Tender Mercies, A Perspective on Grieving

Welcome to my new normal... I lost my mom to liver disease on August 23rd. Ironically, she had never had a drink of alcohol in her life. The week preceding her death was filled with things I thought I would never have to do. Some I'd never even considered possibilities and many I should have prepared for but simply had not.

In the grand scheme of things, I'm lucky. I should have lost my Dad the same week I lost my Mom and very well could have. He totaled his 2014 Harley-Davidson Street Glide on Friday morning and was taken by helicopter to the nearest hospital. He was wearing his helmet, which he did every time he rides thankfully, and sustained only minor injuries. 'Minor' considering he flipped his bike end over end twice, landing on his head both times. They kept him overnight for observation which was to be the first in a long chain of events that week, the worst week of my life. I believe things happen for a reason; and that there was a reason for this accident especially.

Mom admitted to me that night that she didn't think she should spend the night alone - something she did five nights out of every week while my Dad was at work. It was a first and heralded the beginning of the end. My siblings and I rallied together to be with Mom all weekend and get Dad home from the hospital an hour away. That weekend I bought adult diapers, helped Mom shower and transfer on and off the toilet - things this daughter had never prepared myself for. We all stepped up and did what needed to be done while I silently wondered if worrying about Mom was why Dad had wrecked his bike. Especially if this had become his normal.

Mom had been sick for many years - diagnosed for four but symptomatic closer to ten because she was a stubborn nurse who refused to see a doctor regularly. We had watched her decline slowly the last couple of years but she was still living at home. She didn't drive anymore but Dad would take her religiously for her hair and nail appointments. Most weeks they would go to dinner with us on Friday nights and still saw friends often.We'd even gone camping as a family three weekends before. By Saturday morning we all agreed that with Dad hurt and in a neck brace for the next ten days he was going to need help. Help none of us were equipped to offer. That weekend I helped coordinate with her doctors to get emergency orders for home health care, we all kicked into cleaning and de-cluttering mode to make room for what we anticipated was a need for a hospital bed since she could no longer get in and out of her own by herself seemingly overnight, and we met with a nurse to assess Mom's current health.

The worst side effect of liver disease is the build up of ammonia in the brain called encephalopathy that presents as memory loss. That weekend there were several times Mom would look at us and it was like there was no one looking back from behind her eyes. It was much worse than we had been experiencing with forgetting how old she was or how long she'd been married or not being very good at lengthy conversations. All of which we'd been dealing with for at least the past year. By Monday morning, she couldn't walk by herself and there was evidence of internal bleeding. We headed to the emergency department at the hospital. Mom never came home. They stabilized her and did everything they could but her kidneys had also failed and there was nothing anyone could do to fix it.

It was a week of emotional turmoil as my Dad leaned on us to help make the hardest decisions a person can be faced with. Would she want to be intubated? Would she want to be kept alive on a feeding tube? Would she be okay with spending half of every day for the rest of her life hooked up to a dialysis machine to keep her alive? Would she be happy if she had to go to a skilled nursing facility and not be allowed to live at home anymore? She was never conscious enough to rationally help us make these decisions. Heart-wrenching and heart-breaking. In the end Dad knew enough about her wishes to make the hard choices. We withdrew care early Saturday morning. She was gone by the evening.

Someone said to me right after it happened that nothing can prepare you for losing a parent. So true. No matter that we all knew it was a possibility for years, it still hurt like a bitch. In the weeks since her death I've come to focus on the tender mercies that came with the heart-ripping sadness and give me comfort.

The first and most obvious mercy was not having to bury both of my parents in the course of a week. If things had turned out differently that Friday morning, a morning that started the way so many others had before with Hubby and Dad heading out for a day trip on the motorcycles, we would have.


Even bigger, the realization that Mom went out exactly as she would have wanted it. She tried in April to make me promise that she'd never have to go to a care facility or a nursing home. A promise I told her flat out I couldn't make because none of us were equipped to care for her if it came to that. As it happened, Mom lived out her days at home with the love of her life until she couldn't and then went swiftly from this life to whatever lies beyond. She never had to face her greatest fear in life - living without Dad. And she was surrounded by the thing that made her happiest for an entire week before she passed - her family. I will cherish every day I spent with her in the hospital that week and be forever grateful for a job flexible enough that I was there every day.


So many of the events that week seemed serendipitous. Tuesday night all the grand kids came and spent the evening. It was difficult to watch my own children struggle both with understanding what was happening (Baby Sister) and with knowing exactly what might be happening (Big Sister). There were near-hysterics involved but in the end all of them were able to tell her everything they wanted or needed to say - and heard Grandma tell them she loved them back. Had we waited another day, they wouldn't have had the chance. She was transferred the next afternoon and children are not allowed in the ICU.

Many people warned me that the funeral and all the things leading up to her burial were going to be so rough. Certainly they were difficult - especially speaking at the funeral - but nothing was as hard as watching her actually pass from this world. I cling to the memory of watching her use her last ounce of breath to tell us she loved us and to kiss Dad over and over until she didn't have any more strength left. Such a tender mercy, having her still conscious enough for that final goodbye.

I watch people tread lightly around my grief and part of me is surprised there isn't more of it in evidence. But the reality is, we slowly lost Mom for years and there is comfort in knowing she isn't suffering anymore. It doesn't mean I didn't sob all the way home after stumbling on an old voicemail from her today. Because I did. Hearing her voice and calling me her pet name were things I hadn't even considered how much I would miss. I thank my brush with death and resulting shift in perspective of not taking people or time with them for granted. It, too, must have happened for a reason. I have very few regrets because I spent as much time as I could with my parents in Mom's final year. I will miss her everyday but I know she is in a better place - wherever that may be.

I've said it before since that fateful day of my pulmonary embolism and I'll say it again. Squeeze those you love and make every minute count. Tomorrow is not promised. Even if you know the inevitable is inevitable, you can never really be ready. More important, have the difficult discussions with those you love about what you would want if you ever find yourself in a situation requiring life support and unable to make decisions for yourself. It was the single worst thing I've ever had to do in my life. Trust me that you don't want your loved ones not to know at least the general ideas you have on death and dying.

Much gratitude and love to those of you who make up my village - who brought food and gifts, took my kids, sent cards and flowers, hugged me, got me drunk, came to the services, called, sent texts and Facebook messages and in general got me through this as a collective. I couldn't have done it without all of you.

The Wonder of Diversity in Fiction

Everyone is different, we all know that, right? This week I realized there is far more striking diversity in what people read than I'd ever given thought to. I devoured - and I mean devoured - a book a few weeks back by a fellow author I met at LTUE called Beatrysel. Afterwards I raved about it to everyone I know. And then was shocked - SHOCKED - when one of my besties from my writer's group picked it up and said she just couldn't get into it and didn't really love it. It got me thinking...

I knew that there were different tastes - ten years in a book club has shown that over and over again. In the microcosm of my own book club, there are people who adore the young adult genre even when they are far from the intended demographic the books are written for. There are those who love historical period pieces. And the holocaust. And the classics. And there's a handful of us who love fantasy. An even smaller handful who love horror. And for all of those who love a particular subset of books, the niches they discard are just as varied.

What makes you love what you read and reject what you don't like? I've thought for years that we all read with our own filters. Those experiences we've had in life that taint the glasses we look out from also tend to define how we take things in. Most fiction has one thing in common across all genres - it evokes an emotional response in readers. Based on an individual's emotional make-up, those responses will be different for different books. What a wonderful world we live in that for as many varied kinds of readers, there are that many varied kinds of writers providing the kinds of books everyone everywhere want to read.

The Perspective and Importance of A Moment

Today I gained the perspective of a forty-two year old. Because I now AM a forty-two year old. It is funny to look back on my late thirties when I started to refuse to acknowledge birthdays and dread that the age number kept getting bigger and what it all meant that I was 'getting old'. Everything shifted when faced with my own mortality but nothing quite so much as this little thing. When the alternative to getting older is being dead, you start to wonder which is really the worst thing that could happen.

An old friend I haven't seen in years - but thanks to the wonders of Facebook get to talk to and interact with - said today that my face hadn't changed since we worked together twenty years ago. It was the nicest thing and proves that aging doesn't have to be a horrible process. Could it be that happiness and joy are the magical facial cream everyone has been looking for to achieve younger looking skin? Could embracing your life and appreciating everything and everyone in it with open arms and without judgement lead to a younger and glowing countenance? Or was he just flattering me?

I've been internalizing a lot these last couple of weeks of yoga training, thinking a lot about being present in every moment and every situation. Things like noticing when Baby Sister gets whiny and I get frustrated and realize I have my focus so fractured between multiple things that I 'think' need my attention. The reality is that she is the one thing that needs my attention (usually) the very most in that moment. Thirty seconds of eye contact and direct engaged conversation are usually enough for her to restore harmony in herself and run off to sing and play with her babies leaving me to finish all the other unimportant but pressing things I've got going on. What if that's what everyone needs once in a while? What if life were really that easy? What if it is more about being fully present with someone rather than posing for a selfie over and over until you get it just right?

Have you noticed that there are no longer any bad candid pictures out there? Thanks to the wonders of technology you can immediately see what that "snapshot" is going to look like and decide to accept or re-do until you get it just right. And once you capture it just right, there's always editing software to remove blemishes and brighten the colors and whatever else you think wasn't perfect about the authentic moment the lens captured. What kind of a legacy are we leaving for our children when they look back and only get to see what we deemed were the 'best' photos of us instead of the 'real' photos of us? Are we all taking life way too seriously or taking ourselves out of the real moments to capture the perfect portrayal of the same moment for the benefit of everyone else? What if all that matters is being happy and not all the stuff we surround ourselves with?

These are the things I'm thinking about on the second birthday that I might not have ever had. Ultimately I hope I can be the kind of person that ages gracefully and who people look at and wonder "why is she so happy?" regardless of how many wrinkles are on my face or how high the number next to my age gets. I'll tell you, forty two never felt so wonderful!

2013 In a Nutshell

I'm reading a book called "The Happiness Advantage" with my work book club. I'm not a huge fan of the self-help genre (and for some reason these are the kinds of books that always get picked by the group) so it is taking me months (and hopefully not countless library fines) to finish this one even though it is a fabulous book. What I'm learning is that success, performance at work, and general happiness are all a product of your positive outlook on life and not the other way around. As I am wont to do with every book I read, I've been internalizing all the different points the author makes and realize that somehow intuitively I've been applying some of these principles in my life already. Mostly because 2013 was by far the most roller-coaster of a year to date in my life.

Here's a recap of the year:

• I'm so glad to be alive since I didn't die from the pulmonary embolism
• Happy birthday, I'm done taking Coumadin! Let's celebrate with leafy green vegetables!
• I finished my first novel - finally!
• Just kidding, back on Coumadin
• Wait, why did I just gain thirty pounds in a couple of weeks? 
• Good news, mammograms don't hurt and I have medical proof I have a great rack
• Wow, biopsy of the kidney really hurts but not as much as finding out I have a chronic kidney disease that I will never get rid of.
• I'm officially more of a yogi than a runner but that's okay
• Treatment of kidney disease commences and I am feeling better
• Started teaching yoga at work since no one else would get the ball rolling
• Treatment isn't working, how 'bout chemotherapy? We settled for vegetarianism and immunosuppression after I argued with my doctor for a plan that didn't come with cancer side effects later.
• Immunosuppression sucks ass! Time for a pity party from hell
• Just kidding, I'm over the pity party and ready to BE healthy instead of wallow
• When the dose is finally right, immunosuppression is actually great since I feel fabulous now!
• Focus turns back to fitness and surprise - yoga is keeping me from being any worse off than I was before this whole mess.
• Everyday yoga practice commences - I'm addicted
• I finished my second novel - in a month!
• Christmas in California's warm weather - although the Californians think it is winter we know they are crazy.

The book is full of examples of positive psychology and proof that you are more productive and successful if you first start with a positive outlook rather than saying that once you get {fill in the blank} I'll be happy. The one that struck me the hardest was talking about how there is a small subset of people who are more successful and happier because they can more successfully pick themselves up off the mat after failures or setbacks. They are the people who define themselves not by what has happened to them but instead by what they can make out of what has happened.

There is no doubt about it that I am a changed person because of the last year. I have always lived life with a touch of spontaneity but now I'm even more apt to jump first and ask questions later. I also cherish my relationships with people - not just those closest to me but everyone I know - differently and more deeply. I know more than most how tenuous life is and how today just might be your last. If you know me in real life and I tell you that I love you, rest assured that I mean it. But that isn't where I stopped. Back in October when I was deep in my pity party, I could easily have stayed there dwelling on how bad my life was and how I had been forced to turn vegetarian and how I will never be cured and blah blah blah. But instead, I switched my focus to all the things that could have been worse. I've never been hospitalized with all this insanity of health issues, I only had a couple of weeks that I couldn't do yoga to the fullest, and I am able to do whatever I want now in terms of fitness - although running is again something I have to build up to since it has been so long since I did it. I learned last month that the six months I thought I had of immunosuppression treatment is actually a two year gig but I'm rolling with it. It isn't chemo after all. Sure, I'll have to be far more diligent with my facial waxing since one of the side effects apparently is increased hair growth but there are worse things, right?

If I'm recapping 2013 in a nutshell, I'd say it gave me a far greater perspective on how I want to live my life. I am still grieving in many ways about the loss of my perfect vitality but I'm also taking steps to get past that loss. I didn't lose a husband, and I didn't get a terminal illness (chronic doesn't directly translate to terminal after all) but I did suffer a loss in the form of seeing the end of my life as I had previously defined it. Instead of wallowing in the grief, I'm redefining my life and living that new life fully. I'm not one to make resolutions with the New Year but I'm far more prone to reflecting this year. As I look ahead to 2014 and all the craziness I'm certain is in store for me and my little family, above all I am happy and hopeful. May your 2014 be the same whoever you are and wherever your circumstances find you. Thanks for reading!

The Olympics through new eyes

The Olympic Games happen every four years.  And every four years, since I was a small child sitting on the couch next to my mom cheering for gymnastics and following the swimming with my dad who was a swimmer in high school, nothing much has changed for me whenever they roll around.  Until this year.

I still watch - with my own children sitting next to me now - cheering on the women's gymnastics team and hoping they win gold; cheering and appreciating amazing performances from top gymnasts from all over the world; cheering on our swimming team; watching the diving; watching volleyball in all its forms; and being fascinated with glimpses of other not-so-popular sports when there is prime time coverage.  But this year something has changed.

This year, I'm also watching track and field events.

Four years ago, I was not a runner.  Four years ago, I was overweight and unhappy with my life.  Four years ago the only thing I didn't watch in the summer Games was the track and field.  I even remember being irritated with Hubby who ran track in high school wanting to watch.

Now, I'm a runner. And I can't get enough of watching the amazing athletes.  And I'm answering questions and correcting the misconceptions from my daughter about 'why they are running so slow' because it's fifteen hundred meters instead of one hundred.  I'm appreciating the difference between a sprint, a middle distance and a long distance and am inspired and awed by those who do multiple events.

I guess one could extrapolate from this that it only takes four years to fundamentally change your life.  Thank god I have the Olympics to measure the distance I've come from that other girl who ran the corners and walked the straights hoping just to pass the required mile in P.E. class in junior high.  The one who took dance the next year so I wouldn't have to run.  Who drove aimlessly through parking lots as an adult looking for the closest spot so I wouldn't have to walk so far.  I like my new life and how I feel and appreciate how much effort it has taken me to get here from there.  I'm strong.  I'm fit.  And that makes me powerful.  And although my body isn't perfectly chiseled, and there are always setbacks along the way that constantly test my will, I'm still active and I'm still a runner.  That fact alone means I will live longer and feel better than that old girl I used to be.  More Olympics to watch that way, too!

Serves you right!

And just like that, we're back to bitchy...  Last week I had a passive aggressive episode in the gym that got me thinking.  My life is so crazy that it takes having a membership at two different gyms to make my commitment to training actually workable.  Half the week I'm at THE GYM (queue angels singing) and the other I'm at the fitness center at work.  Luckily I have both, but the mix of people at work is... well, somewhat different.  There are a lot of people who only use it for 15 minute increments while on their break and still in their work clothes.  I understand that it IS better than nothing but it is a very different commitment level than those who make time to do a full workout including sweating enough we need to change clothes. I mean, it's one thing to go for a walk during your break but to have an entire fitness center on the premises and not utilize it fully?  What a waste!

I admit I get a bit of entertainment watching them come and go on the treadmills and elliptical machines and there's one... um... girl... in particular who stands out among the rest.  Why?  Because she comes in every day, dressed in her skirts and knee-high boots AND jacket or blazer - crazy enough by itself.  But what's more crazy is the choice of television while she's at it.  At a glance I'd say she's in her twenties - early to middle - and yet she's watching TV that my nine year old likes.  We're talking Nickelodeon and ABC Family and even the Disney Channel.  Laughable really and at times I find it hard not to do so out loud. 

So back to last week's episode... I'm on the treadmill sweating like a pig, jamming to some Marilyn Manson doing intervals: two minutes of "normal" running followed by a minute of sprinting.  Because I have my iPod and there were only iPod-ers there when we started I turned the television off (yes, people, there's an off switch on those things!) and dropped the remote into the cup holder on my left.  Half an hour into my workout, teeny bop girl walks in and climbs on the treadmill to my immediate right and starts looking around for the remote for the TV hanging directly above my treadmill.  I'm watching out of the corner of my eye and I know exactly when she finds it.  Even if I hadn't been watching, I would have known because at that point she started STARING at me.  Like craning your neck and staring at me from just within my peripheral vision is the same as asking for the fucking remote?  Seriously, it was creepy and it went on for the entire time she worked out.  I kept thinking she would ask me and after a while it became apparent that she wasn't going to and I thought 'Oh, you think I can't outlast your childish stare down?  You are wrong chicky!'

Like clockwork, ten minutes later she turned off her treadmill and headed back to her time-clock punching job (God I'm glad I don't have to do that!) until the next day.  I'm sure she was totally pissed that she'd missed out on her tween show while she went for her leisurely stroll but here's the kicker - I would have gladly given her the remote if she'd just opened her mouth and asked me for it.  I even gave her an opening when one of my friends got finished with her cardio and headed for the locker room as I turned and said goodbye - after she'd gotten my attention from my tunes that is.

The snotty bitch in me gloated that I had outlasted the childish stare down after I got over how creepy it all was.  But then I started thinking about the greater tragedy of the whole thing.  You see, that girl is in her twenties and still doesn't know how to ask for what she wants.  Not the remote in the gym, probably not with her job, most likely not even with her friends - and God knows how unhappy she probably is in the sack!  Tragic, really but until she learns that life lesson she will continue to be frustrated everywhere she turns.  Unable to voice her own desires, she will continue to be thwarted in all she does - usually by bitches like me who know exactly what we want and aren't afraid to ask - no, DEMAND - what we want both in action and in words.

I made sure to rush home and work this life lesson into a conversation with Big Sister so she hears at an early age how important it is to stand up and ask for whatever it is that you want most.  This is something big enough not to be left to that old 'lead by example' bullshit.  There's too much objectivity in that approach to be trusted implicitly in all things.  Although, I have no fear she will see it enforced daily through my actions.  Later she will thank me when she has a life that she wants and everything as she likes it with her husband and her own children.  And if I see the Disney chick attempting the stare down again, I might just tell her "it serves you right for not asking!"

Grief as a helpless bystander

Here's where my blog becomes an outlet for my own inner demons... if it's too heavy for you, I apologize.  But this entry is really for me.

I have a coworker who is 41 - basically my age - and fighting cancer.  She has a very rare, super fast growing type that no one even really knows the name of, which isn't even important.  Suffice it to say, it is THE BIG C.  When I was having Baby Sister, she was having her uterus removed because it was full of a huge tumor.  That was ten months ago.  She went through chemo and radiation and the tumor was gone and we were all very positive.

But then it came back...

And she did more radiation and more chemo and stayed positive and never let anyone really know how bad it was - or at least me, anyway.  And then, out of the blue last week we got an email stating that she wasn't coming back and that there wasn't anything else that they could do but manage her pain for the next couple of weeks.  I know enough about that little catch phrase to know it means she is not going to win her fight against this disease.  And that just plain sucks.

I am seriously at a loss.  Me, who always knows what to say and what to do or if I don't, doesn't care because I just breeze through life taking what comes in stride.  Except what do you say to someone when you know that whatever you have to say is trivial?  I think the hardest part for me is that we are co-workers, not friends.  I don't feel like I could tell her I love her and hug her and cry.  Others on the team have worked with her long enough that they are both and so they can.  I've never hugged her before now so I would feel like a fraud if I did it now.

Her significant other told us she was feeling up for visitors for a couple of days before they leave to head across country and spend her last days with her family.  And I couldn't bring myself to go.  I feel like I'm some kind of emotional failure because I can't.  I just know it would be me sitting there staring at her, crying, with nothing to say and taking time away from her and those that she would rather be spending her last days with.  But what does that say about me that I don't want to go and "say my goodbyes"?  It isn't like she is quitting her job and just not going to work with us anymore, she is dying. I feel just as sad as the rest that she won't get to grow old, to see her kids get married and have children of their own and everything else a person my age has to look forward to doing in their lifetime.  But I feel like an outsider who is reading about her in the paper because we don't have a close or deep relationship, even though I will miss her.

I feel a bit better today after talking to one of the people who did go to visit.  She told me when they were there that she was very out of it, sleeping mostly, surrounded by her family and that it was as if she had let them come for their sake instead of hers.  Imagine being in so much pain and suffering so much and still letting people come to say their goodbyes.  How emotionally draining for her when there are so many other things she is struggling with! 

I don't have emotional ties and I won't have regrets that I didn't go to see her before she died so I'm going to leave it at that and try to feel okay with everything instead of beating myself up for not going.  Although part of me feels like that makes me some kind of heartless bitch who is rationalizing myself out of an awkward situation to make it easier on myself.  One thing is for sure, I don't like being in this limbo area reserved for acquaintances - I think I'd rather be a close friend or a stranger when it comes to grief.  At least then there are clear-cut roles for you to step into based on tradition and culture.  Life is short - squeeze those you love and live every minute as if it were your last because there are no guarantees any of us will live to see old age...

The current health debate

No, not THAT health debate...  I'm talking about one of a more personal nature.  The one that involves my gall bladder that may or may not be failing me and, more importantly, what to do about it.  A couple of weeks ago I thought I had a touch of food poisoning - and I blamed the fry sauce in the back of the refrigerator that didn't have an expiration date I'd eaten the night before.  But a week later after a very rich dinner with heavy cream sauce - oh so yummy! - I had what can only be described as some sort of attack.

This attack was not pretty and involved hours and hours of vomiting - first the projectile kind followed by what happens when there is nothing left to come up.  This by itself is bad - because you see, I. DO. NOT. VOMIT.  Not even once when I was pregnant - either time!  And I can tell you the exact dates of the last two times I had done so previous to this new development in my life.  (Family reunion 2008 and an unfortunate night of drinking circa Halloween 1999)  I'm a master at NOT vomiting...  But not this night!  On top of that horror, I had such excruciating abdominal pain I was crying like a small child who'd just had her stomach run over by a MAC truck and wanted her mommy.  It was the worst pain I've ever felt - and remember I just had a baby and felt every bit of it because my epidural failed.  This was worse - way worse.  I couldn't stand up straight because the pain in my stomach was so bad.  And I couldn't take a deep breath for HOURS because the pain radiated up into my back.  All total, I suffered for about 20 hours before the pain was gone.  After talking to my mom the nurse and extensive Google searches by my hubby (who needs doctors for diagnosis these days anyway?!) we concluded it is most likely my gall bladder.

Now comes the debate.  The first thing out of EVERYONE'S mouth are things like "oh, easy surgery" or "I had mine removed after my second pregnancy, too", etc.  Is it just me that thinks removing an entire organ - one that I actually use everyday unlike my appendix - is a bit on the drastic side?  Not to mention the permanent side!  When I started thinking about it, it's kind of creepy how everyone just assumes I'm going to have surgery to remove it.  Like that is the only option.  Twilight zone-ish creepy even!  I mean, I still have my tonsils and have never had surgery.  Never.  This cannot be taken back people! 

So I Googled some more on the subject this time down the alternative medicine and treatments road.  Since that is my nature after all...  And what I found was pretty interesting.  Both the traditional medical sites as well as the natural healing ones agree that the cause of gall stones is a concentration of cholesterol that builds up and crystalizes.  Which means it is yet another side effect of the American Diet of processed foods.  (Oh God, don't get her started...)  Okay, so I went further down the rabbit hole.  Are there alternatives to surgery is really what I wanted to know.  Well, that and how specifically do I avoid another attack!  I found a very compelling quote (which I'm paraphrasing because now I can't find it again...) Gall stones and the accompanying gall bladder attack are caused by the way we eat.  So removing the essential organ which contributes to the digestive process is the equivalent to removing the engine from your car just because you put the wrong gas in it and it stopped on the side of the road.

WOW... that stopped me in my tracks - pun intended - and appealed very deeply to the hippie, naturalist, tree hugger I am at my core.  The irony is not lost on me that this is probably the years of High Fructose Corn Syrup and fast food consumption coming back to haunt me...  And part of me thinks it might be easier to stay on the healthy eating soap box if the consequence of eating crap is a gallbladder attack.  Drastic, yes but very persuasive all the same.

So now comes the dilemma... I'm 4.5 weeks into my 6 week maternity leave already.  IF this is really a problem with my gall bladder AND I decide to treat it surgically, I'm looking at another week of recovery time.  I'm hoping if I can sell it as a complication of my pregnancy (which many people say it is) they will simply extend my leave and I'll get an additional week off to spend with my newborn and still get paid for it under short term disability.  (That is appealing!)  But, if I decide to treat it naturally with a detox cleanse to rid my organ of the crap that is making it not function properly - that will take two weeks and I'll be back to work.  If that doesn't work, I'll then be subject to taking an additional two weeks off before STD kicks in again.  But just because it is financially convenient to do as part of my leave, does that make it the right decision for me and my body?  UGH! And what if the claims of all the natural remedy people saying you can reverse the damage and keep your organ are just so they can sell me their products?  Decisions decisions....

For now, I'm treading both paths until the last possible minute when I have to commit to one or the other.  I'm seeing my doctor this week for an ultrasound to figure out if it really IS a classic case of gall stones while I start my detox - which I am overdue for anyway.  Part of me whispers 'this is a cop-out' because as long as I'm still in the discovery phase I can hold off making the official decision.  (But hey, knowing is half the battle, as my AA friends say, right?)  While another part wonders if I have really diagnosed myself properly - especially considering the one staple in my diet for the past week has been ice cold whole milk which is supposed to be the biggest trigger for a gall bladder attack according to my doctor and I've been fine.  I'm not even putting the little tidbit of 'what else could it be' into the sunlight at this point.  Nope, just not going there!  Stay tuned... it is sure to be as heated a debate as what they've got going on in the Senate right now only on a much more intimate level...

My new favorite quote

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”

A very dear cousin sent me this quote today and said when she saw it she thought of me. Indeed it very accurately sums up my philosophy in life – well, that is if I had ever actually taken the time to DEFINE a philosophy for my life. More accurately perhaps is that it sums up how I act. I’m always going to be the friend who tells you exactly how I feel about {insert topic, whatever it is we happen to be talking about}. And I won’t lie if, yes, those pants make your ass look fat. If you don’t want to hear the honest answer, don’t ask the question. I don’t ever apologize for being outspoken and opinionated because I’ve learned exactly what this quote says – those people in my life who matter never mind that I say what I think and most of the time I am endeared to them more because of this quality. The converse is also true – those that do mind don’t matter to me because anyone not willing to allow others to have an opinion AND FREELY EXPRESS IT shouldn’t be allowed the same consideration to express their own, or in the very least have anyone give a shit what their opinion is since they won’t listen to what others have to say either. I can’t tell you how free and easy living life this way is or how uncomplicated life becomes. I pity those who care more about what other people say or think about them than just being themselves. What a time and energy waster that is! So, here’s to being who you are and saying what you feel – WHATEVER THAT IS – and thanks Yayma for the great quote!

Social Experiment - in Review

The long anticipation is over… because I’m assuming at least one person who reads this blog has been waiting anxiously for my follow-up posting about my little social experiment! Here’s a synopsis of what’s going on:

First the big news: After 7 years and at the ripe old age of 37, I am having another baby.

For those who don’t know me or my reproductive history, an explanation is in order so the rest of the experiment makes more sense. I have a single daughter, who will be 8 in the fall. When my husband and I conceived her, it was PURELY on accident-as in UNPLANNED-as in CAREER RUINING-as in COMPLETELY DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING! We had been married 7 years so it wasn’t scandalous but for me it was life altering. Among the hordes of women surrounding me pining away for motherhood or basking in its glow, I was an island of “I don’t really want to be a Mom” that most people couldn’t understand – and I was practically 30 already so figured I was getting out of that one without really ever having to make a scene about it. Of course, looking back on it, I would never change it and I am glad it happened the way it did because otherwise I would have totally missed out. BUT STILL, I am a very unconventional type of Mom. One who works full time as a professional and doesn’t see anything wrong with it. (Did I mention I live in Utah?) AND, on top of that, was COMPLETELY content with only having the one and spoiling the ever-living-shit out of her because that’s what I had always wanted as the oldest of 4 children growing up. (Of course, I wouldn’t trade my siblings either!)

Now you have the history … fast forward to about 2 years ago. It was about the time I lost my maternal grandfather and started thinking about mortality and how I, myself, would face losing a parent when the time comes. The most comforting thing I had to fall back on was the fact that I had aforementioned siblings to handle it together. Which of course made me start thinking about my beloved daughter who, because of my decisions, wouldn’t have that when she lost us. So, we started talking. Now my husband is just like me – sometimes almost frighteningly so – so we had always been in TOTAL agreement on the size of our family. When I broached the subject assuming a rebuff and some comment about had I lost my mind thinking to start all over again, he surprised me that he’d also been thinking that he would be the end of his family name if he didn’t have a son and all other such nonsense that we’d never cared about before now. (Perhaps we had finally grown up? Nah!)

About six months later we made the decision to pull out my IUD (sorry, I’m the daughter of a nurse so if discussing such delicate matters as choice of contraception bothers you, consider yourself forewarned now…) I’ve already mentioned I come from a large family – it is also the tight-knit type of family where every time my brother and his wife decided to conceive a child, we ALL knew about it and knew when they started and practically the day the pee-stick turned pink proclaiming the impending birth. HOWEVER, that is so not me so we told not a single soul. (Ok, there were 2 or 3 VERY VERY special people in my life who might have known we were trying but I don’t want people to feel bad!) Which turned out to be the best decision we ever made because the next 18 months were an emotional roller coaster of anticipation and horror when each month it didn’t happen for us. Of course, all I could think about was the irony of GETTING KNOCKED UP ON ACCIDENT vs the experience of “trying” to conceive again and being foiled. We had pretty much given up. AND I had reverted to my previous selfish ways - and was totally into myself having lost a ton of weight and getting hooked on running - and was over the whole thing of having another baby.

And THAT was when it happened…

When we stopped “trying” and just “did it” whenever we felt like it and didn’t care about getting pregnant (and truth be told, hoped now that it wouldn’t in part of my mind!) it just sort of happened … like magic almost. (Girls, if you’ve always just listened to your mothers tell you that IT ONLY TAKES ONCE when telling you to wait, it is horse shit! There is such a tiny little window each month when it actually can happen… I had spent years and years preventing birth and then was shocked at finding out just how hard it is to actually make it happen! And now that it has happened – with all the charting and tracking and equally stupid horseshit that goes into it, I STILL don’t know how it happened because we totally blew “the window” that month!)

The social experiment itself consisted of watching people’s reactions to the news and watching the patterns of how and where it spread on its own. My family was completely shocked… some even asking me if I was kidding (like I would kid about something like this!) That is how convincing we had been for years that one was enough and we were D O N E – DONE. Some people were amazed we had been trying and hadn’t told anyone (why is the concept of keeping your private life private so foreign to some?) The couple of people I would classify as “non-childbearing on purpose” in my life actually stopped and asked me if this was happy news or not before offering their congratulations (that was so me 10 years ago and made me feel like despite everything I was still sane!) Interestingly enough, the news did not travel as far as I expected such juicy gossip to spread in my neighborhood social circle (and for this I love them all for it!) I told a couple of closest friends fairly early and asked they not share it. Then, at about 10 weeks, I spilled it to my Facebook crowd and even a couple of weeks later when we were all gathered for book club there were some who were hearing it for the first time. Now I am not naïve enough to discount that some may have known but concealed their prior knowledge well and were able to pull off appropriate reactions but in my gut I think that was the exception rather than the rule.

So, in short, my social experiment proved my theory wrong about the ability of women to keep exciting news to themselves. It almost renewed some of my faith in humanity! And, it further endeared to me my little crowd of women with whom for some of them the only thing we have in common is our love of reading. I will also say I am happy some of my cynical nature was proven wrong because honestly I can’t always be right about the human experience, right?

So, embark with me on the journey of pregnancy – soon to be chronicled in vivid detail here…

Off the Wagon and noteworthy sightings

They say that admitting you have a problem is the first step... After cold-turkey and the ensuing Blackberry withdrawals from my very real habit, I have fallen off the wagon and have my very own little black beauty - I love eBay... - that I will never have to give back to an employer. The best thing is that being removed from the habit for a while I was able to break the Pavlovian cycle of addiction so far as I can tell. Now, isn't that what all addicts say? My own version of 'I can handle it', I suppose. My rationalization seems sound. I no longer have a job where I am required to monitor email 24/7/365 for notifications of system problems and can actually leave my work AT work where it belongs minus the few on-call shifts I have per month. Thus, my mentality about my Blackberry seems much more sane and grounded. I can go hours without pulling the thing off my hip and some nights it stays in my purse where I don't think a thing of it unless it rings. An addiction broken and a new and hopefully non-precarious balance has been erected. I feel so proud of myself! Of course, now I covet the iPhone and am waiting patiently until it is widely available on my wireless carrier of choice.... Ah, the irony!

On another note, I saw the funniest bumper-sticker I have seen in a very long time yesterday on my commute home. Some background is probably in order so the irony isn't lost on the crowd.... Up until about 3 years ago I had a seriously bad-ass Jeep Wrangler. It was lifted and I was always getting "fix-it" tickets because the tires stuck out too far and I refused to ruin it with sissy mudflaps. I had personalized license plates that read 4X4GIRL and the requisite "Jeeper" bumper sticker that reads "It's a Jeep thing... you wouldn't understand." I dare you to find a Jeep that doesn't have that saying posted on it somewhere and you'll have a pretty hard time of it. So, there's the setup. I'm driving home and I see this huge sticker that goes the entire width of the rear window of this stock white Chevy pickup and it says.....

"I got your Jeep thing... and now it hurts when I pee!!"

OMG it still makes me laugh! Of course, if I still owned my beloved Jeep I could never admit to appreciating this sticker but... I don't! So kudos to the creator because that is some seriously funny shit!

Universal forces and writing

It is true what they say: once you decide to do something the universe will line things up for you. "Your wish is my command." I mentioned earlier that I have committed to writing a novel (or at least attempting one!) as part of the National Novel Writing Month program. And I'm working on a plot outline and some characters beforehand so that I have at least half a chance of it all working out. Some of the ideas are coming together nicely and some I am struggling with a bit more than others. Then along comes help from the most unlikely of places. I have a friend in the book club who wrote a book with her husband and asked me to be one of the first readers and give feedback. The focus group of the three of us asked to do this task met last night to discuss the book - what worked, what didn't, what we thought, etc. It was amazing how the 5 of us in a room breaking down a book and character development and all the other things we talked about gave me insight into what pieces I am missing in my own attempt at creativity. And then, this little idea that came up at book club about starting a writing group came full circle and we decided that we were going to really do it! I'm taking it on to organize it since that's one of the things I do well - organize. Now I will have a chance to actually write for the sake of writing and have a space to get feedback and grow in my skills. Hell, maybe I'll become some insanely popular writer and can kiss my "day job" goodbye? Nah, I think it fits my crazy life better if I just have yet another thing that I do... System engineer, project manager, photographer, Realtor, writer and don't forget wife and mother. It is insanity but I can't ignore that the pieces are all lining up like it was all meant to be and am just going to hold on for the ride!

She doesn't share well with others

Nope, never have, never will. Is it bad for me to admit this? Does it make me a bad person? I find it actually refreshing to be truthful without sugarcoating the bullshit. I've always known this tidbit about myself AND others are always trying to make me feel bad about it.... Bottom line is, I never lend out things because no one takes care of my things as well as I do. For instance; I never never lend out hardback books and paperbacks very rarely.... Pretty much only if I don't care about not seeing it again, which is my assumption at time of lending. For the longest time I kept my kernel of nastiness hidden away and would pretend I couldn't find things that people had an interest in or "forget" to bring things until the interest waned. But you know what, I wasn't kidding anyone. Last weekend my sister and I were at a shopping opportunity together with some of my neighbors. Someone suggested that I buy something and then she could borrow it. Big dilema... But, before I could come out with any kind of excuse, out blurts my sister "oh, she doesn't share!" Well, there you have it folks... SHE DOESN'T SHARE! In that moment I felt as if the weight of years of hiding the real me had been lifted off me. The sun shone just a little brighter, the air was just a bit easier to breath. The best thing is the freedom to have it out there for everyone to know about me. Almost as good was learning that my fabulous neighbor doesn't share either. We are so much a like it is kind of frightening! (Ace, you make me feel better about being myself when you are near...) Want to know THE FUNNIEST thing about this phenomena of my not sharing and who put it out there for the universe to finally know, the IRONY of the whole thing? One of my earliest memories is of my sister - who as a child even my mother labeled a nightmare - being told by our mother that if she didn't put her toys away they would get thrown in the garbage. To which my sister smugly smiled and replied, "that's OK, they aren't mine!" Bet you can guess who's toys they WERE; and perhaps now we know just when I determined that sharing things might have negative connotations. Ironic, isn't it? (Love you Sister - for always knowing the truth about me and loving me anyway!)

War

Had an interesting conversation tonight at the neighborhood book club.... We were discussing "The Book Thief" which is a novel about Germany during WWII. Inevitably, the conversation turned to that of war. Of course, being surrounded by flaming red Republicans, most everyone was saying that it was "right" of America to take over and kick butt then as well as now. I tried (like HELL) to bite my tongue but in the end I couldn't help but point out that no matter our reasoning for going and invading Iraq - which I personally opposed from the very beginning - we always go too far. It isn't enough to simply rid a country of a leader - be it Hitler or Saddam Hussein - who was terrorizing his people. No, we have to overstay our welcome and try to force the culture to adopting our way of life. Which, IMO, is exactly where we went wrong in Iraq. Fundamentally, we will never "win" there, because our criteria for a job well done is to have their culture completely converted to the American way of life - which is why they are on the brink or knee-deep in a civil war depending on the specific region. At what point does it all become pointless and not worth the cost of the lives of Americans or Iraqi's? And at what point does the world begin to view our leader(s) as they did Hitler or Hussein? Bottom line, the Germans in the early 19th century thought that Hitler was a great leader and it was only slowly over time that he got to the insanity of the Holocaust. What makes us different now as we watch our civil liberties slowly whittled away and told it is for our own good to "protect" us?

Being real

So last weekend, I shaved my cousin's head. Nothing special about that, right? Except my cousin is a girl who has beautiful hair and has always identified herself with her hair. The last week has been such a philosophical wake-up call for me as an observer watching her deal with both her adjusting to it and other people's reactions to it. It is amazing how many people judged or confronted her and wanted to know "what were you thinking!?". The reasoning behind her actions are nothing more than that it scared her and so she thought that if she did it she could then confront anything in her life because nothing would be as frightening as shaving off all her hair. So, I took some photos of her for "before" since it had been a long time since she'd had any photos done and had been asking me to get her into my little studio forever. And then we shaved her head and took some more "after" photos. Now granted, it was very easy for me to say "what the hell, just do it!" because it wasn't my hair we were talking about. But, still, I think that it IS just hair - which will grow back after all.... The amazing thing has been who reacted poorly and who reacted well to the new her. People she doesn't know or has just met at her new job are supportive and love it. But people in her family and in her life for 20+ years are saying things like they can't be proud of her anymore and that they don't want to see her until it grows back. Come on people, it isn't like she tattooed some mural on her face or even her head. And how would they feel if she had secretly been dealing with some cancer that was the cause of her hair loss but that she didn't want to freak people out? So, we were talking today and we came to the conclusion that most people just aren't very real. How many people - women especially - spend hundreds of dollars a year, nay thousands, to take care of their hair. From visits to the salon to hair care products to accessories, everything is about looking good. But, if you take the hair away there is nothing to hide behind and no one is comfortable with that. Go a little further... what if we as people put as much energy into taking care of our bodies instead of eating processed foods and artificial sweeteners that make us sick and fat and in need of more and more medicines that make us more and more sick with their side effects. What if it was more important how healthy we were both on the inside and the out than how we looked or acted or came across to other people? And what if we didn't think it was necessary to impose our own judgements on others and just let people be who and what they wanted no matter what that looked like? Sounds like an interesting world to live in, doesn't it? Here's one of my long-time philosophies: Life is more meaningful when it is based on what you want and not what others expect from you.

Love

The ever elusive and ever popular sentiment that makes the world go around... What is it about 'Love' that has everyone so crazy? I am surrounded by people everyday who are either newly in love, struggling to maintain love, lamenting the loss of love, resigning that they may never find love, wishing those they loved would somehow change to suit them better, dissolving the legal bonds of love, and dreaming of a love they hope to find someday when they are grown. Amid all this chaos, there stands an island where I exist in bliss with my soul-mate (who also happens to be my husband... lucky me!). He is the force behind my world turning; he is the warmth of the sun in my world; he is the half of me without whom I cannot exist. He is the first person I want to see in the morning and the last I want to talk to before bed; the first I want to share news with. He is my best friend and my greatest support and I thank the Universe every time I think about how random it was that we came together. The odds were so stacked against our ever meeting and yet we found each other and never looked back. We fit so naturally together in our thoughts and beliefs from the first moments together that only come from lifetimes spent together in previous lives. My greatest hope is that our daughter finds a love as great when she is grown and then spends as many lifetimes as I know we have spent together with hers. Honey, I am truly honored to be your wife, in this life and in all others, and I would cease to exist without you....

Ok, let's get serious

Ok, so I don't want my online presence to feel or sound like I'm some raving lunatic. I blame my ranting and hostile initial posts on the fact that Mercury has been in retrograde and everyone is a bit off when that happens. So, here's something I've been contemplating a bit lately. Is it or is it not necessary to self-analyze yourself in order to become enlightened? There are several people in my life who have conflicting opinions on this subject. My husband is on the side who thinks that we don't need to analyze ourselves in order to be self-aware and enlightened. And he doesn't indulge in the self-analysis. He is very in touch with the oneness of the Universe and has a very enlightened sense of being. One of my best friends believes that there's a bit of a need but that we shouldn't be so absorbed that we become obsessed in the analysis and therefore never progress past the point of analysis to actual enlightenment. She is very down-to-earth and things that come out of her mouth stop me in my tracks with their truthfulness and insight. My other friend is addicted to self-analysis and self-help in every form there is. He finds all the answers and has even realized that all the different experts have the exact same answers, simply wrapped in different packaging to appeal to different people. So, what is the truth? I guess I am sort of a fence-sitter on the subject. I was a debater and love to look at all sides of an idea or argument so self-analysis appeals to me on that level. However, there are certain things that I know in my heart and believe that I didn't have to go through any such analysis to know and believe. So, is the need for self-analysis as a tool to progress our souls to enlightenment a prerequisite or does the answer change for each individual? Is it like the self-help answers to the meaning of life that are Universal Truths just wrapped in different packaging? I know this, the answers are out there for us all to find and once we do it may not matter how we got there or what path led us to enlightenment, simply that we got there.

Birth of a blog

And so it begins... as with all journeys there must be a beginning so there can be a middle and an ending and thus so it is and will be with my little blogspot. I have always wished I could have a crystal ball or a fairy godmother to tell me my future that wasn't from the "hindsight" perspective. Maybe being able to post my journey and random thoughts as I travel it to the cyber-space universe will show a pattern to life? Or maybe it will just give me more crazy ideas for book plots that may or may not ever be written in my lifetime? Or maybe others will gain an insight on the window of my crazy soul by being allowed to witness my inner dialogue? For whatever reason you find yourself, here... enjoy. I will rant and I will rave and I will tell you all the things that I find to amuse myself as we travel together. And, let this be a warning that I will not hold back on the language I feel appropriate to the circumstances of life. Sometimes it will merely be PG-13 and others it may just not be suitable for all audiences.... because you're going to get me and woah, careful what you wish for folks! You may occassionally find tidbits of "family" life thrown in for a bit of seasoning but if you came here for cutsie family photos and yet another "look at how cute my kids and how great a life we have" blog then you've come to the wrong place. Welcome and hold on tight!