|Get well if it's possible, or rest in much-deserved peace.|
I'm saddened by the condition in which Bobbi Kristina Brown has found herself.. In addition to being saddened, I'm a bit skeptical and even suspicious.
I cannot rank the death of Bobbi Kristina's mother, Whitney Houston, up there with 9/11 and other major events of my life, but still, I do remember where I was when i heard the news. I was walking through a casino in Reno with some of my friends. We planned a long weekend in the world's littlest big city. I didn't have any high hopes of doing any serious gambling; as even with my fake ID, a seventeen-year-old Alexis wasn't likely to fool anyone. (Hell, I'm 20 now and still doubt I could actually gamble or purchase alcoholic beverages with or without a fake ID in any place other than one of those operations that routinely sells alcoholic beverages to underage drinkers.)
Once I hit that magic number of 21, if I hit any of the nation's gaming meccas, i may as well put my ID in one of those transparent plastic sleeves that pin name badges onto people.. It will save me the trouble of fishing into my wallet to prove my age roughly every thirty-seven seconds. Actually, at least according to my friend Meredith, they only card you when you're winning. Those running the casinos are happy to take the money of underage gamblers as long as all they're doing is feeding the kitty. When I finally am legally allowed to toss coins into a slot machine, (and I understand it's now a metaphorical thing; one now merely slides bills or a credit card into a slot) someone will be waiting with bated breath to confiscate whatever I am lucky enough to win.
In another ten months minus a few days, the bouncers, floor bosses, mob-affiliated owners, or anyone else who tries to rob babes in the woods of their hard-earned allowance and birthday money multiplied by the electronics of the fates as indicated by the wheels pretending to spin on the screen display of each machine, will be sadly disappointed when all is said or done as he or she walks away after arguing the validity of my driver's license. But for now, I still try to slide in a few bills sneak in a few and spins of the wheels of fortune when I find myself in a casino, that is if i'm able to breathe through the haze of cigarette smoke for long enough to do so.
That's what I was doing on what was, if I recall correctly, the night of February 11, 2012, when I heard someone telling someone else at a machine near the one I was trying to surreptitiously feed dollar bills into while appearing merely to be walking to my hotel room. I had attended a women's basketball game because the relative of a friend was playing in the game. But seriously, who other than a six-year-old walks through a casino without attempting to play a few slots. As I heard the news of the supposed death of Whitney Houston, however, my attention turned elsewhere. Quickly cashing out of the machine I had been using so that one of my of-age friends could redeem the ticket for me later, I moved to an area where huge-screened television sets were broadcasting news of Ms. Houston's untimely demise. Indeed it was true.
In the upcoming days and weeks, as additional information emerged, it became apparent that drugs were a factor in Ms. Houston's bathtub drowning. Later still, as autopsy results were reported, it was revealed that, while Ms. Houston had fallen forward into a bathtub filling with water, though drug-impaired, she was, horrendously, conscious as the water scalded her face and body as it made its way into her lungs, eventually resulting in diffusion, osmosis, and drowning. (We covered the physiology of drowning in one of my med school courses.)
Even though I'm neither a druggie nor a heavy drinker by even the most stringent definitions of either term -- I do take prescription medications, including opiates, after surgeries, and I have been prescribed and have taken exactly as directed benzodiazepines in order to cope with the infrequent anxiety attack when it becomes almost unbearable otherwise, but have thus far, and I'm knocking on real wood that such continues to be the case for me as I advance to the point in my medical career when drugs become easier to obtain, managed to side-step any addictions.
I'm not superhuman and, as such, am not immune to the human weaknesses that have brought down persons of character far superior to my own. There but for the grace of God go I. Yet I've thus far managed to avoid anything even close to addiction to any chemical more potent than sugar, and my drinking is limited to half a bottle of Guinness twice a week as an appetite stimulant, which I don't actually enjoy while drinking, though I own up to reveling in the slight buzz I usually feel half an hour or so after having gotten down the half-bottle of vile fluid. I hope and pray that alcohol and drugs will continue not to become a source of reliance upon or motivation to me or to my colleagues, either, and that none of us will succumb to the temptations of their easy fixes. This will become a more significant issue to all of us in our medical careers as we advance to thee point in when facing the inevitable extreme sleep deprivation becomes a reality along with the territory of training to become a physician or a surgeon.
My mindset was, nonetheless, affected by the news of Ms. Houston's seemingly harrowing death. While not resorting to outright paranoia in terms of taking baths, I became markedly more cautious in doing so. I became more careful in terms of avoiding slips and falls in the bathtub, particularly when no one else was home who might have head the thud of my fall and might possibly have come to check on me. I began to force myself to be consciously aware of any drug, even one so seemingly benign as a single Tylenol PM caplet , that might have adversely impacted my ability to react or to right myself had I fallen face-first into water had I taken the drug prior to bathing. Although relaxing in a tub is infinitely much more pleasurable than standing under a shower when one is bone-tired, I began to consider the possible impact of being overly tired while lying in a body of warm water. I'd like to think my body would wake me if my mouth and nose slipped beneath the surface of the water, but I don't know for certain that such would be the case.
It would seem to me that if I -- an admirer of Ms. Houston's vocal prowess but barely a fan -- have been impacted by the manner of Ms. Houston's death, Ms. Houston's only child, in addition to being grief-stricken over the loss of her mother in the prime of her mother's life, might have been influenced all the more so to prudence in exercising common sense while taking baths in general, but particularly when alertness-altering drugs might possibly have been involved. I've heard conflicting reports as to whether or not evidence of drugs of the mood-altering variety were found by investigators.
Actually, I've come across conflicting reports about a whole lot of things related to this case. I've heard that Bobbi Kristina was legally married to Nick Gordon, while Bobbi Kristina's father, Bobby Brown, and his attorney maintain that the two were never legally married and were essentially playing house. This one seems easy enough to settle. Either a signed marriage license has been filed in some courthouse somewhere following a ceremony, thereby making the marriage recognizable in the eyes of the law, or it hasn't. Nick Gordon holds the power to clear this one up. Common sense would dictate that this conundrum be settled rather soon, as a decision as to whether or not to keep Bobbi Kristina on life support or to pull the plug may be looming on the not too distant horizon.
Then there's the colossal elephant in the room, which by now is probably past being ignored by the principals in this case. Bobbi Kristina very likely did not have a will. If such is the case, and in absence of a prenup, her sizable estate will fall under control of her husband Nick Gordon -- if he truly is her husband, which seems to be an issue at the center of the controversy. If not, Bobbi Kristina's estate would presumably belong to Bobbi Kristina's father. Her mother's side of the family, however, will presumably contest this on the grounds that since executorship of Bobbi Kristina's estate inherited through her mother was not his in Kristina's life, why should control of the estate go to him in Bobbi Kristina's death? The explanation for that is easy. Whitney Houston was divorced from Bobby Brown. The typical divorce is not a pretty thing. The bitterness of divorce, however, does not alter Brown's status as next-of-kin if the marriage of Bobbi Kristina and Nick Gordon turns out never to have happened.
Then there's one other pesky matter which is under investigation even as I type.
Was Bobbi Kristina Brown's death truly as a result of either a fall into a bathtub or of using drugs before falling into the water face-down, or was there more to it? Injuries prior to the bathtub incident have been reported. Just like Humpty Dumpty [sorry; I couldn't resist], did Bobbi Kristina fall or was she pushed or placed there? While it's possible she really did simply drown after falling face-down in a water-filled bathtub, for reasons I've explained previously, it doesn't seem all that probable. It all seems to be just a bit too coincidental to be credible as an accident.
Who stood to profit from Bobbi Kristina's demise? Who had opportunity? Who had motive? Who found the body? When the person who found the body -- Bobbi Kristina's purported husband -- found her in the bathtub, he had an acquaintance with him. i'd like to think that, were I to marry and were I then to take a bath, my husband would not initially bring a friend to casually check on me in the bathtub before ascertaining that a problem of some sort existed. So why was this acquaintance present in Bobbi Kristina's bathroom? Was he needed to provide an alibi of some sort, or might he even have had something to do with Bobbi Kristina's demise? The plot both thickens and sickens.
Even before her mother's death, Bobbi Kristina led an unconventional life -- one in which things were done for her so that she didn't have to learn how to do them for herself, as in the simple things ordinary people do every day, such as ordering pizza and ordering airline tickets. She also saw her mother taking both illegal and prescription drugs in their various forms. This, combined with the privilege that comes with both wealth and with being the offspring of someone famous seemed to have altered Bobbi Kristina's sense of reality. She reportedly considered herself much more famous and talented than she would have been considered by the people who buy magazines, recordings, concert tickets, and the like.
In reality, she was the child of someone famous who had done little or nothing to perpetuate that fame to the next generation. The only thing truly noteworthy about her was the seemingly mile-wide gap between her two front teeth, which I found outrageous. Had these people not heard of orthodontia? The gap seemed to have been left in place to perpetuate her resemblance to her father, Bobby Brown. If such were the actual case, I suppose we should all be grateful that Bobby Brown did not have crossed eyes, or, even worse, a cleft lip. That, however, is all superficial and only skin- (or teeth-) deep.
What is more than skin-deep is the brouhaha that is reportedly already taking place over Bobbi Kristina's financial holdings, and can only get worse if she passes on. (In fairness, not all members of the family have been involved in this.) Can these people not show at least a modicum of respect? The poor girl isn't even cold -- or, for that matter, dead --yet.
I sincerely hope Bobbi Kristina wakes up, makes a full recovery, and walks out of that hospital with her estate intact. An aunt by marriage is reportedly the executor to the estate. Bobbi Kristina reportedly does not agree with some of her aunt's decisions regarding the dispersal of money and of the use of funds. For that reason, I feel that should Bobbi Kristina regain consciousness, she deserves a new executor of her estate: one in whom she will have confidence -- not necessarily one who will hand over as much cash as Bobbi Kristina requests, but one whom she trusts. Ultimately, should she live, it's her money to spend wisely or to burn through as though it is firewood kindling.
While she may need financial guidance for a few more years should she live to need it, it needs to be provided by someone in whom Bobbi Kristina has faith and confidence, and funds should not be spent by the executor for anything Bobbi Kristina has not personally authorized, unless it's something along the lines of auto and health insurance, and if Bobbi Kristina is not sufficiently sensible to understand that such things are a necessity. Young though she may be, she's a legal adult, and it is her money.
If you can have any quality of life after this accident or whatever it was, Bobbi Kristina, get well. If not, then rest in heavenly peace.
Sometimes I'm very thankful that I'm firmly ensconced in the middle class and am not worth more dead than alive to absolutely anyone.