Two Sides to Every Story

Medical Kidnapping is one of the Internet, blog sphere hot topics right now.  Do an Internet search and numerous stories pop up with emotionally charged accounts about how the child or children were taken by CPS for unfair reasons such as for second opinions and alleged medical neglect.  From a purely observational standpoint, the reporting bodies of these incidents are most often parent's rights sites and news stations.

The only thing I can say is to READ WITH CAUTION.

These stories sound horrific.  They sound outrageous and incredible.  They threaten the very fabric of trust in the health care system and the evils of any child protective service.  They are emotional charged and sad beyond explanation.  CAUTION.

That is the point of writing that story.  Sometimes, the point behind that blog or site IS to en sight the public in an effort to garner support and money for their plight.  These stories ARE emotional.  They are talking about our kids, about taking our kids.  Most of us would take a hot poker to the eye and a katana to the heart for the safety and well being of our children.  To hear about the sorrowful story of a baby ripped from her mother's arms because of differing opinions on medical issues would make any person angry as a nest of agitated bees.  But we must use caution when reading these stories.  We must stay objective.  From the accounts of the commenters, the general public doesn't remain too objective.  People are being en sighted and emotionally charged.  Success on the part of the author.

In life, in reality, back here on earth, there are two sides to every story.  That's why there is a defending attorney and a prosecuting attorney.  That's why there are arguments every day in homes across America between spouses, between children, between tenant and landlord.  If there is more than one person in an argument (which I guess is necessary to make it an argument...) than there are a least two sides to that story.  TWO SIDES.  Two sides, two opinions, two sets of facts, two sets of perceptions, at least. TWO SIDES.  Even evidence has two sides.  There is evidence that is measurable and observable and there is circumstantial evidence.  There is objective information and subjective information.  And if you are trying to get support for your story, your campaign, your belief system, you are going to present YOUR side of the story.  One side.

I think that my biggest theme here is that we, as consumers of information, perpetrators of stories and payers of donations, need to remain objective.  Ask the questions that need to be asked, even if it is to only yourself.  Look for obvious subjectivity in a story, obvious violations of rational thought. Look for unlikely scenarios like a direct quote from a physician to a child when the person claiming the quote wasn't there.  Look for assaults to your emotions and triggers to outrage.  These are notes of caution and mean that the consumption of said article or story should be done with caution.  And that isn't easy to do.  It requires a sense of fairness and judiciousness that not everyone has.  It requires being able to identify in ourselves when we are being triggered.

The next time you come across a story on Facebook about the baby taken from his or her parents because the parents requested a second opinion, read it with caution, with a grain of salt and a hint of doubt.  It could very well be true and accurate and a real injustice.  It could also be fabricated or at minimum, grossly subjective to meet someone's agenda.  

I'm just saying, READ WITH CAUTION.

Quotes continued...

Well, I don't really have any other quotes to share right now.  I believe any quotes that I have in mind will be linked with f bombs and profanity most appropriate for southern hemisphere sea ports and brothels.  The quote that I conveyed to my husband was this one from Thomas Jefferson, "When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on."  Tonight, I am feeling this one, all the way.   Swinging desperately, avoiding the moment that I want to scream.

I've been trying to practice this "good" parenting stuff all day!  Damn, it takes the energy right out of you!  I feel like I ran a marathon while carrying a small Norwegen family on my back, cross stitching the words to America the Beautiful in leather.  I'm exhausted!!  WTF.  In my defense, I haven't lost my cool completely AND I followed through with instructions and expectations.  Damn skippy!!  She was tired and had fallen and scrapped her hand and didn't want to fold a basket of HER laundry AND take a shower.  And never mind that she never knows when bed time is but tonight points out at 9:34, "it's after my bedtime, do you still want me to fold this laundry AND take a shower?"  Yes. You stink. And your hair is greasy!

Just like when she was a toddler, I am so excited that it is bedtime and I can have some quiet time.  I plan a long, hot tub soak with Lavender oil added to the bath to help me calm down.  I might even drink a Strawberita for good measure.

This parenting thing...I just have to remember to tie that knot in the end of the rope before I even get there. 

Helpful Quotes and Parenting....

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."  Lao Tzu

OMG!  Thirteen years ago, I had heard from other mothers and my own mother, about the amazing experience of becoming a parent, and I was ecstatic when I found out that I was going to be a mommy.  When it happened to me, the minute my baby girl entered this world, I was amazed at how deeply I loved this little person.  I can't and couldn't think of any better feeling, any better expience than being a mother.  It was everything I had hoped it would be...for the first 8 years.  Then, my sweet daughter began to develop into more than a cute little doll of my direction; she began to have opinions and urges to be more than mini me.  She was becoming her own person!  Holy crap!  They didn't mention this part!  Parenting was challenging up to this point of our relationship because parenting is a challenge, period.  But at some point in the end of the single digit, beginning of double digit years, it became gold metal, Olympic challenging.

"The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself."  Anna Quindlen

So in the past year, I have really taken stock of my parenting techniques.  I had some heavy realizations when we started foster parenting.  And I really worked diligently to be a good parent.  Since our foster parenting experience has ended, I have come to realize that parenting my child has been lacking some things.  I mean, I've always been hard on myself when it came to being a parent.  I have always felt challenged by it (who doesn't, right!?)  I have always been scared of being a bad parent, not making the right decisions, of screwing up my kid.  I have always felt a lot of guilt for having divorced her father and taking away the advantage of a mother and father in the same household to parent her... Like I said, I have been pretty hard on myself. 

Parenting is hard and I can't seem to find the instruction manual that was supposed to come with the new baby.  (Can I borrow someone's?)  I've made mistakes.  I've yelled when I shouldn't, I've cursed when I shouldn't, I've lacked patience.  I've made threats and not followed through.  I've let her dramatic tears and "I hate you!" change my mind on punishment.  I have given in to whining.  I have made some not so great parenting choices. 

"Just because you've made mistakes doesn't mean your mistakes get to make you.  Take notice of your inner critic, forgive yourself and move on."  Robert Tewi

And I have punished myself for not being perfect, for making mistakes, for not knowing from the get go how to be a perfect parent.  What?!!?  I didn't know how to be a perfect parent from the start?!?  I'm kind of a perfectionist (and a little unrealistic).

"Don't be too hard on yourself.  There are plenty of people willing to do that for you.  Love yourself and be proud of everything that you do.  Even mistakes mean you're trying."  Susan Gale

I got a little better at letting that critic go after doing a course of life coaching with a coach, Wendy, at my work.  I miss Wendy's down to earth clarity and direction!  Anyway, she taught me that these HUGE goals of "being a good parent" are so huge and way too general.  How can you judge being "a good parent"?  And the measuring stick that we use, is probably a bit unrealistic.  What I learned from Wendy was to make attainable goals for life, not just parenting.  Stop setting myself up for failure by making these crazy ass, unrealistic, widely general goals.  "I want to be a good parent..." Duh.  Who doesn't want to be a good parent?  How about something real.  "I want to be more patient when the kiddo is being dramatic."  Ah!  Attainable goal! Check!  "I want to follow through with discipline after one warning."  See....attainable goal!

"The best way to get started is to get started.  Life rewards actions...not reaction.  Wait for nothing.  Attack life."  Dave Kekich

I learned this other really cool trick from Wendy.  I mean, I knew about this concept, but she showed me how important is was to incorporate into my life.  And, it really helps when I screw up.  For me, I say, "Every day is a new day!"  Tomorrow is a chance to try again, to start over.  Not really a new concept, just new to my dysfunctional brain.  It really helped me to learn how to stop beating myself up for making mistakes and to try, try again.  I think there's some Thomas the Train or Dora the Explorer episode out there about this. 

This was kind of key for the perfectionist in me.  And a hard concept to really put into action.  (I find it hard to forgive myself for making mistakes.)  For parenting, it has been especially helpful.  What's even more helpful is the AWESOME husband that I have.  He's very wise and helps me to make better decisions and follow through (but that's another blog entry...)!

"Every moment of your life is a chance to get it right.  Any moment you've been living in, you could turn it on like a light."  Third Eye Blind Lyrics

When I feel like I'm making not such fantastic decisions, I remind myself that the next moment is an opportunity to try again and get it right.  I can take responsibility for my mistakes and try again.  It's AMAZING what an apology can do.  When I'm not up to par, I take a breath and give myself permission to try again.  I don't punish myself (for too long).

"Change might not be fast and it isn't always easy.  But with time and effort, almost any habit can be reshaped."  Charles Duhigg

I'm trying.  That's all I can do is try.  I make mistakes and I see the error of my way and I try again.  Every moment that I am fortunate to gain clarity in my actions is an opportunity to do things better, to make better decisions, to behave better, to be a better person.

"When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on."  Thomas Jefferson

And then there is this quote.  Because parenting is difficult, challenging and makes you want to pull out your hair.  It makes your hair turn gray, wine taste better and chocolate a hidden treat.  It's tough.  And many times, more often these days than not, your kid hates you, doesn't like your style, doesn't appreciate the rules and policies of the home.  I'm reminded that my goal is not to be her friend; my goal is to parent her.  It's in those moments that I am totally at the end of my rope.  And I guess I'm going to have to follow Mr. Jeffereson's suggestion and tie a knot in that rope and hang on.  It will be quite a ride.

Surviving Middle School

My one and only offspring has now entered the next chapter of her life, Middle School!  I've been kind of dredding this transition.  I've worked myself into a tizzy about how this is going to play out.  I'm imagining that our lives are going to turn upside down.  I'm imagining that my usually sweet, generally compliant, wildly opinionated daughter will turn into a foaming at the mouth, sourly infected zombie teen who I no longer recognize.  I guess I thought this transformation would occur the minute she walked through the doors of her new school like a virulent infection.  Tomorrow is day three of middle school and infection doesn't seem to have set in....yet.  Perhaps I'm just being impatient and hopeful.  I may wake up in a month to a rotten mouthed, chore allergic, noncompliant seventh grader.

I sound so negative!  I'm not really all that negative, generally.  But, parenting has become an interesting new challenge the older she gets.  I've learned a lot lately about the mistakes that I've made in my parenting regimen.  Some of those mistakes are haunting me, some I'm trying to overturn.  Looking back, I would have changed a few things.  Going forward, I'm changing some other things.  And, well, let's be honest, kids don't necessarily like it when parents make parenting and disciplinary changes.  Especially when those changes don't translate into getting their way more. 

Anyway, middle school has started and we're surviving so far.  Two days down, uh.... 178 to go.  Don't worry, I'm not dellusional enough to believe that this really is just the beginning of years of new challenges, not just a school year.  Let's start with one day at a time, shall we?

Garage sales

Garage sales are a true American pasttime.  Some people, like my hubs, spend excessive amounts of time watching a borderline baseball team skim by, while others spend countless hours doing "crafts" and zoo trips with their cute little kids.  Blah! Spending time with kids in appropriate learning and stimulating environments! BAh!  Not for me!

Early on, I introduced my kid to the joys and pleasures of garage sales.  Poking around peoples belongings, touching crap that is dirty and used, not knowing where it's been.  Looking at old, unpopular, water stained prints in frames, piles of stuffed animals, mismatched dishes.  Spending so much time, hunkered over boxes of endless books about home management, Algebra text from 1986, and books on discovering peace and religion. 

It's kind of the bonding time for me and my mom.  She loves garage sales.  And boy, does she believe that she is the garage sale expert to beat all experts.  (And who aspires to be an expert in garage sales?)  Time and time again, we've driven by a sale, stopped and perused the wares.  And time and time again, we get back in the car and my mom will comment, "Boy they sure priced their stuff high?  They need me to show them how to price their stuff to get rid of it!"  Sometimes she's just point blank, "They had a bunch of crap out there!" 

She has producing a garage sale down to a fine art and believes in presentation and layout for efficent and cost effective sales.  It's an Olympic event getting ready for a garage sale with her!  We're always up until 2 or 3 in the morning getting set up and laying things out.  One of her many pet peeves:  take things of the boxes and spread them out on tables.  Another pet peeve:  take clothes out of the plastic bins and stop making me bend over a box and dig.  She says, "I won't do it! I just won't stand over a box and dig through clothes or anything else!"  "They should put those books on a table that is waist high so people can look at them. I bet they'd sell more that way.  I know I'd look at them. I'm not going to bend over a box of books.  I just can't!" 

Certainly, reasonable observations.  I told you she is an expert.  Another of her pet peeves: endless piles of clothes.  She won't stop at a garage sale that has a lot of clothes.  Maybe she's a snob like that or maybe she's got the right idea.  Who wants to buy clothes that another person has worn?  Have you seen the clothes people put out?  You CAN throw some things away, you know.  Those faded Levi's with holes in the knees....really, you want $2.00 for them?  That shirt has a stain on the chest?  If you won't wear that, why would anyone else?  Pitch it!  Use it as a cleaning rag!    My biggest pet peeve at garage sales:  underware!  Yep, bras and underware thoroughly gross  me out!  WTF!  Who is going to buy used underware, even if it is clean!  Hell NO!  And used bras?  I just threw up a little in my mouth!  (Interestingly, my mom has had grand success at selling bras and underware at her garage sales.  Puke!)

I really love those sales with the FREE boxes.  My kid loves those too.  She doesn't have to beg me for a quarter and it is usually a McDonald's Happy Meal toy or a broken piece of jewelry.  I'm a digger.  I like to pilfer through boxes looking for a little nugget of interest.  I'm the kind of person who likes going through the junk drawer!  You just never know what you are going to find!  I think the FREE box also attracts people.  It keeps the noisy kids busy while you peruse the wares.  I'm a fan.  On the other hand, I despise people who sell items that they got for free!  We visited this garage sale once, of a former flight attendant.  She had a huge plastic container of hotel shampoos, conditioners and lotions.  Makes sense, she's a flight attendant.  But she was selling these little treasures for, like, 2 for a dollar.  A bit steep considering they were free from the hotel and she didn't even pay for the hotel stay in the first place!  WTF!  We all know that the quality of the shampoo and lotions are not high end.  They're packaged to appear to be top quality, upscale.  One dollup of lotion water tells you otherwise!  And what sucker falls for that shit?  Me! I bought like six bottles of the little gems.  Loser.

All of this garage sale talk stems from my bright inclination to have a garage sale.  I looked at the growing pile of cast away clothes of my daughters and surmised that I could make a few bucks instead of just taking them to good will like I usually do.  Brilliant.  I went about folding and sorting and strengthened my resolve to have a garage sale.  But I promised myself that I would have a cheap sale, get rid of this shit and not be so arrogant in pricing the stuff. A quarter a piece.  Better yet, put as much as you can in a plastic bag for $5.00.  That'll get rid of this stuff and make me a little change.  I haven't told my hubs about my plans yet.  He'll freak.  One: it'll have to be on a weekend that we normally go to lake.  I work the opposite weekend.  Two: it means he'll have to carry shit up from the basement.  Three:  why can't we just take it to good will or put it on the curb. Someone will pick it up.   He's right, people will pick up anything from the curb.  That's another blog entry.

Well, I've enlisted the neighbor in this garage sale adventure.  I'll make more solid plans and THEN break it to the hubs.  He'll get over it.  Wish me luck and I'll let you know when the sale is.  Maybe you can stop by.

Back to blogging....

So, I just finished reading this book written by a blogger named Jen. How appropriate.  Anyway, her blog (which I haven't read yet) is PeopleIWantToPunchInTheFace.com.  Her book was about her experience with Christmas.  I really liked it and got through it pretty quickly, an easy read.  She's witty and snarky and says it like it is.  I aspire to be like that.  My husband thinks I say things like they are, right out, straight from my brain.  What he really doesn't get is that I am saying on a small portion of what I really think.  And, my stupid sense of justice and fairness keeps me from saying things that might hurt other people's feelings.  And, I happen to be one of those people who WILL get into trouble for saying what I think.  I am just lucky that way.  Not to mention, I care what people think, which is a big barrier to saying whatever you think and feel.  So, it's not one of my strong points.  I'm trying to work on my bitchy, I don't give a shit attitude so that I can write funnier shit.  It's a work in progress.  If you ask my ex, he'll tell you that I have this bitch stuff down.  If you ask me, I haven't nearly shared my true feelings with him or with most people.  The irony of preception.

I wanna be a writer...

So, I'm bored out of my ever loving mind tonight at work.  This is the third night of sheer boredom and I have looked at nearly everything I can think of on the internet; that's work appropriate, that is.  I've been through Pinterest about 56 times and I'm over Facebook.  Tonight, I came across a freaking hilarious blog.  Some funny stuff.  And as I read that blog, I realize two of my biggest goals in life.  Two goals that I haven't achieved (....not sure I ever will.)

Goal one.  Be a writer.  I mean, I kind of already am a writer.  In my own mind.  I've been keeping a journal since I was a teenager.  (I wish I still had some of those journals!  They would have been a hoot to read!)  I started doing a little blogging, erratically, that is.  I actually have two blogs.  This one, a more general themed blog and one titled Life is a Journey Every Day.  That one is more focused on my weight challenges and my sleeve gastrectomy journey.  I digress.  Anyway, I blog on occasion but not very consistently.  I kind of get defeated when I don't reach Goal two with my blog.

Goal two....I want to be a funny writer.  You know, someone who writes these witty, interesting blogs that get people coming back to and chuckling when they read.  Sometimes, I write something funny.  But it's really not my strong suit, even if I really WANT to be funny.  I try so hard (probably part of the problem.)  I'm just not genetically engineered to be as humorous as I would like. *sigh*

So, here I am working on the ever present goals of life.... writing funny things... fail.

Burnin' the Candle at Both Ends...

A funny little phrase came to mind tonight (at 1:09 am as I sit in front of the computer writing this blog with a to do list one mile long, exactly.  I measured.)  I digress... "Burning the candle at both ends."  Then a couple of others came to mind: "my plate is full", "burning the midnight oil" and "rat race".  Like so many other people, I'm so busy with so many things that I need to accomplish.  I feel like I am the epitome of the rat race and full plate and burning the candle at both ends.  And being the infinite nerd that I am, I had to look those idioms up and explore their meanings and how they apply to me.  I'm thinking, those were different times when these phrase came to be coined.  And certainly, their meaning was far different than it would be now.  And by all means, the people of those times wouldn't have a clue about the pressures that time constraints have on human beings now.  Reeaallllly......

I like that their origins, at least the bilateral candle burning and the midnight oil reference come from earlier days of yore.  It's interesting for me to think that there was enough going on in those days that one needed to be up past dark burning the midnight oil .... doing what exactly?  I'm sure after working in the fields all day or keeping up with the multitude of daily chores in those days of yore, a little quiet time away from the 14 screaming kids was appreciated.  But what exactly did they find so necessary to accomplish so late (or early for those non night folks) that they couldn't get done during the light of day?  I couldn't really wrap my mind around it.  Recently, during a storm, a transformer in our backyard burned out and left us without power at around 10:00pm.  We were completely bored even with the candles burning and the flashlights.  My phone was nearly out of battery and the tablet was dead and I honestly didn't know what to do with myself.   We watched the transformer burn for awhile then went to bed.  I can't imagine I would want to accomplish anything by candle light....

Now, I'm not saying that families in the 1830's weren't busy and that burning the midnight oil wasn't necessary.  I'm certain there was a lot to do during the day. I can't imagine having to plan my families food consumption starting in early spring to make it through the winter.  To know and plan for canning food in huge quantities, to store away potatoes and preserved meat, enough to sustain a winter!  That makes me sweat just thinking about it.  Then there was making of the clothes and hand washing of the clothes in the wash bin and hanging of the clothes out to dry....  How about breakfast at dawn before the menfolk went out to the fields.  And not just a cup of yogurt and a slice of toast breakfast.  We're talking homemade biscuits, fresh eggs from the chicken coop, ham and grits, churned butter and fresh milk from Bossy out back.  The kind of breakfast that makes my arteries clog even with Crestor and Zetia on board.  Boy, and after breakfast, there wasn't any putting those breakfast dishes in the dishwasher... it was bringing in the water from the pump house, rain or shine, snow and wind.  Bringing it to boil on the stove.... about the time dishes were done, I'll bet it was freaking time to start lunch!  Then, there was the garden to tend to, gotta have food to eat....  Cows to milk, eggs to collect, animals to feed....  And then when the crops were ready, they had to be harvested and stored, canned and cut.... Sent to town to be sold or traded.  And somewhere in there, there had to be schooling for the children, at least some schooling, for a few...... and babies continued to get made, even after all that hard work...... HOLY CRAP!  There was a lot to get done in a day back then!!

Okay, so I am completely worn out from even considering what a family of yore had to accomplish in a day's time and perhaps, if they weren't completely exhausted, walking dead, they would use the less useful night time to accomplish other things like reading or writing letters or mending socks and making quilts by candle light or the midnight oil.  So, it's a bit naive to think that the time frame that those idioms originate aren't nearly as busy and stressful as our time.  As a matter of fact, it's just plain egotistical to think that.

The truth is, the rat race and the mile long To Do List has been a part of the human condition for hundreds of years.  Times have certainly changed.  Unemployment is up, people struggle every day to make ends meet.  We are living uncertain times not sure if there will be enough money to cover the cost of health insurance or the rising cost of gas.  We're faced with shrinking education budgets for our children....  we're running our kids to activities every day, softball practice, gymnastics, working a full time job.... we're burning the midnight oil writing stupid blogs and getting caught up on Rachel Maddow.  We're reading the Hunger Games Series and watching DVR'd runs of House and Grey's Anatomy because there "just aren't enough hours in the day."

And we complain.  We complain about all that we have to get done and so little time we have to get it done. I feel a bit selfish and egotistical after thinking more deeply about the time frame that the origins of those phrases come from.  I think it is an eye opening minute to think about the kind of rat race we run these days compared to rat race that humans have ran.

I think I'll appreciate Target and Price Chopper a little more and my electric washer and dryer along with the  dish washer.  I will stop and remember that the 45 minutes in my day to run by the store to pick up some socks and summer clothes for my kiddo is far better than sewing those clothes and cleaning them in a wash basin full of luke warm water I've carried in by hand.  I'll appreciate that the calendar is full of meetings and appointments and the kiddo's activities but that I don't have to work my fingers to the bone just to make sure my family has food and stress out that the crops and garden succeed this season.

Right Speech

So, my daughter is participating in Girls On The Run this year.  It's really pretty cool.  She's becoming more engaged in physical activity.  She's learning some great life lessons both through the planned curriculum as well as life experience.  It's just a pretty great concept.  We got an email from the coach early this week that their latest lesson is about gossip.  I know that's a hot topic for those little girls, ages 10 to 13, especially in GOTR.  My daughter is forever coming home to tell me little tid bits about this girl or that kid who got into trouble...  I really don't care to hear about that stuff and I'm trying to remind her that it's not polite to talk about others like that.  I'm trying to teach my 11 year old daughter a powerful life lesson about treating others how you wish to be treated, about not talking about others behind their backs, about not passing on stories and gossip about another person, especially if you weren't there, about just being kind.

And the sad part of this whole topic is that I unfortunately know grown adult people who still haven't learned about the evils of gossip.  Adults.  Grown folk.

Now, I'm gonna be the responsible person that I am and acknowledge that I am not perfect and I have participated in gossiping.  I have listened to the stories, sometimes with enjoyment, chuckling with others.  I have passed gossip on, not intending to be mean or defame another's character, not realizing the hurt I am inflicting.  But I have also been that person who has commented, "gosh, if that's how you talk about so and so, I'd hate to hear what you say about me!" or "Now, they aren't here to defend themselves..."  Most recently, I am trying to steer clear of gossip.  I am working hard to practice the Eight Fold Path and use "right speech".  Let me remind you, I am a work in progress!

Really, I'm so sensitive about this topic of gossip and talking behind one's back because it is happening to me, regularly and redundantly, and I'm getting really frustrated by it.  Actually, I'm pissed and I'm hurt and I'm sad and I'm angry.  Did I mention angry?  What the fuck?

I am not perfect.  I make mistakes like everyone, EVERYONE!  I sometimes say things that aren't well thought out.  I sometimes do things that aren't well thought out.  But, I am not mean or evil or a bitch.  I take very seriously my role as a caring individual and I am oober sensitive to the feelings of others, to a fault.  If I've hurt someone else and I know that I have, you can guarantee that I am feeling pretty bad about it, beating myself up, judging myself for my error.  If I can do something to fix it, I will try.  If I can talk to that person and try to make amends, I try.  If I need to take responsibility for something, I try.  And believe me, I have learned my lesson about confronting people.  I have learned that I'm not great at it but I should try to be responsible and upfront, fair and honest but ultimately, mindful of what I say and how I say it.  AND, I have also learned that if I can't say it to that person, then I don't say it to anyone else (except my husband, who couldn't give two farts).

My intentions aren't evil and filled with malice.  And the truth is, the people who spread gossip or say negative things about me won't be among the people who would read this blog.  But, I guess I just had to get it off my chest.  Because gossip hurts.  Do you hear me?!  GOSSIP, TELLING LIES, SPREADING RUMORS, STARTING SHIT, MISINTERPRETING SOMETHING SOMEONE HAS SAID.... I could go on and on... HURTS!  It hurts like hell.  If you think about it, gossiping is a form of bullying.  And I wish, WISH I didn't give a shit about what people think of me.  I wish I could turn around and walk away with my heart intact.  But I'm not and I can't.  And I'm not really giving anything away about myself.  If you read this and know me, you know this already.  If you think you have gained some powerful weapon against me, good for you.  It's not really a national secret.  I cry at the drop of a hat!!  People have counseled me to not let these things bother me, grow some thicker skin.  I'm sorry but that's not how I'm made up.  I'm a sensitive gal and things like gossip hurt me, gossip hurts everyone in some way.  And it's wrong. And unfair. And it's bullying. Period.

So, the only thing I can do is to remind anyone who will listen, that gossip hurts.  I can only teach my daughter to stop gossiping and be kind.  I can only stop participating, stop the gossip trail at me.  Please, please stop the gossip when it gets to you.  Don't continue the gossip, the rumors, the negative talk, don't encourage it, don't be one of those bully's.  It is hurting someone.  It could be hurting someone you love and respect.  It could end up hurting you.  Say no to gossip, say no to bullying!

Old, Flat Bicycle Tire

I haven’t done many blogs lately.  I guess I’m kind of a blog couch potato or a blog avoider.  I think about writing something and get excited about the prospect.  But then I get busy or distracted or lazy…  So here I am, trying it again.  Reminding myself that it’s not a product of perfection, it’s just some fun and words and my opinions and thoughts.  It ain’t gotta be nuttin’ special. 

So, I’m struggling lately with a bit of apathy.  I guess that’s the right term.  It looks like unhappiness to my husband and he’s all, “Are you okay? Are you mad at me?”  “No, dear, it’s not about you,” I tell him.  So what is it, I ask myself.  It feels a little like depression but I’m not sad and hopeless feeling.  I just feel flat.  I feel like an old bike tire; I look okay on the top, but when you scan to the ground, you see flatness.  That’s me, an old, flat bike tire.

I’ve tried to figure out what has brought me to this flat place.  There IS a lot going on in my life right now.  We’re working on some things so you’d think I would be excited and pumped up thinking about the approaching changes or additions.  I poke the future with a stick… nope, still flat. 

Maybe I’m overwhelmed with all that I have going on.  There are always pieces that are lying around that need fixed, completed and tied up.  I need to meet with my PTA committee to tie up our activity from earlier this winter.  I need to return those Chat N Chew books back to my daughter’s school library and check out some more or just email the coordinator and tell her that I’m done for the year.  I need to clean out my damn stinky car and wash off all the yellow dusty pollen.  I need to get my eyes checked and do about 16 loads of laundry.  I need to… eh… what the heck, it’ll be there tomorrow.  Did I mention that procrastination is a side effect of apathy?

I don’t really feel overwhelmed; usually that leads me to be anxious and irritable.  I just feel flat.  I’m not feeling my bubbly self.  I’m not excited, I’m not nervous; I’m not anxious or overwhelmed.  Like I said, old, flat bike tire. 

Then I start to think that there’s something pathologic about being a flat bike tire.  In the voice of Arnold Schwarzenegger, “It’s not a tumor!”  Is there something wrong with me.  Nah, it’s just a phase.  I don’t have an impending mental illness or slow growing tumor pressing on the happy part of my brain. 

I’m experiencing normal feelings (or lack of) and it will pass like everything else.  The world won’t stop spinning, the laundry will stay in their piles until I get to them.   Right now, I just don’t care about much.  In a week, I’ll care more and then in three weeks I’ll be back on the hamster wheel trying to catch up, running in the rat race.  Those feelings of anxiety and being overwhelmed will come back; I’ll feel more excited about our future.  I’ll worry about all the things I need to do, TODAY.  Until then, I guess I should just enjoy being a little apathetic.  I think I’ll just appreciate the old, flat bike tire another day.

Healthy Lifestyle (not dieting) UpS and dOwNs

So, I'm on the verge of this very enlightning event...I am coming to some sort of realization that my current weight (which shall remain un named) is not congruent with my life plans.  Duh.  Seems like a no brainer, right?  Only skinny people say that.  If you carry around extra weight, maybe struggled with this all of your life, you know what I'm talking about.  It isn't a no brainer. 

I've struggled with being over weight most of my life.  I guess according to the charts, I've dealt with this all of my life; in my opinion, those charts can be a little unrealistic.  I digress.  It's safe to say that I have had a weight problem for awhile.  My weight has been up and down, left and right, front and back.  Since I gave birth to my daughter almost 11 years ago, the weight has redistributed to different places.  Pregnancy hormones do that I guess.  Anyway.  I have dieted only a few times in my life and I have lost significant weight only a few times in my life (and the two weren't necessarily at the same time.)  I remember one time period, I was a teenager and my mom and I contracted some nasty food poisoning that we both suffered from for an entire summer.  I ended up losing weight back then because I was nauseated all the time.  The other time period was one of intense stress and poor life choices that bolstered dopamine brain chemistry to supress my appetite to nothingness and I lost a significant amount of weight.  And being of sound mind, I decided to pursue the wonder mix of Phen/phen at the end of that time period.  Result: getting close to my ideal body weight per charts - rocking the ideal body weight per my opinion.  And it's been downhill since.

There's a lot in between that weight loss and now and I won't bore you with the specifics, but the gist is, I have struggled with body image, low self esteem and poor self preservation which has led to continued accumulation of weight.  For those who know me, I'm not the 1/2 ton mom that is on tv.  I can get out of my house without a wench and 12x12 hole in the wall.  I function in daily life, have a job, do stuff with my kiddo.  I don't require the powered carts at Walmart and I can get up off the floor on my own.  I do require medications to keep my blood sugar in check and I take statins for high cholesterol (more likely a familial problem than a weight problem by looking at my family history).  But, I don't feel good about myself.  I don't feel sexy, I don't feel healthy, I don't feel loveable at times. 

So this realization that I am on the brink of is telling me that being a healthy weight isn't about how I look, about how others see me, about pleasing society.  It's about finding that I am worthy of a healthy body.  I am worth the effort of taking the steps every day to create a safe and healthy place for me to reside.  I deserve this, my daughter deserves my committment, my husband deserves the committment.  It's not about looking good on the outside; it's about feeling good on the inside.  Feeling good physically, feeling good emotionally. 

Today, I'm struggling with feeling good on the inside part.  I am a little down in the dumps and I want to throw my hands up in the air and say, "Fuck it".  I want to ignore the Weight Watchers points, I want to binge on Reese's Puff Cereal and drink 2 bottles of Dr. Pepper.  I want to satiate some weird need to be self destructive by eating poorly.  I want to be there, NOW.  I want to reach my goals and feel better about myself and be healthier, NOW.  I don't want to struggle any longer, NOW.   I'm not the best at focusing on long term goals, people.  I suck at it.  Just ask my husband. 

Alas, getting there NOW is not possible; I must stay focused and forgive myself for the 9 points worth of Reese's cereal I ate before I wrote this blog.  Tomorrow is a new day, a renewed start on the goal of finding a healthier body in here.  I don't have to be perfect, I just have to do my best and keep trying.  I just have to remember that I want to live a long and healthy life, be the woman I know I can be.  It's not a no brainer.  It's a struggle.  We all struggle with something.

Internet Horror Stories

I watched a freaking scary movie last night with my hubby.  We were looking for some viewing entertainment and came across this gem (sarcasm).  Sounded interesting, not many other options, the subject matter potentially hitting close to home, a sexy leading man for my viewing pleasure (Clive Owen), we select the movie, Trust.

The jist of the story is this:  recently turned 14 year old receives computer from parents for her birthday (seemingly innocuous), goes online to chat room and makes friends with a "sixteen year old fellow volleyball player from California".  Come to find out, the 16 year old is, in fact, a 35 year old Physics teacher! (Ackkkkk!)  Of course, young and naive 14 year old doesn't realize this until she is MEETING him at the mall (DANGER!) for the first time!  Creeper alert!!

As you can well guess, Creeper continues his smooth talk and flattering compliments (Creep!), leading said naive girl to his hotel room where he assaults her.  (Pardon me while I purge...)   Said 14 year old tells her well meaning best friend who tells the principal of what she heard (Good job, best friend!!) and girl becomes crime victim.  Dad and mom are destroyed by the news (of course), FBI becomes involved, Dad becomes obsessed with vengeance (who wouldn't), makes several stupid decisions and 14 year old tearfully defends Creeper because they are "in love" (I had a brief seizure at this revelation.)

Of course, the story progresses through the family in crisis, the girls' final acknowledgement of the Creeper as a Creeper (sigh of relief) and the dad becoming less obsessed with the Creeper and becoming more concerned with loving and caring for his victimized daughter ('bout time.)

Spoiler Alert:  The last scene of the movie shows the Creeper with HIS family at a carnival, all happy and smiling, being introduced by one of his students to the student's parents!! (OMG!!)

Not just a disturbing story for the average person; a horror story for any parent with a preteen/teenage daughter or son, for that matter.  I just kept seeing my sweet, naive 10 year old, chatting online, oblivious to the dangers, being sucked in by some crazy online predator.  During the course of the movie, my plan evolved: my daughter's phone privileges where revoked indefinitely, then I promised to sit beside her as she plays innocently on her little Poptropica website, then I pledged to NEVER buy her a computer of her own, finally, with the complete loss of sanity, I banned her to her locked and padded room until the ripe age of 25 years.  Of course, my realistic, down to earth hubby just nodded in agreement to my rantings.

Now that I've slept on the topic, I probably won't initiate the full SHELTER CHILD NOW! plan, and I have come to realize the real worth of the movie.  It was an eye opener about what really does happen on the internet, in the real world.  It's an eye opener to how parents can be as naive as their children when they don't look at the big picture.  I felt sad and despondent when I realize that I won't be able to cut my daughter off from all of the potential dangers of the internet, or the world, for that matter.  And I am doing her a disservice by not educating her and an even bigger mistake by thinking that making huge limits on her life will protect her (likely only driving her INTO danger with severe strictness.)  Further stressing me, I realized that, in fact, I am her first defense from foes such as these, with my love and support and nurturing of her self worth and self esteem.  I am her first defense against naivete by helping her realize that there are real dangers out there and how she can protect herself from them.  I am her first defense by helping her to look to her immediate, surrounding family as her support.  And ultimately, I am her first defense by providing appropriate boundaries and rules as she explores the world outside our home.

Pretty scary business, if you ask me.  It's sobering for me to acknowledge that I have such an impact on my daughter.  I know this cognitively but I experienced a huge emotional reminder when I watched that movie last night.  And, as the counselor in the movie said, we don't have control over what happens to ourselves and our loved ones.  We can only be there, love them, when they do fall down.

Not In My Hospital, You Don't!

Dang, here goes another health care bent....

I have been with my mom this week as she underwent a total knee replacement.  Of course, they didn't do it at my preferred hospital, Children's Mercy, since she's, you know, an adult.  It was an eye opening experience and it reminded me of a few things. 

I take care of post op patients regularly.  Sometimes they are post a fracture reduction, post feeding tube placement, post kidney transplant, post spinal fusion.  Ideally, I see the patient several times in the first couple of hours, check their comfort, check their pain control, check their wound.  But that's me and that's my hospital.  It's kind of an expectation, you know, to look in on your patient after they have had a surgical intervention.  Sometimes things go wrong after surgery, like bleeding, puking, pain.  But again, that's just me and my overprotective nature.  When I get to the hospital after Mom's surgery, about 2 hours after coming out of the OR, Mom says, "No, the nurse hasn't been in here since I got to the room."  WHAT?!?!?  You haven't seen your nurse, I ask.  Nope, nada, negatory....  Great.  Of course I can't help myself from looking at her dressing, looking at her iv fluids, the PCA, etc.  Somebody needs to. Guess who's feeling a bit bitchy about now?  Yep, I'm a little ticked and guess where the nurse is??  Lunch.  Do you want to hear the cherry on top of this little shit cake?  Her IV pump was beeping and continued to beep infusion complete for, I kid you not, 30 minutes.  Her roommate...her IV was beeping as well, for 20 plus minutes.  So that's at least an hour of that incessant beeping!!  GRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrr!!!!!!!!!

NOTES TO SELF:  Continue to be the attentive nurse post op. Continue to answer my alarming pumps promptly and continue to keep the high level of care that is expected of me at CMH.  Note I said continue.  I never want my patients or families to be as annoyed as I was over something as simple as checking in with my patient and answering alarms.  And the pisser of it all, any time I went to the nurses desk, her nurse and the others were at the desk talking and surfing their phones.

I've been a nurse for a bit, 15 bits, er, years, as a matter of fact.  Most of my coworkers know this, but I don't routinely tell my families this.  Sometimes it'll come up in conversation and sometimes, I will tell a family in a lame attempt at reiterating that I know what I'm doing and I can handle the placement of an IV or something.  It's usually that family that is having some control issues that I find the need to bring it up. This week, my mom had a nurse who had this compulsion to tell us how long he'd been a nurse.  It was funny how the story went from being a nurse for 18 years to being an Army nurse for 13 years to being a nurse here at OPRMC since 2004.  Basically, I had his resume memorized by the end of my visit.  Really??!  Is it necessary to impart this useless information??  Do you think I think you're a better nurse because you report you've been a nurse for 18 years?  Do you need to pin these comments onto the end of your excuses for not having placed the compression stocking on my mom's affected leg as ORDERED BY THE PHYSICIAN???  Really?!?!?!

NOTE TO SELF:  The number of years isn't as important as the direct care that I provide.  No one is impressed by the nurse with 20 years of experience but can't get anything done.

I've been on the night time side of pain medication administration to a sleeping individual.  On my part, I kind of don't like giving pain medications to patients who are sleeping.  We've all heard the complaint:  "They woke me up to give me a sleeping pill (or pain medicine)!"  But, a reality check this week unfortunately at the expense of my mom's comfort.  She texted me at 0521, "Had terribe nite dohg xr.bxw...".  Course, I didn't see this text until 0730 when I got up.  Crap!!  I was worried.  When I talked to her, she said she had a lot of pain in the night and is still hurting.  She couldn't tell me when she got her pain med in the night and she didn't know what it was. This is about 16 hours since her PCA was stopped.  "Did they give you something in your IV?" I asked.  "I don't know, I just hurt!" she said.  My fears: they didn't give her pain meds "scheduled" and her pain got out of control.  When I finally made it to the hospital, I had an opportunity to talk to the nurse.  He looked up the pain med in the eMAR to see what times meds were given.  She had received her every 4 hour medication after 5 plus hours and this was after crying out, then got her next dose in 3 hours 15 minutes.  In conjunction with decreased movement from sleeping for 5 hours and the 5 hour time span, her pain got out of control.  What was the nurse thinking?  "Ah, she's sleeping, I won't disturb her" or "I don't want to give her too much medication, she could get addicted to the pain pills."  Who knows what the murse was thinking and unfortunately, I've seen myself having the same internal dialog.  Ultimately, though, I am a family member in this scenario and I was pissed that my mom was so uncomfortable.  Why did she have to be suffering and "waiting" for her pain medication after literally getting her knee amputated then rebuilt?  Why didn't that nurse anticipate the pain as an ortho nurse on an ortho floor??

NOTE TO SELF:  Administer pain medication as a rule not as an exception.  Why wait until my patients are in pain to get pain medication.  Duh.

I think it's important to stop and take a second look at what I'm doing day in and day out and make sure that it meets the standard of my personal expectations and values.  I can't let myself get lax and complacent.  I have to remember that every one of my patients deserve the level of care that I expect for my own family.  A message that I plan to remember in the coming days of my scheduled shifts.

A Healthcare Crisis

I think I picked up my husband's unhealthy habit of waking in the middle of the night with a brain in full gear, thinking to a fault, and I can't go back to sleep.  Not so rough when you are at home and can pop on the TV and watch some boring show until you get sleepy or crack open a book to dull the raging thought processes.  But, unfortunately, better yet, fortunately, I am sitting on my house boat, moared in a little cove with little more than a battery operated tablet and a little dog keeping my feet warm.  And I just can't stop thinking. 

I had a blog idea earlier in the day while driving with my mom to come to this very house boat.  We were talking about the state of health care.  More specifically, the state of my parent's financial situation now that their health is beginning to become more of a challenge.  It was then that I decided that that topic sounded like a little blog to vent.  But damn if tonight, my mind says, "A  little blog?  Hell NO!  It's a giant blog, a huge problem, an elephant in the room of our society!"  Thus the 0426 middle of the night blog session.

I'm lulled into a false sense of respectable and decent health care by being an inpatient nurse at a non profit children's hospital.  We don't turn anyone down for the inability to pay.  Families come from all over the mid west to bring their kids to our hospital because the believe they can count on us to provide top notch care even if they can't afford it or don't have insurance.  It's a lull because, as an inpatient nurse, I don't have to deal with the aftermath of bills that still arrive on the door step, even if you don't have insurance.  I don't have to deal with the follow up care and costly prescriptions that may come as a result of the hospital stay.  I don't have to deal with a devistating diagnosis that at only 3-4 months of age, a coworker and friend's baby is suffering and the costs are just beginning to mount.  I provide the top notch care that is expected of me, I try be cognisant of the limited resources that the hospital works with and I try to end my work day feeling like I've done something good for my families.

Then, I visit with my mom.  I become reoriented to the plight that so many retired and non retired adults are facing every day of their lives.  Now, my parents are great people.  Their marriage began when they were both in their late 30's, early 40's after previous marriages.  They had challenges to face even before they got together.  My mom is smart even without the certificate of an advance degree; my stepdad, a hard working, responsible man.  They have encounted experiences in their marriage that that didn't lead them down the yellow brick road of secure financial retirement.  My stepdad suffered a devistating job loss in his mid 50's when his company went bankrupt.  What does a man in his 50's with a particular set of skills do when his job of numberous years ends?  There certainly isn't a demanding market for a man in his situation.  But they carried on as best as they could.

I'm sure they thought about retirement and how that might look.  My mom had her job and some 401K, they both had social security to rely on (not so much an option for our generation, folks!  Be ware.)  And that is a conservative lifestyle at best, without any health care issues.

Now pan to today's reality.  My parents, being raised in the 50's and 60's didn't have the "luxury" of knowing that the diets and lifestyles they had then, would negatively impact their lives down the road.  A silent heart attack later, my stepfather's coronary function is not half what it should be and years of smoking is beginning to effect his breathing.  He takes a plethera of mediations for his heart function, blood pressure, breathing, diabetes, cholesterol and so on.  My mom, lucky in that she knows that there is a family history of heart disease, takes statins for her resistent, herediarily elevated cholesterol.  Many medications in comparison to some individuals, few medications, compared to others.  They live on a fixed income and pinch in so many ways to accomidate this.  And here it is; it's a huge struggle.  It makes me angry when she tells me, "well, honey, we couldn't afford to buy my medications this month."  Or she tells me that her medication, of which there is no generic, is so expensive, they have looked into purchasing the medication from Canada, because, there, they do have a generic and it will save her 2/3 the cost.  It pains me to think that they don't go to the doctor when they really should because they can't afford one more office visit copay that month, on top of the others they have already paid.  It hurts me to see that they have to struggle.

But the truth is, their story is really no different than so many other people in the middle and lower class here in the great ole country of the United States.  So many people are just one paycheck away from financial ruin.  So many people are one copay away from not having money for food!  So many people are one bottle of medication away from treating their pain or prolonging their disease process.  And yet, we are lulled into some security when we keep our blinders on, focusing on our narrow view that is our life.  There are stories much worse than my parents, I'm 100% certain of it.  There are people, everywhere, with so much less.  And of course, because we are the land of possibilities,  home of corrupt politics and center for self serving bureaucrats, this plight of so many draws nigh.  There will be a time in my parent's lives that something will have to give; they will not pay a bill because my stepdad is sick and needs more medications or my mom can't do those odd jobs she does because her bum knee is too painful to help suppliment their income.  They will stress about the $50 copay to see the cardiologist when all they saw was the nurse practitioner.  They will sell their belongings to help pay the rising cost of their prescriptions.  They will enjoy their much anticipated retirement years less and less. 

And our fucked up healthcare system, widening, YAWNING gap between the rich and EVERYONE else and self serving politicians will remain, will worsen before it gets better, will see great people suffer and die because they can't afford to stay alive, will see parents struggle to provide anything and everything they can for their precious baby. 

We are lulled.  We think there is nothing we can do.  We think that our one vote, our one voice won't be heard.  And as one person, it likely won't be heard.  But our essense of humanity is more than being one voice, one person.  Our RESPONSIBILITY as humans, as soulful, thoughtful, moral people is to put our voices together to raise the volume to be heard.  To care for one another, to be a community, to be a society.  We are better than what we are doing for ourselves right now.  But as the citizens of this country, we are lulled to believe that we really can't make much of a difference, we are lulled to believe that the bureaucrats will take care of us, at some point.

Not gonna happen, folks.  Not until we become one loud voice of reason and demand that there is equality among healthcare, fiscal responsiblity, exclusion of wasteful, greedy politicians, transparency and humanity among our leaders.  Because, the truth is, our "leaders" are leading us to our own demise, sheep to the slaughter.  And until we begin to take responsibiltiy for one another, care about one another, operate as an evolved society, our futures will be mired in struggle.  I don't want to struggle; I want to live and I want my family, my friends, my coworkers, my aquantences, my people, my society, my country, my specie to live.  Do you?

By the Hair of My Chinny Chin Chin

I guess that I will admit that I am one of those gals with various hairs sprouting from my chin and upper lip.  Don't laugh, you have some too.  You just haven't taken the obsessive compulsive route to addressing those hairs just yet.  Or maybe you have and you know how I feel.  It's just pure crap, I tell you.

Hubba hubba!!

Facial hair is among one of the many things that looks great on men.  Gray hair makes a man look distinguished.  George Clooney, Sam Elliott and Morgan Freeman are among the distinguished graying men.  Muscles make a man look strong.  Enter hottie with a six pack.  Not a problem to look at.  Chin and upper lip whiskers, well, they can make a man look rugged. 


Then, there are things that don't look great on men.  Breasts don't look good on men.  They're never perky and spry; they're usually flabby and spread out.  A big ass doesn't look good on a man.  I'm always taken aback by a man with a pear shaped body.  Long nails don't look good on a man either.  Now, I appreciate a well groomed man with neatly clipped and clean, reasonable length nails.  He cares about himself and his love when he takes good care of his nails.  But when the nails go beyond the tip of the finger, well, that just looks creepy. (I’m projecting here; I have a creepy uncle who keeps his nails long and the two together, creepy and long nails, well, it will always be a red flag for me.)

Now, looking back, have you ever noticed that the things that look great on a man, don't look so great on a woman and vice versa.  Breasts on a woman, good call especially if they are perky.  Many women long for bigger, perkier breasts.  Remember the preteen exercise we all did.... "I must, I must, I must increase my bust!"


And a big ass on a woman, well, many men appreciate this trait.  J Lo  has built a career around her ample backside.   Long nails on a woman, help a gal to complete a seductive look.  

Sexy???

But conversely, gray hair on women, not so much an appreciated characteristic.  That's obvious when you look at the exponentially greater number of boxes of hair color at Walmart compared to men's hair color. 


Muscles on women, well, that is a little debatable.  Certainly a woman with a lean and defined body is attractive; shows her dedication to being healthy (a problem I don't have).  But muscles, big, ripped, bulky muscles are just plain weird on a chick. No matter how you slice it, how much saline is placed in her breast implants, the muscled physique of a pumped up, body building female is just disturbing.  There are things our minds can't get wrapped around, and big muscles on a woman is one of them.

Then there's hair on a woman's face.  Now, it really sucks, because most of us can't help this.  It's often there as a result of an underlying medical condition.  Some women are just genetically predispositioned to have more hair and as they grow older, it moves to their faces.  I often warn my 10 year old, who has a strong Italian background, as she points out the hair on my upper lip, that she too will experience this in time.  (If she'd stop pointing it out, I'd stop being mean about it!)  


But it's a burden that some women have to carry, hair on our lips, our chins or overgrowth between our brows.  And the pain and personal torture that we endure because of this overgrowth is nearly unbearable.  Plucking, waxing, ripping, laser treatment - all in the name of beauty.


I guess in the end, the scales of justice are equal when it comes to men and women; each sex has its drawbacks and trials.  Acceptance of our bodies, unfortunately, is based on a prehistoric, often unattainable social expectation and a highly skewed ideal portrayed in magazines and film.  Maybe someday, our society will be able to look beyond the graying mane of hair and stray whiskers of women as well as the sagging man boobs and re ceding hairline of men to appreciate the most important aspect of our humanness, our souls and what is within....

dePrEssIoN

Don't get me wrong.  I like trying to be funny, writing or saying or acting in a way that makes others laugh or even smile.  But, not every day for me is fun or funny or even happy.  Some days, I just feel low, grumpy, down, sad, poopy, crummy, crappy.....you get the picture.  I've had a few of those kinds of days lately.

When I was about thirteen or fourteen years old, adolescent hormones hit with a vengence.  I was ultra moody, ultra sad, ultra grumpy on top of being an already ultra sensitive child.  I remember clearly my mom taking me to my first ob/gyn exam and to discuss my "persistent premenstrual syndrome" (better known as teen angst.)  Apparently, it was more than she could handle.  She was doing what she thought would help and in the end, I suffered through this weird treatment including magnesium suppliments and progesterone suppositories for hormone replacement!  If you know anything about magnesium suppliments, they cause a little intestinal distress; add in an oily suppository and the result is not pretty.  (Pan to memory of me running up the block from the bus stop to get home before I shart myself!)  Ah, modern medicine.  So, the treatment was less than successful and I continued to be an even unhappier teen.  Imagine that!?!

But, this teen unhappiness persisted and it became a deeper sadness, sometimes even hopelessness.  No one seemed to understand or appreciate how I felt and I was regularly deemed overly sensitive.  Of course, there was the usual dysfunctional issues in all aspects of my life; my parents were divorced, I desperately wanted a relationship with my dad but was jealous of his new family, body image issues, boyfriends... I could go on and on.   I just couldn't shake the sadness and the down in the dumps kind of mood.  My mom would say, "Just be happy, you have nothing to be depressed about."  Ummm, okay....not.

And this sadness persisted.  It wasn't every day, it wasn't every week, but it was there, more often then not, hanging out, pestering me.  Of course, when I made stupid decisions, the sadness would rear its ugly head.  Then, after graduating high school, my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly, first semester of college, weeks before Thanksgiving.  Tell you what doesn't help a propencity for depression - your father's untimely death.   Add in a troubled relationship with your mom, not really having a home any longer, guilt of "living in sin" with your boyfriend, familial expectations and you have a pretty rough end of the teen years, beginning of the twenties.  THEN I started nursing school.  (I hear a collective groan from nursing school alum.)  Let's just say that I had a few rough years.

I remember my depression and sadness culminating into a single moment a month or so before graduating from college and nursing school.  I very distinctly remember driving north on 169 highway in North Kansas City approaching my exit onto 9 highway.   You know how some exits off elevated highways have a pretty steep embankment between the highway and the exit ramp?  At that moment, I clearly remember making an honest decision to NOT drive my car off the embankment.  My sadness and hopelessness was such that I was now at the point in my life that I was having to make the decision to not die.  That was a profound moment for me.

So here I am today, having probably spent at least a year's salary on therapy over the last 15 years;  I'm not depression free, by any means, but certainly a lot wiser and a lot more happy with my life and the decisions that I am making.  It has helped that I have eliminated the drama and roller coasters from my life, living responsibly and choosing better relationships.  Most importantly, it is because of ME, my decisions and the WORK that I've done that contributes to the improvement of depression from my life.

Do I think my depression is gone forever?  Have I beat it completely?  Is it a burden I will have for my lifetime?  Questions I can't answer right now.  I don't think that I will ever "beat" depression as long as I have the free will to make poor decisions,  feel as deeply as I do and have the "ultra" sensitivity that I have.  I can only hope that as I learn to embrace the person I am, loving me for me, I will have a leg up against this crappy disease of depression.

Dumpster Diver's Anonymous

Hi, my name is Jennifer and I am a dumpster diver.  (Audience in unison: "Hello Jennifer."  Meeting leader says, "Welcome to Dumpster Diver's Anonymous! Please, go ahead.")  I begin... It all started many years ago, I think I was about 12 or 13 years old... (Audience collectively gasps.)  I was pretty young when I did IT the first time.  **I dab a tear from the corner of my eye.**  I know that I shouldn't blame anyone for my own decisions.... but MY MOM took me for my first dive.  It was innocent, really. **I fade into a fog of memory.** We were looking for boxes, I think we were moving or maybe we were going to have a garage sale.  I don't clearly remember because the dive.... well, I was hooked, the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins, the fear factor, the smell of garbage and moldy boxes...

I felt uncomfortable the first time, doin' the dive.  But my mom kept encouraging me, taunting me.  "Come on, Jen, you can do it.  Here,  (she grunts as she heaves me up) lean over the side...(grunts) see any?  Come on, you can do it! (grunts and pants)  Big ones work best!  Nobody can see us back here.  Look over there... (banging heard on the side of the dumpster) under that bag.  Come on...YOU'RE GETTING HEAVY!  Eeeeww, that's so BIG!"  My heart was pumping as the adrenaline rushes me.  There were three big boxes and one with a lid, (Audience groans with pleasure.) JACKPOT!  The rush was amazing.

Our codependent dumpster diving began.  She would boost me up and I would rifle through the bags and boxes for ones that fit our needs.  We would scurry off with our prize in tow, throw them into the trunk of the car, jump into the seats to tear away from the wretched scene, both giddy with delight!

One time, **I choke back a sob** I remember a certain dive I'll never forget.  The gig was dangerous, the night humid and steamy, our desire for boxes at it's peak.  We pulled up behind BEEEEEP station off of BEEEEEP Road.  The night was dark, we were confident in our plan.  We would just look.  I made her promise.  But she kept pushing me to go look while she stayed in the car!  Then I saw them, tucked behind the big dumpster, all red and sturdy!  I couldn't believe my eyes!  Plastic boxes with flip top lids!  It was the motherload, a dream come true, a diver's paradise.  **Tears of joy and sorrow now streaming down my cheeks!**  I knew, KNEW in my heart that this hit had to be the last!  We would get caught and who knows what would happen.  They might make us put them back!

But, I had to have them!  They had flip tops for God's sake!  (Audience glances as one another nodding in agreement.)  So, (Mission Impossible theme playing in background) I snag three, scanning the parking lot for the fuzz or the station attendant or... okay, nobody.  I swing the boxes up into the back of the truck, jump into the passenger seat and mom races away, tires squealing or cutting up the gravel or crunching the gravel slowly, I don't accurately recall.  We were high as kites from our dive, the endorphin's running wild.  An amazing, powerful feeling! (Audiences watches wide eyed.)

And then, it happened.  My world came crashing down when we got our cache home.  The reason I'm here with you today, telling my story.  Our giddy inspection of the boxes turned cold as we realize our prize boxes, with big bold letters on the side read,  BEEEEEEEEEEEP  Convenience Store.  With horror, we realize our diving had reached rock bottom, we'd stole shipping crates!  (Collective gasp from audience, loan scream pierces the crowd!)

The moral of my story, my fellow Dumpster Divers, is to take care in collecting your box booty!  While the euphoria is amazing and the stench of dumpsters intoxicating, you never want to become so corrupted by your passion that you take packing materials from convenience stores.   I wish I could tell you all **sniff, sniff** that I returned all the shipping crates.  But it would be a damn lie.  Somewhere, deep in my basement storage, there is a red flip top crate with BEEEEEEEEEEEP  Convenience Store written on the side.

I am a recovering Dumpster Diver, it's been 6 months and 3 days since my last dive  (Audience cheers).  I find myself pulling around buildings to the dumpster on occasion.  Sometimes, I even crack the window to get a whiff of the moldy box smell and steal a glance for a nice sized box.  The urge to dive bubbles up but I'm able to push it down and drive away.... for now.

Late Night Chocolate Run

So, I had trouble going to sleep tonight.  I laid in bed, tossing and turning, listening to my husband happily snore and decided to just get out of bed and come up stairs, see what kind of trouble I can get into.  It's not that unusual for me to be awake at 3am in the morning; a little gift from the Night Nurse Fairy.  It's not like I'm not in need of sleep.  Mathematically speaking, I'm way behind on my 12 hours a day of sleep (my personal requirement, don't judge!)  I've just got a lot on my plate right now.  You all can identify, I'm sure.

In my search for something to do, I realized that chocolate would be quite nice about then.  And because I have been banned from grocery shopping, there, of course, is NO chocolate in the house.  Damn!  Ah, but Quick Trip is only blocks away and I knew, from experience, that they have a lovely little treat, chocolate and cakey, just waiting for me to come buy one (or two.)  In my jammies, I slip on shoes and grabbed my husband's keys for the get away.  Now, I can't take my own vehicle because it's in the garage and that would certainly wake my husband up, hearing the garage door open.   Oh, I've thought this through, thoroughly.  The front door is my next big hurdle.  The door is not an easy open.  Frankly, it's comical to watch my 10 year old open it.  She pulls and pulls, leans back and pulls and it finally starts to slip open.  She likely thinks that adults are supposed to open the front door for their little ones as a courtesy as they leave their home but in truth, my husband and I have to open the door because she has trouble getting it open.  Certainly a positive door characteristic to have when she becomes a teen trying to come in after curfew...

I digress... I get through the front door with a mild amount of noise and bound out to the Jeep.  Of course, being 3 am, there was very little going on in the outside world.  My favorite time of day, for sure.  It's so quiet and peaceful.  The birds are sleeping, the neighbor's dog is in the house, traffic sounds and sirens are at a minimum.  There's not much to interrupt a girl on a mission.  The down side, of course, to leaving your home at 3 am without telling your spouse that you're gone is the risk and potential dangers, depending on the area of town you live.  I fee I'm moderately safe, I decide, and the chocolate craving is way stronger than any fear I might have.

I'll spoil the ending right away.  I get the chocolate cake, make it home safely and sit down at my computer with fork and milk in hand to savor my prize.

I am reminded of my other life, the one where three other days a week I am purposefully awake and active at this time of night, taking care of little kiddies as a night nurse.  In total, I have worked nights for 7 1/2 years.  I love working nights for the same reason that leaving the house at 3 am for a chocolate run is enjoyable; it's quiet and peaceful in a hospital at night.  Okay, usually.  I can hear my coworkers booing me now.  "You said the q word!  Now, you're in for it!!"  There isn't the hustle and bustle of a multitude of doctors, med students, student nurses, cleaning staff, visitors, administrators and therapists at night.  There isn't the constant interruptions from the phone ringing every 2-3 minutes, call lights going off.  The demands tend to be less when your patients and their parents are sleeping.

Now, don't get me wrong!  I work for a living and there are more nights than not that I am running my chocolate loving butt off, earning every cent I make.  But even on the busiest nights, the distractions are less and the auditory overload is manageable.  The world is resting and getting refreshed while me and my fellow nurse super hero's watch over and protect your young.  It's not glamorous, the dark circles under our eyes, the coffee breath and energy drinks, frazzled hair dos, puke on our pants and pockets full of alcohol wipes and leaky pens.  

But, to be a night nurse, that person who defies nature's circadian rhythm, takes someone special.  It takes someone with guts to enter a dark room, in the middle of the night and approach a complete stranger with a syringe full of "yummy" tasting medicine, dodge kicking and swinging appendages, convince the assailant to consume the medication and go back to sleep without losing so much as a drop.  It takes someone with unique skills to adapt owl like vision to accurately transcribe vital signs in the dark or neatly perform a complete poopy diaper change without disturbing the sleeping parent in the cot bed near by.  It takes super human will power to keep your eyes open and your mind sharp at 2 am, especially after a cheese burger and fries for "lunch" at 1 am.   It's not easy, but we are a small group of professionals who choose this life, to provide care to the needy during the late night.  Such a great group we are, where I work.  And I savor this piece of chocolate cake, from my late night run, as a tribute to all those night nurses who do what they do!  Show your gratitude to all of your favorite night nurses with chocolate, a hug or even just a thank you!  They will surely appreciate it!

I blog, therefore, I am.....

So, starting a blog was kind of a spontaneous decision.  I recently read a friend's blog and was surprised at how interesting and a bit addicting it was to watch for blog updates.  The plan began to form:  I love writing in my journal and have secret dreams of becoming an accomplished author of witty and inciteful pieces of award winning literature.  I am savey enough to work a computer.  People who know me, agree that I like plastering my thoughts and lack of reasoning publically...  I shall grace the net with my musings as a blog.  It didn't hurt that I had a slow night at work.  So, here I am with my first blog entry into the world wide internet.

I thought about making this blog very specific, like about fat girls dieting or the joys of being a pediatric nurse.  But in the end, I decided to simply make it a general discussion about life. Life can be a real kick in the pants, in a good, "Hey, that was a hoot, a real kick in the pants!" sort of way or a less good, "Ah, shit! that kicked me in the ass!" kind of way.  It's all about the process of learning, finding that deeper meaning, that ah-ha moment.

So, maybe my life has had a few of these moments, and maybe, hopefully, my life will continue to have more of those good kick in the pants moments.  Whatever the case, I'm sharing them here!