CAUTION: Addressing Issues May Lose You Friends!

I grew up in a home where issues were generally addressed and often, which may or may not be such a good thing. You can lose friends and respect for others over it!

Case in point: I emailed the parents of one of my 12 year old former Achievement Girls to let them know that some of their daughter's posts and pictures on Facebook were rather inappropriate for her age. I received a pleasant email back from the girl's father thanking me for looking out for his daughter. I noticed within minutes of receiving that email, that the girl had changed her profile picture to something more suitable but with the status update of "There, happy now? Go away and stop stalking me!" I assumed that her father had seen the bikini clad 12 year old in the provocative pose pictured on her Facebook profile and asked her to make a better choice, like a good parent would. I don't know what the conversation was like, but I know that I can no longer help keep her safe on Facebook as she has 'un-friended' me. I can only assume, which is dangerous I know, that her parents told her it was me who 'ratted her out'. I hope that her parents will take better care to see what their daughter is doing on-line now that I can't.

Had she been my daughter, there would have been a LONG discussion about appropriateness on-line and the constant presence of pedophiles looking for girls like her to stalk. Maybe I've seen too many "To Catch A Predator" episodes, listened to police reports on TV of teenage sex crimes, or have seen first hand what happens when a girl her age gets brutally raped. All I know, is that I did not want her to be hurt. And a pretty girl like her would be a major target for creeps out there.

As someone who was raised in a church with strict beliefs on immorality and modesty, it bothered me too, to see this girl going against everything she had been taught in church. As her former teacher in church, I KNOW she was taught these same principles and that she knows better. I understand that as a pre-teen and teenager it's important to fit in with all of your friends, I was there once myself and can understand the peer pressure. Maybe I was just different, but I did not give into the peer pressure because I knew what was right, what I had been taught, and what my parent would have done to me if I had gotten caught.

On a final thought, if she HAD been my daughter, she would not have even thought of posting such things on Facebook. Why am I so sure of that, you ask? First, she would not even own a bikini. Second, I would be "so far up into her business" on-line that she'd be terrified of me seeing anything inappropriate. And third, I'd be the one setting her privacy settings on Facebook since she is too young to be on there without my parental consent. 12 is not the new 21. 12 year olds should not be trying to be sexy, should not be thinking about having sex, or posting that they "are in a relationship" with a boy on Facebook.

Like I had said earlier, addressing issues may lose you friends and respect for those friends. Sadly, I think I have done both in this instance.

Tie A Knot And Hold On!

Between the confusion with the birth control pills, major hot flashes, crying spells, heavy menses, and irritability, I am beginning to think that this is not all just in my head. Or is it?

In my usual quest for knowledge, I have been all over the internet to self-diagnose my crazy symptoms and figure out just what the heck is going on in this body that is making me so "nutso" lately. You would not believe all of the websites out there willing to give you advice! That said, the general internet agreement is that I am 'perimenopausal'. Mood swings: check. Heavy and/or irregular menses: check. Hot flashes: CHECK! Headaches: check. Weight gain: CHECK! Change in libido: check. Short term memory impairment: CHECK (but that could be the fibro as well)! Yeah?!

That all being said, I should be happy to think the end is near, right? No more periods, moodiness, cramps, or hot flashes, yeah! That is until you keep reading all of the JAMA articles and realize that this process can start months, years or even DECADES before menopause actually begins.

Like the old saying goes: When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hold on! I'm praying for a short perimenopausal stage and a swift delivery into menopause.

One Wasted Month

I had a horrifying discovery last night as I refilled my weekly medication containers...I have been taking one of my medications completely wrong for an entire month. No wonder my hormones are off the charts and I am having a 9 day period!

You wonder how that can happen, especially to me who is generally 'over educated' when it comes to the medicines I take? Simply, I followed the medical 'professionals' directions on how to take the medicine. Instead of reading the enclosed pamphlet or researching it on the internet like I usually do, I followed the advice of my gynecologist's nurse who gave me the pills. Ugh!

The nurse explained to me that I was to start the pill pack the first Sunday after my period ENDED, and thus I did. I trusted her 'professional' opinion and knowledge since I claim absolutely no understanding or knowledge in this field of study. I threw the enclosed paperwork/instructions/pamphlet away when I started the first pill, thinking I did not need to read it. I was slightly curious when I started my monthly hemorrhaging as to why I had so many pills left in my pack. Something was making me question it, but again I figured it must be nothing. I was following the doctor's orders, right?

So last night, as I do once a week, I refilled my weekly medication containers. I discovered that I was on the last pill of the pill pack the gyn had given me, so I opened the next pack complete with enclosed leaflets. As I was about to throw the pamphlet away, I thought to myself, "I might as well read it and see when the great changes I have been promised will start to take effect." And to my great horror, shock, surprise I read that the pill pack is supposed to be started on the FIRST DAY of your period, NOT WHEN IT ENDED. And on WHATEVER DAY OF THE WEEK your period starts not necessarily on SUNDAY.
Talk about being peeved and at 2am on a Saturday morning, it took me a while to calm down.

Not only had I taken the pills wrong for the first month, but now I could not even restart them again for another month as I was now into my 8th day of my period. To top that off, to avoid a possibility of getting pregnant during the first month of pills (as I was advised to do), my dear sweet husband and I had been abstinent. One month was hard, and now I have to explain to him we have to do this for another 2 months? This just is NOT going to work.

I will be looking for a new gynecologist in the next few days and this time I will study up on medications and procedures for sure. And while I am at it, I think I will bring up the hysterectomy issue in the first visit until I find a doctor who will just get it over with. No more pills, please.

Letter of the Law Vs Spirit of the Law

Sometimes we are placed in circumstances that we never thought would be in and we learn lessons that can only be taught to us by The Master Himself. Last night was one of those instances.

I tend to be the type of person who is flexible in my teaching/leading methods. I like variety and I understand that life can be unpredictable...for better or for worse. I respect the need for structure in life and at times even crave it in my own life. What I do not understand is how some people can become so structured and inflexible that they allow those around them to suffer uselessly from what I see as their own selfishness.

I had an instance last night where I allowed myself to become angry with someone so rigid that it made me question their devotion to God and his children. My anger stemmed from my own desire for that person to be more giving and accepting of others; obviously something that person is not willing nor wanting to be. And that right there is what I have to accept.

Just because I believe in following the Spirit of the Law does not mean this person will do it also. I believe in giving 110% of myself at all times, going the extra mile, and being in tune with the Lord that when he whispers "go visit so-and-so" I do it without asking why. I believe that nurturing the rising generation of our youth is more than a "twice monthly only" obligation and that when they have questions, I'm there to help them find the answer. My love has no limits, which gets me in trouble sometimes when my heart gets broken, but I always feel it was worth the effort.

As I went to bed late last night (after cooling off from the confrontation I had with that person), I pleaded with the Lord in my prayers to help me gain some sort of understanding. Why or how could someone accept the calling to be the leader of a group of sweet young girls be so blinded by her own personal agenda and selfish limitations? Does she not understand that this calling from the Lord may require more than a 1.5 hour obligation every 1st and 3rd Tuesday of each month? According to her, it does not.

The Lord, in His infinite wisdom, did not leave me answerless to my prayer. The answer was acceptance that she was placed in this calling to learn something but it may not be me who will teach her that.

Lesson learned: "Yea, some will follow the 'Letter of the Law' whilst others will follow the 'Spirit of the Law', and both are necessary to fulfil the 'Law of God'."

Who's That Girl?

Ever have a moment where you are just listening to yourself and saying "Who is THAT?" You start to blame hormones, the weather, your spouse, or whatever is nearest you at the time because, they all make more sense than to actually blame yourself. Hey, I'm not saying it's your fault, it could be any one (or all) of those things.

I had that experience just this past week and I am still trying to figure out what caused it! I woke up one morning well rested, but not good spirited and the day just went down hill from there. I had a snarky remark in my head for everything and everyone, but had the good sense to keep it to myself. You know, as Thumper would say..."If you can't say somethin' nice...", so I did, EXCEPT to my spouse. Poor Paul, he got the brunt of it, but he also got one heck of a good laugh as well. See, I had somehow channeled my inner "Mean Girl", who, while obnoxiously snarky, was also rather humorous. The humor arose out of these awful things coming into my mind! I'm generally not THAT GIRL who says or even thinks those things. I felt as though all I could do was stand back and say "oh snap, is that really me?".

It was not enough that I was grumpy, but then to have such insulting remarks about everything AND everyone running loose through my head was just more than I could take. Returning home and 'hiding' was all I could think to do before I hurt someone's feelings. I judged my dogs, myself and my husband just as harshly as I had anyone else. OK, so once I was home I could make those judgmental comments out loud safely and not hurt anyone. And this is truly where the humor of it came out. I spewed out ever single smide remark I had about everyone that day, to Paul. Nothing and no one was off limits when it came to my opinion...from sitting behind Jabba The Hutt, to sustaining Miss Priss when I did not want to. It was not pretty!

The good news is, that within twenty-four hours this monster was back in its cage. I don't know where she came from, why she was here, or where she went, but I can vouch for Paul when I say we're both glad she's gone. WHEW!

Dog Discrimination

We jumped through the hoops, made it to phone interview #2 and were ready for the background check process when one little stipulation stopped that train in its tracks...we would not be allowed to have a dog for our 1st year and then only 1 dog once we were placed in our own home.

For the record, we have 2 small Dachshunds; Princess who is 10 years old and Jake who is 4. We legally adopted them, they are ours...just as if we had adopted 2 children. EXCEPT, if we had real children, (ie. NOT DOGS) there would be no problem. I don't get it. Especially when my dogs tend to be better behaved and less messy than many of the children I've cared for over the years. Sorry if you're offended, but it's true!

I am not sure if I am more angry or sad that something apparently so important is not more clarified on the website or was even discussed in more detail in the first phone interview. We DID ask about the pet policy in the first interview and was told that there was a pet restriction during the 5 week training but nothing more.

I guess the most upsetting thing about all of this was how hard we had prayed, how excited we got, and how disappointed we are. It's sad to think that our qualifications to become houseparents has come down to this...we have pets.

I'm sad that they judge our effectiveness as proper role models and compassionate parents based solely on our ownership of 2 dogs. If they knew the story of Jake, there would be no doubt as to the compassion we have as parents to a 'child' with behavioral issues.

I am trying v-e-r-y hard to see the silver lining to this experience, but it just is not coming right now. I know deep down (way deep down!) that there is an important lesson to be learned here, that God wanted us to learn something from this, but for now I am just going to have to be satisfied that this job was not for us.

A friend posted the following scripture on Facebook last night: "For verily I say unto you, that great things await you;" (D&C 45: 62)

I did not know why I needed to read that scripture last night, but maybe I do now.

Faith

I tend to believe I am one of the more faithful people I know. Faithful, meaning someone who does many things strictly on faith without knowledge of how it will turn out. It is a hard attribute to have. The way I see it, is that it takes faith every time I get out of bed in the morning and more faith to get through the rest of the day. I think we all have that inside us, and most of us use that all the time. In this, I am not unique.

I had a conversation tonight with my mother which reminded me again of just how full of faith I am. You see, while I was raised to have some faith, I was taught more to rely on intelligence. For example; you make your own fate, rather than faith, in this world. Faith may seem like a foolish attribute to have in others eyes and sometimes even in my own. I tend to have faith things will work out and then they fall to pieces at times. Where did my faith go wrong? Was I not paying attention to what The Lord said or implied? Was I listening to the wrong source or was this just a test to see if I was listening at all? Was this a lesson to be learned for future use? I don't know!

Right now in my life, I am struggling with this dilemma. I believe that all the things seem to be happening in a certain order concerning a job for the Milton Hershey School. Now, I haven't worked full time in 10 years, I've been on disability, suffering in pain from an illness and BOOM a few weeks back my doctor gives me a new medication that removes my pain and makes me believe I am getting better. I feel, no, I BELIEVE that this was in preparation to acquire this job. A job that would fulfill my desire to be a mother and working member of society, two things I have been lacking for years. I have faith that this is the right job for Paul and I. Whether it is or not is yet to be seen since we have not even had a formal interview yet (though it is scheduled for this Wednesday). But again, I have FAITH that this is all leading up to accepting this 'higher calling'.

Along with having faith that this is the job for us, I have also been getting my hopes up pretty high, which is rather scary. I have even gone so far as to plan which items in our home to sell off, who can babysit our dogs during training & travel, assume which age group/gender home we will be assigned to (girls aged 7-11) and what great things I plan to teach them. I've even "Mapquested" the trip and located the nearest meeting house/Ward for our own worship. If this was a boy and I was 16, I'd swear I was stalking him! What can I say, I like being prepared instead of surprised!

I do have faith that this is the right move for us, and I have put my prayers into it. Let's see how this works out!

Oh F-U....D-G-E...

My GYN and I have a difference of opinion when it comes to my desire for a hysterectomy. She said I was NOT a candidate for the surgery given my young age (ha, 41 is not that young!) and with all the wonderful other medical advances these days, she would like me to choose another option. She made a few suggestions, none of which I am all too thrilled about.

I'm starting on some estrogen pills tomorrow to end the crazy spotting/bleeding and 'restart' my menstrual cycle. After 12 days, I am supposed to be on a whole new cycle and am expected to decide from there whether I want to start taking The Pill or have an IUD put in. Truthfully, I don't like either choice, nor do I feel like making a choice.

I doubt making a choice is going to get any easier as my hormones get ready for their monthly fertility dance in 12 days. I need to do some more research to fully understand the ramifications of my decision and options.

Just for the record, this sucks!

Parenting As A Profession?

While looking though the classifieds one recent Sunday, I discovered an interesting ad. The header for the ad read, "Parenting As A Profession!" and it was classified under Child Care in the 'Professional Services' section. This was not the type of job I was looking for that Sunday.

I tend to peruse the ads looking for a better job for my husband Paul on occasion, and for whatever reason, call it being in the right place at the right time, luck, or God slapping me along side the head, I noticed this ad this particular Sunday. I circled the ad, placed a question mark next to it and said to myself that I would look at the listed website and see what it was about LATER. Later became sooner when Paul asked me what I had thought about the ad.

I had my instant objections:

a) I'm disabled and haven't been able to work in almost 9 years.

b) The position is located in Hershey Pennsylvania NOT Raleigh, NC.

c) We'd have to move.

d) I don't want to take a job so Paul doesn't have to work (more on that later!).

e) Am I really fit to be a potential professional parent?????

After taking a deep breath, expressing those thoughts to Paul and trying to open the webpage unsuccessfully, I began to think of this too as a sign from God, so to say, that we weren't to apply to the job. It's a big commitment, it's a move, it's hard, it's...whatever else you can think of not wanting to do. Paul did the only rational Priesthood thing he could think of to do, he challenged me to pray about it. I was skeptical but I took on his challenge.

Tuesday morning, June 28th, I rose to the challenge and put prayer to the test. Oh heck, I pray about nearly everything else anyway, why not this? Within 2 hours into the day, I had already received an answer to my prayer and attempted to once again visit the website to see if I could open it. Guess what? Yup, the website worked just fine. All of a sudden not only did I have an answer to my prayer, but I also had more information about the Milton Hershey School than I knew what to do with. I started reading the mission statement, moved on to the Houseparent job description and began filling out the application for a job for Paul and I.

God and I have had many a chat about how this can possibly work for us. More than anything I took away from my prayers a peace and confidence in my abilities. God reminded me that my wonderful doctor, Krista, had the inspiration recently to change my medication and it has made my Fibromyalgia symptoms better. Our chats lately have reminded me of my capabilities instead of my disabilities.

We're taking a leap of faith here. Both Paul and I have filled out applications and we are both slated for telephone interviews this week. I look forward to the changes the Lord has in store for our family this year.

Here's the website of the job I'm talking about, if you are interested:

http://www.mhs-pa.org/careers/houseparents/

The Only Time In My Life I Actually Want Surgery!

Ok, you read right, I actually WANT to have surgery. I WANT a hysterectomy. Why keep the parts if they don't work right, if they constantly cause pain, and they are a risk for cancer?

I'm doing my internet homework, calling my GYN tomorrow and am going to look under every stone until I find a way to make this happen. No, I'm not crazy, determined maybe, but absolutely not crazy to want major surgery to remove organs that cause such dire pain that at least 12 days a year I have to take narcotics to live through. Not to mention, I have an allergy to the narcotic pain medication, so while I maybe somewhat pain-free, I'm itching and unable to sleep. Misery!

Part of the problem with wanting the surgery now is the insurance and or cost to cover it. I need to do more 'investigating' to see what portion, if any, my Medicare Supplemental insurance will cover. I have my doubts, but I need to be sure what exactly I am up against.

Oh my aching hormones!

You know it's bad when you take kids to see a children's movie and you cry through it. No wait, I was really bawling my eyes out.

On Thursday, Paul and I took Katie and Melissa to see the Eddie Murphy film "Imagine That" at the Free Summer Kids Matinée at North Hills. I did not really know what the movie was about nor did I care all that much. When it's 98 degrees outside and the theater is cool, that's all that really matters, stay inside where it's cool. Cool, air conditioned theater for 2 hours, ahhhh. Well, it was tepid, not terribly cool, the back row of the theater was filled with popcorn throwing adolescents and we sat closer to the screen that I would normally like to. Add to that the movie back drop was Denver, Colorado. Going down the emotional, hormonal roller coaster, here we go....weeeeee!

About 10 years ago Paul and I were happily living our pleasant life in Denver Colorado. Paul had a good, well paying job, I had a good job, we had a nice home, nice car and our first dogger. We were looking to purchase a new condo and things were going well. We both absolutely LOVED living in Denver. We took every opportunity to explore all the wonderfulness that is Denver and more especially Downtown Denver. I worked in downtown Denver at a skyscraper on the 23rd floor overlooking the city and really enjoyed my job. Paul and I had been to nearly every great restaurant, festival, and site of interest Denver offered during our 3 years there. I was even in love with the weather there; ah the wonderfulness of no humidity! By now, I'm thinking you get the idea that I was in love with Denver, I know all the famous landmarks and sites and so you might even guess that seeing all of them on the big movie screen is what pushed me over the roller coaster hill. Down I gooooo....

The kids laughed at the movie and all I did was cry through it. The main character 'worked' in the same building I had worked in, went to all the same places I went to, even had high tea in the Brown Palace Hotel where I had high tea. I am still not sure if I missed Denver more that day or if I just had raging-out-of-control hormones, but nonetheless I was an emotional mess when I left the movie. Fortunately, the kids did not ask why I was crying, and I did not have to conjure up the answer.

Pregnancy hormones or missing my favorite place to live? We may never know which was the driving force behind the crying. Either way, I still miss Denver.

Oh Crap, Not This Again!

So, we're pregnant again. It's annoying more than anything since I never get the 'fun' parts of it.

Oh, I get the all day morning sickness, the crazy cravings, roller coaster emotions, the exhaustion and that's about where it ends. I have not lasted a pregnancy past the 16 week mark*. Usually around the 6th week the crazy cravings kick in...burritos this time! I'm sleeping 10-12 hours a day which my Fibromyalgia body is unsure if it likes, and drinking Pepto Bismol like it's water! I am glad to not have the huge baby belly, the swollen limbs, and all the other uncomfortable parts of pregnancy that go along with it, but I do miss the excitement of sharing the great news with friends and loved ones. And you know, no one throws you a "Lost Your Baby, Sorry You Miscarried" party! Now, when I find myself pregnant, my first thoughts are usually "oh crap, not this again."

I had a very rough miscarriage back in December which had pretty much left me swearing off sex forever. That did not last long. I guess I need to back up a bit and tell you that birth control and I really don't get along. First, since I've already had a reproductive organ cancer, I cannot take birth control pills or any method which would mess with the hormone balance in my already messed up system. Second, I have allergies. Can't use latex anything and forget metal devices in my body. Both latex and most metals send me to the hospital with infections. Third, spermicide gave us both horrible rashes! So, at this point I have two methods left: old reliable 'The Rhythm' and non-latex condoms. One I can't remember how to use and the other I forget to use all together. Basically, I'm sunk unless I become celibate, which my husband reminds me....oh never mind!

So here I wait, which is really all I can do. I wait for the inevitable bleeding and severe cramping to begin, with Percocet and heating pad at the ready...any day now, any minute now for this to be over. I'm not sad over having miscarriages anymore, just looking forward to that great promise of Menopause someday! Ah, no more 'monthly gift' from Mother Nature, won't that be grand.

I'm thinking that maybe having a "Lost Your Baby, Sorry You Miscarried" party isn't such a bad idea after all. Who knows, you might get an invitation from me once this is over.

*(The one time I did hit the mark, I was very glad it miscarried soon after. The child I was carrying was severely deformed with an additional limb protruding from its chest and I was in terrible emotional agony over it.)

Preparing for the inevitable

It seems a sad inevitability is about to come upon our family once again; another miscarriage. I call it an inevitable event because for my entire marriage, that is what it has always been. I have lost hope in ever having children of my own, and at my age, I do not want a baby to care for and raise.

Some years ago in my 20's, I was diagnosed with uterine cancer and had aggressive chemo and radiation therapy to rid it from my body. After receiving a clean bill of health, I was told it would be possible for me to conceive a child. Although my doctors tried to convince me at the time that it would be easier to have a hysterectomy and adopt, I was stubborn and not willing to give up any chance, any hope of having a baby of my own once I was married. I've been married 12 years now and have suffered at least 2 miscarriages (or more) each year of it. Sure, we're fertile, but my uterus can't 'hold a child' for a full term.

After years of feeling sad, frustrated, and angry by my childlessness, I've finally accepted it for what it is and have moved on. I no longer yearn to have a child of my own since God has placed so many wonderful 'nieces and nephews' in my life for me to help raise. Indeed, I treasure them as if they were my own children and spoil them as such. It would be easy to be bitter and angry with God for what some would perceive to be an unfair affliction. Me, I am choosing to find the humor in it. Alright, maybe just the irony, but you must laugh!

Freedom For My Inner Child

I did something tonight that I have needed to do for a very long time. I gave myself permission to say what I have not wanted to say and possibly never wanted to admit. I gained freedom! I confronted my past, I said my peace, admitted my resentment, and have now let it go. I have let her go. I have put my fears out there and broken ties I don't think I can ever fix, and actually if it means it would be painful to fix them, I don't want them at all.

I always feared that saying something to her would hurt her, but I never stopped to think of what it was doing to me inside all that time. I don't think I really realized the tremendous amount of hurt that was there, the pain I have been holding on to that kept me a prisoner in my own past.

Tonight, I let my inner child have her peace. My inner child finally said the things she needed to say to her mother, even if it did have to come out of the mouth of a 41 year old woman. And even if it did hurt her mother. I was not looking for nor did not need an apology because that can never fix the things that happened in my childhood. I just needed to be heard for once.

A child can not understand the mind of an adult, no matter how much they try. A parent is there to protect and love a child, not abandon it and allow it to be abused by others. My inner child will never understand why her mother left her to go into a mental institution and was not there to protect her from the evils that happened while she was gone. That same inner child will never understand why her mother never talked to her, but rather cried all day instead. My 11 year old inner child cannot understand why her mother would allow a predator into their home and never warn her of the dangers of him.

As an adult woman, I can understand that my mother had a mental breakdown, needed to be institutionalized for a while and battled depression the best she could. She was so busy trying to keep her sanity that her 5 year old daughter was just one more obligation in her life she could not deal with. Put on top of that an unplanned/unwanted pregnancy during her depression, an unhappy and dare I say emotionally abusive marriage and someone is bound to get hurt there.

As an adult, I can forgive her, but as a child full of feelings of abandonment and feeling unloved, the pain was still there and was not going away.

There are somethings I will never understand about my mother and the decisions she made in her life. And some people would say I don't have the right to judge her decisions anyway. Some people would be right, but I guess what I came to realize tonight is that I do have the right to be heard when those decisions impacted my life. Keeping secrets only makes you sicker, and as I confronted my mother tonight, her secrets made my life difficult and 'sick'.

I know that God has a plan for me and I am keenly aware that He uses my trials in life to help others. These trials have given me compassion for others in similar situations, and in turn have given me the strength to help those around me while healing my own wounds.

That can't be right...

After putting off my mammogram for as long as I could, I called Tuesday and was given an appointment for THURSDAY. They felt the lump in my right breast was cause enough to get me in ASAP. So, after gulping at their urgency, I accepted the appointment and was told, beforehand, that the appointment may take several hours if they found the lump I claimed to have.

I arrived at the hospital this morning just before my appointment time, already unhappy with the self-inflicted torture I was about to endure. I said a prayer before leaving the car, downed 2 Advil's and walked slowly to the door of the radiology unit.

Every employee I met was supremely pleasant and upbeat, though I felt uncomfortable with all of the "Pink" paraphernalia surrounding Breast Cancer Awareness EVERYWHERE. Guess what colors the walls were? You got it...pink! The pictures? Of Susan G Komen walks, ribbons and survivors. Yes, I know what a mammogram is used for...breast cancer detection, but darn if I wasn't scared just from the appearance of the place!

When it was my turn for my mammogram, I was asked to remove my top garments and to change into a robe that tied in the front. I was then taken into a pink room with the "Dreaded Mammogram Machine of Death" (it's not really called that but that's all I could think of it) where the technician picked out a few plates to 'pancake' me with. She asked about the lump, the pain, and where it was located. She told me that she was planning to do a regular mammogram, meaning take films of both breasts, then focus on the sore right breast for a few more films.

When she finished with the films she had taken, she asked me to wait in the waiting area while the doctor took a look at them. She explained that this was common and that sometimes they need to redo the films if they did not develop correctly. That's fine. A few minutes later, she asked me to come back in and take a few more films, but this time they were on my left breast. I asked her if she was sure, since it was my RIGHT that was giving me the trouble, and unfortunately she said the doctor had seen something on the LEFT side instead of the right. I shrugged my shoulders and prepared for more teeth-clenching torture. Did I mention that a mammogram REALLY, REALLY hurts? Especially when they want to get a better look, which means a tighter boob squeeze...OUCH! And back out to the waiting area I went, nearly in tears over the pain.

Another half and hour later, the technician returned to the waiting area to say the doctor wanted to do an ultrasound and took me back to that office. The ultrasound technician 'gel-ed up' and scanned my right breast like crazy. She even had to ask me to point out the painful right lump since it was not showing up on the screen. She moved over to the left breast and sure enough, she found something there. As she paused the scanner to take some photos, I blurted out "That can't be right. Are you SURE you have the correct breast?" She said there was a mass that looked suspicious and she wanted to go get the doctor to look at it herself. There I lay, confused and annoyed waiting for the doctor. I was just sure they, um, well I wasn't sure what they thought they saw, but I didn't feel anything outright on my left side. And then I did. I felt a pea-sized thing in my left breast. Not a lump like the one I feel on the right side, but more like a pea sized rock.

I think the ultrasound technician was gone a total of five minutes when I made this discovery and panic set in. When the tech and the doctor returned, the doctor looked at the screen and said they had ordered copies of my last mammogram to compare the new films to. She explained that while they could not find a lump in my right breast, they did find what looked like a nodule in my left breast. Once they receive the previous mammogram reports/films to compare this to, she assured me, they would contact my own doctor and go from there. Did I mention today is Thursday, my previous mammogram was done at a different facility and that the weekend was just a day away? I do not anticipate hearing back from my own doctor before Tuesday with any results, so it's going to be a long weekend.

I cannot say I am scared that it's cancer. I beat cancer before, I've had other cancer scares, and if it's not a spider, I don't scare easily. I guess we'll see what the future holds for lumpy, bumpy booby me.

Upper Lower Class

I've usually considered my family (Paul and I) to be more middle class than anything. Not too poor to lack electric, telephone or standard cable service, but not wealthy enough to have all those bills paid up at one time. I am now starting to rethink my classification of our family.

As I sat the the local Social Services office waiting for an interview for my food stamp application recently, I looked around and found that most of us in there all looked about the same. Ok, maybe there was an exception or two, but mostly, we were all in the same boat; poor. I keep wondering just how I got in this boat and just who did I need to talk to, to get out of the boat before the darn thing goes down like the Titanic? I don't remember choosing this boat and I really don't want to stay in it. I could jump ship and swim, but out in the middle of nowhere I am clueless as to which way to swim toward. I used to be a very good swimmer, lifeguard even, but now I'm sure time has taken a toll on my abilities and I might sink. Arugh!

I think back to the times when we both worked or when one of worked while the other went to school. In some ways I romanticized it as our 'tough times' that someday we would look back on and laugh at all the ramen soup we ate and somehow survived. Those were the days when I dreamed of being older and wiser, living in a large home of our own with children and no financial worries. I imagined I'd be about 40 and all those dreams would be realities. I thought for sure all of this suffering and hard work would pay off toward the future. Paul would have a great job in the IT field and I would have a great career, raise a family and do charity work for good causes. It would be so perfect, except.

Paul had difficulties, I had difficulties and down went our financial house of cards. The IT market became swamped with more graduates than it had jobs for, a recession hit, and sometime in there I became too ill to continue working. I've sold nearly every shred of evidence that I ever had been more than upper lower class. Gone are the Gucci handbags, business suits, expensive shoes, and gold jewelry. At 41, I'm trying to figure out how much I can mange to arrange with the electric company to keep the juices flowing for another month. And sadly, I think we're more poor now financially, than we ever were before. Ramen soup is still a staple in our home unfortunately out of necessity rather than nostalgia.

It's been a month and a half that Paul has been unemployed. The pantry is getting thin and there is $40 left in our bank account. Rent, electric, gas, phone, water, and my health insurance premium are all due now. I have shut off notices for the telephone and electric bills hanging on my refrigerator door to remind me that payment must be made by Friday to avoid 'interruption of my service'. And as for my food stamp application, I have a strong feeling I'll be denied because somehow we make too much money. Or at least we did make too much money when I applied.

Sorry this is not one of those feel good posts, but I am trying to find the humor in my own suffering. I'm too rich to be poor and too poor to be rich. I just need to let that out.

On a final note: POVERTY SUCKS!

No Mam!

I finally made it through all the phone calls to my insurance company to clear up the question as to if a mammogram would be covered at 100% or not. Answer: YES! I found this out yesterday, which gave me great excitement to make my mammography appointment. After looking through the extensive lists of radiologists in my area, I decide on a practice that is right in the same building as my gym. Sounds great, right? Well...so I thought.

I was headed to the gym today for my usual water aerobics class at 10am and thought, since I'm here, I might as well stop in and see if I can arrange an appointment after my work out. Well...you know how after your work out you usually take a shower, get dressed and still have that 'look like you've gone to the gym' look? That was me today. I may not have smelled like chlorine from the pool, but even I admit, my hair could have used some better styling. All in all, I was presentable, clean, and even fragranced from some great body lotion I love.

After a LONG and winding walk through the building, I finally arrived at the radiology office. The waiting room was gorgeously decorated and to me seemed a bit too, um, uppity for a radiology practice. As I made my way across the threshold to the reception desk, I could see the waiting room was completely empty of clients waiting to be served, which, selfishly delighted me beyond belief. Wow, I thought, finally a radiology office with no waiting. At the huge reception desk sat two well dressed staff members, even a bit over-done for a reception desk if you ask me. I could overhear the one staffer on the telephone with a possible client explaining to them that if they came in right now, there was no waiting and they had appointments open today. Great, I thought, I can get it done now! But wait...I'm not done yet.

Now to their dismay, they both noticed me standing at their desk in jeans and a t-shirt, obviously NOT their usual clientele. In my typical cheerful self, I mentioned I needed to make an appointment for a mammogram and that I had "so and so" insurance. Maybe asking if they took my insurance was what truly killed my chances of getting an appointment, but then again, it might have just been the jeans and t-shirt. A question the world may never know the answer to. The one staffer who had just been on the phone telling someone on the other end that they had open appointments did not say a word...just yet. The other staffer gave me a drab look, as if I was wasting her time, then hauled out her insurance book to look up my insurance. She took her time, could not find it, asked for my card, THEN said that my card implied they should be covered. She handed the card back, in what I think was an attempt to encourage me to crawl away ashamed and go somewhere else, but I relented in my pursuit to make an appointment, and to make one TODAY. After all, I had just heard they had open appointments, right? But wait...I'm still not done.

Now the other staffer, the one who had been sitting there quietly listening, and who had told the caller there were open appointments just minutes ago, acknowledged my request for an appointment by handing me a business card and suggested I call back to make an appointment. When I asked about any available appointments today, SINCE I AM STANDING RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW, she said she could check but doubted it. I decided to mention that I was a bit anxious to get a mammogram as soon as possible because my doctor had found a lump in my breast last week. Yes, I shamelessly played the sympathy card, but can you blame me? Yeah, I hear you. The sympathy card paid off, kind of. The staffer did take pity on me, and began to get up to leave the desk to see if she could possibly squeeze me and my insurance into an appointment today. She then turned to me and asked if I would mind taking a seat in the waiting area.

Right there. That's when I realized it. Yes, actually, I do mind taking a seat in that pretentious waiting area. I felt overly uncomfortable being there and even worse, that this woman, who did not even know me, was treating me like an indigent patient in a hospital. I have insurance, a well known company, I might add, insurance that I actually pay for and here I was being treated like a beggar. I felt like she somehow judged me, then pitied me out of the kindness of her heart. Nah, this was not where I wanted to have a mammogram. I just walked out, no explanation. I did not feel like I owed her anything.

A mammogram is one of the more intimate exams you will ever have in your life, right up there with a pelvic exam or a colonoscopy. Your 'girls' are just hanging out there in the breeze than squished like a pancake in a machine looking for a possible life altering diagnosis. I want to be treated with respect if I am trusting you to squish my already painful, lumpy boob into a machine looking for cancer. If I am going to allow you to touch my naked body, you better be sure I don't want your pity, but I do want your trust and respect. I deserve it.

I will never be a client of that radiology practice as long as they practice looking down their noses at others.

Talk At You Later

I used to have a boss some years ago that would end his interactions with me with the phrase "talk at you later". He was one of my least favorite bosses and for lack of a better phrase, a complete jackass. He was hugely overbearing, annoying to deal with, and thought only his design ideas were what I should be making. I would crook my head with a puzzled look whenever I heard him utter the phrase and fortunately he was usually leaving the store or ending our phone conversation when he said it. He was the first person, and until now, has been the only person I have ever heard say that phrase. I thought he was just ignorant or that he had his phrases confused. I thought for sure he meant "talk WITH you later", but now I am realizing, his phrase was more correct.

Lately I have been noticing a pattern in my relationship with my mother and whether it has always been there or not, I can't tell. She and I have a phone call everyday, and lately, I have noticed it has been more of a 'talk at you' call. One of us calls the other and I end up listening to her talk at me about whatever is on her mind, whatever happened in her day, or whatever she wants to talk at me about. Rarely she asks about me or my day, but rarely it does happen. A ‘talk at you’ call is one of the most boring, long and uninteresting calls you will ever have with another person. I have become quite good at playing online games, answering emails and watching television shows all while on the other end of a ‘talk at you’ call. I can have an entire thirty minute conversation with her and only utter about 20 words usually consisting of “Yeah.”, “No, that doesn’t sound good.”, “Oh really?”, “I guess I better let you go then” and “Good night”.

Today was one of those days when I really could have used a 'talk with you' call rather than a 'talk at you' call. I recently found a slightly painful lump in my breast during a self-exam, and had my gynecologist check it out for me. She too found the lump and agreed with me that it might be something that needs to be removed with surgery. Like every other girl I know, I just wanted to pick up the phone and call my ‘mommy’ and cry about my news with her. Then I remembered who my mom is and thought better of it. If I had called her, the conversation would have been more of a ‘talk at you call’ where she would remind me that it’s my fault I have a lump in my breast because…pick an excuse. When it comes to me, the compassion well has dried up, it’s empty and I am out of luck.

We did have our usual 30 minute phone conversation tonight, she did all of the talking at me, and she has no idea I have a lump in my breast. She did not ask about my day and I was never given the chance to tell her anything about it. Maybe our relationship is better this way. I don’t suppose I can ever miss what I never had before; a loving relationship with my mother.

Marriage Is Like A Crab Leg Dinner

It occurred to me tonight, as I was cleaning freshly steamed crab legs, how much that activity reminded me of my marriage. Remember when you heard the line from the movie 'Forrest Gump', "Life is like a box of chocolates..."? Well, I had my Forrest Gump moment tonight at the dining room table!

I sat there, alone, trying my best to remove all the delicious meat from the crab leg clusters, hoping not to miss anything, but feeling overwhelmed with the 3 pounds of legs that sat before me. I know how much Paul hates to clean them, despite the fact that he does enjoy eating them, so I did not bother to ask for his help. After all, I thought, he was busy with something on the computer and surely I could do this myself...even if it took hours. Which it would have. Hours, messy, sticky and slimy, four of my least favorite words.

In the past, I would have cleaned all of them myself and then made VERY SURE Paul knew how I hated doing it, how I sacrificed what I wanted to do instead so he could enjoy the crab legs even though he did none of the work to deserve the crab legs I SLAVED over to clean....on and on and on. Yes, I can be quite the martyr when I want to be. (I, was taught that skill by one of the best martyr's I know, thankyouverymuch.) I decided that rather than be overwhelmed at the task at hand, instead of trying to do it all by myself, I throw out a suggestion to Paul that I might need help to get all of these cleaned. You know what? He took me up on it. I am not sure why he did it. Maybe he felt bad for me, maybe he heard the desperation in my tone, or maybe, just maybe, he did it because I finally asked for his help. I like to think because I humbled myself and asked for his help instead of sulking and always trying to do it myself, he was WILLING to help. And you know, it was a more pleasurable experience sharing the yucky job. We turned up the tv to hear Jeopardy and tried as a couple to answer the questions together, all while cleaning crab legs. What a concept!

Tonight, I discovered, sitting there, that marriage, much like these crab legs can become something rather wonderful and satisfying, but also very messy. More importantly, sometimes you have to get really messy, sticky and slimy to enjoy the good that can come from your efforts. My marriage is like that! I also discovered that if only one person is doing all the work, be it cleaning crab legs or the house work, then less joy will come from the results. One person will feel unappreciated for their efforts and one person will feel neglected. Nothing good can come from feelings like that.

So the next time you're cleaning crab leg clusters alone, remember my analogy, and share the load. It may just save your marriage.

Wedding Anniversary #12

I think it has finally taken me 12 years to figure out that a wedding anniversary is about celebrating the day you officially chose to be with the one you love for eternity, not about the gifts that poor sucker you married will give you.

Today was a really nice day of remembering why I married Paul, how nice it is to still be married to him, and why I'm not looking to trade him in for a 'new model'. It was wonderful to go on a real date to a restaurant where you had to dress up, have a reservation and be treated like an adult. I mean, yeah, Golden Corral has it's place, but you're not going to get a wine suggestion from a waiter there.

I enjoyed our dinner date immensely. Why, you ask? I think a large part of it was that we were able to sit, talk and actually enjoy each others company for a change. Usually, if we're going out to dinner, eating is the main reason we're there, not talking. Tonight was like a mini-remembrance of our dating/courting time before we were married or before life became more important than our relationship with each other is. Tonight was about us, not me, not Paul, but US. And it was great. I hope to keep the memory of tonight alive in my mind by continuing to cherish my husband every day for the rest of my life.

Happy Anniversary, Paul my love!

Easter Candy

Easter is Sunday, less than a week away. This week's Sunday paper was spilling over with advertisements offering every kind of Easter candy known to mankind. Chocolate bunnies, marshmallow eggs, jellybeans, and of course, Cadbury eggs. Hate those things, but they are THE traditional Easter candy. I'm a chocolate covered marshmallow egg girl myself, but I will only eat a certain kind. They are the cheap ones from WalMart, not Necco, not Russell Stover, but the ones in the styrofoam egg holder packaging for a dollar. Don't ask me why, but I love those things. I am sure they are artery cloggers, blood sugar raisers, but dang it they are tasty!

This is usually my week to shine in the candy area of my life. I have to tell you I am far behind this year when it comes to being stocked up for Easter. I generally make each child in my local church congregation (also known as a"Ward"), their own chocolate bunny. I use my own molds, melt the chocolate myself and make some 60-70 chocolate bunny shaped lolly pops each Easter. I take great pride and care to be sure they look at cute as they are yummy. I package them in clear plastic bags and tie pastel ribbons curled so perfectly to seal them. I even deliver them in a traditional Easter basket brimming with fake green plastic grass. As I said earlier, I am far behind in my Easter candy readiness. The good news is, our church is having their semi-annual General Conference on Easter Sunday, which means no one will be at church for me to give bunnies to. Sadly, that too fueled my lack of motivation to make said chocolate bunny pops.

With my lack of enthusiasm for Easter candy already this year, I have decided that this year we are going to celebrate Easter 'candy-less'. I don't mean full on NO CANDY, oh Heavens NO! I am thinking, instead of going crazy buying a bunch of candy my waistline does not need and my husband won't eat anyway, we'll do something different. Less candy, not a basket full. And I want a new video game for my Nintendo DS. Yes, you heard me right, 41 year old me wants a new video game for Easter. Even I am amazed I want it. Now you know, I've been married to my loving uber-nerdy husband too long when I want a video game instead of candy for the biggest candy holiday of the year.

I am trying to wrap my mind around the concept that I want less for Easter. Could this mean, GASP, I am growing up? I guess we shall see! Stay tuned!

Happy Easter!

Restrictions

It occurred to me recently that I recall growing up in an environment that allowed me to be anything I wanted to be. I wanted to be a nurse, I wanted to be a musician, I wanted to be a lawyer, I wanted to be governor of NJ, and I wanted to be a policeman (or woman as it would be politically correct). My mother supported me in my endeavors to be whoever or whatever I wanted to be, well except being a cop and, later as I would come to realize in my forties, being good enough to be her daughter.

I've been a nurse. I've been a back-up singer in a band. I studied criminal justice in college for a semester. I've even worked on a municipal level with police officers who took me to 'the range' and taught me to shoot a gun, but I somehow never earned the respect or the permission from my mother to truly be myself. I spent a good deal of the time trying to be the daughter I expected her to want me to be, but yet it is still not enough. Never was, never is and, now I realize, will never be

With age, indeed does come wisdom. Many times we say that we 'wish we could have known back then what we know now' and our lives would be somehow different, maybe even better. I try not to live my life full of 'would have, could have, should have', so going back in time with that wisdom, it probably would do me no good. I believe experience is our best teacher. I can't say I ever learned more from reading something than I did from actually experiencing it. Even in my own life, I was 'told' how to do one thing and most times, found a better way to do it myself. My mother swears I have a hard head and that I am stubborn. Truthfully, I believe those are my biggest assets in this world!

This year, I have decided to take a MAJOR look at my life and see where I am. What do I want to be when I grow up? Where do I expect to be happiest in my life? Who are my friends? Who am I? What do I stand for? What are my personal boundaries? What is most important to me?

Here's what I have come up with so far, so stop me if you already know these things...
~I live in Raleigh, North Carolina
~I am married to my best friend whom I love and respect.
~I've never given birth to any children of my own, but I have bettered the children around me.
~I am perfectly imperfect.
~I am learning to accept my faults, accept my weaknesses, and accept myself.
~Money may not bring happiness, but more money can bring peace and quiet to my cellphone. (I had to throw that one in as I listen to the monotonous ring tone of debt collectors calling me up to 10 times daily these days.)
~My biggest support in this life are the friends whom I choose to call family, who support and love me no matter what I do.
~I am working on accepting that my mother will never unconditionally love me or accept me plain and simple.

Of all the changes I want to make in my life, accepting the fact that my mother will never unconditionally love or accept me is going to be the hardest thing I will ever accomplish. I will probably get a few more bumps on my head from banging it against that wall, but I know I can do anything in my life now, if I just let her acceptance go.

I Don't Get It?

Ever have a relationship with someone who you just don't get? Even worse is when you can't get rid of the relationship that you don't get either. I find myself spending useless hours on the telephone with my mother who only cares about herself and who wants to solve my problems with a simple wag of her tongue of wisdom. Mind you this wisdom has rarely done me any good in my life and has caused many a heartache and fight in years past. I am not saying I have been an innocent victim. No, I have opened up myself to the brutal attacks of her useless wisdom and hurtful advice. I have confided in her things that have come back to haunt me numerous times. No, I cannot claim to be an innocent victim when I actively came to her seeking solace and comfort knowing full well she is incapable of such things. Yet, I still keep a relationship with her because she is, after all, my mother. I do thank God he only gave me one mother, I doubt I could handle another one like her.

Being a good daughter, I devote an average of thirty to sixty minutes a day of my cell phone time to listen to her rant on and on about others short comings, her supposed poverty (total BS), and my loser of a life. I am reminded that my husband is inadequate as a provider, I have no children and that I am poor. As if I need to be reminded of this on a daily basis, and as if I'm not actually living it in my life. Thank you, mother divine, for the constant reminder that I am a loser in your eyes.

This year has been my designated year to end this madness in my life. I am no longer allowing her to belittle my life and affect my sanity. I no longer place value on the things she says, nor do I value her judgements of my life.