What follows is a copy of the first email I ever sent to Anna on June 20th 2006. While I have jumped ahead of the story a little I wanted you to know that I intend publishing all of the email corresponents between myself and Anna as well as my conversations with Michael Morales, Head of the Homicide Division of the Parish County Attorney's Office and Jullie Cullen, Head of the Criminal Division of the Attorney Generals Office as well.
Dear Dr. Anna Pou: I sincerely understand and can imagine that you receive lots of email on a daily basis and would please ask that before deleting my email, please at least read what I have sent with an open and understanding heart. I also understand that you do not know me and that I live far far away from your state and the tragic circumstances swirling around last years act of nature.I myself was in the hospital recovery from major surgery and watched on tv the heart wrenching events as they unfolding in New Orleans. I can still remember how my heart just cried out for the ordeal the citizens where going through and even remember turning the tv off a number of times because I felt so sad for the folks who lost their homes and jobs and friends and pets. Even today I think back on what happened and my heart just is so sad about the tragedy. I sincerely hope that you will please read this with as kind an open heart with which it was written and that perhaps you will find it within your heart to respond with what I hope is the sensitivity in which it was composed. I would like very much to be a friend and to understand what happened without judgement or reservation. Sincerely and Very Respectfully,Miranda
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
My Sad Story Continued 2
The flights down to Scottsdale, Arizonia where nice and uneventful. I left Walla Walla on August 29th, 2005 at approximately 7.45am. The flight was on a small twin engined aircraft operated by Horizon Airlines. I remember flying over Mount Rainer just as the sun was coming up. It looked so wonderful and serene and bathed in this light pink haze. When I arrived at Seattle, I had to transfer to an Alaskian Airways flight to Pheonix, Arizonia. I remember the flight was delayed due to mechanical difficulties and so the lay over was longer than expected. As I sat in the terminal waiting for my connecting flight, I remember watching the overhead tv. The news was all about hurricane Katrina. By that time, Katrina had already reached New Orleans and the devastation of the city had already begun. And yet as I sat there watching the unfolding story, the images that I saw and the suffering that prevailed, simply did not register. I was on my way to Scottsdale for a surgery that I had been waiting for for two years. Little did I know or even comprehend that another story had just begun, a story that literally rocked my world and turned it upside down.
The flight from Seattle to Pheonix was a little bumpy but otherise just fine. It seemed like everyone on the flight was talking about Katrina except myself. I was happily alone in my little cacoon thinking about the surgery and how long the process of sex reassignment really took. It was a long process and was now coming to an end. I was so happy and so looking forward to the end of this journey and the beginning of my new life that it seemed at the time that nothing else mattered. I was about to become the person I had always wanted to be. And yet, not a world away, a city that I had never known nor even visited, lay literally in ruins. Survivors sat on rooftops waiting for resue as once prized cars floated silently down flooded streets.
And yet, it all comes back to me now, the pain, the worry, the despair, the words of comfort, the words of hope, the please dont cry I know your a good person, the proceedings of the Grand Jury, the conversations with Anna as well as Michael Morales and Julie Cullen. It all comes back and the words fail me. What do you say to the premeditated killing of nine patients on the seventh floor of Memorial Hospital? Do you say your sorry and then move on. And what about the family members left behind? What do you say to them? What do you say to them?
The flight from Seattle to Pheonix was a little bumpy but otherise just fine. It seemed like everyone on the flight was talking about Katrina except myself. I was happily alone in my little cacoon thinking about the surgery and how long the process of sex reassignment really took. It was a long process and was now coming to an end. I was so happy and so looking forward to the end of this journey and the beginning of my new life that it seemed at the time that nothing else mattered. I was about to become the person I had always wanted to be. And yet, not a world away, a city that I had never known nor even visited, lay literally in ruins. Survivors sat on rooftops waiting for resue as once prized cars floated silently down flooded streets.
And yet, it all comes back to me now, the pain, the worry, the despair, the words of comfort, the words of hope, the please dont cry I know your a good person, the proceedings of the Grand Jury, the conversations with Anna as well as Michael Morales and Julie Cullen. It all comes back and the words fail me. What do you say to the premeditated killing of nine patients on the seventh floor of Memorial Hospital? Do you say your sorry and then move on. And what about the family members left behind? What do you say to them? What do you say to them?
Monday, March 15, 2010
My Sad Story Continued.
I remember the last week of August of 2005. The weather here in Walla Walla was wonderful. Things where cooling down after what seemed like a long and lazy summer and I was particularly excited about preparing to travel down to Scotsdale, Arizonia for sex reassignment surgery with Dr. Toby Meltzer. It had been a long two year process involving monthly visits to my doctor, the taking of many drugs and a whole host of psychiatric evaluations by two seperate psychiatrists and one clinical psychologist. After all the tests and evaluations, after all the drugs and blood work, I was finally ready for the surgery.
At the time, I had no real idea about the tragedy that was unfolding in New Orleans. Like most folks, I had been watching the news and reading the reports about hurricane Katrina and its plotted path toward the city. But at the time, none of it really seemed to register. I was so focused on my surgery and the whole process of sex reassignement, everything else seemed like a dream. The reports of pending doom and the call for the evacuation of the city, all seemed like something that had no real relationship with what I was going through. If someone had told me at the time, the impact hurricane Katrina was going to have on me, I would have simply laughed at them. Afterall, I was living safely in Washington State. I had a good job and many close and wonderful friends. Never in even my dreams could I have possibly imagined what was really about to happen: the long conversations with a doctor who, at the time, I did not even know, the words of support and comfort, the please dont worries God loves you very much and everything will be alright, the endless crying, the multiple attempts at suicide and the rushed visits to the emergency room at Saint Mary Medical Center and the nights spent in ICU and above all else, the lonely nightmares. If someone had stepped out of the shadows and told me these things, I simply would have laughed. Afterall, I was safe in Walla Walla. Or was I really!!
At the time, I had no real idea about the tragedy that was unfolding in New Orleans. Like most folks, I had been watching the news and reading the reports about hurricane Katrina and its plotted path toward the city. But at the time, none of it really seemed to register. I was so focused on my surgery and the whole process of sex reassignement, everything else seemed like a dream. The reports of pending doom and the call for the evacuation of the city, all seemed like something that had no real relationship with what I was going through. If someone had told me at the time, the impact hurricane Katrina was going to have on me, I would have simply laughed at them. Afterall, I was living safely in Washington State. I had a good job and many close and wonderful friends. Never in even my dreams could I have possibly imagined what was really about to happen: the long conversations with a doctor who, at the time, I did not even know, the words of support and comfort, the please dont worries God loves you very much and everything will be alright, the endless crying, the multiple attempts at suicide and the rushed visits to the emergency room at Saint Mary Medical Center and the nights spent in ICU and above all else, the lonely nightmares. If someone had stepped out of the shadows and told me these things, I simply would have laughed. Afterall, I was safe in Walla Walla. Or was I really!!
Who Am I?
First, a little bit about who I am. My name is Miranda Lucianna and I was born in England on March 15th, 1960. My father Gordon Jaynes, is an attorney, based out of London, England. I grew up in a small village just outside of London called Virginia Water in Surrey. I attending the University of London's School of Economics before moving back to Walla Walla, Washington to live with my Grandparents, in the summer of 1979. After the summer, I attending Washington State University, in Pullman, Washington. I graduated from WSU in 1983 with a BA in English Literature and a Minor in European History, inspite of my dyslexia. I then attending Eastern Washington State University. I graduated from EWU in the Spring of 1985 with an MA in American Military and Diplomatic History. I later attended and graduated from Walla Walla Community College with a Certificate in Computer Applications. I also earned Microsoft certifications in Broadband Technology, Narrowband Technology and Customer Service. I am also certified in Qwest technical support as well as Comcast technical support and currently work for Sykes Enterprises in Information Technology and Customer Service. And now my sad story....
My Sad Story
My Dear Friend:
Where does one start a story which has such an unhappy ending? Perhaps I should start with a simple warning. The story which I am about to tell is not a happy story. Nor does it have a happy ending and those who participated have lost much in its telling. And yet, perhaps in the telling of the story, perhaps in the brief moment of its reading and the contemplation of its meaning, those who perished on the seventh floor of Memorial Hospital in New Orleans, will not have died in vain and their families may someday know what really happened on September 1st, 2005. And as for me, I still remember the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the please don't worries everything will be ok and the world turned upside down by the asking of a simple question: how could something like this have happened in America in the twenty-first century?
Where does one start a story which has such an unhappy ending? Perhaps I should start with a simple warning. The story which I am about to tell is not a happy story. Nor does it have a happy ending and those who participated have lost much in its telling. And yet, perhaps in the telling of the story, perhaps in the brief moment of its reading and the contemplation of its meaning, those who perished on the seventh floor of Memorial Hospital in New Orleans, will not have died in vain and their families may someday know what really happened on September 1st, 2005. And as for me, I still remember the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the please don't worries everything will be ok and the world turned upside down by the asking of a simple question: how could something like this have happened in America in the twenty-first century?
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