asserts that they have insurance.

They do not.

Up to this point we have been 100% responsible for ALL our medical needs. . .

Ergo, no insurance.

I especially like his characterization of $10,000 as “measly.”

And yes, Joe, what it took to save Nicole’s worthless life was something that normal people are, in fact, prepared for. They have insurance. They work – you know, a job – and they pay for it.

And as I and the Nefarious Please have shown quite clearly, Joe, all you have are “trying times.”  Hence, all you do is beg. Again and again and again.

But you know, Nicole and Joe illustrate so beautifully the reason why we need single payer health care in this country.  They thought they could wing it. They thought they were invincible, that nothing really bad would ever happen to them. They thought they were smarter, healthier, luckier than the rest of us stupid statist jerks, and that they’d just skate on by.

They thought they would never need any help with medical expenses until they actually had medical expenses and then Nicole insisted that her principles were too damned lofty to accept aid, and she would just beg online instead, because it worked out so well last time.

But see, that’s the trouble with voluntary shit.  It’s voluntary.  You ain’t gotta if you don’t wanna.  We can all sing, “Let’s get together and feel all right,” but they will just opt out and we’ll all pitch in and help them out when and if they get in a bind (which has been almost continuously for the last several years), only this time it is not happening.

They are not collecting thousands and thousands of dollars. Not even a “measly” $10,000.

 

See how she doesn’t get?

And one day it may be necessary.  We could manage a small incident, but something like cancer would bankrupt anyone.

We all get together does not mean “wait until you have a problem and then it may be necessary to have insurance.”

What if everyone did that?  I am a very healthy 68-year-old woman. My doctor says I am his most boring patient.  So far, we have almost nothing to talk about regarding my health, so we discuss all sorts of other things, like treadmills and cruises and driving the Blue Ridge Parkway. I have Medicare.  I pay a monthly premium for it.  If I added up that monthly premium for all the time I’ve had Medicare, it is far more than I have spent going to the doctor, even factoring in a colonoscopy and a couple of mammograms (I am so old I don’t need any more PAP smears, thank you very much).  So basically, right now, I am a Medicare donor.  I pay in more than I get.

That may be the way it is for the rest of my life. Some very lucky people manage to live in good health right up until the day they go to sleep and never wake up.  I hope I’m one of them.  But I’m covered and I cannot be placed in a situation where Dave is left with a zillion dollars in medical bills that he cannot pay if that’s not the case.

And because we all get together, we feel all right.  Not only are my neighbors and friends and relatives and fellow citizens, if they have insurance, covered so that health care costs can’t devastate them, but I rest easy about it.  I don’t worry about “how in the hell am I gonna pay for this” if Dave has some bloody urine and needs to go see why (bladder stone, blasted and gone) or if his doctor says, “You need to have these cataracts removed” (done both eyes, marvelous).

Looking back over my 68 years, I believe I could have self-insured the entire time, including Nathan’s birth, and never had any insurance at all.  I bet if I added up all those bills, and then added up all the premiums I’ve paid, the premiums would total more than the benefits.

And I don’t regret a single penny. Some of that money that I paid in went to pay for our dear friend P J Garrett’s treatment for renal failure. (Renal failure is covered under Medicare regardless of your age.) I’ve always liked to think that some of my dollars bought a bag of dialysis fluid for him.

Because if we all get together, we can feel all right.

 

 

Just in Case

Just in case you haven’t seen this before, or want to send some potential victim over here and want this to show up all handy right on top, here’s a bit of a record of the online begging history of Joe and Nicole.

And I’d totally forgotten about this one, because I didn’t write it. It was done by the Nefarious Please, who as a little committee managed the blog while I was away last year.