Legal Advice Blog: Legal Advice, Case Insights, & Local Law Information

About a month ago, I took my oldest daughter to Moundsville to test for her learner’s permit. She had turned 15 in February and was very eager to get behind the wheel.  Many of her friends failed the test the first time and even the second, so I was fully prepared to take her home disappointed……and that was ok because I was going to be totally relieved.  So when she emerged from the testing room smiling from ear to ear I knew she passed and I immediately felt a small, sick feeling in my stomach.  I’m not ready for this.  I’m not ready to put my child out on the same roads that I drive everyday and witness others speeding, talking on the phone, texting and tailgating. She made me take a picture of her in front of the DMV holding her permit.  She was so proud of her accomplishment, as she should be.  When we were getting in the car she asked, “Can I drive?” I knew it was coming.  There were so many ways I could have answered that question, but I calmly looked at her and explained she needed experience before she got out on the road with other cars.  We could start in a parking lot or in our quiet neighborhood first.  She accepted that answer and the conversation shifted to another topic.  And then we passed a parking lot…. “Can I drive?” – no there’s too many parked cars in that one.  Here comes another lot……. “Can I drive?” – oops, I already passed the entrance to that one and can’t turn around.  Another topic shift and soon I was making the turn to enter our neighborhood.  “Can I drive?”…… oh my God, fine ….we will try this. After all, she had backed out of the driveway before and drove slightly down the street from our house and seemed to do well…it can’t be that bad and I have to let her do it eventually.  To make a long story short, that day she hit the gas instead of the brake and almost took out the neighborhood bus stop.  My husband took her driving the next few times. I have to say she has improved greatly since that first day with me in the car.  She is a smart girl and her dad and I trust that she will make good decisions on the road.  However, I am dreading the day she ultimately pulls out of the driveway alone.  For now, I am happy to let her tag along with me happily chirping, “Can I drive?”

West Virginia is ground zero for the prescription drug epidemic. We lose more people per-capita to this scourge than any other state. The addictive power of hydrocodone and other man-made drugs far exceeds that of even once-feared street drugs like heroin or cocaine. In fact, nationally, prescription drug overdoses are now more common than those two drugs combined. As this becomes better understood, new strategies are emerging to fight the problem. But fighting the problem means understanding its source. Unlike street drugs that are often smuggled into the United States from distant countries of origin, prescription drugs are produced right here at home. They serve lawful, even essential purposes, for people in serious pain. But to fuel the epidemic, pills must, by definition, be produced and sold in vastly greater numbers than the actual medical need in West Virginia. In 2012, West Virginia, through its then-Attorney General Darrell McGraw, filed a case against eleven drug companies accusing them of knowingly shipping and selling far more pills to West Virginia than legitimate medicine could possibly justify. Some of these drug companies have already tacitly admitted to violating the law to push excess pills in other states. Now those drug companies are in court, refusing to allow the public to know the numbers of pills they shipped to our state in the relevant year. Legal cases involving “trade secret” information — the formula for Coca-Cola, for example — sometimes involve so called “protective orders” that allow a company to keep that information secret within the confines of the case. But as Delegate Don Perdue, (D-Wayne) pointed out, there is a strong public interest in knowing what these companies are up to: “With this issue, we’re not only called on to be transparent, we’re duty-bound to pursue transparency in a situation where we have numerous deaths, addictions and a tremendous economic impact on the state. The state of West Virginia has every right to provide those statistics to the public that’s paying the bills for what’s happened.” Perdue is himself a retired pharmacist. We’ve all got a right to know how many pills these companies are shipping into our state and how much profit has been made off the human misery caused by the distribution of excess pills. We are all paying the bills: for enforcement, for treatment, for incarceration, and for the indelible harm to our society caused by prescription drug abuse. It’s time the companies making a buck off this statewide disaster came clean, told the truth, and paid their fair share of the cost they’ve imposed on West Virginia.

If you’re ever in St. Clairsville, do yourself a favor and have lunch at the Newellstown Diner. It is located at 145 W. Main Street. Since several of us (including Jay Stoneking, Ellie Wallace, Jason Causey and myself) were relocated the Bordas & Bordas St. Clairsville office a year ago, we have discovered one of the best hometown restaurants in the Ohio Valley.  Newellstown Diner has a 1950s theme and the food is great and inexpensive. The service is fast and friendly, and the place is always clean.  You always get homemade chips with your sandwich and they are delicious!  Make sure you’re carrying cash because they don’t accept cards.  There are a lot of other great places to eat in St. Clairsville, but Newellstown is my favorite.

Growing up in the country I was always around family and friends who loved hunting.  When my daughter married a man, Nick, who also loved hunting, it wasn’t anything new or unusual to me.  When he passed along his love of hunting and sportsmanship to my grandson, Owen, I wasn’t surprised.  Owen has proven to be a very good marksman for a 10-year-old, and when his dad discovered that there was a youth sporting clays club about an hour from their home, it didn’t take long for Owen to become a member of the Hunting Hills Hawkeyes.  For those of you not familiar with sporting clays, it is a target game designed to simulate field shooting. The shooters set out on a course and are presented with a wide variety of targets that duplicate the flight path of game birds.  Courses are laid out in natural surroundings and will usually include five or 10 shooting stations.  The shooters move from one station to the other as they complete the course.  Owen’s season begins in the spring and ends in early fall, with practices and shoots every weekend.  The state championship for Pennsylvania is held in June, and we were so proud that in 2013, during his rookie season, Owen’s rookie team of three placed second in the state.  At that point, we were all hooked and this grammy became a sporting clays groupie. Two-thousand-fourteen also proved to be another successful season for Owen, who again placed second in the state in sporting clays and was the state champion for skeet for his age group.  We were beyond thrilled when he was asked to compete in the national championship in Illinois in July.  With a lot of support from friends, family and his community of Rogersville, Penn., Owen, his mom (my daughter, Ashley) and myself set off for a road trip to the World Shooting and Recreational Complex in Sparta, Ill.  As we drove up the long driveway to the complex, which was lined with each state’s name emblazoned on a flag, it felt like we were arriving at the Olympics of sporting clays.  The facility is very impressive with several shooting ranges, vendors, stores, a campground, a restaurant and more. Several college representatives were also on hand hoping to recruit the next members of their respective teams. Owen had a restless night that night, but the next day his team of three showed a lot of composure for 10 year olds and finished the day very well sitting infifth place.  We were hopeful that they would place, however, day two and a case of the nerves got the best of them.  By the end of the day our little rookie team of 10-year-olds from southwestern Pennsylvania finishedeighth in the nation out of 16 teams—still not too shabby. Owen recently kicked off his first competition of 2015 at Nemacolin. Even though they live in Pennsylvania, I keep reminding his mom and dad that West Virginia University is only 20 minutes from their house—and WVU is the NCAA Rifle Team Champion.  With hard work and dedication to his sport, I think I just might see him on that team one day.

It’s that time of year again when a lot of families are hashing out their summer vacation plans. There are many choices:  beach, cruise, amusement and water parks, all-inclusive, maybe even a trip to a foreign country– for most families there is something for everyone.  But what to do when the family cannot come to an agreement?  Or should I say when my husband and I can’t come to an agreement? I knew when we got married that my husband was a Disney fanatic.  He would go every year if I agreed.  We even went for part of our honeymoon.  He also knew when we got married that I am not, by any means, a fan of Disney World.  I can think of a hundred reasons not to go:  the heat, the lines, the people, the early mornings, the expense….I could go on and on.  I have never denied my husband or kids a trip to Disney; in fact we have been there several times over the years and have experienced it in all kinds of weather and in just about every season.  In fact, I have enjoyed watching my kids experience Disney over and over and again when they were little girls and the whole experience was “magical.”  The last time we visited Disney was November 2013 and when it was all over, I needed a vacation from that vacation.  So I knew it was coming…..I knew it was time for my husband to suggest another Disney trip, and I knew it would be this year.  Needless to say when we started the vacation talk a few months ago the first suggestion he had was, “Lets go to Disney for a few days”…cringe.  My immediate response was, “We can talk about this later,” as I joyfully envisioned myself lying on a beach somewhere in total relaxation listening to the waves crash while enjoying an adult beverage. I am a beach person – always have been and always will be.  I love everything about it.  My husband…. not so much.  He is not a fan of the lotion and the sand and just laying around doing nothing in general.  Yet somehow we have always managed to agree on how we spend our vacations.  Until this year.  Every time he brings the subject up I’m busy…..doing anything else.  I have avoided this year’s vacation planning like the plague.  I may have even faked mental illness.  I’m hoping if I wait long enough all the rooms in every hotel in Orlando will sell out.  That may sound selfish and I’m not proud of myself, but I just want to relax without a million other people.  I don’t, by any means, expect to win this war (it’s three to one as my kids want to go to Disney too……traitors) but I’m not going down until my feet hit the sand.

Many of you may recall the news last year about the assassins’ game that many teams of high school teens join from our local high schools. This is a game where you are a target for a set amount of time.  If you get “assassinated” in that timeframe, you’re eliminated.  If not, you remain in the game.  If you get the target you are assigned, you remain in the game.  If not, you’re out. To be assassinated, a teen must squirt its target with a water gun, take a photo of their successful hunt and post it.  This goes on in the months of April and May until all teams are eliminated except the final one.  At this point, that team wins money, which is usually around $1000.00 for their successful participation. It is a controversial subject among many for the obvious dangers that we adults can foresee, but in a teenagers mind, it’s a game.  All in good fun and rules will be followed.  The kids are required to use bright colored guns in addition to other rules that must be followed. Whether people agree with the game and the participants’ choice to join isn’t the point of my blog because the games will go on.  These are teenagers we are talking about. The point of this blog is simply to bring awareness that the games are upon us again.  Please be conscientious of the game players so maybe in some way we can help these kids stay safe.

Do you know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you are traveling and your car goes over a dip in the road? It doesn’t happen too often anymore because of interstate travel, but if you drive over the secondary roads down through the mountains of West Virginia you can still experience it quite often. On the few times that it does happen to me, it brings back memories of being squished in the backseat of some 1950’s vehicle with my other siblings on summer vacation.  I can still recall my dad’s amused eyes in the rearview mirror as he gazed back at us as we held our tummies squealing “Ooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”  He would chuckle and say, “Did you lose your stomach back there?” The vacations that we went on when I was a kid were never to a set “destination” but were more like “road trips” from beginning to end.  My mom and dad loved to travel down through the mountains, usually with my aunt and uncle and their two children, and explore the wonders that West Virginia has to offer. We never ate in restaurants.  There were no McDonalds or other fast food restaurants back then so it was more economical with four kids to pack enough food in our trunk and eat all of our meals at a picnic area.  There were many small parks dotting the roads back then.  Mom used a small propane gas grill to cook the hot stuff like burgers, hotdogs, and…mmmmmmm…. there is nothing like the scent of bacon and eggs frying out in the open air of a foggy morning in the mountains of West Virginia. We never made reservations to stay anywhere.  My dad would just drive until it started to get dark and then we would start looking for a motel or cabin to stay at.  The small cabins were always our favorite!  It seemed to never fail that the first two or three places we stopped at would have no vacancy and soon my mom would be complaining that dad waited too long to start looking.  Eventually we would find a place.   In the mornings, dad would wake us up by turning on a radio or TV to listen to the morning news and shout “Time to hit the deck!”  (My dad obviously was an ex-Navy man.) It seems we never got tired of taking these kinds of vacations and we often sat around and reminisced about them. In the fall 1990, still grieving from the loss of my dad and brother, my sisters, Annie and Jean, and I decided to take mom on little weekend vacations together.  We had so much fun on the first one to Niagara Falls, Ontario, that we were soon taking them two times a year.  In October of 1991, we decided to take one of those fondly remembered road trips down through the mountains.  Autumn, as you can imagine, is a breathtaking beautiful time of the year in the mountains when the leaves change color.    We planned to stay true to our parents’ way when we were little and “fly by the seat of our pants.”  Just travel, stop, do whatever we wanted, make no reservations and get a room when we got tired. The only difference was we decided not to picnic our way because we were too spoiled by the convenience of eating in restaurants. So merrily we went, the four of us, my sisters and I taking turns driving on all the secondary roads down through the mountains of West Virginia, stopping leisurely to enjoy rustic little fruit stands and antique shops along the mountain roads.  We rediscovered Blackwater Falls, Spruce Knob, Seneca Rock, and, finally, by evening reached Cass, West Virginia, where we decided to take a sightseeing train ride up the mountain the next day.  Snowshoe Mountain Lodge was the closest accommodations so we drove over there and got a room.  After we ate supper, we went to our nice comfortable room to get a good night’s sleep.  We enjoyed the room so much that we decided it might be fun to stay at Snowshoe another night but when we asked they didn’t have any vacancies.  Which didn’t bother us.  We were winging it on this trip anyway.  We frittered away most of the day with the train ride up the mountain, looking through the museums and little shops at Cass and in the late afternoon we hit the road again heading south and at dusk casually began looking for a place to stay. Did I tell you how beautiful the mountains are in the fall?  The color of the leaves?  The beauty of Blackwater Falls?  How the wind on Spruce Knob blows so hard and apparently in one direction because all the branches on the trees point in one direction?  How majestic Seneca Rocks look from the little corner souvenir store below?  The twisting, winding mountain roads that go up forever and then down forever?  How scary it is when you are driving those twisting, winding roads after it gets dark with no street lights? I cannot remember the exact point in our travels that we learned that it is nearly impossible to find a vacancy at a motel, hotel, cabin or shack in the southern part of West Virginia that time of year.  Why?  Because it is White Water Rafting season!!!!  I do remember that we kept driving south still in hopes of finding a place until we reached Beckley.  I remember Beckley because my sister, Jean, who wasn’t driving very fast at the time, literally slid to a stop at a red-light and we joked that it was obviously from coal dust on the road. Finally, someone at one of these motels/hotels suggested to us that we might be able to find something in Charleston, West Virginia.  By this time it very dark, very late, all of us were frustrated, tired, and cranky (my mom was complaining that “all three of you are just like your father waiting till the last minute to look for a room!”) and we had no other option but to drive another hour or more over the twisting, winding, scary, dark mountain road north to Charleston with my mom grumbling at us in the backseat where we did indeed find a vacancy at the first hotel we stopped at. That night did not dampen our spirit for adventure though.  Refreshed the next morning, we ate breakfast and then explored the grounds of the Capitol in Charleston then continued our leisurely drive northeast where we drove over the New River Gorge Bridge (almost literally “drove over” the side because my sister, Annie, who was driving wanted to enjoy the scenery too!) and through Hawk’s Nest State Park where we located a little souvenir shop with a backroom that had a mysterious illusion that we were leaning sideways as we walked across the room.  From there we finally pointed our vehicle north and arrived back in Wheeling after dark. While mom was alive we continued to take these little vacations.  Something silly and memorable would always happen and we began calling them “adventures” instead of road trips.  We enjoyed being together and had such a good time making some very happy memories with mom during her last years on this earth. My sisters and I still go on at least one adventure a year.  It’s not quite the same without mom but we still have a great time together, talking and laughing as we enjoy the journey.  There is one very important rule we made years ago while mom was still with us:  no more flying by the seat of our pants!  We never leave town without making reservations first!!

Most of us have certain expectations about how we would like to be treated at a doctor’s office or a hospital. We would all like to be treated with respect, care and compassion and we certainly don’t want to be kept in the waiting room for hours.  One expectation that we should also have is the expectation that we will be given the best care possible under the circumstances.  What happens if we do not get that level of care and somebody gets hurt?  This is the question that faces many individuals and families across the country, as statistics show.  We often get calls from families in these very circumstances and it is not unusual for these families to tell us at the beginning of the conversation that they are not sure what to do or how to proceed.  This is the start of a conversation that eventually turns to whether or not the doctor or the hospital in questions has committed what’s known as “medical malpractice.” So what is medical malpractice?  The first thing to understand is “medical malpractice” is the same thing as “medical negligence.”  What I mean is that in order to have a case, the patient does not have to prove that they were intentionally hurt by a doctor.  They just have to prove that the doctor was negligent.  The patient also does not necessarily have to prove that there was some type of extreme or outrageous facts involved.  They must only prove that the doctor was negligent.  In terms of the law, they need to prove that the doctor fell below something called the “standard of care.”  So what is the “standard of care”? Generally speaking, the “standard of care” means that doctors have an obligation to provide the same care that would be rendered by an ordinary and careful (i.e., reasonable and prudent) doctor acting in the same or similar circumstances.  West Virginia defines the standard of care through a statute, which is typical of the definition of the standard.  As the West Virginia Code states: “(a) The following are necessary elements of proof that an injury or death resulted from the failure of a health care provider to follow the accepted standard of care: (1) The health care provider failed to exercise that degree of care, skill and learning required or expected of a reasonable, prudent health care provider in the profession or class to which the health care provider belongs acting in the same or similar circumstances; and (2) Such failure was a proximate cause of the injury or death.” Of course, the call to our office is only the beginning of the process.  An important step in determining whether a case will be filed is the opinion of experts in the relevant area of medicine.  Before instituting a lawsuit in either Ohio or West Virginia, an expert physician has to sign an affidavit saying that they have reviewed the case and determined that the physician was negligent.  That’s because the standard of care that I discussed above must usually be determined by an expert in any particular case.  Of course, finding and retaining the appropriate expert is one of the most important steps in any case.  Every case is different and must be evaluated on its own. If you or a loved one has been injured by a doctor or hospital, Bordas & Bordas would be honored to speak with you to help determine what your rights may be.

I remember hearing the slogan when I was growing up: “Reading is FUNdamental.” I couldn’t agree more.  Reading is a fundamental building block for a successful life and career.  But it’s also fun.  It should be a joy to read, not a drudgery!   That’s why my wife and I read to our daughters from a young age and encouraged both of them to read for themselves.  Now that we have granddaughters, we have an opportunity to start the process all over again. Kids’ books have come a long way.  It used to be that the best you could hope for was a good story and colorful, eye-catching pictures.  But books today are much more interactive.  Even the youngest ones can enjoy reading because there are things to touch, poke, pull and twist as you read the story together.  There are also talking books, singing books, and books that let you make up the story as you go.  It really is a brave new world! But can I share something with you?  You don’t have to buy the books that are the newest or the biggest or the most technologically advanced.  The key to raising a reader is the time you spend together and the fun you have doing it.  Read together as often as you can.  Be fun.  Be spontaneous.  Be silly.  Fire their imagination.  If you make an honest effort, I promise they’ll keep coming back for more. I’ll share one quick story before I go.  My wife was babysitting our granddaughter, Melody, and her little cousin, Logan.  Hearing a noise, my wife peaked into the toy room.  Melody and Logan had pulled all the books off the bookshelf and converted it into their own little reading nook.  With the books scattered all over the floor in front of them, they sat together on the shelf with a book on their laps “reading” to each other.  I  guess we must be doing something right…

Do we really need to be reminded to stay connected with the people we love? I guess so since we have been inundated with commercials from Values.com telling us to take time to talk to our husbands and wives and call our children when we are away on a business trip. While the commercials are sweet, what has become of our society when we have to be reminded to do these things; or worse yet, being guilted into believing we are bad people because we may need an occasional reminder to remember what is important in our lives? In today’s world, there are many households where both parents find themselves having to work to make ends meet. It is not really surprising that many times it is our family who gets the short end of the stick. Everyone gets a piece of us except those who are nearest and dearest. By the time we get home and get dinner and homework out of the way, most of us find it a win when we can carve out thirty minutes to spend time with those we love. But after all, it’s quality over quantity, right? According to Today Parents it is. Now they tell me! I have spent more guilty moments wondering how I was failing my children because I had to work than I have spent actually working. Had I worked at Bordas & Bordas back then, I wouldn’t have had to miss out on all the school plays and field trips with my children since they recognize how important these events are in our lives. Unfortunately, that was not the case, so I spent a lot of time feeling like a failure for missing out on those things and envious of the stay-at-home moms that could, it seemed, do it all. Now, I find out that the quality time that I did spend with my children was more than enough to make them successful adults. And as they say, the proof is in the pudding. All of my children are terrific people and great parents. I guess I can finally give myself a break. So I say to all the working parents out there, cut yourselves some slack and give your family the quality time they deserve instead of worrying so much about quantity. While I do believe in “being there” for my family and to “pass it on” to those that might need a nudge to remember what is important, as the Values.com commercial stresses, most of us don’t really need a reminder to do these things. We have been doing them all along.

I like to think that I have learned a lot about life in the 58 years I have spent on this Earth. Like most of us, my parents taught me most of what I needed to know as I grew up:  the importance of kindness; the personal satisfaction that comes from hard work; and the sore rear end you get when you throw tomatoes at the neighbor’s garage door.  There are some lessons, however, that are best taught by life.  My life -- or more accurately, my life over the last twenty years -- is a perfect example of one of life’s most important lessons:  the need to accept responsibility for one’s actions. Back in the late 1990's, I was divorced.  My ex and I had been married for just over 17 years, which by today’s standards seems like a long time.   We had two wonderful children, a nice house in a nice subdivision, a cat and a dog.  To neighbors and all but our closest friends, we appeared to be the storybook family.  To those who knew us better, we had problems. If you are hoping the following paragraphs will be detailed descriptions of the breakdown of my marriage and the reasons behind it, you are going to be disappointed.   What I will tell you is that I did some selfish things that resulted in a lot of pain and heartache for my family and my friends.  As a result, my life began to disintegrate right in front of me.  My parents, deeply hurt by the actions of a son they had raised to know better, turned away from me.  A successful and rapidly-growing law partnership was ended, and I found myself in a state of financial ruin shortly thereafter.  Worst of all by far, I could see the hurt in the eyes of my children who were forced to deal with the emotional turmoil that inevitably comes with divorce.  I felt as if I was living a nightmare, but it was a nightmare of my own creation. Psychologists tell us that it is human nature to rationalize behavior one knows is wrong.  No one likes to face the fact that he has been a selfish jerk.  The problem is that until a person is able to admit his mistakes, it isn’t possible to learn from them.  It took me some time to face up to the way I had lived my life in the years leading up to my divorce, and when I was finally able to do so, I didn’t much like what I saw.  At that point I realized I had a choice to make.  I could continue to try and defend the indefensible, or I could accept responsibility for my past and move forward with a new life.  Not a particularly difficult decision when you think about it. The first part of that equation was easy.  The second part was more of a challenge.  I had accepted responsibility for what I had done and where I was at that moment in my life, but moving forward would prove to be more difficult.  I wasn’t sure how to climb out of the hole I had dug for myself.  I can still remember the exact moment when the answer came to me.  I was sitting in my doctor’s office waiting to undergo my annual physical, flipping through one of those “How to Make Your Life Better” magazines that are on every table in every doctor’s office in the country, when I came across this passage: “Life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% how you choose to deal with it.” In that simple yet powerful thought, I found my answer.  I had a choice.  I could not change my past, but I could change tomorrow, the next day, and the rest of my life. I had known for months that I had hit rock bottom.  In that moment in my doctor’s office, I decided that I would use rock bottom as the foundation for a new life.  I am still amazed when I look back at how quickly and dramatically my life changed once I accepted responsibility for where I was and how I had gotten there.  My closest friends, at least one of whom called me every single day throughout the nightmare, could see the dramatic change in my outlook.  With the love that only a parent can understand, my Mom and Dad welcomed me back home.  My professional career once again began to prosper, and then -- standing there directly in front of me -- was the greatest gift I had ever received since the birth of my children:  there was Denise. I’m not ashamed to admit that every time I think about the moment Denise came into my life as more than a friend, the tears well up in my eyes.  Looking back, it was as if God had decided that I was finally choosing to live my life as I should, and he wanted to make sure I knew he was watching.  So, he gave me Denise.  She knew all there was to know about me and my past, and she loved me anyway.  She showed me the incredible, awesome power of forgiveness, and she reminded me of the need to forgive myself.  Denise and I were married on a beach in 2003, and though our life together in the years since has had its share of bumps (and whose hasn’t??), we have fought through them all with love, understanding, and unshakable commitment to each other.  Denise both saved and completed my life, and though I still feel as if I was unworthy of her love, I am so incredibly grateful to have it. Eleanor Roosevelt said, “In the long run, we shape our lives and we shape ourselves.  The process never ends until we die.  And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.”  I was particularly struck by the second sentence of that quote.  “ The process never ends until we die.”  It made me realize that no matter how far I had traveled down the wrong road, it was never too late to turn around.  So turn around I did.  I committed to being a better father, and I helped my children understand and deal with the fallout of their parents’ divorce.  I was honest with them about what had happened, and I encouraged them both to learn from my mistakes.  I also decided that I needed to seize upon opportunities to give back to my community.  Most recently, that commitment has seen me being asked to serve on the Boards of Directors for the Marshall County Animal Shelter, the Marshall County Animal Rescue League and the Strand Theater Preservation Society, and to serve on the Moundsville Christmas Parade Committee, the Marshall County Schools Pride & Progress Committee, and the Grand Vue Park Foundation Citizens Advisory Board.  I also decided I needed to do more for the welfare of children.  I re-committed to my work as a court-appointed guardian for abused & neglected children, and soon thereafter I was asked to serve on the Boards of Directors for the West Virginia Children’s Advocacy Network (WVCAN) and Harmony House Children’s Advocacy Center.  All of these commitments take up an extraordinary amount of time, but the personal satisfaction I receive from serving makes it all worthwhile.  I feel blessed to have been given the opportunity.  Giving back feels so much better than taking. As much as I am ashamed of the decisions I made twenty years ago, I am fiercely proud of how I have re-built my life in the years that followed.  Since that moment in my doctor’s office, I have dedicated myself to being the best husband, father, and person that I can be.  As a result, I have been blessed with a wonderful marriage, the best job I have ever had, and an opportunity to pursue a position where I can help to make my home a better and safer place to live, work, and raise a family.  I can’t ask for much more than that.

Although my husband’s stroke was a catastrophic event in both our lives, we have learned to cope with the help of friends and each other and his wonderful caregiver, Terri. He has improved to the point that I can leave him totally alone for an hour or so to go to the store or to the Mall. Sunday was a big day in his life.  When I got home from Church, Terri had him bathed, shaved and shined up!  We were going out!  I have always been averse to having a TV in our living room, but after giving it some thought and deciding what the living room looked liked really didn’t matter.  What did matter was his comfort and happiness.  Think of spending day after day in the same room, going from bed to chair and back to bed.  That certainly wouldn’t appeal to me. I thought about it!  I decided if he had a TV in the living room, he could go in there (either walking with his cane and Terri’s help or by wheelchair (if I’m the only one there).  And, I thought that maybe people would be more comfortable visiting him if he was dressed and not in a “sick” room.  SO!! Sunday when I got home from Church, Terri and I got him in the van— OK, let’s be real here – Terri got him in the van.  She helped him down the basement stairs while I carried/rolled the wheelchair to the garage where he rode the rest of the way to the van.  I put the chair in the back of the van and off we went.  We first stopped at H.H. Gregg and looked at a TV I had already checked out.  It was a good deal and what he wanted.  HOWEVER, they wanted to charge $79.00 to deliver it.  Deal breaker!  We live about 2-1/2 miles from the Mall and couldn’t see a $79.00 delivery charge. So we decided to see what Sears had to offer.  Terri got him back in the van and we went to Sears, where I went in first and “cased” the place to make sure they had 40” TVs.  He then got out of the van and in to Sears to see for himself.  They had a 40” LG TV and after we decided to take it, they dropped the bomb!  A $39.00 delivery charge! Although it was more reasonable, we told him that that wasn’t acceptable.  The salesman went to his manager and they waived the delivery charge.  So, while I stayed and paid for it, Terry wheeled Clayton through the Mall to the food court where we had lunch at Fabio’s. Remember, he hadn’t been out of the house except to go to two doctor’s appointments in several months.  So, what might seem like an ordinary day to some, was a red-letter day for him (and for me and Terri). About a year ago, I introduced him to the pleasure of a pedicure, which he loved.  So I asked him if he was up to having a pedicure while he was out and he was pleased.  So after lunch, I wheeled him down to The Escape Spa, where he got a pedicure.  I might add here that I have always teased him about his feet.  They never touch the floor bare except to step in and out of the shower.  He always has on shoes or slippers, so his feet without a pedicure are softer than mine with one! I tell him they are “baby-butt” soft. Although he was exhausted when we got home and he got back up the stairs, he was one happy man.  Realizing that he was not necessarily homebound now that he was stronger helped his outlook. This is not something I can do alone, since I couldn’t get him down the stairs and in the van and back up the stairs by myself, but then I don’t have to.  We have Terri and we have wonderful friends from our church, Anthony and Dionne Cox and Kenny and Dawn Gainer who are always willing to help. I have more “life post-stroke” thoughts and stories, but I’ll save them for another blog! I will close with:  Don’t take your good health for granted.  Things can change in a heartbeat.