Goodbye 2013

If you're a Christian, the holidays, and all the duties that they entail, are ratcheting up to a fever pitch.  It's been a funky holiday season.  Hanukkah came freakishly early yet somehow Thanksgiving seemed a bit late.  On top of that, the kids' school break starts earlier than usual this year.  I don't know about you but I am now in a full on Christmas shopping panic!  What do I have?! What do I need?! When is the last day to order on line?! What am I going to cook?!  Ack!  So, I am going to take a break from posting until the new year. (I know you're sooooo disappointed. Ha!)

I am going to spend the next few days running around like a manic trying to wrap it all up so that I can sit back and slow down.  Rushing to rest.  Seems silly.  But if I still have errands hanging over my head,  I'll be stressed.  And I don't want to feel frenetic.  I want to feel festive! There's a reason I'm rushing to rest.  My poor little third child is a bit robbed of every childhood experience.  When I had three little ones, the presents were easier to pick and were more exciting. (And cheaper!) I was done shopping early and had the mental capacity to sit back and enjoy.  Even though my youngest is 10, she's my baby.  When my oldest was 10, she was still happily snuggling up to listen to Christmas stories and starry eyed.  We would all bake together with everyone wearing little aprons that Santa bought them one year.  Now they are running in different directions and I am baking alone often.  Sigh.  Though the youngest got to participate in lots of traditions, she doesn't even remember many of them. Yet the oldest was forced to do them so often she has vivid memories.  So I'm rushing to rest so I can enjoy this last elementary school Christmas... [Sob]

I am going to leave with three thoughts that I have been t'inkin about...

My 2014 Resolution-

My 2013 resolution was to take care of the boob "issue". Something that completely terrified me.  I was afraid of every aspect.  The emotional and physical "disfigurement", complications and I even worried about dying.  And yet, somehow, it's done!  I'm on the other side of this huge thing and it really wasn't that bad. I truly cannot absorb it. I've spent too much time worrying about approaching the age of my mother's diagnosis. (This birthday I can enjoy without that spector...). I spent months this year worrying about test results, planning surgery and then worrying "Is this normal?!" after.  It's done. I feel almost normal. (Well, almost as "almost-normal" as I was to start. Totally "Normal" is pushing it.). Now what am I going to worry about to fill that void of stress?  That brings me to my 2014 resolution:  I am going to try and be less fearful.  Of everything.  I won't succeed of course but I am going to try.  I'm going to try and worry less about my kids. (i.e. "Omigod - this obsession with _______ means s/he is going to be an addict!")  I'll dance even though I make Elaine Benis look coordinated and maybe I'll even try karaoke.  (Or not.) 

Absurdly Thankful for Those Faceless Internet People who Have Too Much Time-

Thanks to my recuperating and the necessary uptick in Internet shopping, this year, I am disproportionately grateful for all of those people who write absurdly long reviews of products.  I'm always taken aback by a 200 word essay on a refrigerator or veggie peeler. (Are these people crazy?) BUT they are usually right.  These faceless "commando consumer reporters" have helped me find some nice, new (stretchy) clothes and Christmas presents.  And it was such a relief that I could go on line and google something weird health/recovery wise and find a bunch of people that experienced the same thing.  So glad they all took the time to write it down!  (Sorry I'm too lazy to do the same... ). They make everything from good restaurants to travel to leggings easier to find.  (They also tell me how to fix anything I've broken!)

And...

A Final Holiday Wish

This is the season of family and parties and festivities.  A time to bulk up before the New Year diets kick in.  In years past, I'd put on five pound at this time of year.  Spread around but, I'm sure, at least some would go to my belly.  My holiday wish this year is:  Gee, I hope that my Festive Five goes to my boobs!  Wouldn't that be cool?  

Merry Christmas and a Happy and Healthy New Year to all!

(Because I used to love saying this on the last day of school before the break when I was little, picture me as little girl turning around and skipping down the school hall yelling over my shoulder- "See you next year!")

Juicy Couture Re-Run...

Ummmm...  lazy and in an "Christmas is coming and I'm so unprepared" worried state.

Nothing prepared.

How about a rerun? 

Just click on the words below.....

Juicy Couture

Belloobie Randomness

Last week I totally cracked myself up.  (I always laugh at my own jokes because I'm my own best audience!). I was getting dressed in the morning after the kids had left and was applying lotion to my incisions.  Because I had a "DIEP flap" reconstruction, my muffin top was the "donor site". My resulting belly scar runs from hip to hip and dips down a bit in the center. I also have a scar all around my belly button.   As I was studying this new version of myself I had an "aha" moment.  I ran out of the bathroom to get my cell phone and to look for some googly eyes.  Yes- googly eyes.  But, alas, I had no googly eyes in the house.  (Not as well stocked as I used to be...) I ran back up to the bathroom. A makeup pencil would have to suffice. Looking at myself, I had realized that my belly button looked like a nose and my long scar looked like a smile.  All I needed to do was draw a couple of eyes and I resembled a jack-o-lantern! I was hysterical and had to take pictures.  It feels too TMI to post but let me assure you- it's funny lookin'! I think I showed everyone I ran into that day! Sorry if you were a victim of Wednesday's TMI!

****************

I don't know how anyone could survive health stuff before the Internet.  Anytime something weird happened, I could go online and find someone else that had felt or experienced the same thing.  I noticed that lots of women call their new girls their "foobs". Fake + Boobs = Foobs.  But as far as I know, they are talking about implants.  My fake boobs were made from me so I decided I needed to coin a new word.   I think "belloobie" is the winner.  Belly + boobies = Belloobies!  Used in a sentence, "I have an itch on my belloobies but I can't feel myself scratching it so I can't get relief!"

*******************

A wishful conversation I had with my husband after my surgery:

Me: Hey, J?  Do you think that if they take all the fat off of my belly you'll be able to see my abdominal muscles thought the skin?  Like- could I have a six pack or boxes or whatever you call it?!

J: Um, no. You have no abdominal muscles.

Me:  I know that they aren't developed but aren't they sort of naturally in that shape anyway?  Don't people exercise their abs to burn of the fat and make the muscle bigger so it can translate through? If he just takes enough fat, wouldn't the impression of the muscles have to show through?  

J: No

Me: [sigh] Man, it sort of made sense to me...

Thankful to Live in the Now

So, today I am completely unprepared.  I have no post so I am slapping one together!  Sorry! 

I am blessed and try to be thankful every day.  Life can change in an instant and it is over too quickly.  This year, I am especially thankful for modern medicine.  We are lucky to live in an age where so many things can be "fixed" or prevented.  Of course, when something goes wrong for you or someone you love, it seems like we haven't advanced enough.  We feel anger over what the doctors can't diagnose or fix because, with so much they CAN do, it's hard to accept the limits.  But just think, when we take our kids to the doctor and its strep, there's a part of the mom-brain that thinks, "Yes!" Because we know that 24 hours of medicine will make them feel better.  Only 100 years ago (not that long ago) strep/scarlet fever was a terrifying diagnosis.

I always tell my children that we are as lucky to live WHEN we live as where we live.  A while ago, I picked up a book from the library for my son.  The title was How They Croaked- The Awful Ends of The Awfully Famous. It seemed a good, grisly way to trick a boy into reading.  A few days later I asked, "Learn anything interesting from your book?" I thought he would list some historical demises but his answer surprised me.  He said, "I learned that I'm happy I live when there is pain medicine!"  Me too!  And anesthesia and antibiotics and penicillin and insulin and blood drives and sterile instruments....  I could just keep going.....

I'm also thankful for preventative medicine.  Because, no matter how far we have advanced, everything is easier to address the earlier it's caught.  So all of you men who never go to the doctor- get your butt there.  Just get a physical and all the tests for your age group.  And all you moms caught up in intensive childcare, the most important way to take care of your kids is to take care of yourself. They get a physical every year- so should you. No one likes mammos or paps or prostrate exams or any of the other disgusting things doctors do to us all. (I had to have a colonoscopy a few years ago.  I actually told the doctor that I wished he could dart me as I went for the paper, throw me in a sack in a van and then drop me on the lawn when it was all over.  That way I'd be able to look him in the eye and not know what he'd seen or done!) None of it's not fun but it's necessary...

How did this turn from thanksgiving to a finger wagging in your direction? I guess I am thankful for all of you and just want you all to stay healthy and safe! So I'll stop lecturing right now....

Before I started writing, I flipped back to see what I wrote last year at thanksgiving.  I am so forgetful that much what I was thinking about was on my last year's post.  At least I'm consistent! I'm linking it *here* because it still applies!

Hope your travels and turkey day are filled with joy and laughter!

Love, 

Heather

Still Boobs

Ok, I know I said I was going to stop posting about my surgery and I'm trying but I still have boobs on the brain.   I've been spending a lot of time at home for the past 6 weeks.  What else do I have to talk about? There's no one here to annoy me BUT me.  (And I can be really annoying!)  I am just starting to get back into the "real world" and will surely have something that's not boobs to rant about/muse over about next time...

So, now that I am getting out, I'm seeing people that I haven't seen in a while. Since before the "boob business".  And now I am wondering: Are they all trying really hard NOT to stare at my boobs?  I know that's what I've done (or tried NOT to do) in the past.  Inquiring minds want to know!  So now I'm going to be watching everyone.  "Eyes up here!"  (I should wear low cut shirts so I can yell, "Aha!" when eyes stray south. The old "boob and switch".)

But, to satisfy curiosity, it's not so exciting.  Which is actually VERY exciting.  We live in such a wonderful time, medically, that I don't look glaringly different than I did before.  Admittedly, things are a bit wonky still but I look more normal than I had dared hope. (And I still have a lot of settling/ healing and a future "tweak" to do.) Dressed, it's a non-event.  I look the same.  Probably better since my muffin top was relocated to higher ground.  I never really expected that thing to come in so handy.  I guess I can stop blaming the children for ruining my body.  If they hadn't, I wouldn't have had the extra dough to work with...  

Today, I am 6 weeks out and for about a week I've been feeling much more like a normal version of me.  Things aren't back to normal but, if I were a computer, it's more like a program running in the background.  Minimized while my normally scheduled programs resume.  Nice! I have the holidays ahead to but there is something else I am looking forward to.  Not having to see the plastic surgeon again until spring!  

In the hospital, every single doctor or nurse that saw me looked at and touched my girls.  But it was the hospital and seemed normal. (?!) But now, I'm still going to be groped every other week or so.  Now, the girls have been monitored for years.  But mostly by women doctors and techs.  Now, my plastic surgeon is completely professional and you can tell it's all just work for him.  But he's a boy and he's my age.  (Possibly a bit younger.) He sits on a stool while I stand in front of him.  With my shirt open. Again, he's completely professional. But it's still a bit weird for me.  

I sort of don't know what to do or where to look. (I'm always tempted to start whistling.) After man-handling the girls, I usually pull my gown shut because I'm modest.  But then I have a question.  So I open up to point to something.  Then close up while he answers.  Then have to open up again while he points something out.  I stand there flapping my gown open and closed like some weird flasher or pink gowned bat. Trying not to whistle. Or babble.  Awkward... It's my natural state.  I'm still waiting to outgrow it.  But at this point I think I should give up.  Or give in.  

Anyway,  I'm looking forward to keeping my shirt closed for the winter.  (Good thing- it's nippy out. <--  Didja see what I did there?  Hee-hee.)   I'm looking forward to not getting groped. (By men I did not marry.) And, for the first time in years, I'm not dreading my birthday and the spring.  Every year since I turned 40, my birthday had brought me closer to my mother's diagnosis age.  It signaled the time to schedule my annual MRI.  And twice to biopsies of suspicious areas.  (Though I am grateful for the last biopsy, it pushed me to go ahead with this all despite my many, many fears.) This spring, can just. be. spring.  And boobs will have nothing to do with it!  Ahhhh.....


P.S. Suddenly got a flash in my head of Tina Turner singing, "What's boobs got to do with it..."

Messing with the Unconscious

This week a video went viral of a dance party in the OR prior to a woman's (who was also a doctor at the hospital) double mastectomy operation.  It looked fun but I didn't have the same experience.  At least I don't think so.  I really can't be sure...

This was my first surgery (and I promise this'll be the last post about it!) and my first time under general anesthesia.  It was weird.  I feel like I parted ways with my body for a while and wish I could know what happened while I was under.  Like I lost a day of my life.  Now, I go to sleep for about 8 hours every night and lots of things happen while I'm sleeping.  But not to me.  I am in the same place when I wake up and all of my parts are there.  This time I was asleep for 8 hours and a lot of shit went down when I was sleeping! It's hard not to wonder EXACTLY what took place.

The morning of surgery, I was very tense but hanging in there.  I met the anesthesiologist and head nurse and they told me what was going to happen on their end and started my IV.  They explained that after we went into the OR they would ask me those repetitive questions- what's your name, what are you here for, like they had already asked me 50 times.  I was ready.  I knew my name AND what I was there for! This is a test I can ace! Or not...

Before walking away, the anesthesiologist gave me a groovy hat to put on and said he'd give me a little something to help me relax.  Awesome!  I put my hat on thinking, "Ah this is working already." I laid back and looked at the nurses cart.  Suddenly, I thought, "Whoa- this is strong!" as all warped and faded to black.  

Next thing I knew J was waking me up in recovery.  At least that's what he said.  But I refused to believe the poor guy.  I said he was lying because I clearly hadn't even gone to the operating room!  I was supposed to be asked more questions. As far as I was concerned, if that didn't happen nothing had happened. I have only partial, vague memories of it all but I remember It was hard to talk and I couldn't open my eyes.  I couldn't be convinced that it was over until I heard my friend B's voice.  I knew she was going to be there later in the day when it was over.  I didn't believe my poor husband but I believed her.

But there's lots of stuff that I don't remember.  I was told that I said I was really high.  I insisted that I was sliding off the bed.  I asked how "they" looked. I said that I was underwater. (That I understand at least, the feeling that I couldn't surface.) And more.  It's disconcerting to think about saying things while YOU aren't really there. (Or at least it seems that way.) And it made me wonder about the before.  Did they intend to knock me out? Im pretty sensitive to that kind of thing.  When he came back was he all, "Ah shit. I did it again." Or more importantly -DID it actually knock me out?  I was sure that it did but what if I'm wrong? Maybe I was still "awake" but I just don't  remember. Maybe I did answer questions. OR do something stupid like streaking in the pre-op. 

If I WAS awake... were they messing with me? (Like when my college roommate would talk in her sleep and you could ask her questions?) Call me unprofessional but if I was the nurse I'd be asking my patients, "Do you want to play Truth or Dare?", "What's the worst thing you ever did.", Or, "The doctor needs you to repeat this. 'One smart fellow he felt smart, two smart fellows they felt smart' and so on. Make sure you say it very quickly." I'd like to imagine that I danced all the way into the OR with my arms around my new besties slurring, "Did I tell you I love you guys?! You're the best! No, you are!" And that they all thought that I was soooo awesome that they took special care to make sure all went well and that my new breastesess would be awesome. 

But, I'd really like to imagine that I said something wonderful to my husband in the recovery room instead of assuming he was messing with me.  I recently saw this video (click here) of a guy in recovery  who couldn't believe how lucky he was when he found out that he was married to the hottie he was talking to.  I wish I'd said something like that to him instead of, "J' accuse!"  Well, thanks to revisionist history, I can tell myself that our senses' of humor made me think that he was tricking me. And that he wasn't offended, knowing that I wasn't in my "right" mind.  I really hope that me telling him how awesome he is, now when I am totally "sober", is more meaningful. 

Curious Reflections From My Pink Recliner

Soon I am going to have to talk about things other than surgery and recovery! But since thats all that's going on for me right now you're stuck with it...

Trot Those Kids Out...

One night, a couple of days after I came home from the hospital, the kids had come upstairs to my bedroom after school and then again after dinner to hang out.  They were sweet and funny and so charming.  After they went back down to do homework and be with their grandparents, I got a little emotional.  (Lack of sleep and being overwhelmed.) I was all, "Oh my God, these kids are so wonderful. I love them so much.  They are such awesome people. We are so blessed!"  Though I am not so emotional about it, I do usually feel this way about them.  Except for those times I want to throttle them.  (Which happens often enough in the day to day!)

I realized that parenting is all the magical wonderfulness that you dream it will be WHEN you don't actually have to DO the parenting.  My in laws (and J of course) were feeding them, driving them, overseeing homework, breaking up the fights and doing all the dirty work.  I just got to relax in my chaise lounge (read: groovy pink, rented, vinyl hospital recliner that someone probably died in)  like a baroness.  I felt like all those books where the governess just trots the progeny in after dinner to perform acts of grace and charm.  Then shoos them away so the baroness can entertain guests. (Or in my case, watch reruns of Big Bang.) How wonderful!

The next night, I was telling the eldest how much I loved her as she was leaving the room.  And I decided to share my theory and how I was so charmed by them all.  On her way out she said, "Don't worry we'll fix that soon enough!" Now that I'm up and about I'm wondering, does anyone know where I can find a governess?  Cheap?

Oxycodone

My last day in the hospital, I was moved from ICU to a regular floor and my pain pump was taken away.  (So sad.) They started giving me Precocet.  I had C-Secs and had had it before but had forgotten the questions that go along with taking it.  Everyone becomes very interested in your bowels.  What are they doing? What have they done recently?  There is no dignity in the hospital. Ack- I am very open about lots of things but this?  I'd rather everyone think my waste by-products are daisies and sunshine.  But, because Percocet slows "everything" down, they have to monitor the situation and prevent a, let's say "work stoppage". (I was tempted to write a Code B---- but didn't want to be crass.  I'll let YOU fill in the blanks and be the crass one!)

So, they plied me with other pills to counteract the slowdown and sent me home with instructions to "watch it".  When I got home and it came time that I needed a pill, I looked at the prescription bottle.  I knew that Precocet was  Tylenol with a kicker but, call me obtuse, I never realized that it was Oxycodone.  I had a big, HUH? moment.  On the news, we are constantly hearing about people doctor shopping and addicted and holding up pharmacies for Oxycodone.  I was shocked that this was it.  While it made me tired, it wasn't so great. Maybe because it was 1-2 per dose and I only took 1.  (Maybe I should've taken more for the grooviness BUT I only took one because I was worried about, you know.)

Anyway, it got me thinking...  Are all these addicts dangerously constipated?!?!  On the news, they always talk about the Oxcodone that was stolen. By I'm wondering, are they also stealing laxatives? Or, eeww, enemas?!?  Holy Cow!! Maybe that should be something that they talk about in the HS drug programs? I think that would be a good way of deterring kids from trying it.  "Hey kids, before you dip into Granny's medicine cabinet, let me tell you something." and finish with, "So the next time you're stealing someone's pills, make sure you take the Ex-Lax and enemas too!"  I think that might make at least one kid think twice...

P.S. I know the hard core people are snorting it but wouldn't it do the same thing no matter the delivery system? Could it be they are not so desperate to get more because of the high?  Maybe it's needed to ease the stomach cramps?  Well- that would be a vicious cycle.  How lovely would it be if we could cure all those addicts with a Prune Clinic....

Be Nice to the Elderly and Infirm...

I'm back... And now you will be regaled with medical stories....

I am three weeks out from major surgery.  Whew! One really hard first week and now the long uphill.  

This was long planned, researched and considered and yet I still found myself unprepared for the complete invalid experience.  Because of the nature of my surgery (if you really want to know mastectomy with DIEP flap reconstruction),  I was looking at an 8 hour surgery with my whole torso being reorganized and shuffled around.  I knew I would be fairly useless. I stocked the house, cleaned and filled the DVR. Set up my bedroom for gimping around, set up Netflix and got a few good books.  I bought my Christmas cards and imagined myself quietly productive during my recovery.  Fool....  (After two weeks, which is not that long considering how involved it all was, I finally began reaching that point.)

 I have to say that, despite the pervasive feeling of having been run over by a semi, there wasn't really that much pain- which was a relief. However, I was blown away by how the cacophony of small miseries, all minor enough on their own, conspired to create a kind of sleep deprivation that was truly torturous.  The anesthesia left me so weak that I could hardly stand long enough to brush my teeth, the drains and incisions left me with no position that would bring sleep, the effort to eat made it seem not worthwhile and my greatest source of pain was a complete surprise.  My back was friggin' killing me!  My back had nothing to do with anything! WTF? But, not being able to lie flat or stand straight put sooo much strain on my lower back.  

My best friend was the medical recliner that we rented. But, it also completed the whole helpless invalid/old gnarled person picture.  I couldn't change the position by myself. My children would eagerly come running to prop me up or down- bless them.  (And they were dying to get me to uses the highchair-type eating tray. I refused.) To get up, I would struggle against gravity and then shuffle in the exact same manner that my 85 year old, osteoporosis stricken father would in his last few years. When I returned to my chair with a sigh of relief, I considered that I was living the compromised elderly life.  And I didn't like it...

Looking back, I was at my most miserable for a week. (Which seems reasonable.)  But that week seemed sooooo long because I just couldn't sleep and I felt sooo weak and now I have so much more sympathy for the elderly infirm.  I understand why they shuffle around in clothes with a stain.  It's soooo hard to change.  I get why they are crotchety and frustrated.  When it's a huge effort just to get a pillow into a comfortable position, I wanted to (and maybe did- just a little) cry.  When you have a way of doing things and can't do them, it's hard not to keep quiet as those around you are doing it "wrong".  And when sleep deprivation makes your brain too mushy for anything other than hour after hour of daytime TV, it's a little soul crushing...

(The moral here is: Be nice to those grumpy, stained old people in the store. Don't wrinkle your nose or get overly annoyed.  Everything used to be easier for them.  Someday everything will be harder for you.)

BUT, when I hit a full week, I felt the shift.  And just feeling things starting to improve made it all bearable.  Even though I knew it wasn't going to be like that forever,  I needed to start feeling it.  At two weeks, I feel sooo much better.  Still slow.  Still easily tired. (But I could sleep in my own bed!) My in laws went home and I muddled through the morning and evening routines.  It's a bit of a stretch but that's a good thing.  Like physical therapy.  

Every day is getting easier.  And these kids are finally being useful.  They were too spoiled.  (I blame the mother.) They are finally doing things for themselves and helping around the house. It's awesome! But, I've got to be careful not to slip back into old habits.  If I start to look more able, I don't know that they will be so willing to keep doing the chores. (That they should have been doing all along.)   I may have to hide my increasing "normality", doing things more easily while they are at school and then acting helpless when they come home. 


Seems deceitful but duplicity might be needed to really recover properly. Especially with the older, wily one.  One morning, I was helping a bit more with breakfast and the boy asked, (a bit too eagerly) "Are you going to start serving us again?'  The older one pounced on him and said something to the effect of, "SHHHHHH!  Don't say it!  We don't want her to notice she's doing it!"  So that's the way it's going to be?  Always the academic, she is going to use strategy to try and avoid any extra physical activity or chores.  Glad my brain power is coming back, I'm going to need it to fight off her powers or I'll find myself achy and sore from doing her bidding  The force is strong with this one....

Rambling On...

And now for some bad puns and then some random rambling:

Today is B-Day.
Ta ta to the Ta-Tas. (Good one, Vicki!)
All clear for take-off!

Ok,  I can't think of any more at this moment.  Today, for you, is October 8 and right now I am at the hospital getting ready or started.

Right now, for me, it's Friday October 4th. It's so weird to think that by this time next week it will be over.  I'm strangely calm.  I guess because, at this point, I'm locked in.  I've argued myself back and forth and around in circles and in the words of Jodie Foster, "I'm ok to go!"  I've spent SO much time thinking and worrying, I'm ready to just be done.

As a person, I'm a weird, messy mix of Pollyana and Woody Allen.  I am always looking at the bright side.  And then angsting about some other side.  If I were a cartoon character, I wouldn't have an angel and a devil whispering in my ear.  It would probably be some annoyingly chipper Care Bear and a big ass mosquito.  And no matter how happy that little bear is, the mosquito keeps grabbing my attention.

Here's an example. If YOU tell me you are going on a plane trip, I am so excited for you.  You'll have so much fun! If I am going on a plane trip, I'll intend to have fun BUT I'm pretty sure I'm going to die in a fiery crash before I get there.  If YOU tell me you are having surgery, I'm worry for you but I don't expect you to die.  If I am having surgery, it's time to start writing letters to everyone I love.

I have thought about every crazy possibility that won't happen. At this point, I've imagined  it all. Including, thanks to Grey's Anatomy and ER, earthquakes, hostage situations and mad bombers.  Ok, not those last few but only because I am trying to dial back my crazy. But I am crazy.  I WAS worried about having a weird Frankenstein torso by choice but THEN I started worrying about dying.  And that's where all the bad TV medical dramas stepped in! [Doctors shaking their heads.   How did this happen? Should've been routine!] All those things that make riveting TV are bad in the dark at night...

(Now, it's Monday the 7th.)

So I rode the crazy train all the way to the end.  Then reversed it back up the track.  I have to say that the last two weeks were not as bad as the earlier weeks.  When I was still wrestling with the choice I had made.   Even though I knew it was the right decision, I kept looking for a reason to change my mind.  For someone to say, this isn't necessary.  But everyone agreed.  It was like the time I told my mother I was going to run away and instead of talking me out of it she said, "Ok.  Where can I reach you? Should I help you pack?"  This time, I kept thinking, "I'm going to do this.  Don't try and stop me!" WTF?!  No one's going to try to stop me?!   (Even the insurance company was all, "Sounds like a plan.")  It was harder to get here than to be here. 

So I'm squishing the mosquito (for now) and listening to the happy Care Bear... (Here comes the rambling....)

I know I will be fine and not die and not look like Frankenstein and even if I do a little bit it will be worth it to not have to worry anymore.  AND it's nice to NOT have to wait to be sick to know how wonderful my family and friends are. ( I practically have to beat you people off with a stick.)  I promise I will ask for help if I need it.  I just don't know what I need yet.  And, actually, you have all done exactly what I needed already.  On my journey through this life, I have had such wonderful people by my side.  The people that I count as friends always make me feel AWESOME.  We may not always see each other but I am honored to know you all and lucky our paths have crossed. And we chose to be friends.  You make me feel better by just being. 

Now, friends are the family we chose for ourselves and I have made a great bunch.  But I am blessed to the Nth degree that the family I was given is incredible. I was born into a great extended family with lots of cousins and aunts who help fill my mother's shoes.  My husband and kids are awesome.   BUT right now, I am sooooo grateful for my wonderful in laws.  At EVERY point in my life that I have needed them, they were there.  They dropped everything to watch my kids when my parents were dying.  For weeks.  Not having to worry about my kids at that point was huge.  And they are again putting their lives on hold to help and cook and stay here.  I don't have to worry about juggling the kid's schedules and meals.  That's huge. (My wonderful mother in law even does laundry!)  

I am SOOOO enormously blessed to have them AND so happy that they are such a big part of my kid's lives.  When I try to thank them, they say, "Of course, we're family!"' But it's so much more. My kids don't understand that not everyone has this. And while I'm glad it's a given for them, I realize not everyone is so blessed.  I know people who's own parents aren't so willing to help or as involved in their kids lives.  J.'s entire family feels like mine. Like I was born to them.  And having that as a given makes life so much easier...  

Friends, family and the good kind of in laws? I am lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky... [to infinity]

So, I'll see you all on the flip side! 

Wait...I'm Who?!

Remember back in your youth you would feel deep connections to your music?  Quoting the lyrics.  Writing meaningful phrases on your notebook. (Or clothes.)  Usually it was lines expressing heartache, anger at the world or at the "establishment".  Eff the man, man!

Recently, one of my children got in trouble with me for some schoolwork neglect and ridiculousness. It was a repeat performance so there was much anger on my part. Ranting, raving and, the cherry on top, banning the offender from electronics for the remainder of the week.  Oh, the humanity!  (In the old days, I wouldn't have been able to play Intellivision.  Now it's the iPod, the computer, video games...). The child accepted the punishment quietly because it was deserved.  The project was finished and life went on.

The next morning while getting ready for school, another child who lives here (names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved), yells down to me, "What does the bathtub say?"  Huh?  [Confusion- the bathtub talks?] After some back and forth, I go investigate.  There are words scrawled on the tub. In bathtub crayon.  (In case you were wondering, the orange one.)  It circles the tub.  Some of the words look rubbed out but I can make out a few   "... own depression- (Metallica)".  Metallica?!?  Someone is trying to quote  Metallica in bathtub crayon!?  Reading further, there is another sentence, "misfortune comes in life with punishment." How dramatic!  Sitting in the tub scrawling angry words AND misquoting Metallica! For just a few minutes, I am alarmed just like my mother would've been.  That level of emotion-yikes!  But then I am a little excited. What an awesome kid.  Using songs and words to express emotions and rally against the powers that be!  Speaking out against injustice!  Against the establishment!  Against the "man"!

[Record coming to a screeching halt] Hold up a second!  Am I the man?!  I HAVE to be the man in this scenario.  Yes. I'm the establishment?  I AM the establishment.  A member of the two-person governing party.  Wow.  I know I am a parent and a grownup but to be "the man".   It's kind of weird.  It's also odd to understand a bit of the anxiety of our parents generation.  Our music sounded so different and angry.  It was hard for them to not be concerned about some of the dark "messages" and we dismissed them with "It's no big deal!"  I had a flash of that feeling as well...  Surreal! I still can't believe I'm the grownup now...

Well, most Saturdays my husband wakes before everyone and putters around listening to music and doing bills. The Saturday after the angry graffiti incident, I came down and he was listening to Rage Against the Machines "Killing in the Name".  Just as I come downstairs the end of the songs peaks with, "F__ You, I won't do what you tell me" repeated over and over.  Arg!  I became "the man" again and announced, "For the love of all that is holy, turn it down before any kids get up!  I don't want to find this written in the bathtub next!"  Idea for a new band name? Rage Against the Mom...  Sigh...

Do Boobs Have a Bucket List?

"Don't  it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone..."

This year, I made only one New Year's resolution.  It was to stop being a chicken and go through with a prophylactic mastectomy.  But, while I swore this was the year, I'm not always good at the follow through.  (Actually, I suck at it.  We've been in my house for 10 years and still have many blank walls.  But I have ideas!)  Anyway, my plan was to get the ball rolling and get ready to "part ways".  

Spring came and I waited for my semi annual breast surgeon appointment so I could start moving (at a snail's pace) toward surgery.  Then my annual MRI showed changes and I had to have a (another) biopsy.  Thank God (!) nothing malignant.  This time.  But it lit the fuse for me.  I kept thinking that if I had to have chemo because I hadn't done this two years ago, I'd be so angry with myself...besides everything else.  So, I spent June sore and meeting with surgeons. Planning surgery for the fall and knowing that this was my last summer with my girls.

I was never one to spend that much time thinking about my breasts.  As a tomboy, I was annoyed by their appearance in 6th grade and I insisted on wearing undershirts for far too long.  As a teen and young adult I wasn't one to have them hanging out looking for attention.  They aren't "fancy" - I don't even know what I mean by that!  (Large? Bedazzled?) They were just there.  I guess I appreciated them but took them for granted.  (Though I was impressed when I could feed babies with them.) But now that our days are numbered....

I was talking to a cousin and was saying that I feel like I should be going around topless.  Or sunbathe them.  Haul them out at parties.  Go on special trips with them.  (Do boobs have a bucket list?) She said, "It's like their Farewell Tour!"  That's exactly how I felt!  Like I should have a party for them. A BoobAPalooza!  (Who would believe the Stones are still going strong and I have to retire these girls?)  Okay, so I am not hauling them out but I feel like I should.  I guess it's a weird way of grieving the loss in advance.

I decided that if I had to do this I wanted it to fit into my life exactly where I wanted it to.  After the kid's birthdays, before the holidays, when all the school stuff was quiet.  I picked early October.  So, even though the surgeon said that they book 2-3 weeks out, I booked my October 8th surgery back in late July.  Ummmm, mistake. Instead of 2-3 weeks of fear and anxiety I opted for 8 weeks!  (Don't do that to yourself.  Ever.) I was so concerned with having my "ideal" timing... [idiot] So I've had plenty of time to spook myself out, do way too much internet research (where everyone dies) and to indulge in weird flights of fancy...

Like...

I've suddenly thought of boobs like a girl's secret superpower.  Used properly (or improperly) they cause men to stop thinking rationally.  I have to forfeit this power and I've never used it! Never used it to get drinks or out of a ticket or, I don't know, to get the cashier to not scan the expensive meats at Stop and Shop? (Okay, I guess that last one is only appealing at my age.)  Being a tomboy, none of that stuff has ever been "me" but have I missed an opportunity? 

And...

Maybe they won't look Frankenstein-y after all.  They could be better looking, I suppose.  Which makes me think of those girls who get implants and then just want to show them to everyone.  Is it because they are so happy? Or because showing them to so many doctors takes the mystery away?  I've been seen and touched by so many doctors, nurse and techs over the years that it's almost as normal as getting a haircut.  And that will all ramp up in the next few weeks. Could I forget that I am not supposed to be hauling them out every time someone say, "How are you doing?" Will I forget myself and trot them out at the holidays? ("It's a reunion tour!  They girls are back in town!")

Yes...

I know I am being CRAZY. I'm just worried about not feeling like me. No matter how great they turn out (please, please), they will still not be me.  It's strange knowing the surgeons will be moving things around on me.  Like a shell game....  And throwing out others...  [Shudder] But I know 100% that this is the right decision for me.  Even though I sometimes want to cancel it, all that would do is give me longer to worry about it all. 

But...

Here's a benefit to that stress and a deadline.  I have NEVER been so organized at the start of a new school year.  "Nesting" is not a pregnant lady thing.  It's an "Oh my God! I don't know what's going to happen so I'd better scrub everything now and buy enough supplies for a zombie apocalypse!" I've cleaned out my car, my garage, my basement, sorted closets, joined Cosco, bought dozens of Eggos... I have a million lists running of what I need to get and get done... Crazy- BUT it keeps me busy and from thinking too much...

One last thing...

I know it's probably weird that I am putting this out so publicly.  Especially when I have hard such a hard time telling people in person. But, I am an open person and have no problem talking about it if someone wants to.  Things get around.  This decision has been 15 years in the making for me.  And I am sure that (on Long Island- the BC capital) there are others contemplating the same course of action. Everyone has to come to their own conclusion and decide what's right for them. But I have had some wonderful people "show me their wares" and tell me about their experiences so I could find the right procedure for me.  I'd be happy to do the same for anyone else.  We girls and our girls have to stick together!


P.S. Unless you're a boy just looking for a free show! That's what the Internet is for... 

Awkward, Awkward TMI...

This is going to probably be a scattered, TMI post.  You might not want to stay- especially if you're an XY. Not sure how to start this...

For the most part, this blog has been silly, lighthearted stuff.  And I plan to stay that way, though I do have something not so silly to tell you first.  Almost every person that reads this knows me in real life.  We may be family or friends.  We may not live nearby or we may see each other around town all the time.  However we know each other, don't be offended if I haven't told you this before- its a weird thing to just bring up and I haven't told many people.  There is no natural way to just bring up in conversation that you've opted for a prophylactic mastectomy....

Sometimes to say something out loud is to admit to yourself that its real. I guess if I really wanted I could steer the conversation.  "Did you see all the Trojan ads MTV plays now?... Speaking of prophylactics..."  Or possibly, "Remember Janet Jackson's Superbowl wardrobe malfunction? Speaking of boob malfunctions..." Or the even less direct, "I went to London with my mom in High School to visit my aunt.  We went to the Tower of London.  Remember Henry the 8th and all of his wives?  Remember Ann Boleyn?  How'd she died again? Oh, right... Head lopped off.  [Pause] Speaking of lopping things off, did I tell you..."  Did that one go too far? Well, I am sometimes talking to someone that I know I should have told already and I am thinking of how awkward it would be to bring it up when we are talking about school supplies or the past summer.  The entire thing is weird- why should my wandering thoughts be any less weird...

If you know me, you know that I have a family history of Breast Cancer.   Some people might think that this is a drastic move.  At one time I would have agreed. When the idea was first mentioned to me in my late twenties, I balked.  (I've been seeing a Breast Surgeon since then.)  Then, the numbers of family members with BC increased.  And when I was 30, juggling the needs of my first baby and a dying mother,  the Mayo clinic announced that a BPM (bilateral prophylactic mastectomy-see you're learning something) can reduce the chances of BC 90% or more in someone with a significant family history.  Seeing my mother suffering, I decided to take that route when I hit 40.  Ten years flew by and I kept chickening out.  But, this spring, yet another biopsy and other changes signaled that the time has come.

If I haven't told you in person, don't be offended.  That's not the right word but you know what I mean.  I've seen some of you for hours and never brought it up.   It's just feels awkward to insert it into a conversation.  I'm not sick.  I'm not injured.  While it's been scheduled for months, the time is suddenly almost here.  I need to start letting people know.   In some ways, the reasons to bring it up are more for scheduling.  "I can't volunteer for anything in October or November.  Not, just just to be bitchy but..."  There are many people that I should've told by now but I want it to be a non event.  Just a blip.  A hiccup before the holidays.  And, I was trying to keep it all quiet for my kids.  (Who now know.)

So, weirdly, something that felt too awkward to say in person doesn't feel that awkward to put here.  Where anyone can see it.  I guess because I don't have to see anyone or hear their reactions.   It's not a big secret.  I don't care who knows.  And I have no problem talking about it.   I just don't want to introduce the topic.   I guess it feels awkward in person because then the other person doesn't know what to say. Or they feel bad. Or they disagree. It's awkward to bring up but its ALSO awkward to hear.... (It's also a bit awkward because it involves...boobies...)

So, now it's really out there.  You can bring it up.  Or not.  I am fine with both. You don't have to comment or say anything on FB or in person.  We can just be like tired commuters in the morning and just nod to each other then move on. I'll answer questions but don't really want to hear if anyone agrees or not with my decision. Keep that to yourself!  At least now you'll know why I move a bit slower this fall or why I don't volunteer or show up.  And don't feel strange or bad about any of it.  I feel blessed to live in a time that this is even an option.  I know my mother would be so happy that I am doing this.  I know she fought as hard as she could to stay as long as she could.  If my children never have to watch me go through what she did, it'll all be worth it.

SO.  This is probably what I'll be thinking about and writing about for the next few weeks.  But hopefully it will be entertaining even though the subject matter is odd.  I have so many curious thoughts running around my head.  Like Alice's white rabbit they are all confused and kind of funny....

Like the "Summer of Boobs"....

Bittersweet School Daze

Right now it's Sunday night and I am lying in bed awaiting the first day of a new school year.

I am struggling with a multitudes of "yet"s. This summer seemed exceedingly long, yet I can't believe it's over.  I bought their supplies in early July, yet I was scrambling to get it all figured out today.  I was so organized with all the pre-school start paperwork, yet I was just printing out schedules and home rooms for panicked kids.  I'm tired of feeding people on different summer-body-clock schedules, yet I already hate packing lunch boxes.  I'm SO tired of being surrounded every moment...yet... I'm missing them already.  Crazy.... But such is parenting- a bipolar, whiplash swing through moods, phases, frustrations, hopes and dreams.  I'm exhausted!

This summer was an odd one for us.  The very beginning of the summer started with a dreamy trip to Italy to meet up with family.  We had been planning it for soooo long and the school year-end craziness and trip-prep short circuited my brain and I didn't sign the kids up for anything.  I figured we'd find something to do. After we returned home and adjusted  to real life, everyone was happy with the lazy life.  I didn't really blame them.  The only time you CAN have a lazy summer is when you are young.  It's nice to be bored and lazy.  BUT we live in a town that doesn't (for the most part) do lazy summers.  Most kids go to camp and the town is empty- making it hard to find playmates. That leaves a LOT of pressure on me to be entertaining.  I start off as an okay camp counselor but burn out early and turn crappy.

I've been the mom-camp-director before and it was great but now?  What always worked doesn't seem to anymore.  Even though we all know what they say about excuses, here's my list of them...

1.  A bag of chalk, bubbles and water guns from Target is no longer entertaining.
2. They are older.
3. I am older.
4. They don't color anymore.  In fact, most art activities have lost their shine.
5. Nobody naps.  Why? Why? Why?

And the biggest...

While we always did summer "field trips", its getting harder to find something that they all enjoy.  One in High School, one in Middle School and one in Elementary School- impossible.  I can't  get anyone to agree on anything.  The oldest has been to everything that the youngest wants to go to a gazillion times. (And I've been a gazillion more because I remember the times that she forgot!  I'm living my own personal "Groundhogs Day"...) So we wind up debating what to do until its too late to do what I suggested in the first place.

I knew this would be the case because it started last summer.  I tried to lay out some ground rules BUT I am not the most disciplined of people.  I announced that "If you are staying home and not going to camp, you have to follow the mom camp rules!  There will be reading every day, math and instrument practice a few times a week AND chores!  You all have to learn how the house works. TV and computer will be limited! When I say we're going somewhere no on will complain! This is the Summer of Independence! You will do things for yourself!"   I saved leftover pages from workbooks, helped pick out summer reading, got a kids guidebook for NYC and dusted off the job jar.  I was ready to go.  But, in the words of the great Bugs Bunny, "What a maroon!"

It lasted about 2 weeks.  Then started sputtering.  Then I'd try to buckle back down but, once there had been a slip, they'd start weaseling...  By the middle of August we were in trouble. Then, school started late this year. I (shamefully) gave up. This last week, the garden slugs were more active.  It's amazing that Luca's cones and rods still allow him to see anything other than pixelated Minecraft-like images.  (When thrown off the computer, he needs to know when he can go back.  He's like a twitchy addict.)

So, I've been craving the start of school.  And,  yet...Back to the "yet"s. I need the structure to be a better mom, yet I dread the projects, freak outs and keeping everything organized. I am relived that no one will speak to me for 6 hours tomorrow, yet I will miss #3 wanting to share her every idea with ME.  I will be happy to do do my chores and errands in a monk-like silence, yet I'll have the radio on to keep me company.   I'll have no one to help me with housework, yet  I won't have to nag anyone to get it done.  I'll have no one to keep me company on errands, yet will be happy not have to listen to the begging for treats, candy and sparkly things at the stores.  

Motherhood, and it's constant mood swings, is making me dizzy...

Lazy...

Okay, I lied. I said that I was going to take off a few weeks and post intermittently through the summer.  LIAR!  I was intending to post but my kids...didn't...go...to...camp.  Which means they were here.  All the time.  And I was the counselor.  All the time.  All.  The. Time.


Don't get me wrong.  I love my kids with my entire being.  But there can be too much of a good thing.  I love dark chocolate.  BUT if I ate as much as I wanted, I'd be a 500 lb., diabetic Augustus Gloop.  While I haven't gained weight from them, I think I have lost brain cells.

Now, I'm not saying that they make me stupid but summer in the North East does. Lots of people go on vacation or to family summer homes and most kids go to summer camp.  It can be lonely for a mom who's not a-let's-go-looking-for-a-party-extrovert.  

Today, they all headed off to school.  And I have a giant impossible list of things to do.  Come back tomorrow...

Summer Break

Hiya everyone,

Sorry you came all the way over here just to see this lame-o screen but I am going to take a few weeks off.  The kids are off for summer and it's mommy camp time.  I will probably post intermittently through the summer but am going to take a break for a few weeks.  

How about I leave you with something fun to look at?

Playing it cool and then... (This is where I'll be with my kids...but not doing this...)

or

Don't you love the way this store displays related products??

Be careful out there tonight...

or

What if this was a real toy? 

Oh Barbie, not very glamorous.  (I imagine too many tacos and cervezas...)

What if the Barbie Dream House went all reality?  [Shiver] Dirty dishes, a baby that pukes everywhere and junkmail threatening to take over every surface?  And kids demanding to be fed ALL THE TIME...  

So forgive me the lame post...  I am just trying to be summer activities director [Barbie] and to whittle down the forest's worth amount of paperwork that my kids brought home at years end.  Give me a few weeks to gather my head!

Stay cool and safe!

Field Trips

When you are a stay home mom, your kids expect you to volunteer for everything.  (Until the point that they are embarrassed by you.) I know this time is fleeting so I try to step up for all the things that don't make my head explode.  But, during the last two weeks of December and June, there are a LOT of volunteer expectations and I have to let some slide.   (In December,  I am usually stressing out for Christmas and in June, I'm starting to wig out about being the camp counselor for two months straight.  In late June, I hoard my quiet time as if I could actually pull it out later to stay sane.)

Sometimes, there are lots of parents who want to volunteer for a field trip and it turns into a lottery with names picked out of a hat. (Especially in the children's last year at elementary- parent's know the opportunities to be a part of their school day are fading.) But there is ONE trip that is a hard sell- an all day fishing boat trip.  The weather is iffy, the bus ride is long, you get gross stuff on you AND it eats your whole day.  The first time I had a child going on this trip, I managed to evade and/or hide long enough to not get picked.  (I'm not proud of it.) Last year, I was not so lucky.  I waited and hoped the slots would fill but alas...  my son came home and told me about the trip and said they still needed volunteers.  I was still hoping someone else would step up.  I asked my son, "Well, do you even want your mom around?  Don't I embarrass you?" (Please say yes this time only...please...please.)  He said, "Not really.  I want you to come.  You're really good at explaining things." Huh? I didn't really understand the last bit but he wanted me.  How can you say no to that?

The morning of the trip dawned rainy, freezing and windy. I checked my email every half minute praying for the email canceling the trip.  (And praying for lightning- the only reason they would cancel.) Alas, too soon, I found myself boarding a giant, yellow, noisy soda can.  Wearing jeans, extra layers, a raincoat, carrying an extra slicker and a hearty lunch, I braced myself for the day ahead.  And for the bus ride... well, that's a whole other story.  (Click here to read about it.)

It was a hard trip.  It rained AND it was cold.  I gave my extra slicker to a boy who was just wearing a sweatshirt.  (No, I didn't need an extra slicker but I was going to switch into it to protect my legs.  Instead I stayed in my short raincoat and absorbed as much water as possible with my jeans, sneakers and socks.  (I must've gained 50 lbs.)  Thankfully, I welcomed the early lunch break as a time to get in out of the multiplying and enlarging raindrops.  I found a spot in the cabin and tucked into my pb &j and juice box looking forward to the snacks I had brought myself for dessert.  Then a girl sitting near me announced that she had forgotten her lunch. Crap! Sigh...there went my lunch...  

After lunch (or what would've been lunch) we went back out on deck for fishing time.  While there was a fair number of chaperones (moms and dads) for the trip, their numbers on deck quickly declined as the weather worsened.  Finally, there was just two of us.  One mom  (me) and one dad left to help the boat crew. (Whose head to toe rubber, yellow clothes I jealously eyed.) Just two hearty parents baiting hooks for the handful of diehard kids and wistfully looking over our shoulders into the happily dry and chatting crowd in the cabin. (Possibly we were the two quietest parents and were happy to stay outside rather than figure out who to talk to...)  

So, we stayed outside.  I was sticking hooks through little fish eyes (which I had never done before), shivering and trying not to hold onto the handrail where a seagull had recently pooped.  As I was untangling a line and explaining something to one of the kids, I looked over at my son and he smiled at me.  It looked like he was proud of me.  It was like the sun came out just over me and I remembered him saying, "You're really good at explaining things." 

As parents, we get our validation years after the fact. Looking back our kids give us compliments.  In the here and now, they take everything we do for granted and expect us to serve their every need while we wait for the scraps of praise and acknowledgement that never seem to come.  That day that child was not rolling his eyes at me.  He wasn't embarrassed by me or pushing back in preteen rebellion.  He was proud of me and showed it. (Only to me but still!)  It was as if a heavenly choir was singing my praises! It was one of those high notes that makes you feel like you should just excuse yourself before something goes wrong, "Thanks for coming and try the veal!"

On the bus ride home I sat (antisocially) alone in my 90 degree, comfy-as-concrete bus seat.  I suffered through the chorus of "beers on the wall", fart noises and random screaming.  I could barely bend my legs because my jeans were so waterlogged and my toes felt like swollen, soggy raisins.  The bus leaked more water onto my seat with every turn and I shivered nonstop.  I want to say, "The memory of that smile warmed me" but that's not true.  I was physically miserable but I kept replaying that moment to distract myself.  I was happily miserable...


P.S.  To be brutally honest, parenting is often like being one of the seven dwarfs, just picking at the rock with a little pick ax day after day BUT when you hit a diamond? Zowie!  It fuels you for the work that still lies ahead.  There is a line from the Bible that I often think of as a mother- "She kept all these things, pondering them in her heart." The smile he gave me that day and so many other outwardly inconsequential moments I've shared with my kids are my treasures, my diamonds. I am aware of how fleeting life is, how quickly it's over and how uncertain it is. To be sappy, those moments are my riches. 

P.P.S. I will try really hard to remember this when someone wakes me at 4AM because she couldn't sleep.  I will try to be kind when she comes back just as I am falling back into sleep to ask what she should do. And I will (hopefully) smile lovingly as she comes in a third time to tell me she's hot/cold/thirsty/scared.  Instead of hissing like one possessed, "Gooo baaackk toooo yoouurr bedded!!!"