"TMI" Friday ...

Let me start out by saying that if I tried to describe this week, most of the words would be negative. It was probably in part me having a 'the glass is half empty' type attitude. I believe THAT started approximately 30 minutes after starting to try to shove a 1 inch needle into my thigh on Monday and having to give up, labeling myself a complete failure. Since that was Monday it piled onto the residual feelings from Sunday. Sunday, if you recall was Mother's Day and is my LEAST favorite day of the year. I will NEVER be mistaken for a good mother and the day leaves me feeling like a complete an total failure, thus a theme began to emerge and the 'piling on' effect had begun ...

That being said - I will try, after I TOTALLY try to disgust you, to list some good things that happened this week - to sort of balance out my bizarre, crappy (totally self-centered) universe ... deal?

And on the disgusting things:


***WARNING***


VOMITING will be discussed in this post ad nauseam (heh heh). So if you cannot 'stomach' barf discussions - this post is not for you! You may be dismissed or you may skip down to this 'list' that I am supposed to be making at the end - it will not hurt my feelings in the least. Some of us can talk about barf, dirty diapers, toe fungus, maggots and whatnot all the while eating lunch and others ... well, they are just wimps ...

Also - that being said? The title: "TMI Friday" - a couple of words about that:

1) For anyone who might not know what TMI stands for - it is 'Too Much Information' - for example: Say an acquaintance of yours at work tells you she is pregnant. 'Congrats!' You say. Then she begins discussing non-husbands, hotels, techniques, positions ... at this point it is perfectly acceptable to shout out "TMI" and not be labeled a person with Tourette's ... My TMI is rather tame - if you are not easily disgusted by non-cheating, more biological / medical sorts of information.

2) A pre-warning of sorts - this SERIOUSLY got out of hand - lengthwise. I really have no idea how this happened. One minute it was 11:00am on a Friday morning and I was all - "I think I want to share my totally disgusting morning with all my friends ..." and the next thing you know, it is 4:13AM Saturday morning and you find yourself typing this warning mentioning that a) It has become a mini-novel about absolutely nothing - so you have been forewarned that if you keep reading this crap - you are pretty much wasting your time and b) I was not lying about the TMI 'Friday' part - it was Friday when I started it ...

3) At 4:15AM on a Saturday morning totally jazzed from drinking gallons of Raspberry Lemonade Crystal Light - I think I would like to start a movement wherein EVERY person who blogs MUST have a TMI Friday at least once a month. Whaddaya think?

4) I will shut up about the TMI part and get started ...



Maybe the FIRST thing on my list of good things that happened this week is that I ran errands today! Yes ...

I. RAN. ERRANDS.

All by myself!

As opposed to rolling out of bed and forcing myself to go do ... something - but that 'something' for about 6 months has been one thing. Only one. It was all I could physically and mentally deal with. Now, there might have been a few exceptions to the rule, but trust me - they were spur of the moment type things. I never ran to Kroger's for a gallon of milk and on the way home, decide to go get my hair colored - something I have been trying to work up to for 1 and 1/2 years. The trouble is, I have oozing sores on my scalp that just won’t heal. Oh, lookie here - starting right out with the Disgusting Things! That I have had them non-stop for a year and a half should probably be 'worrying', but there is no room on that list - thus it just stays on the 'bothersome' list –and have stayed away from the hair salon since I really don't feel like that crap they put on your hair would feel all that great on open, raw sores. I forget ... what comes after boils? Locusts? I'm pretty sure I have covered 'plague' but I WILL NOT be surprised if one day I wake up to a house full of insects ... just sayin'). Ooops - there is that negativity creeping up on me again. If I did more than two things on an outing - it would be like heading to Kroger's for a gallon of milk and accidentally running over a cat on the way home. Big difference...

But today I HAD PLANS!! I had a LIST! Got in the car drove to Walgreens and picked up prescriptions - walking into the store since I needed a few other things - not going through the drive through. That – just that right there, normally would have wiped me out and I would be headed back home with dreams of my bed - front and center in my brain. Went to the bank and deposited a check (OK, drive through here). Got gas – I even cleaned my filthy back window (and now I have those cool dirty vertical stripes on the white paint under the window). Finally, I parked and headed into Kroger's. This is MONUMENTAL for me - which should be seriously embarrassing to admit, but apparently I have no shame anymore ...

I was dying of thirst - one of my medications makes me thirsty and I believe that I took my bucket full of meds before I started out. Since I got a bit wonky ... right about here in my story ... I don't remember, but I am pretty sure I did. Still thinking I need one of those pill reminders for the eighty-plus crowd, but haven't found one big enough to fit all my pills. So sad ... very, very sad. There is a Starbucks inside the store and is the first thing you hit - along with all the flowers. I headed over and said that I didn't drink coffee, but did they have anything else? She said they had tea. I told her that I did not drink tea either and she was starting to look rather annoyed. She said that was it, other than the smoothies. So I bought a Strawberry Banana Smoothie. As I was paying I noticed that in the refrigerated section right below the pastries was bottled water. Seriously? OK, in all fairness, it was staring me in the face - but she said the ONLY other thing they had was smoothies and I took her word for it. Took my smoothie and hoped it would not taste too horrible.

More negativity? No - just fact. I hate bananas. Actually - I have read a LOT of literature that says that I am allergic to bananas. I don't go into shock - and they mention that is rare - but vomiting after eating a banana apparently is a sign that you are allergic. My Mom said I did this as a baby - so it isn't something new - I have always thought that they were the most disgusting, slimy, awful tasting fruit in the entire universe (although I am sure I have not sampled every fruit in the universe - so just speculation). As a newly married couple - Gary, a HUGE banana lover would not believe it when I told him if I eat bananas I throw up. He thinks they are magical and I guess in an attempt to convert me to the Church of the Holy Banana, he got a banana, chased me around the apartment, and the next thing I know I am on the floor, flat on my back with Gary straddling me making me take a bite and eat it. He was not being mean, I remember we were both laughing ... OK, Gary was doing most of the laughing and I was doing more yelling than laughing. Oddly enough, after I threw up on him, I seemed to be doing most of the laughing and Gary was doing most of the yelling. He hasn't tried to introduce me to a new food again - the man CAN be taught.

That being said - I don't throw up stuff with baked bananas in them, just raw bananas. Lately, though, I have noticed that some of the health drinks I get have bananas in them and I can sort of taste them, but not much so I have become used to having some raw banana when it is in some pureed form. Took my smoothie and downed half of it right there since I was so thirsty. After coming up for air, I realized that it was super banana-ey - with CHUNKS - eeek! Still dying of thirst, I finished it and continued my shopping, which was different than my normal shopping. I mentally (when really ill or really depressed) cannot bear shopping, but can get by if I have a list and go in, get just those items and get out. Today I told myself with Ryan home, I would go up and down each aisle and see if things were triggered in my brain.

Did that and when I hit the water aisle grabbed a huge bottle of water and started chugging that down also. Finished my shopping, took a quick look at my list of things I actually needed - had them all and off to the check out. While checking out, I started sweating and feeling downright crappy. By the time I had paid I was feeling REALLY crappy and nauseous. Got to my car and got everything in, but knew I was in trouble - I was going to throw up.

Now, I have quite a lot of experience in this area - you could say that I am a "Barf Expert". I generally have quite a bit of control over when and where I am going to vomit. I can fight and hold it in until I hit a sink (sorry folks, my head DOES NOT belong in, over or anywhere near a toilet - I clean up after myself rather thoroughly). This works for me about 98% of the time - I know that I can hold it in, but cannot talk, make any sudden movements and a plethora of other things - but it works for me and has saved me from many embarrassing moments. Today I realized that it was that pesky 2% and there were people milling about. Now, I must say that I have actually spewed in front of people, in front of a crowd of people and one time - actually during a blessing I was getting. Hit both my father and the other gentleman who was over to help give me the blessing. I was trying (unsuccessfully) to keep it in the bowl that I was holding. So - in the middle of the prayer - I jumped up and tried to run to the sink, but since I was still vomiting and the floor was tiled I slipped and fell into my own vomit. Yes - this was a rather low point in my long and colorful vomiting history. The gentleman and my father cleaned up a bit while my mother tried to clean up the floor, me and the bowl that I was now sobbing into. Then we started again. I remember when it was over and the rather rattled gentleman was taking his leave and had shook hands with my mother and my father, I told him that I would understand if he did not want to shake my hand ...

Fun times folks, fun times ...


*** I WARNED YOU! ***


So - not wanting to just spew in front of the few people and the guy collecting carts – who had just taken mine, I jumped in the car and slammed the door.

Yes, I understand this seems absurd - but I am nothing if not prepared for barfing - in all situations. In the storage bin between the two front seats of my Tahoe, I store gallon freezer (thicker and stronger) zip-loc bags with some paper towels in them. Why the paper towels, you ask? Cause a bag of barf is really, really not a pretty sight and can sort of be disguised with a wad of paper towels. These are the little things that you just don’t think about until you are wandering around the parking lot carrying that bag-o-barf with people staring at you and your bag – and seeing the minute they realize what you have – curiosity to horrified with a bit of green in the face in less than half a second!

I sat down and before I could even turn and start opening up the bin - I PROJECTILE VOMITED all over the entire dashboard of my beautiful Tahoe. I literally hit everything you can see in this photo – you know, with that 'after splash effect' and all.

*** I WARNED YOU! ***


Got the bag out and, well - you can figure out the rest. Dang, dang smoothie! As I said - there were chunks of banana in it. I had not eaten anything that morning, so aside from the fact that the actual smoothie caused me to barf - I now had disgusting pink banana chunks evenly spread throughout my dashboard and side windows. I was HORRIFIED! While my car is always free of clutter of any sort, I rarely (aka never) wash my car or clean the interior. Generally Gary gets so disgusted with it he takes pity on me and washes it. When he washes it, I believe he wipes down the interior. If he doesn’t, that means that aside from a few swipes from a wet wipe or two, it has NEVER been cleaned since he and Ryan went and bought it while we were still living in the Residence Inn after moving home from Norway in July of 2006.

Drove home, called up to Ryan to come down and bring in the groceries while I got out a bucket of soapy water, washcloths, brushes, Windex, paper towels and MOST handy: paper wrapped straws. They were excellent for those hard to reach places(ie the vents, yes people – I puked in the vents of my car. Well, actually that sounds like I was aiming – think ‘projectile’ of the projectile vomiting phrase. I generally do not actually ‘Projectile Vomit’ – very rare for me - but when I do – like today – I am really, really good at it …) So – the straws awesomeness cleaning up barf in hard to reach places: after inserting the unwrapped straw into a vent the paper on it absorbed ... the liquid and chunks would stick to it. Disgusting, but perfect, is it not?

I've got to say - puking with great gusto is probably not the best way to ensure a good detailing of a vehicles dashboard - but it is a GREAT motivator ... I can clean - although I am too lazy to do so now days - I used to be a SUPER cleaner. It is sort of like riding a bike – and it all came back to me …

I wiped down the dashboard, the windows, and everything else in the barf-zone. I used my unwrapped straws, I used a brush and a toothbrush, I wiped again, and again and again until I could not SEE a single piece of evidence of my mornings activities. I have declared my dashboard and surrounds puke-free, but I need to wait until tomorrow to get the 'final' test results and then there will be no doubt about it ...

Just as in the perpetually perplexing puzzle of pee in the keyboard - the puzzle being that not knowing that there WAS pee in the keyboard – everything is all fine and dandy until the computer is turned on and the keyboard starts to heat up (I don’t think that keyboards actually heat up - thus probably an urban myth ... but entertaining in a rather disgusting way). The keyboard heats up and things start smelling ... well, funky – and not in a good way.

Same goes for me. *sigh* I will have to get in the car, let it heat up a bit, maybe sit it out in the sun (it currently is sleeping in Gary's 'shop') ... then turn on the air conditioner and fervently hope that I am not pelted with tiny pink dried banana bitlets.

Or, maybe I WANT to be pelted, yes? Then I would know that they are no longer lurking in my cars vents. Because - seriously?


These types of things are EXACTLY what keep me up nights ....


My apologies to anyone who found this post disturbing and / or disgusting - but keep in mind: I always carry a camera with me ... there could have been photos!


And as promised:

*** GOOD THINGS ABOUT THIS WEEK ***

- Found a new author who is Norwegian and writes about an inspector working out of Oslo, Norway. There is nothing more exciting than finding a new author I like and knowing I have 10 or so new mysteries to look forward to! In addition - a bonus! I get to wander the streets of Oslo and the surrounding areas with the inspector, and while he is finding murder and mayhem - I find remembered memories of a wonderful places, wonderful people, wonderful weather, wonderful times ...

- Said Novelist, in his first book (that had been translated into English, the first two were not) described the house we lived in to a 'T'! Since his love interest lives there - I have been able to go back time and time again to that beautiful 100 year old lodge that had been converted to a house. Each time he visits he adds to his description. With the exception that we did not have a view of Oslo and there was no garden in the back it has been very accurate. So much fun to relive wandering around that magical two and a half acres of pure beauty. In ‘our’ backyard:

- Jessie came over on Sunday, as usual. Not ‘as usual’: she was a perfect angel, watched a movie with Gary, surfed the web with me, asked to go back, we packed her a goodie bag and she left without any of the usual histrionics.

Jessie at Thanksgiving last year.

- Ryan's last test was Monday, so he has been home all week.

- Saw the prettiest almost white / light beige doe in the middle of Houston on my way into the doctor's on Monday.

- Gary's All-In-One printer died so I get a new fancy printer! It is on its way! We have a hierarchical method of ownership when it comes to computers and their accessories at our house.

When something dies - say ... Gary's printer, this starts a chain reaction that has a rather pleasant outcome for me. I give him my used printer, and then I am able to purchase the latest and greatest printer with all the new features and gadgets! Very, very cool for me. It is the Hurst 'trickle-down effect'.

I always get the new piece of equipment, my old piece goes to Gary, Gary's old piece goes to Ryan and it used to be that Ryan's old piece would go to Jessie. We caught her one too many times typing merrily along in some system file and pretty much had a knack for totally and completely obliterating the Windows Operating System to where it got so bad that you could not even hope to 'restore' the computer to an earlier version of itself. We now supervise her a little closer and let her play on my old laptop since I would really like to get a new one!

So I get to play with the brand new wireless All-In-One ... soon.

- Bought three new ginormous laundry hampers with lids ... Charlie did not eat any of my clothing this week! Her pants eating days just might be over (if we are diligent in putting everything in the hampers)

- My cleaning lady came this week (she comes every other week). It is always a good Tuesday when Alma has come! The house always feels so wonderful … and clean! And super special to someone who lounges in bed ALL THE TIME: Clean Sheets! I LOVE clean sheet Tuesday ...

- Did all of the laundry, folded it and put it away - all within the span of 2 days. This almost never happens ... I must be feeling better!

- I AM feeling better!

Friday was a wonderful day and I felt good enough to be up and about most of the day - this is VERY, VERY COOL ... well, for me!

- Upon hauling the garbage can to the curb, I spied a wee little "Detective Froggy"! Went in and got my large Canon ... because what's the point of putting "Froggy Stalking" and "Froggy Terrorizing" on your resume if you are rusty?

At first, I assumed that he was a wee little "Buddha Froggy" as usual - out there in some sort of Zen state contemplating the universe, black holes, quarks and neutron bombs ... the usual for froggies after dark. He didn't seem bothered with my strobing flash - an annoying habit of my DLSR to try and locate the object of interest and focus in on it in the dark. So, I EVER SO GRACEFULLY maneuvered myself into a prone position and looked through the viewfinder to see a rather annoyed 'Buddha Frog'.

I snapped five quick photos of ‘grumpy face’ then checked the LCD screen to see if it was saying 'busy' - camera speak telling me it needed to catch its breath before strobing and flashing again. The 'busy' went off and I put my eye back to the viewfinder ... concrete and a strip of grass. Bummer - he had hopped over to a less 'strobe-y' part of the sidewalk. I got up, grumbling, walked over to him and took a few more shots and then went inside to look at them on my computer (you really cannot tell how good or bad a photo is on that itty bitty screen).

Much to my surprise and delight - I saw that I had been mistaken with the 'Buddha' thing. This frog was CLEARLY “Hercule Poirot Froggy” - thus a 'Detective Froggy'.

How do I know this? Why, the handlebar mustache, of course! Also the grumpy look on his face - due to his chronic state of forgetfulness he had forgotten his pince-nez glasses somewhere. This is obvious, as he has apparently hopped into a wall - glass, concrete, brick? Who knows? But his meticulously groomed moustache is seriously ... skiwampus! Apparently he has some serious mystery to solve, so I left him with his grumpy, who-done-it? thoughts and went inside to download the photos.

On looking at the photos, at first I thought that it was just a piece of grass, or a couple of insect legs hanging out of his mouth, but upon closer inspection, you could see that he was the real deal. I have included a photo: the first is the unedited version, the second I have traced his moustache just in case you missed it, and the third is Hercule when he has properly groomed his mustache and has avoided hopping into flat surfaces froggy face first.

Yes - that was a long 'happy thing' from this week - but since Wed and Thurs are sort of a blur - I s splurged a bit ...



You know what? I do believe that my Happy Things from This Week is longer than my vomitus spew story!

Oh! Nevermind – I was not looking at it properly …




I wonder why that is … (5:42AM) ….

"L" is for LOSER ...

A while back I reported on Facebook, discouraged, that my doctor had reported that my Mono virus (Epstein Barr) was higher than it was when we originally tested six weeks earlier even though I was on a heavy dose of anti-viral medication. What I didn’t mention was how I got the news.

When any labs are drawn, I have a phone number I call. I enter my doctor’s code, then my own code and see if I have any messages. Sometimes I forget to do this, but since I go in monthly, I can just get the information then. I was antsy for the results so I called the number. My doctor proceeded to tell me that the Epstein Barr was higher and that she recommended I start “xyz” injections. That was the entirety of the message and I was frustrated, and a bit confused.

What about the HHV-6? Was it under control?

What about my ATP level? And wasn’t THAT what the “xyz” injections were for? This injection has nothing to do with a virus – just the immune system … thus my confusion.

And just for fun – how far, this time, is my T-Cell count from that ‘death’ line you always like to show me is oh, so very close to my number … ALWAYS?

Hmmm?

Well, since it was a message, I could not ask. She is super busy and her staff protects her and there was very little chance I was going to be able to talk to her so I made an appointment to get to the bottom of her contradictory comment.

Today was the appointment.

First the GOOD NEWS: I was right! The “xyz” injection is to improve your ATP levels, thus your energy level (on a cellular level). She had spaced out and when speaking with her she says she is always prescribing it and just totally messed up.

The BAD NEWS: Her new course of treatment ALSO requires an injection. Luckily the injection is just once a week.

This is when I sort of freaked out because ever since I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease in 2000 I have been getting more and more phobic of needles. I had a pretty good reason – they wanted to start a PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) line in my arm to give me the IV medication to try to kill the Lyme Disease since I was in very late stage and it was running rampant in my body and my immune system was already compromised – I was well beyond the ‘usual’ regimen of a month of oral antibiotics.

A nurse would come to our house and the fun would begin. In 2000 Jessie would have been twelve, but she became very wary of these nurses and wanted to sit and watch and tell the nurses to “not hurt my mom”. The first time the attempt was horrific – it is a rather large needle since it needs to be large enough to shove the catheter through it and ‘thread’ it to a location close to the heart. My veins are crappy and after two attempts on each arm, I was a sweating, bloody mess. After the first attempt, Gary fled with the children and went to McDonalds or something – the man does not like blood and leaves the ER every time they have to start an IV on me since it is rather difficult and he is squeamish about it.

They came back a few days later determined to get it started so I could start the IV treatment. My arms were a mess but we had to try. Gary again took the kids and fled – this time before any attempt.

Things are rather blurry about this whole ‘Getting the damn PICC line in’ and I don’t remember what they did to me, but we hit something on one arm and there was blood EVERYWHERE. All over me, the nurse, the floor … and Gary walked in with the kids. I screamed for them to NOT come in, but I am pretty sure that Jessie saw before Gary drug them both out the door again and went … I have no idea where. It really affected her and after that whenever a nurse came, she would INSIST on sitting in a chair and watch what was happening or she would freak out.

I was deemed an unfit candidate for a PICC line in the arm, and the next day was put under general anesthesia and a line was inserted into my chest – I believe it was called a ‘Central Venous Catheter’ and I started on my IV meds … up until I went into anaphylactic shock and was taken off them.

I am pretty sure THAT was when my phobia of needles was planted in my brain, and through the years as I get IV’s and labs drawn ALL THE TIME it has become progressively worse rather than better. This is a HUGE frustration to me since I now, when getting labs drawn, get so … wiggy … that all my blood rushes to my core and my veins collapse – and NO MATTER how hard I try to relax – it still happens. Logically, I would assume that I would be getting used to it, but no – every time I am just a titch more freaked out.

So … I’m at the doctor’s office and they ask me if I want them to give me the first injection and show me how to do it. I say “No, I really need to do this myself” and I mean I really, really needed to know that I could do it. They went and got one of the needles and I was pleasantly surprised that the length was not as long as I expected. I had asked if it was an IM injection and they had said yes – that is Intramuscular Injection. This is opposed to an insulin injection needle that is short – less than ½ inch generally they are 5/16th of an inch to be exact (8mm) – so when I saw that it was 1 inch long (24mm), I thought – “I can do this”.

She said to spread the skin, not bunch it up like I had been taught when I learned how to give Jessie her injections. And speaking of Jessie’s injections, about a year before she left for a group home I realized that I was having a harder and harder time giving her an injection – which is weird since I can’t feel it, but it started to creep me out – that is when I realized that I had a pretty big problem with needles.

After spreading the skin flat, aim the needle in a spot NOT showing a vein, with the hole in the needle pointing up and just jam it in. The next step started bothering me with Jessie, also. I couldn’t just start pushing the plunger, I needed to pull back on the plunger and make sure that no blood was sucked up into the needle – thus indicating that you were in a vein and a no no. So after pulling back on the plunger and seeing no blood, then, and only then you begin to push the plunger. I am a pro – I have given Jessie lots of shots and gave myself shots right when I started to see my doctor – so I know that I have done it … that I don’t remember doing it sort of disturbs me.

So – I’m sitting on the table in the doctor’s office and I have swabbed the area with alcohol. I digress: To this day I smile at this step from memories of Norway. I had labs drawn and was given injections in Norway also, the only difference? THEY DO NOT SWAB WITH ALCOHOL FIRST. Did I ever get infected? No. But every time they started I would remember some sort of joke questioning the sanity of swabbing a convicted persons arm before inserting the needle that would administer the lethal injection. I would always jokingly tell them this and say I must be getting a ‘lethal injection’. For some reason, they NEVER found it as funny as I did ….

And then I would take the needle in my left hand (I’m a lefty), position it over my right leg (don’t know why my right – it just seemed most comfortable) and with the bevel up, tell my brain to plunge it in.

And I could not do it.

The nurse would say “OK, breathe out and just do it.” And I would breathe out, and my brain would tell my arm to ‘go’ – but my arm would not move. This went on for about 10 minutes and I was horrified with myself – I COULD NOT BELIEVE I COULD NOT DO IT. I knew it would not hurt very much, it was not a big deal. I had a mantra going: “This is so stupid, this is so stupid, this is so stupid …” It was beyond stupid – I couldn’t believe I couldn’t just plunge it in!

I got my head together got serious, and went into my ‘Fighter Mode’. Ever since that fateful day – 4 July 1988 when my water broke with Jessie I have had to suck it up and do what I call “Hard Things”. I’m not good at it, I’m not graceful about it, but I DO IT. My very first experience doing Hard Things was when Jessie was a couple of days old and I was in her room with her and they asked me to leave because they were going to do a spinal tap. I had Jessie in Ogden, Utah because at the time Logan, Utah did not have a Level 3 nursery. When they told us that in Logan, we were so dumb, we had to ask what a Level 3 nursery was? The nurses said that was where the sickest babies went … and the gravity of our situation – I was at 32 weeks at the time - started to sink in. They asked us where in Ogden did we want to go and we said St. Benedict’s. Gary’s brother is an obstetrician and that was the hospital he worked out of. At this point in this narrative, when I am telling it, I always say “God smiled on me that day and had Gary’s brother at Lake Powell and his partner delivered my baby.” Gary, and Jill (his brother’s wife) are still mystified when I say this – they are all like “Why wouldn’t you want Craig to deliver your baby – he is an absolutely MARVELOUS obstetrician?”



DUDES!



DO I SERIOUSLY HAVE TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU?



Do the freaking bloody math …

But, that being said – we were given a wee bit of preferential treatment while there because we were ‘family’. So when they tried to clear me out while they did a spinal tap I begged them to let me stay. They said ‘no, this is NOT something a mother needs to see’ and I countered with, ‘I am pretty sure I will imagine something more horrifying than what actually happens, please, I won’t move. I will put my back to the wall, I won’t say a word, I will not move, but please, please just let me stay with my baby.’

And, for whatever reason … they let me stay!

This is the only time the ‘medical community’ didn’t just blandly state it was ‘policy’ and with their godlike powers, kick me out, or deny my baby food, or any of the other horrifying things we went through.

Standing there, against the wall, weeping silently I realized that actually, no – I really wouldn’t have come up with something more horrifying … and, no – this was not something that a mother needs to see. I was mystified that I ever thought that I could and just wanted to die on the spot rather than have to watch one more minute of the torture they were inflicting on my beautiful, flawed baby. I said a silent prayer to help her suffering and in my head I heard five calm, quiet words: “You can do hard things”. I still tell myself that when I need to ‘suck it up’ and just do whatever it is that I need to do and it has always pulled me through.



But not today.



I failed.



I FAILED.



I DO NOT FAIL!!!



Twenty three years of doing Hard Things. Maybe I was not graceful about it, maybe I was a bitch about it, or an idiot or a crybaby – BUT I DID IT.




And suddenly after twenty three years a tiny, one inch needle had come out the victor instead of me …

I literally sat there for 20 more minutes until I was soaked with sweat, SO SURE I would pull through in the end and do this one RIDICULOUSLY SIMPLE THING.


IT WAS NOTHING!



I have a lot of pain, and I knew this would be nothing. But I could NOT get my brain and my arm to cooperate. I would tell, and ask, and demand, and plead and beg my arm to move and it just flat out would not move. It was a very odd sensation …


I couldn’t believe it when I finally had to admit I was wasting the nurse’s time. I told her to give me the injection and that by feeling how it felt, that NEXT Monday I would not be like I was today having no idea what it felt like. She quickly gave me the injection.

I watched her put the needle in, but barely felt it. It is TOTALLY NUTS. I was so disappointed in myself – I can’t even begin to describe the shame. It was ludicrous!

Got up, got six more injections and checked out – completely exhausted and defeated. A ONE INCH NEEDLE had bested me – with all I have been through – this was just not what I needed today.

I have NO IDEA how I am going to give myself my injection next Monday, but I HAVE to figure this out. I realize that it doesn’t seem to be about pain. It seems to be something about shoving a 1 inch needle in my leg – but not because it is painful – because it was not, but because it just seems so … wrong.

Drove home screaming at cars the entire way. I don’t think I have ever done that, or had Road Rage for no apparent reason. If I keep up with this ‘failing’ stuff, I will most DEFINITELY need to enroll in an Anger Management Course.

For now?


I just have a HUGE “L” tattooed on my forehead …

The Curse (?) of a Dream ...

A while back I wrote “The Gift … of a Dream” about a day with a perfectly normal, perfectly ordinary, perfectly perfect Jessie. While it was still so real in my head, I immediately started to write it down as it slowly dissolved from my conscience. It was a beautiful, wonderful gift for which I will be forever grateful.

But lately – I have been having a recurring dream – and it is equally fantastic, and equally disturbing to wake up and find out it is not true. But I have had it now at least five or six times, so I felt I should start taking notes and see if I could figure out what my subconscious was trying to tell me. I feel now that it is just a big tease – a big “Just kidding!” type event that somewhere in my subconscious it finds it funny to torment me.

It always begins the same way. I am walking down a dusty, dry non-descript road in Istanbul, Turkey. No matter that I have never been there – Gary took some photos and my brain fills it in. I am clearly out to take photos – probably of cool mosques but there are none in sight.

I am on a slight incline and I can see down to the ocean or a large river – I have no idea if Istanbul has anything like that, but I can always see the water – thus keeping myself oriented on the winding, dusty roads.

Suddenly, I come across a small shop and I spy a few tables and chairs through a grimy window. I am totally exhausted and thinking that soon I would need to be summoning a taxi to take me back to Gary’s apartment … where ever THAT might be.

I enter the shop and I ALWAYS notice two things in my dream – One – how much cooler it is in the small shop, and Two – the pungent odor of dried herbs. I realize that it is not a small café, but more a pharmacy of some sort.

There is a small woman at the counter – smiling and she politely nods her head.

“English?” I ask.

“Little” she says.

“May I sit down, I am very tired?” I ask.

She nods her head. And I sit, pulling off my backpack and putting my camera which I have been holding back in it case.

I hear her ask: “Visiting?”

“Yes” It seemed easier than to explain the double living arrangements – identical to when Gary lived in Australia.

“Do you sell drinks?” I ask.

She looks puzzled.

“Water?” I ask.

She smiles and nods her head. She leaves and comes back with a glass of tap water. I try to pay her for it but she will not take any money. (Sometimes I don’t get water here in the dream)

I drink half of it quickly and set the cup down while she is still standing there, expectant that I tell her how it was.

“Wonderful, Thank you.” I reply. She is beaming. I am starting to like this woman.

Then she says the strangest thing (always): “Let me help you … what do you need?” More words than our one word conversations and she seems to be transformed into someone else. Maybe she was just getting to know me and her English had always been better than she let on – I really don’t know.

I’m in one of my moods. I have tried to find a particular mosque and took a wrong turn, so no photos. I hurt, I ache, I feel ill and I know that I shouldn’t have gone out in the first place feeling as sick and weak as I was that morning. I mutter “You cannot help me … no one can help me.”

She is still smiling and expectantly waiting for an answer, apparently finding the one I gave her not worthy of a response. So I go all sarcastic on her:

“Got anything for pain? For chronic illness? For severe arthritis? For depression? Cause if there is a magic pill back there in one of your bottles of potions, lady – I am all for it.”

Still smiling she nods her head and returns back behind the counter. I sigh – she has understood nothing that I said and I was relieved since it was a little verbal pity party on my part. I sit there thinking it is time to call a taxi and finish my water, when I feel, more than see that she is again hovering near me.

She is actually holding two pills – filled with some sort of green and brown pureed mess. She is also holding another glass of water. (Sometimes this is the first glass)

“You take” she tells me and shoves the two gel capsules at me. Looking like a herbal shop, I shrug my shoulders and say OK. I take them and swallow them with a large gulp of water.

“Like, Do I turn into a pumpkin, now?” I ask. She smiles and nods. “Great” I mutter – and decide it was probably poisonous. Teach me to take ‘drugs’ from strangers.

I finish the second glass and decide that I need to get going on that phone call … when something amazing happens. I start to feel totally buzzed, totally energetic and I don’t feel ill at all. I feel like maybe someone on a really cool trippy high. She notes the change in my face and says: “You like?”

I start laughing uncontrollably and nod yes – “Wonderful!” And her shy smile gets even bigger than it has been before.

“What is this?” I ask her and she brings me the bottle – which has cool squiggly lines on it – looks Arabic, but since I am in Turkey – it should be Turkish – which I think originated during the Ottoman Empire era and Latin based – so not exactly ‘in sync’ with the area.

“English? Latin?” I ask. She pulls out a big book and finds the squiggle. She turns the book around and points to it. The Latin name for the plants is listed. I get my ever present notepad and pen out of my backpack and copy it down.

And then I ask her how many I can buy?

She tells me it must be fresh – she says “One Month”. I say OK and give her a ridiculously small sum of money.

I want to hug her. But instead I tell her thank you and I step out of the shop back into the baking sun and the dusty road. But this no longer bothers me and I practically skip back to the apartment.

I have a feeling that time passes at this point – longer than a month. A few months to many months – I am unsure. I have a feeling that I have visited her a few more times and that I am now fit and trim and healthy and I owe my life to this small, meek, soft spoken women. By now I have memories of hugging her while sobbing telling her that she has literally saved my life.

In some dreams I go off on a tangent arguing with her that she would make a killing if she sold this stuff in the US. She has no interest, and I realize that I am happy that I am cured or at least stabilized, who knows – maybe it won’t work for anybody else.

I also have feelings that during this time I fret that she will close up shop, or move and not tell me and I will be out of my supply – something that scares me more than anything. But normally I am just back in the shop – which feels like it is based on Ayurvedic Medicine, but since this form of medicine is really only practiced in India and Sri Lanka – I am off base – but Ayurvedic Medicine is based on herbs (without the heavy metals added as they sometimes do) and meditation. It is Hindu based whereas the majority of people in Turkey are Muslim – this seems to not bother me – and still feels as if it is an Ayurvedic Medical based pharmacy of some sort.

Later in the dream, I am in the store – I stop in often, the small woman says to me:

“Come”.

“Where?” I ask. She points in the back and I follow her into a small room that looks very much like a dance studio – with mirrors along one wall, but on the floor it is covered in 1 inch thick mats.

I look at her with a quizzical face and she just says – “I am yogi” I am still looking confused and she says “You practice – meditation”.

I will insert here that I have no idea where I came up with the term ‘yogi’ but I Wikied it and sure enough it is a practitioner of Yoga, and related meditative practices in Buddhism, Taoism – etc – so we are back to India again – but again, I don’t feel she is a displaced expat from India – she just … is.

I guess we fast forward here through my meditative and yoga training since the next thing I know I am doing a routine and feeling higher than a kite. I feel wonderful, transformed, high. I move through a routine that reminds me of gymnastics routines from my High School years. Not the back flips and cartwheels sort, but the stretching and other movements. The movements seem SO REAL!

I feel as if I am back on the gymnastic mat in High School trying to perfect a particular move. It is an odd, weird looking and complicated move that requires exact timing and speed. From a kneeling position you take your arms and quickly (and, of course, gracefully) fling them from the front of your body, downward to the back of your body and upward. While doing that and at the exact moment your momentum is moving backward you start pushing on the backs of your feet and slowly lift yourself up onto your curled toes. You are now standing erect as if on pointed toes, but in reality they are doubled up and you are standing on the tops of your bent toes (hurts like hell) your arms are now fully above your arms as if in a pirouette and it looks like you magically levitated yourself into a standing position – where in reality it is all in the arms and pushing off the backs of your feet. All in the timing and momentum.

I would always start the routine with this movement AND IT FELT SO FAMILIAR – right down to the aching, cracking toes! This is a move that I had perfected while a gymnast, but do not remember it being in any floor routine that I did (I also did the vault, beam and bars – but none of those lend themselves to this movement either). I am assuming I was just a sadist and it was fun to see the looks of people when you magically levitated into a standing position.

I would then bend at the waist and put my hands flat on the ground – balance and lift my legs off the floor – at a 45 degree angle, offset my balance enough to pull my legs above my head, and then adjusting so that I am in a full handstand. This is more a balance beam move, but who am I to get picky? Also something I did on the beam and the floor - and also FELT SO FAMILIAR.

I would then over extend my legs and slowly lower myself onto the flats of my forearms – so that my hands to my elbows were flat on the floor – then adjust my balance to stay that way. Then again – lower my legs at a 45 degree angle until they were on the floor. Another move that felt SO REAL, so good, so familiar.

There were many moves – but those three were always there and something that in an earlier life I did all the time. I could feel the burn from the stretches, my muscles bulge and work as I tried to maintain balance and posture and get it just right – and it all FELT SO GOOD!

There is no sound here and I believe she has told me that this is meditation, a few times she refers to it as Transcendental Meditation – but that involves a mantra – which I don’t seem to be doing – so again – just a titch off.

At the end of the routine, I end up sitting with my legs out fully at a 180 degree angle – what do you call it – not the splits – but your legs straight out to the side of you (also something I could do) and as I am bending over – pulling with my arms above my head, my legs stretching to their max and my back muscles stretching, stomach muscles pulled in tight and rock hard – as I touch my hands to the mat …


I always wake up. Lately my subconscious seems unwilling to touch the mat – as if it knows that it will end the dream and my healthy days will be over – weird, very, very weird.

And all of a sudden I open my eyes – always in the dark – this seems to be an early morning dream. I blink once or twice and then the pain hits and the most awful, discouraging feeling of being trapped in my body and feeling so helpless settles in.

As in my dream about Jessie – it is devastating to realize that it is not really so. I have not been running up and down the hills in Turkey taking photos of the mosques and all the other things that I flashed on in my dream. And my “Meditation by Pilates” or “Meditation by Gymnastics” routine sticks with me far longer than the magic herb pill that makes me feel better.

Last night, after blinking a few times I started getting philosophical about the whole thing. Sure – it is a dream – but a dream that at the time I am dreaming – FEELS SO REAL.

And I decided that I would take it. It has been years since I have done anything remotely resembling gymnastics, but in my dream, I work so hard – body and mind to make sure I move with one fluid motion, maintaining balance so that the movements will be flawless – and it is so real I can feel the burn when I wake up. So for a few minutes every night I get to be flawless in my moving and stretching – and although it has no reasonable or logical explanation – it makes me feel as if I am flying – like Wendy to Never Never Land. So, yes, I will take it.


I wonder how long I will continue to have this dream?






I am sure I will miss it when it goes ...


But for now - I am going to enjoy it for all it is worth!

No Mother's Day ...

OK, I will start right out with saying that this might get me in trouble - not for the message (well, even that, I guess) but from the source. I have never been shy at saying that I am a HUGE "Dooce" fan. I discovered her while I was living in Norway and blogging was just getting big. I believe I had read an article about her and clicked on a link - I did not run into her accidentally. She has an introduction and clearly states that she is an ex-Mormon and that the only thing that BYU taught her was to distrust organized religion. This might bother some people. It does not bother me.

She originally started her blog while working in LA and openly discussed her boss on the website. Someone tattled and she was fired. She is now in the dictionary - to be "dooced" is to be fired from your job for blogging about it. She warns others not to do it. She also, in her earlier years railed about the Mormon Church - until her brother told her Mother and Father (divorced and both remarried) and hurt them deeply. She commonly refers to the church now, but vowed she would never write anything again about the church that she wouldn't say out loud to her family to their face - all very active. She is irrevently funny, an excellent writer and I really like to read her blog. If I could write just a tenth as well as she does I would be a happy woman ...

Like I said, I found her while living in Norway so some time in 2005 I decided that to 'be non-biased' about her that I would go back to the beginning and read her entire blog - which I did.

I have followed her through her single days in LA, her getting married to (also inactive) a return missionary. Their very nervous move to Utah to be closer to family. Her putting ads on her website which started funding her family to the point that her husband quit his job and ran the behind the scenes portion of the website (which a lot of her followers were angry about). To her first pregnancy.

To the birth and the post-partum depression that landed her in an institution where she would hand write her posts and her husband would type them in. She is a very avid supporter of mental health care. To her second child's birth, which she decided to do with no drugs - and her write ups on it.

To hiring a gay assistant whose name was also "Jon" like her husband, and since he messes with her mind (like convincing her that he fed her her dead beta fish that happened to be in the freezer until the ground thawed and she could bury his cute little coffin - he said he sprinkled it in her salad and her other assistant, a cousin who helps with the children had to tell her he was kidding as she was throwing up) so she just calls him "Tyrant".

To, just recently her seperation from her husband and the fear and depression she is in the midst of trying to come to terms with that.  She has written three books - one of which chronicles her decent into post-partum depression and the regular depression that she faces daily.  She is open and honest about all of it.

I feel like I know her and she has slowly become more and more famous. She was listed on whatever that list is of the most influential people. She has had meetings with President Obama (in purple tights she insisted that she needed to wear - I forget why ..) and she had gotten involved with a group called Every Mother Counts an orginization started by the model Christy Turlington to raise the awareness of how many women around the world are dying in childbirth. She has traveled to these third world countries and seen these women first hand and listened to what they want - which is more control of their bodies and decent medical care - something I feel we all, here, take for granted.

I said I might get in trouble for posting this and it is a very sad, sad reason. She is generally very silent about her hate mail - but she refers to the amount she recieves every now and then and a while back she was very angry and decided to post some of it - also you can read her comments.

Unfortunately, most of it (and she stressed fervently she was not being selective) was from Mormons telling her all sorts of awful things - mainly about her children (because, really how can you hurt a mother the worst way possible?) the most TAME being that she was going to hell. I read the most vile, horrifying things from people who probably whipped off a letter to her, put it out of their mind and then headed off to church on Sunday thinking this was perfectly acceptable behavior. I, personally do not believe that. I was saddened and dissapointed in 'us' as a religion - I thought we were a wee bit more tolerant than that.

I know I feel I am.


I have friends of all races, religions and the more I meet and the more diverse the person, the more I learn and my world is expanded just a little bit more. I don't have to agree with everything they do - like my Wiccan friend who asks if he can light a "Health" candle for me. Sure! I tell him, I need all the help I can get and I understand it is his way of trying to help.

My Jewish friend I knew from work was one of the wisest, kindest person I knew and was so very respectful of me and my religion - I love him deeply - he is one of the good one's - no matter what anyone else thinks.

So, I realize that I might see the world a wee bit different that most who read my blog - but that is just the way it is, and if you don't like it ...


I ain't changing -


so DEAL WITH IT.

So - if you are a "Dooce-hater" I am sorry. I think she is funny, witty, I am never offended by her Mormon comments since they hit so close to home, but she also has a 'mouth' and that does not bother me either.

If you don't like her - I hope it won't affect your thinking about the video that she was involved in (along with a WHOLE lot of other recognizable women - so think of them). I think this is a great idea. Will mention a few things about it after the video ...



I like this idea - my dilemma is, am I doing this because I actually abhor Mother's Day in the first place (being the worlds worst Mom and all ...) and it is merely a convienience, or am I committed? I've decided either way - I would like to do this - so no gifts, no calls, no computer on May 13th - I would appreciate it. I will be donating to the orginazation on that day ...

And just in case you don't bother to watch the video (not that all these stats are there) here are the stats from Dooce (aka Heather Armstrong):

1. Approximately 358,000 women die each year due to complications in pregnancy and childbirth. That's one woman every 90 seconds.

2. For every woman who dies each year in childbirth, 20-30 more suffer from lifelong debilitating disabilities.

3. Pregnancy is the number one cause of death in women, ages 15-19, in the developing world. Nearly 70,000 young women die every year because their bodies are not ready for parenthood.

4. Over 200 million women who would like to choose when they get pregnant don’t have access to family planning.

5. The United States ranks 50th globally in maternal mortality, even though it spends more on health care per capita than any other nation in the world. African American women are four times more likely to die in childbirth than Caucasian women.

ALL OF THESE DEATHS ARE PREVENTABLE.

And their website: HERE


Just think about it ....

Playing Catch Up ...

Well since I have spent over a week semi-comatose and in La La Land, I started to get vigilant today in catching up. One part of that included uploading my photos into Lightroom and 'tagging' them - something I love EVER SO MUCH TO DO. But I saw a pile of photos that I had taken over the past few months that I was going to use in individual blogs ... which never got written.

So I am dumping them here - in some semblance of order.

Last year Gary became rather desperate for wood projects and found some designs for wooden toys that were duplicates of some of the equipment they are purchasing for the project he is working on in Iraq. So he thought that they would come in handy for awards, gifts, etc - for something - I have no clue. This is one of the three toy cranes that he made. It is WAY cuter than this photo portrays - I guess this was one of my many 'off' photography weeks when I really didn't care if I took a photo or not - it shows in the picture:

Now, his DOZERS are another story! I got some fun, wonderful photos of the finished dozers - the crane was not 'finished' - ie - deft oil, etc when I took its photo. The mahogany on these is just lovely don't you think?

He even has a photo someone sent him of a group of guys surrounding one in Iraq.

And - something very odd. Gary has a repeat guest in his shop. A lizard who has decided that the stool Gary just made on his lathe was his, and only his domain:

Stool lizard has a lovely view of all the surrounding terrain:

He has a rather strange tail:

And he was ... um, I think stoned ... or actually not feeling very well - he seemed to not be able to keep his eyes open:

He also - looking at his itty bitty ribcage needs to find more bugs and get off Gary's stool!

He refused to leave - even with much prompting - until we unceremoniously knocked him off ... he wandered over to the sawdust saying "Ew, ew, dusty, ew" ...

And I LOVED his hypnotic eye:

Gary is now being an actual SAINT and making kitchen cabinets for a family in our ward. Lucky them!

They are rather beautiful - and goes to show how desperate the man has become for his 'sawdust high' ...

Random photo I took on a sunny day straight up through one of our trees. Have I mentioned that I love the color green? All shades, all greens - love 'em, love 'em.

And, of course, my blog would not be complete without me playing around with HDR photography. I chose my "Angel Pile" on my computer desk where for some reason they have chosen to congregate:

I tried making them gold in this one - its a bit funky, but I like it:

And HDR in Black and White seems to be a winner too:

Well, my photos are uploaded (OK, so - I didn't tag this years - but I TAGGED ALL OF LAST YEAR which included Yellowstone, New York and Norway - so I am DONE for the day), my blog is written and that is enough to exhaust me these days, so off to bed I go ...

By, all