Finding Zen

Goodbye 20's

I stood behind a gal in the grocery store the other day.  She had long, bronzed, beautiful legs to match her beautiful hair and her beautiful face.  She was tan - but not wrinkly yucky lay-off-the-fake-bake-tan, it was like the real deal.  Tan like Gabrielle Reece tan.   Moist, smooth, dark skin.  Did I mention her legs were up to my shoulders?  And guess what?  There was NO HAIR?  None. Not even a fuzzy one.  There was nothing.  It was like she had total body laser hair removal.  She was RADIANT.  And tan.  And tall.  And hairless.  And I just stared at her.  Wishing I had no hair.  No lines.  The kind of skin you want to nuzzle up to and rub your face on....rest your head and take a nap.  Hmm.

I have hair everywhere.  But we don't need to go there AGAIN.  It is one of my ugly superficial burdens.  Like the frown between my eyebrows that sucks in a little millimeter of my face every day - until one day there will be nothing left to look at but a big old DISSAPOINTMENT.  Not even FROWNIES can help me.  And I've tried.  AND - the lovely break-outs I now get on my back and upper chest since coming off birth control.  Now, tell me that isn't special?

I'm a bit worn these days.  A little less pep.  A little more emotional.  Somedays even a little depressed.  But I keep it all in check.  My sister-in-law said something to me the other day - that day I got my 6th cycle 'bust'...she said something like "You have to just be thankful for what you have today - because you never know what may happen tomorrow".  And I know this.  We all know this one.  But its good to hear it every now and again because its so true.  I have so much to be thankful for, and so many good things in my life to appreciate.  It seems downright inefficient to focus on anything but enjoying what we have, and not what we have-not.

So today, on the eve of my 30th year in this world - while I may not have buttery smooth bronzed calves...or a life growing inside me...I do have love, companionship, laughter, an incredibly supportive family (IN-LAWS and OUT-LAWS included!) a fridge full of groceries, a really nice home, designer jeans (size 26 - boo-ya!), good health, The Rosetta Stone - French I & II, AND!!!...tomorrow, August 16, 2008 - I will have my very own, completely custom-built down to the paint and the rims..gears..and all - a bicycle!  Made by my husband.  Just for me. Take that WEST COAST CHOPPERS!  Take THAT sexy hairless legs in Publix lady!  I guess I don't need to be hateful about it - thats not in the spirit of the Buddha.

Here's to 30 more!  Thanks for hanging around these parts ya'll.  I enjoy your company.

Now...do any of you have any recommendations for IN-GROWN LEG HAIRS?? They are multiplying...FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS!

Crazy Logistics

Last night I had a dream.  I had a dream that I was in labor with my pretend baby.  I sat there sweating and screaming at Vern that I just...

CANT DO THIS.

She looked at me and said...

OH YES YOU CAN.  In that kind of tone your mother gives you that means YOU CAN and YOU WILL or I'll beat you.  Only no one ever beat me.  HOWEVER.  In 4th grade I threw my retainers in the trash in a brown paper bag along with  the Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie I never ate and that no one would trade for.  What I really wanted was a Nutty Butty or a Zebra Cake.  Or those chocolate covered peanut butter logs.  I  informed the Principals office that if we didn't find them my mother was GOING TO KILL ME.  I must have been fairly convincing because I got a lecture after school from my mother that one doesn't go around talking like that.  That was a good year for me in the Drama Club. 

So Vern is saying YES YOU CAN (and you will or I'll beat you) and I'm thinking to myself.  You are smoking crack lady.  She stares me down and says "There is a woman behind every single person in this room who did this, and so can you."  And then I was like...OKAY FINE! but I'm not gonna like it...

Mind you.  Last night before I went to bed I spent a few minutes trying to figure something, that just wasn't getting figured.

I sat on the floor in my bathroom in front of our floor-length mirror just like I did when I was 13 after my very exhausted and older girlfriend had just explained that there was a hole I had been missing.  That NO SILLY, tampons don't go up your urethra!  I had been struggling with this idea and finally admitted it to someone.  I had never actually attempted this logistical nightmare, I just decided I'd be one of those MAXI Girls.  The OB Girls were like superstars in my mind.  I just couldn't wrap my head around that one.  Can you imagine the look on my face as THE MYSTERY THIRD HOLE magically appeared in that mirror - staring at me all like...DUH BECKY GET WITH THE PICTURE!!  Now here comes the real shocker.  It would take me 7 more years to work up the nerve to actually put something IN IT.  That crazy third hole.

So anyway.  I'm revisiting my nether regions (I only do this for educational purposes).  And just long enough to deduce, that I'm a pretty tiny gal.  And there are these BONES.  They are like maybe within 4 inches of each other.  I call my dear sweet husband in (with his background in Engineering) and point and say "DO YOU SEE THIS?  I don't GET IT?".  He replies, "It softens up babe." And I'm all, IT SOFTENS UP.  BABE?  That makes two of them - crack smokers.  And I want none of their wisdom around when I'm doing this impossible business.  ESPECIALLY the one without a vagina.

Mothers of the universe.  HOW THE FECK IS A BIG OL PUNKIN HEAD coming out of that shit?   

TELL ME.  TELL ME PEOPLE!!! 

Or maybe you shouldn't...

Nothing Of Substance

Okay folks.  I'm literally scraping resin from the bowl at this point (which reminds me of a friend in high school, his name was Joe - I have a vision of Joe scrouched down in the corner of a dark room at a party scraping resin from multiple bowls to amount to one small toke - and finally resorting to an entire bottle of Robitussin just to get high.  We then called him Joebitussin.)  This was the same Joe who dressed like Robert Smith (THE ORIGINAL GOTH thank you very much), and made me WEEP with his rendition of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on the piano.  Yes, those were 'my people'.

I haven't anything to say these days.  I'm pretty happy.  And happy doesn't make for good writing - at least for me.  I got a bill for 10k from the hospital yesterday.  That's 10 plus 3 zeros - and I didn't even get a baby with that!  I told Vern that when I do deliver my babies I'm going to have Zack wait in the car outside the ER while I run in carrying the baby between my legs.  I'll ask them to 'cut 'er loose!' and tell them to do it quickly because 'the meter is running'.  I can't be bothered.  There is a new rule in our house these days.  As long as spinal fluid and brain matter are where they're supposed to be - you're fine.

So anyway, I have two questions that have been bugging me lately.  Feel free to share your thoughts on this.

Why is it that older men wear their baseball caps (with the bill completely FLAT) on the very top of their heads?

Why do people ride their bikes in the street when there are sidewalks for that purpose?

I've also been thinking of baby names.  BORING.  I know.  And I'm still not pregnant, but I think about it ALL THE TIME. 

Boys:

Maxwell (Max has been axed now thanks to the likes of Christina Skankulera AND J-Lo and all the other Hollywood Hussy's using it.  Assholes.)

Reese

Jack

Ben

Mason

***OOPS I FORGOT THIS ONE.  The current frontrunner!  I knew I was missing something...

OLIVER (So very british.  and I love me some brits.  which is why we love BEN too.  shut up.  you know you love the Geico Gecko!!)

Girls:

Mallory

Jane

Olivia

Amalee (I LOVED the movie Amelie - but worry if I used the French spelling, the poor kid would get 'ah-meelee?' all the time.)

Madeline (pronounced Mad-elin, not Mad-eline.)

Charley (currently the frontrunner- and absolutely inspired by High Fidelity.  It was the first time I'd ever heard Charley used for a girl..and I loved Catherine Zeta Jones' character!)

AUDREY!

Feel free to trash my names, or offer ones of your own.  I'm down.  We can play pretend NAME THAT BABY, can't we?  It's perfectly normal to have baby names figured out before your pregnant.  One of my oldest dearest friends Rhia (known here as PBM) had her flatware picked out when we were 12.  I didn't even know what flatware was.  Besides, if it turns out I can't get pregnant, Zack said I could have cats.  So then we'll have like 12 cats with the names of our would-have-been children.  Now there's an uplifting thought.

***Update.  Okay so we played this game in a very long line waiting to order food at our favorite Taqueria del Sol last night.  Over a pitcher of margaritas.  It was going great.  He bawked at Sabine.  Made a few DECENT suggestions of his own - we even agreed on a new contender - AUDREY (because we love amelie...but ain't french, and then we thought of Audrey Tatou (sp?) and bingo...Audrey was born!).  Then he started rattling off all his friends names.  I was like DUDE, we aren't naming our children after all your friends.  He's all "But my friends are all COOL!"...I'm like...whatever.  So then we are almost through drink number two and just about to the counter to order...and with entirely too much enthusiasm, he looks at me and says..."ooo ooo, I have a good one!"  - I can't WAIT to hear it! -

"How about ASS FACE?" 

Do you see what I have to deal with?  Just like his mother.  All 'SHOW ME THE BABY!'.  BORING.

When Daughters Become Mothers

I ponder often these days what kind of mother I will be to my children.   Scares the crap out of me.  I'm not the most nurturing, I am horribly impatient, and I am extremely sensitive to sounds, smell, and all things potentially repetitive and annoying.  Shitting, crying, whining, fussing, needy babies...ANYONE?  And the thought of something needing to suck milk out of my nipple (like (such as) multiple times a DAY) kind of freaks me out.  Sounds about as enjoyable as having blood drawn.  Can you nurse AND take xanex?

I know this is nothing unique to me and my life...but it still feels huge.  I sometimes wish that I could access live moments from my childhood for review.  So that I could understand with more clarity - my sensitivities - and ultimately how I arrived from 'there' to 'here'.  Because the older I get the less certain I am of how it actually was.  I wonder if I haven't just relied on theories along the way that offered some mental recess when I've needed to feel less responsible for the more unattractive, insecure qualities in the woman I have become.  The obtrusive ones.  The ones that burden your relationships with the people you love the most.  The ones that hurt, that don't reason, that make you feel like Mt. Everest stands between you and having grace and compassion.

I believe everything we think we know about parenting, and the choices we make that feel important to us - starts with our own childhood.  It seems the most relevant point of reference - when we have none of our own.  What we liked.  What we didn't like.  What hurt.  What we missed.  What felt 'unfair'.  What we felt we needed or wanted.  What we admired about our parents, and what embarrassed us.  Mainly, what parts of us evolved from nurture and not nature. 

We fear becoming the worst parts of our mothers and fathers - predisposed for their vices, their attitudes, their inadequacies.  We fear the potential we have to over-compensate for all those things by injecting too much of our own egos into our children's development.    That no matter how hard we try to sort and separate and compartmentalize all those things in an attempt to at the very least be a little more intentional in our behavior as 'friend', 'teacher', 'sister', 'mother', 'whatever'...we will fuck it up somehow.

I love knowing, however, that I might have the chance to try.  That I will probably fuck it up, but that maybe I can fuck it up one year of therapy less.   To a degree, I imagine I will be winging it as I have always done.  And the rest - will reveal itself through careful and deliberate discussion of how our family - progresses towards whatever it is we have agreed to value most.  I suppose thats what everyone does.  It just feels so special, and complicated and scary when you are doing it for the first time - and when you know that while it can be the most rewarding and gratifying of human experiences, it is certain to be the most challenging.

Here's to hoping I'm up for it!

No.  I'm not pregnant. 

Bedside Notes From The E.R.

After spending the last 2 days in a an E.R observation room, my Pain Scale has been completely re-defined.  Here is a pictorial to guide you through my story of survival.

   

Friday morning I woke up with some odd abdominal pain.  The kind that finds you sweaty, dizzy and naked on a toilet.  I made a few attempts to leave for work and couldn't, so I finally called to ask Vern what she thought I should do.

I will never call Vern if I am sweaty, dizzy and naked on a toilet.  Ever again.

Vern rushed over and picked me up and took me to the E.R.  We thought it was possible I could be having appendicitis - which would not be something to sit around and think about.  I was so anxious the whole way over that I'd fart or something and all my pain would go away before we got there.  That would be my luck.

I arrived at 11am Friday and wasn't released until 3:30pm on Saturday.  I hadn't had anything to eat since 8pm on Thursday.  They don't let you EAT OR DRINK anything if they think they may have to take you in for surgery - so that basically meant that come 2pm on Saturday when they were still trying to come up with more tests to run on me - I was on my 43rd HOUR of NOTHING TO EAT.  Do you have any idea what kind of headache you get when you don't get food for 43HOURS?  Pissy doesn't even come close. 

So for my first pain threshold marker...I give you STARVATION.  It is an 8.

Drinking barium for a CT scan?  Not nearly as bad as I expected.  Had I known how the next 24 hours were going to go, I might have actually ENJOYED IT.  It is a 1.

CT Scan?  Easy peasy.  0.

Starting an IV line?  Well, if you have deep rolling veins this can be a most unpleasant experience.  I had a rookie give two attempts at this after which he nearly had me come off the bed.  Nurse #2 got it on her first try and Vern was actually SWEATING watching this.  I cried.  I yelled.  Bloodwork revealed my white cell count was way up.  I had a temperature of 100.5. Not a happy camper.  I give this a 7.

Dilaudid + Tordal?  Have you ever been on the GRAVITRON at the fair?  I don't like the sensation of my face melting into my pillow.  I give this a 3.

It is almost midnight, I have been at the hospital for 13hours and they aren't sure if it is appendicitis.  They say because I don't have a lot of fat surrounding my appendix, they can't tell if there is any inflammation.  My lower abdomen is tight, sensitive to the touch. 

2 pelvic exams?  Awful.  I swear the ER doctor reached all the way up into my rib cage looking for my ovaries.  Horrible pain up in my parts.  I give this a 6.

The surgeon doesn't want to call the surgery - thinks its gynecological, the Gyno they call in at 11pm is clearly annoyed she's been called in, and thinks I'm fine.  No one has answers.  They decide to keep me overnight for observation - thinking if its appendicitis it will get worse.  It stayed the same.

I hardly slept all night, I wanted to go home.  I was ready to be either cut on, or let go so I could binge on Taco Bell Gorditas.

Day 2 sucked so bad, I can't even really talk about it.  Still.  And its been 3 days now since I left the hospital - and that long that I have been working on publishing this post.  But who are we kidding?  I'm going to go for it anyway...

2 things happened that have earned the new top records for my worst pain ever.  Hateful, horrible, things that you wouldn't wish on nobody.  Which is why I have decided I can't ever get pregnant for I live now in the fear that someone, someday will request a FULL BLADDER SONOGRAM 10 minutes after I have just had my IV LINE removed thinking I am done with TORTURE for the day.

On day 2 they wheel me down for a sonogram - lay me out and lady starts rolling on my belly.  "Your bladder's not full.  I need a full bladder."  They send me back.  I am crying.  I am STARVING.  I have a headache like you wouldn't believe and people EVERYWHERE are drinking COFFEE.   I am tired.  I want to go home.  I FEEL like I have a full bladder, but the hateful sonogram woman says she needs it fuller.  Which in my mind means I am going to be bumped out of line and there for another 4 hours before I can get back in for my test.  Which means another 4 hours I have to wait for results, so they can tell me I can FREAKING HAVE A CHULUPA.

Problem is - I have asked them to remove THE IV LINE because they put it in the crack of my arm and I couldn't bend it all night.  It hurt bad (a 2 - in hindsight) and I requested they remove it since it didn't look like I'd be going in for surgery.  They did.  Since I can no longer get fluids from my IV, and you know whose not allowed to eat OR DRINK? - two nurses come into my room with their heads down and say "Sorry Mrs. Pitts, we have to set you up with a Foley".  They are carrying a box and some equipment...and I burst into tears thinking Foley is their term for another IV LINE.  I respond wailing "You better just go get your expert person now, because I'm not going through this again!!!".  They look at me like I am jacked.

Vern shoots me a look like "oh, poor child...she has know idea...".  The nurses ask Zack and Vern to leave and through my tears I can see that I am getting a FLAMING CATHETER. 

Having a McDonald's sized straw shoved in a hole half its size with a BALLOON to be expanded in your bladder so it doesn't come out?  I called for Vern to come back in...it took them forever, I was freaking sweating all over.  Crying.  Legs trembling like Elvis (I had had this done once in college but it was just to get urine sample..it sucked.  But it was only in there for like 10 mins) I was miserable.  I wanted to die.  They get it in there and I yelled out louder than the woman a few rooms down who had somehow gotten her finger stuck in a blender.  In this moment - it is a 10.  Little do I know, the 10 is in another room waiting for me.  Vern knows about the 10 in that room.  Vern also knows that its not really a 10 - its just a 5 - and I might aught to reconsider having 3 children.

The 10 is something I don't even know if I can talk about.  It is pure evil.  It trumps every other painful experience in my life.  It lasted for about 10 minutes - and it felt like an eternity.  It kind makes me tear up just thinking about it.

They have put the catheter in - I am so uncomfortable.  I am a sweaty mess.  I can't get any pain meds because I have no FRIGGIN IV!  They wheel me back to the sonogram room on my hospital bed.  I am IN HELL. 

So here is the deal.  I have figured that they've already somehow filled my bladder with all that tube mess down there and I'm good to go.  But not.  The tech has to fill it.  And she tells me 'This is going to feel VERY UNCOMFORTABLE...and I'm thinking I have NO ENERGY for things uncomfortable at this point.  Just kill me now.

This big ol' mamma says to me...straight up..."now, I'm just gonna tell you right now...this is going to hurt - it ain't natural for fluid to go up like this, and its going to feel like you have to go real bad".  And I seriously just start crying.  Again.

And people - let me tell you.  There are no words.  There is no comparison.  All I can tell you is that what that feels like is something that you just - cannot - bear.  That you might explode in pain.  I have never sweat so much in my life while she was bearing down on my abdomen while it felt as though 10,000 leagues was being drained into my little bladder.  It was wrong.  And that is my 10.

If childbirth is an 11 - I'm fuct.

What I have learned from this experience is:

1.  A ruptured cyst can mimic the symptoms of appendicitis.  And it sucks.

2.  IV's are for drugs and filling bladders the natural way.  The ER is full of DRUG INDUCING experiences.  THE IV IS YOUR FRIEND.  It must not be removed until you are paying your parking fee and driving OUT.  I traded a 2 on my pain scale for a 10 - and I will never make that mistake again.

3.  The FOLEY is the Antichrist.