Once in a Lifetime, by Betsy

There are many things I have done once in my lifetime. Which of those things has enough importance that I might want to write about it, I mused. Mistakes, I hope, are not too numerous.

Although, if they were made only once in my lifetime, at least I can say I haven’t repeated them.

I’ve had some once in a lifetime opportunities. Some of those events, adventures I have written about. Missed opportunities? Well, I guess I missed them so I don’t even know what they are.

Some important decisions are made once in a lifetime with consequences that last a lifetime.

In the category of decisions clearly THE most important with lifetime consequences was the decision to come out—that is, to come out to myself. I don’t remember actually making that choice in my head, but I’m sure that’s what took place. But trying to put my finger on exactly when that happened, I am stymied. Coming out, I realize, is not a onetime event. It is an on-going, hopefully progressive process. The once in a lifetime event was when it all came into my consciousness that I would have to make the choice to live as the person I was born to be—or not. That meant I would have to stop playing the role I had previously chosen and drastically change my lifestyle. The implications of doing this were, at the time, and I do remember the moment—the implications were quite profound and rather threatening. However the choice not to do this was no longer possible for me.

Analyzing further as to why I delayed making this choice until I had lived almost half a lifetime, it occurred to me that I never repressed my homosexual feelings. I acknowledged and accepted them from day one. I was totally conscious of my sexual feelings, and that I was attracted to those of my own sex and not those of the opposite sex. I remember every girl/woman to whom I was attracted and exactly how it felt and how it felt to want to look at, sit next to, touch, and, yes, get into bed with, and..do what lesbians do. I was very much aware of my feelings, I realize now, and I accepted them as absolutely natural. I had no guilt or feelings of revulsion. What I didn’t accept, and what I repressed for all those years was acting on those feelings.

I suppose one reason for that is that in almost every case and until I came out, the object of my desire was also unable or unwilling to reciprocate or initiate some sort of action. Had my feelings not gone unrequited, or had I been able to initiate acting on the feelings, my life may have taken a different course. That may be the number one reason I did not come out sooner.

Another reason I did not act on my feelings is that somewhere in my experience I learned that there was something taboo about expressing this oh-so-natural feeling I had. This didn't make sense to me, but apparently held great importance—enough importance that it became my code of conduct.

Reason number three is that I also believed it might all change one day, and my feelings and attractions would somehow turn on a dime. When I met the right man, my feelings would change, and then my behavior would be in sync with my feelings.

Needless to say that change never took place even though I stayed married to the same man for 25 years. The three children were probably one reason the marriage endured.

Now that I think about it, for me at least, there’s not much that happens just once, never to have any consequences or influence or effect on future circumstances.


© 20 November 2015

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

Once in a Lifetime, by Pat Gourley

It was in the summer of 1973 and I was living on Elati Street in Denver in a railroad duplex we were renting from a landlord who I seem to recall lived in Texas. There was at any one time 3-6 folks inhabiting the place. We had all recently relocated from Champaign, Illinois. The men all had homosexual tendencies, which for the most part were still in a state of unactualized potential and a couple of, I believe, straight women who were fluidly moving in and out of residence.

One of these women named Sue had recently checked out the hospital a few blocks to the east named at that time Denver General, now called Denver Health. She came home telling the mostly under-employed men in the household that the hospital was hiring several different positions and maybe we should check it out. I was at the time working down in Englewood at Craig Rehab hospital in their kitchen and having some minimal patient contact. Having no car it was a bus ride back and forth down Broadway and I was anxious for a more challenging change closer to home.

In August of that summer of 1973 I was hired as a hospital attendant at Denver General on the inpatient psychiatric ward, 4-West. The attendant staff was all male and all my co-workers conscientious objectors. I had avoided the draft by having a high lottery number and the good sense to not volunteer and end up possibly coming back to the States in a body bag from Vietnam.

The attendant staff was all male I suspect to provide muscle for the all female nurses so I am not sure why I got the job being all of 145-pounds soaking wet in those days. This turned out to be my “once in a lifetime” decision that has given my professional life direction for the past 42-years. I am assuming that something that is once in a lifetime should have more impact that one’s usual run of the mill life happenings and this decision to wade into nursing was it for me. The duties of the attendants did include elements of what I call real nursing i.e. hands on interaction with clients. No advanced degree was necessary with the ability to communicate with people in distress being the main requisite of the job.

Back in the early 1970’s the mentally ill, especially the homeless mentally ill, had a much better chance of hospitalization rather than today's all too frequent option of incarceration. And so began my several decades of interacting with Denver’s most disenfranchised. I did detour for 10-years to what was then called Colorado General but in those days they actually served the indigent uninsured as part of their mission.  That hospital has also changed its named, moved to Aurora and now has TV ads featuring Peyton Manning. I find the tone and pitch of these commercials to be very off-putting but I will not explore that further at this time.

This personal lifetime of nursing is particularly poignant for me today since back on the 28^th of November 2015 was my last day of work as a nurse at Denver Health. It was a long very busy 13-hour day in Urgent Care attending to many of the same type of folks and their issues as I was back in 1973.

I’ll close this piece with a couple things. First, is that Colorado has the chance to vote on single payer health care in November 2016. We as a state currently have a very high rate of medically insured thanks in large part to accepting federal Medicaid support through the Affordable Care Act. Single payer would though be a great improvement in spite of this current commendable high-insured rate.

Secondly, I want to share a series of encounters I had with a homeless fellow I ran across on my walks into work my last two days on the job. The first occurred at 0600 on Friday the 27^th. It was a cold snowy morning and this fellow was under a blanket on the Cherry Creek Bridge on Broadway just south of Speer Blvd. This is often a favorite spot for the homeless folks and he seemed bundled up and out of the wind so I proceeded to work thinking though I might see him later in Urgent Care.

At the end of my shift about 7:15 pm I walked home the same way and was surprised he was still in the same spot but now sitting up and still covered in his blanket. My assumption, perhaps wrong, was that he had spent the day out in the sub-freezing elements. I kept walking but after crossing Broadway I turned around thinking this is really not OK even for a seasoned homeless person.  I cautiously engaged him and he popped his head out of the blanket. He said he was OK that the blanket was warm. The next words out his mouth were to ask if I had a smoke. Despite the obvious health issues related to smoking to lecture him on this under the current circumstances seemed ludicrous. Instead I gave him the four bucks I had and encouraged him to walk the one block down to Denver Health where he could spend the night in the Emergency Department waiting room at least.

The next morning walking into work again I was stunned he was in the same spot. Still under his blanket, a thick coat and pretty good hat and rhythmic breathing quite noticeable. He was not lying directly on the pavement but still this could not have been comfortable. I have over the years encountered numerous homeless who prefer even sub-zero weather to the shelters for a variety of reasons. I decided I would walk home later the same way and if still there I would give him the $20 bucks I had. He was however not there in the evening and I wondered if he had walked down to the hospital or to a shelter or much more likely just moved on.

He had selected a spot out of the wind, temperatures in the high teens with lots of traffic and pedestrians within a few feet and he was reasonably dressed so I never thought the situation life threatening but if not careful frost bite could have been an issue for his toes at least. The greatest clothing need for homeless shelters is socks. I should have brought him a couple pairs from work. Since I walk central Denver a lot I plan to always venture out especially in wintertime with an extra pair in my bag.

© December 2015 

About the Author 

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

Once in a Lifetime, by Ray S

        In retrospect, which can be daunting in itself, there has been a multitude of “onces” all succeeding in importance over the last one subject to the time and place on the road of your life. With all of these one-time “onces” cluttering our mind, we can’t see the forest for the trees; i.e., the miracle of birth. Contrary to some popular beliefs it only happens once and we, being present, don’t even have the slightest memory of this once in a lifetime happening. From there on out it has been a script written by the fates and whims of those whose paths have crossed ours.

One could recall the adage “life’s a crap shoot.” Perhaps your “ONCES” occurred by your will, but keep in mind, nothing has ever been for sure until it happens.

So, what is the best of all of you “onces?”  Assuming you can recall more than one. Entry into this world on your part consisted of responding to a slap on the bottom and the ensuing cry as you took your first deep breath. Since then one challenge after another has kept us crying and/or laughing—the latter being the best medicine for all of life’s following “personal events.”

In the meantime, at some point you realize that the world as we know it is having its own life, and that we must “stop the world and get on” for the ride. This is when chance can take over making for so many “ONCES’S” over which we have no control.

And so it goes. Take stock of especially the good and happy “onces,” let all of those other RIP and consider them learning experiences—there’s not one thing you can do about them except try to profit by those mistakes.

Bringing this piece full circle (no, I’m not leaving this veil yet) in spite of the burdens of our ongoing lifetimes, "now" is the only “once” that counts, and it consists of being here among dear and crazy, thoughtful, loving and verbose friends at Story Time. Thank you and peace.

© 22 Nov 2015 

About the Author