"We have to be aware of the line between pain and discomfort. We need to be right at that place of discomfort but not in the place of pain. For pain is our bodies telling us we have gone too far. But, discomfort is change. We have to feel the discomfort to make a change."
Miss Yogi always has the right words. Or maybe it is the way I hear the words the right way. So I am thinking about a friend who recently started a yoga practice. He was complaining about a weird pain in his chest during a pose. I was trying to think about how to tell him to breath right into the discomfort and it would relax. But if it is true pain, back off. This is exactly what Miss Yogi is discussing. And this is exactly why I have been blessed to find a practice studio that teaches the entire practice of yoga, not just the poses. I have been doing yoga for years off and on. I have done videos and classes at the recreation center. I have modified my flexibility and learned to breath. But it was in my current studio that I realized that yoga can be more then just a low impact, easy exercise for one lazy girl who hates to work out. Since joining Solar Yoga, I have started to read up on the various yoga philosophies. I have found that yoga is a spiritual practice, and I end every practice with a prayer thanking God for allowing me to practice in this moment.
So back to the concept of discomfort. Yoga helps me survive. I have learned to identify the line of pain and discomfort. I have learned to breath through the discomfort and that creates change. Sometimes I think back to times in my life when I could have given up. There are times when I could have crawled in bed and decided that was it. Yet, I breathed through it and didn't think much more about it. If the pain was more then I could handle on my own, I got some groovy drugs. Did you know that two years ago I could not move my arm more then a few inches from my chest? I could not lift my arm to shave my arm pit. In fact, I got an infection in the loose flap of skin that covered the hollow where five lymph nodes were removed. But, I went to physical therapy. I insisted that I wanted more flexibility then good enough. I had people tell me to accept that my arm would only move so far. But, I was determined to get my flexibility back. And I did. With a lot of discomfort and breathing into that discomfort, I can do a full twist and almost reverse prayer palms behind my back. I changed even when they said I couldn't.
Tomorrow, I have a MRI. I will lay on the table, move into the machine with my face in a cage, and breath through the air raid throbbing of the scan. I will go home, put the CD in my computer and look. I have no control over my disease, but I can breath through the discomfort. Yoga taught me that.
And friend, next time you get that weird cramp in your rib cage, I bet that is a little muscle that you don't often use. It is telling you that it is there. Say hello back. Fill it with your breath and ask it to release. And there you go, I bet she will relax. It is the discomfort that brings you change, how cool is that.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Princesses don't grow up too fast
"You sold a quilt, now what are you going to do?"
"GO TO DISNEYLAND!"
I am officially in the throughs of planning a trip to Disneyland. I have always wanted to take the kids and this is exactly the right time to do it. They are at a great age, tall enough for most rides, and still young enough to be in love with the fantasy of the glamour that embodies the image of Disney. It is also the perfect time in that I am pretty much going for free. We are using frequent flyer mileage so it is costing $15 in handling fees to fly and whatever they are going to charge me for the one giant bag I will pack all our precious souvenirs (which mom will buy pre-trip at discount...I mean, it all comes from China anyway so it doesn't matter where they are purchased.) The kids and I are also getting into the park for free, because, well, I am connected. My father-in-law will provide shelter on his boat for a couple nights and our cool ride; both of which he is about to sell so this is the last chance. (Thanks for holding off the sale for a couple of weeks.) So this is how you get to Disneyland on $15. The best part of the whole deal is that I sold a quilt and now have over $500 of guilt-free money to spend. I plan to find a little hotel north of San Diego and spend a full day with our toes in the sand. I haven't been there for ten years, but I hope that the pirate ship is still there and the carousel. Of course, the main reason for this excursion is to eat some really good seafood. So if I return ten pounds heavier and the kids are whining that I only fed them PBJs and wouldn't buy them anything because I spent my wad of cash on mermaid food, you will know what they are talking about.
So this brings me to the funny story for the night. I just finished like six loads of laundry. Finally folded and carted upstairs, I figured it was best to put them directly in the suitcases. So I sat in my princess's room for a good hour packing one bag for our four camping trips (planning to just keep the bags packed, wear them, wash them and pack them right back into the bag again) and Disneyland. Both kids were actually pretty excited to help pack. I had seven nice tees in blues and whites to coordinate with seven blue pants and skorts. Princess kept pulling out fancy dresses and looking sad when I said we would stick with jeans and tees to keep it simple. So fast forward, kids nearly asleep, mom cleaning the bathroom, and a light bulb flashes over my head.
I go into Princess's room where she is laying dozing sucking her thumb (yes, she will kill me someday when she finds out I told everyone she still sucks her thumb at night at age seven.) "Julia, I am so sorry. I just realized that you just may want to wear a fancy party dress to Disneyland because you don't have a princess dress in your size to wear. Just because you are all grown up age seven doesn't mean you are done being a princess."
With a grin she replies, "Do you think I am ten or something? Of course I want to dress up like a princess but play clothes may be better on some of the rides, huh?"
"Well, we will work on some fancy dresses with leggings to wear under them tomorrow."
"Thanks mom. I am just not all that grown up yet."
And the princess sleeps, sucking her thumb and dreaming of fancy princess dresses she could actually fit.
And mom, she savors this moment. It is engraved for use when my daughter does become too old to talk about princesses and will only wear ratty sweat pants and bed slippers to school.
"GO TO DISNEYLAND!"
I am officially in the throughs of planning a trip to Disneyland. I have always wanted to take the kids and this is exactly the right time to do it. They are at a great age, tall enough for most rides, and still young enough to be in love with the fantasy of the glamour that embodies the image of Disney. It is also the perfect time in that I am pretty much going for free. We are using frequent flyer mileage so it is costing $15 in handling fees to fly and whatever they are going to charge me for the one giant bag I will pack all our precious souvenirs (which mom will buy pre-trip at discount...I mean, it all comes from China anyway so it doesn't matter where they are purchased.) The kids and I are also getting into the park for free, because, well, I am connected. My father-in-law will provide shelter on his boat for a couple nights and our cool ride; both of which he is about to sell so this is the last chance. (Thanks for holding off the sale for a couple of weeks.) So this is how you get to Disneyland on $15. The best part of the whole deal is that I sold a quilt and now have over $500 of guilt-free money to spend. I plan to find a little hotel north of San Diego and spend a full day with our toes in the sand. I haven't been there for ten years, but I hope that the pirate ship is still there and the carousel. Of course, the main reason for this excursion is to eat some really good seafood. So if I return ten pounds heavier and the kids are whining that I only fed them PBJs and wouldn't buy them anything because I spent my wad of cash on mermaid food, you will know what they are talking about.
So this brings me to the funny story for the night. I just finished like six loads of laundry. Finally folded and carted upstairs, I figured it was best to put them directly in the suitcases. So I sat in my princess's room for a good hour packing one bag for our four camping trips (planning to just keep the bags packed, wear them, wash them and pack them right back into the bag again) and Disneyland. Both kids were actually pretty excited to help pack. I had seven nice tees in blues and whites to coordinate with seven blue pants and skorts. Princess kept pulling out fancy dresses and looking sad when I said we would stick with jeans and tees to keep it simple. So fast forward, kids nearly asleep, mom cleaning the bathroom, and a light bulb flashes over my head.
I go into Princess's room where she is laying dozing sucking her thumb (yes, she will kill me someday when she finds out I told everyone she still sucks her thumb at night at age seven.) "Julia, I am so sorry. I just realized that you just may want to wear a fancy party dress to Disneyland because you don't have a princess dress in your size to wear. Just because you are all grown up age seven doesn't mean you are done being a princess."
With a grin she replies, "Do you think I am ten or something? Of course I want to dress up like a princess but play clothes may be better on some of the rides, huh?"
"Well, we will work on some fancy dresses with leggings to wear under them tomorrow."
"Thanks mom. I am just not all that grown up yet."
And the princess sleeps, sucking her thumb and dreaming of fancy princess dresses she could actually fit.
And mom, she savors this moment. It is engraved for use when my daughter does become too old to talk about princesses and will only wear ratty sweat pants and bed slippers to school.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Rebuttal
This morning, I enjoyed an hour with two friends sipping lattes and tea. One is a working momma on maternity leave and the other a stay-at-home-dad. The boys played, whined about wanting more juice, and we talked about the various stages of parenting roles we claimed. Mr. Mom of two years shared some wise words. Even though it is frustrating to not be out in the work world bringing home the bacon, talking to people over four feet tall, and basically having goals, he has come to realize that this time is "his" [pointing to his two year old son] time, and it will soon be gone. Mrs. Working Mom chuckled and said, "Hey, maybe you need to hang out with my stay-at-home-dad husband and share your sage ways."
To this, Mr. Mom responded, "Well, it did take me two years to figure this out. Next year, he will start preschool and the whole thing changes."
"Yes," I chimed in. "I had a hard time sticking with nursing my second one. But, I would look at him and say, it is only a few months out of my life so why not stick it out a little longer. And before I knew it, he was at a good weening age."
The conversation went something like that and continued as we discussed that the best way to "get through" tough parenting times was to realize that it was all going to be gone before we know it. Some day not too far off, we will be marking the calendar for the days the when our adult children will come to visit our old bones
So I have to print a rebuttal. Most of my blogs are sappy complaints about the crappy situation my life, physical life, has become. I cycle through three week increments making my next appointments and waiting for another scan to tell me I get a free pass to live a few more months. Yes, this is really hard. People often bemuse on how I do it...how can I be so strong. And, when they figure out that I am probably running around moment to moment in some sort of low state of pain, nausea, headache or combination, they always say, "I couldn't do it with such grace."
To this, I will say, "Yes you could."
I have a great life. My daughter has been asking me lately why I have so many friends. I tell her it is because I smile a lot. Really it is because I give a lot. At least I think I do. Karma is a wonderful thing. I get a lot. I get a lot of love for all the love I share. And that love makes me smile and live just one day longer. I threw my daughter a wonderful birthday party with all her girlfriends. And I bring home my son's buddies for an afternoon of fun after pre-Kindergarten even when I am tired. I am a mom, a stay-at-home-mom, just like you. I praise that the sun came out on field day for my daughter and find joy in buying tickets for my son's gymnastics end of the year show. He asked me if I would make it. I wouldn't miss it for the world (that is as long as my cancer doesn't crap on my parade.) Each night I creep up the stairs in the dark and check on my little ones asleep in their beds. They are beautiful. I cry. I cry each and every night because this moment is fleeting.
Just being a normal ol' parent person, one learns that this moment is very short. Your kids grow up. Your life changes just as much as the day you find out you are pregnant, only slower. And even if things aren't exactly as you pictured it or desired it, it won't last forever. Now, I get to see that more then others. Yes, I think, just like you, that my kids will loose their youth and silly innocence as they grow and prepare to be adults separate from me. I also kiss them every night on the forehead because I know it really could be the last time I get to kiss them.
So I take a rebuttal for my complaints and whining of how awful I feel and how strong I have to pretend to be to survive. Life really is pretty great. It is amazing. I cry every moment I get. I cry joy in the beauty of my children and in the life I created on this Earth.
To this, Mr. Mom responded, "Well, it did take me two years to figure this out. Next year, he will start preschool and the whole thing changes."
"Yes," I chimed in. "I had a hard time sticking with nursing my second one. But, I would look at him and say, it is only a few months out of my life so why not stick it out a little longer. And before I knew it, he was at a good weening age."
The conversation went something like that and continued as we discussed that the best way to "get through" tough parenting times was to realize that it was all going to be gone before we know it. Some day not too far off, we will be marking the calendar for the days the when our adult children will come to visit our old bones
So I have to print a rebuttal. Most of my blogs are sappy complaints about the crappy situation my life, physical life, has become. I cycle through three week increments making my next appointments and waiting for another scan to tell me I get a free pass to live a few more months. Yes, this is really hard. People often bemuse on how I do it...how can I be so strong. And, when they figure out that I am probably running around moment to moment in some sort of low state of pain, nausea, headache or combination, they always say, "I couldn't do it with such grace."
To this, I will say, "Yes you could."
I have a great life. My daughter has been asking me lately why I have so many friends. I tell her it is because I smile a lot. Really it is because I give a lot. At least I think I do. Karma is a wonderful thing. I get a lot. I get a lot of love for all the love I share. And that love makes me smile and live just one day longer. I threw my daughter a wonderful birthday party with all her girlfriends. And I bring home my son's buddies for an afternoon of fun after pre-Kindergarten even when I am tired. I am a mom, a stay-at-home-mom, just like you. I praise that the sun came out on field day for my daughter and find joy in buying tickets for my son's gymnastics end of the year show. He asked me if I would make it. I wouldn't miss it for the world (that is as long as my cancer doesn't crap on my parade.) Each night I creep up the stairs in the dark and check on my little ones asleep in their beds. They are beautiful. I cry. I cry each and every night because this moment is fleeting.
Just being a normal ol' parent person, one learns that this moment is very short. Your kids grow up. Your life changes just as much as the day you find out you are pregnant, only slower. And even if things aren't exactly as you pictured it or desired it, it won't last forever. Now, I get to see that more then others. Yes, I think, just like you, that my kids will loose their youth and silly innocence as they grow and prepare to be adults separate from me. I also kiss them every night on the forehead because I know it really could be the last time I get to kiss them.
So I take a rebuttal for my complaints and whining of how awful I feel and how strong I have to pretend to be to survive. Life really is pretty great. It is amazing. I cry every moment I get. I cry joy in the beauty of my children and in the life I created on this Earth.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Remission Again
I'm sitting here in my corner seat just below one of the three windows looking over the roof and parking lot of the hospital. I have chosen a pink and yellow quilt to sit under because it is darn cold in here today. HER-Fusion is the game plan today. I am going to sit here for 90 minutes while a little drug drips down a rubber tube into my port, veins, and then cells. No big deal as it happens every three weeks. But then again, I am reading the status posts on Facebook of my other mommy friends and reading about their laundry folding and dish washing. And, I am thinking, gee I wish someone would get mine done whole I was sitting here. I am also thinking why the guy with the slight cough just had to sit next to me when there are 12 other great chairs to choose from in this room.
At any rate, I am getting my drugs and saw the doc. I requested another explanation of my remission stats again. So basically, I am not going to get cured. There are little dormant cancer cells sleeping all over my body. They are too tiny to be seen on any diagnostic. However, if they get out of line, the Herceptin and the Tykerb are here to shut them down. It is sort of weird to think that a war is still going on in my body. I am the Midle East.
So, yes, I said remission. I am doing good, have things under control. But seriously, you all have to understand that I will not get cured at this point, war is always being orchestrated, and I am freaking tired all the time. But, the glorious thing is I don't have any land minds at this time.
My colonoscopy is good, and we can put that on the back burner for a year. Yeah! I have an MRI next Monday, and we suspect that there are little "dead" cells hanging out in there. This is totally expected and fine. We just don't want any new soldiers yielding their angry fists.
I will say again that this is still hard. I seek to function at a wonderful normalish level while I continue to be haunted by the cancer war. I try to hide it, and I will smile. And, I will enjoy days like last Friday when I had a glimpse into my past. I felt great. For the first time in nearly two years, I felt like is was supposed to feel. I slept all day Thursday after my sedatives from the colonoscopy. I woke only twice to eat and meet my other biological needs. So when I woke Friday morning, I felt amazing.
So yes, I silently fight and get the right to complain every three weeks. I pray, play my Scrabble, read for my book club, sew, paint, and go wild with creativity even when I am tired all with the ghost that it could end any minute should the sleeping giant wake. Yes, today is a good day. If only I came home from the cancer center this afternoon for my nap with the kitchen completely scrubbed and tidy, it would be an awesome day.
Little things, my friends. Little things. Slow down and feel blessed you get to do your laundry today. Put each tiny shirt and torn pair of jeans in their little drawers and be present. It is a chore. But dear, it is lovely.
At any rate, I am getting my drugs and saw the doc. I requested another explanation of my remission stats again. So basically, I am not going to get cured. There are little dormant cancer cells sleeping all over my body. They are too tiny to be seen on any diagnostic. However, if they get out of line, the Herceptin and the Tykerb are here to shut them down. It is sort of weird to think that a war is still going on in my body. I am the Midle East.
So, yes, I said remission. I am doing good, have things under control. But seriously, you all have to understand that I will not get cured at this point, war is always being orchestrated, and I am freaking tired all the time. But, the glorious thing is I don't have any land minds at this time.
My colonoscopy is good, and we can put that on the back burner for a year. Yeah! I have an MRI next Monday, and we suspect that there are little "dead" cells hanging out in there. This is totally expected and fine. We just don't want any new soldiers yielding their angry fists.
I will say again that this is still hard. I seek to function at a wonderful normalish level while I continue to be haunted by the cancer war. I try to hide it, and I will smile. And, I will enjoy days like last Friday when I had a glimpse into my past. I felt great. For the first time in nearly two years, I felt like is was supposed to feel. I slept all day Thursday after my sedatives from the colonoscopy. I woke only twice to eat and meet my other biological needs. So when I woke Friday morning, I felt amazing.
So yes, I silently fight and get the right to complain every three weeks. I pray, play my Scrabble, read for my book club, sew, paint, and go wild with creativity even when I am tired all with the ghost that it could end any minute should the sleeping giant wake. Yes, today is a good day. If only I came home from the cancer center this afternoon for my nap with the kitchen completely scrubbed and tidy, it would be an awesome day.
Little things, my friends. Little things. Slow down and feel blessed you get to do your laundry today. Put each tiny shirt and torn pair of jeans in their little drawers and be present. It is a chore. But dear, it is lovely.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Girls and Dolls
What a success. Julia turned seven today. We had a house full of little girls and dolls. Her theme this year was the American Girl Dolls. Though she had a doll Santa gave her two years ago that was similar to the AGD, she received her first official doll, Kit Kitridge, from my sister and parents. The house was all a flutter with a garden party theme and little girls in their fancy dresses and tights. I am proud to say I sent two home with ripped tights as a mark of a good time and reality these little pretty dolls are really still rough around the edges. We made crafts with the help of two moms (thanks Lorrie and Homa!) Origami fortune tellers, felt flower barrettes and personalized diaries covered in American Girl Dol stickers and flowers. And the highlight of it all was the worms in dirt made by Grandma Christine (Jack got his own dairy-free delight!) Of course, no birthday party is complete without presents. It is quite fun now that the girls are older and know exactly what makes Julia smile. She just loves everything from doll dresses, sewing patterns, puppies, crafts to journals.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Oh poo.
Since I am so busy living my life out loud before it is too late, I thought I would blog about shit today. Excuse me, if you don't like shit, crap, poo, doo doo, or an other silly word for bowel movement, then get off of here right now.
Okay, I am not talking about changing diapers or trying to be rude like a group of six year old boys. No, I am talking about my impending colonoscopy. Yes, that is right. It is the shit. And, it is at seven freakin' am tomorrow morning. I feel a pint of silliness this afternoon and an ounce of delirium after liquid fasting for 24 hours now. So I will put it out there that I am a little scared! Ergos the need to write about it.
Let's go back in history. I am at some Blockbuster on College Avenue in Ft. Collins, Colorado some random month in 1995. I am with this really cute guy named Jef. (That is right, he spells it with one "f.) Not yet knowing I would think about marrying the guy but won't a year from this third or so date, I am all kinds of nervous. I am nervous because he keeps asking me over to look at a movie jacket, but I keep farting. My stomach hurts so darn bad that I think I might just pass out right there and then. Oh GOSH! Where is the bathroom?!
Well, like I said, I did end up dating Jef for over a year until he transferred for grad school so I guess the farting wasn't a turn off. For a few months, I avoided the Olive Garden like the plague, barely ate a thing, and felt a bit better. Then some where along the line, I was walking to campus when I passed out. Completely blacked out some place on the side walk. After coming to, I dragged myself to the art building where I was now dreadfully late for a group presentation in the gallery!
Long story shorter, three years, and five doctors later, I have ulcerative colitis. The passing out was sparked by two helpings of Kraft in the blue box made with whole COW milk. Dang cows. It has actually been a long time since I did all the readin' up on the disease, and I had managed to put myself in remission. So I don't know if I can sum up the whole deal really well. Basically, UC is an autoimmune disease of the large intestine. Mine is considered proctitus as it is only a few millimeters up in my you-know-whatsome. Khrone's is similar but further on up and harder to treat. I have never had an ulcer. My symptoms are severe cramping, arthritic pain on my left side joints, nausea, throwing up, fatigue, and those other things that pretty much resemble a horrible bout of food poisoning.
I recently came across my old files. I saved every piece of paper from the CSU clinic, which was not much help, all the way to the doc I have had here in Longmont since 1998. He fixed me. I had gone to many male docs that either thought I was insane, doped me on drugs with annoying side effects but then never wanted to help me get off of them, or just were total freaks. It is not like sitting in a waiting room of a GI office with a bunch of old dudes (yes, mostly old dudes have GI issues) is a lot of fun for a 20 year old (totally hot babe, by the way).
Dr. Jensen saved me sometime after setting me up with some groovy drugs that I won't go into details to tell you how to administer, during my seventh or so flair up. It was bad. I had moved, was fully employed teacher and couldn't trot off to the potty whenever I wanted, and was thinking I just might like to get married and have a baby. Would I be able to have a baby? I finally asked, "This seems silly that I can't get off these drugs and figure out how to use food properly as this is like totally in my digestive system...right?"
Right. So I proceeded with my education of food.... Drum roll.... Do you know what is in this stuff you are buying?!
I found that I could deal with one serving of dairy a day but no onions, peppers, soy, other beans (hummus is okay though), hardly any nuts...etc. I learned what starting to feel bad was before it was feeling bad. And, I became a pro at the BRAT diet. This become quite handy as a mother of a son who, lack of a better word since ALL tests have come back negative, has irritable bowel disease.
So there you are, my abridged history on my shit. Tomorrow I will have a colonoscopy as I am over ten years from diagnosis. It is my second only because I was pregnant when I was supposed to have my first one, and I sort of avoided the hurtle...well...until it turns out that I just might be a great candidate for colon cancer. UC patients get screened yearly. My risk was just doubled with this dang breast cancer gig. You know, if you can grow them one place, you can grow tumors anywhere.
So what is it like. Well, it isn't for the weak, but it isn't too bad. Yes, you read that right; it is not horrible. I don't eat a lot of fat so it is easy to start on a low fat, easy to digest diet a week before. The killer is the liquid fast. It is started the day before, but I found it better to start with broth and such the afternoon before the day before to make the "prep" go more quickly. It can be very difficult to avoid putting things in your mouth, especially when you have kiddos. I am packing Julia's lunch and putting chips in a box when...no! Spit that out.
Right now, I finished the first 32 oz flask of lemonade flavored but not-quite-what-it-should-be drink. I moving and groovin' and remembered that it makes you very cold so wearing my favorite Lucy brand jogging fleece. Feeling fine. You know, it is all a mind game. Makes me a stronger individual, right? And yes, I will frown in a year when I am walking out of the pharmacy with my giant Movi-Prep bag of goodies.
So why again am I, scared even though I write in my bubbly, silly fashion? Well, I am scared because I have been basically healthy for three months. That is all I have gotten of reprieve over the past two years. Everything is groovy, I am making plans for a trip to Disneyland, my daughter's seventh birthday is in four days, and...well, things are nice. Isn't that when God laughs, when you make plans? So, ya, everything will be fine, right? They will just take a tour of pretty pink intestine, stop to look at how my appendectomy incision healed up, and print graphic pictures for me to take home as a souvenir. Well, we'll see.
That is the shit on shit. I won't blush like the husband sitting in the waiting room waiting for his wife I saw hiding behind his Golf Magazine when I was picking up my prescriptions. There are a lot of young people with sick guts out there. I am just one of them.
Okay, I am not talking about changing diapers or trying to be rude like a group of six year old boys. No, I am talking about my impending colonoscopy. Yes, that is right. It is the shit. And, it is at seven freakin' am tomorrow morning. I feel a pint of silliness this afternoon and an ounce of delirium after liquid fasting for 24 hours now. So I will put it out there that I am a little scared! Ergos the need to write about it.
Let's go back in history. I am at some Blockbuster on College Avenue in Ft. Collins, Colorado some random month in 1995. I am with this really cute guy named Jef. (That is right, he spells it with one "f.) Not yet knowing I would think about marrying the guy but won't a year from this third or so date, I am all kinds of nervous. I am nervous because he keeps asking me over to look at a movie jacket, but I keep farting. My stomach hurts so darn bad that I think I might just pass out right there and then. Oh GOSH! Where is the bathroom?!
Well, like I said, I did end up dating Jef for over a year until he transferred for grad school so I guess the farting wasn't a turn off. For a few months, I avoided the Olive Garden like the plague, barely ate a thing, and felt a bit better. Then some where along the line, I was walking to campus when I passed out. Completely blacked out some place on the side walk. After coming to, I dragged myself to the art building where I was now dreadfully late for a group presentation in the gallery!
Long story shorter, three years, and five doctors later, I have ulcerative colitis. The passing out was sparked by two helpings of Kraft in the blue box made with whole COW milk. Dang cows. It has actually been a long time since I did all the readin' up on the disease, and I had managed to put myself in remission. So I don't know if I can sum up the whole deal really well. Basically, UC is an autoimmune disease of the large intestine. Mine is considered proctitus as it is only a few millimeters up in my you-know-whatsome. Khrone's is similar but further on up and harder to treat. I have never had an ulcer. My symptoms are severe cramping, arthritic pain on my left side joints, nausea, throwing up, fatigue, and those other things that pretty much resemble a horrible bout of food poisoning.
I recently came across my old files. I saved every piece of paper from the CSU clinic, which was not much help, all the way to the doc I have had here in Longmont since 1998. He fixed me. I had gone to many male docs that either thought I was insane, doped me on drugs with annoying side effects but then never wanted to help me get off of them, or just were total freaks. It is not like sitting in a waiting room of a GI office with a bunch of old dudes (yes, mostly old dudes have GI issues) is a lot of fun for a 20 year old (totally hot babe, by the way).
Dr. Jensen saved me sometime after setting me up with some groovy drugs that I won't go into details to tell you how to administer, during my seventh or so flair up. It was bad. I had moved, was fully employed teacher and couldn't trot off to the potty whenever I wanted, and was thinking I just might like to get married and have a baby. Would I be able to have a baby? I finally asked, "This seems silly that I can't get off these drugs and figure out how to use food properly as this is like totally in my digestive system...right?"
Right. So I proceeded with my education of food.... Drum roll.... Do you know what is in this stuff you are buying?!
I found that I could deal with one serving of dairy a day but no onions, peppers, soy, other beans (hummus is okay though), hardly any nuts...etc. I learned what starting to feel bad was before it was feeling bad. And, I became a pro at the BRAT diet. This become quite handy as a mother of a son who, lack of a better word since ALL tests have come back negative, has irritable bowel disease.
So there you are, my abridged history on my shit. Tomorrow I will have a colonoscopy as I am over ten years from diagnosis. It is my second only because I was pregnant when I was supposed to have my first one, and I sort of avoided the hurtle...well...until it turns out that I just might be a great candidate for colon cancer. UC patients get screened yearly. My risk was just doubled with this dang breast cancer gig. You know, if you can grow them one place, you can grow tumors anywhere.
So what is it like. Well, it isn't for the weak, but it isn't too bad. Yes, you read that right; it is not horrible. I don't eat a lot of fat so it is easy to start on a low fat, easy to digest diet a week before. The killer is the liquid fast. It is started the day before, but I found it better to start with broth and such the afternoon before the day before to make the "prep" go more quickly. It can be very difficult to avoid putting things in your mouth, especially when you have kiddos. I am packing Julia's lunch and putting chips in a box when...no! Spit that out.
Right now, I finished the first 32 oz flask of lemonade flavored but not-quite-what-it-should-be drink. I moving and groovin' and remembered that it makes you very cold so wearing my favorite Lucy brand jogging fleece. Feeling fine. You know, it is all a mind game. Makes me a stronger individual, right? And yes, I will frown in a year when I am walking out of the pharmacy with my giant Movi-Prep bag of goodies.
So why again am I, scared even though I write in my bubbly, silly fashion? Well, I am scared because I have been basically healthy for three months. That is all I have gotten of reprieve over the past two years. Everything is groovy, I am making plans for a trip to Disneyland, my daughter's seventh birthday is in four days, and...well, things are nice. Isn't that when God laughs, when you make plans? So, ya, everything will be fine, right? They will just take a tour of pretty pink intestine, stop to look at how my appendectomy incision healed up, and print graphic pictures for me to take home as a souvenir. Well, we'll see.
That is the shit on shit. I won't blush like the husband sitting in the waiting room waiting for his wife I saw hiding behind his Golf Magazine when I was picking up my prescriptions. There are a lot of young people with sick guts out there. I am just one of them.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Running Tonight
The first mile is sort of fun. I have the tunes I love plugged in my ears. I am outside running towards the horizon lined with the majestic Rocky Mountains and a setting sun. Somewhere in the second mile, I want to walk. Just stop, says my legs, just stop. The wind is galing at what must be 50 miles per hour, and my thighs are burning against the resistance. Yet, I keep pounding, slowed, but pounding.
I slap the foothills a high five at 75th and turn back. It is uphill, but the wind is pushing at my back. My wings flutter and my hair is in my eyes. Yes, I have hair long enough to be in my eyes. Hair. I am hitting the second mile completion mark when I find renewed energy. I am running. I am running. Just two years ago, this same three mile loop took me 90 minutes to slowly walk with my left arm pinned to my side in pain.
I am running. I am running to stay alive. Is that what I am doing? Will this do it? My tank strap is digging into a rash patch on my shoulder that is burning like tiny ant bites under the pearls of sweat. My toes may be bleeding inside my shoes. I can't tell as they went numb a mile ago. I don't care. I am running. They will be fine. Later I will slather the lavender tipped beauties in cream, and they will be all okay. Man, my scalp itches now.
The Climb by Miley Cyrus flows out of my earphones. Lyrics of my thoughts. There will always be another mountain to climb...will I get there? I am nearly home; maybe half a mile left. I have passed the school my daughter attends; the school where she has faltered and flourished. Water is pouring out of my eyes, and I can barely see the cement in front of me. I realize, I remember, that I am scared.
I am scared I may die tomorrow. I run and move and claim my life.... But, back here in the middle of my head, I am nailed to a cross and bleeding. Surely, it won't be tomorrow. But, then what tomorrow's tomorrow will be the day I leave my children to fight their nightmares in the middle of the night without their mother.
I am scared I won't get to do all that I thought I would do and never knew I wanted to do. I have never taken a trip with gal pals nor seen Venice, Italy. I want to do that. I have paintings to get out of my head and still want to write a book. And, yet I know I will never get to be in the studio audience of the Oprah Show. Bummer.
I am crying and scared I am an oak and not a willow. I sat on my mat, eyes closed, chin bowed, and hands pressed together at my heart in class on Mother's Day and swayed like a willow as Miss Yogi chanted about her new motherhood of three months and the gifts her mother gave her. The gift to not be selfish and rigid. The gift to sway like a willow and love her motherhood as unpredictable as it is. My own mother gave me this gift.
Yes, my kids will be just fine without me. But galley, I want to be selfish. I want to see what just fine looks like. I want to see them shine. So I am running to stay alive. So I am swaying like a willow. So I am scared tomorrow is tomorrow's yesterday. I am close to home now. I slow to a walk and stretch my arms above my head. My posture is awesome, thanks to yoga and learning to slide my shoulder blades down my back opening my heart to shine. I suck it back in to my heart. I swallow the fear like a ball of light. It burns a little as it extinguishes in the lump in my throat; my plum pit chi block that reminds me I am sick each time I have to swallow down my pills that are supposed to keep me running. I am home. I sit on the rocker on the porch for a minute and take off my shoes. The sun is nearly set now. I Shall Believe by Sheryl Crow finishes on my bellowing from my i-pod, and I turn it off. I set the lock and go inside to wash it all away.
Come to me now
And lay your hands over me
Even if it's a lie
Say it will be alright
And I shall believe
I'm broken in two
And I know you're on to me
That I only come home
When I'm so all alone
But I do believe
That not everything is gonna be the way
You think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly
You won't give up on me
And I shall believe
And I shall believe
Open the door
And show me your face tonight
I know it's true
No one heals me like you
And you hold the key
Never again
Would I turn away form you
I'm so heavy tonight
But your love is alright
And I do believe
That not everything is gonna be the way
You think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly
You won't give up on me
And I shall believe
I shall believe
And I shall believe
I slap the foothills a high five at 75th and turn back. It is uphill, but the wind is pushing at my back. My wings flutter and my hair is in my eyes. Yes, I have hair long enough to be in my eyes. Hair. I am hitting the second mile completion mark when I find renewed energy. I am running. I am running. Just two years ago, this same three mile loop took me 90 minutes to slowly walk with my left arm pinned to my side in pain.
I am running. I am running to stay alive. Is that what I am doing? Will this do it? My tank strap is digging into a rash patch on my shoulder that is burning like tiny ant bites under the pearls of sweat. My toes may be bleeding inside my shoes. I can't tell as they went numb a mile ago. I don't care. I am running. They will be fine. Later I will slather the lavender tipped beauties in cream, and they will be all okay. Man, my scalp itches now.
The Climb by Miley Cyrus flows out of my earphones. Lyrics of my thoughts. There will always be another mountain to climb...will I get there? I am nearly home; maybe half a mile left. I have passed the school my daughter attends; the school where she has faltered and flourished. Water is pouring out of my eyes, and I can barely see the cement in front of me. I realize, I remember, that I am scared.
I am scared I may die tomorrow. I run and move and claim my life.... But, back here in the middle of my head, I am nailed to a cross and bleeding. Surely, it won't be tomorrow. But, then what tomorrow's tomorrow will be the day I leave my children to fight their nightmares in the middle of the night without their mother.
I am scared I won't get to do all that I thought I would do and never knew I wanted to do. I have never taken a trip with gal pals nor seen Venice, Italy. I want to do that. I have paintings to get out of my head and still want to write a book. And, yet I know I will never get to be in the studio audience of the Oprah Show. Bummer.
I am crying and scared I am an oak and not a willow. I sat on my mat, eyes closed, chin bowed, and hands pressed together at my heart in class on Mother's Day and swayed like a willow as Miss Yogi chanted about her new motherhood of three months and the gifts her mother gave her. The gift to not be selfish and rigid. The gift to sway like a willow and love her motherhood as unpredictable as it is. My own mother gave me this gift.
Yes, my kids will be just fine without me. But galley, I want to be selfish. I want to see what just fine looks like. I want to see them shine. So I am running to stay alive. So I am swaying like a willow. So I am scared tomorrow is tomorrow's yesterday. I am close to home now. I slow to a walk and stretch my arms above my head. My posture is awesome, thanks to yoga and learning to slide my shoulder blades down my back opening my heart to shine. I suck it back in to my heart. I swallow the fear like a ball of light. It burns a little as it extinguishes in the lump in my throat; my plum pit chi block that reminds me I am sick each time I have to swallow down my pills that are supposed to keep me running. I am home. I sit on the rocker on the porch for a minute and take off my shoes. The sun is nearly set now. I Shall Believe by Sheryl Crow finishes on my bellowing from my i-pod, and I turn it off. I set the lock and go inside to wash it all away.
Come to me now
And lay your hands over me
Even if it's a lie
Say it will be alright
And I shall believe
I'm broken in two
And I know you're on to me
That I only come home
When I'm so all alone
But I do believe
That not everything is gonna be the way
You think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly
You won't give up on me
And I shall believe
And I shall believe
Open the door
And show me your face tonight
I know it's true
No one heals me like you
And you hold the key
Never again
Would I turn away form you
I'm so heavy tonight
But your love is alright
And I do believe
That not everything is gonna be the way
You think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly
You won't give up on me
And I shall believe
I shall believe
And I shall believe
Friday, May 6, 2011
Muffins or Store, That is the Question
So the Midnight Housewife is up to her old tricks. When discussing the Saturday plans while tucking the kiddos in their beds, my sweet daughter says, "Mom, why don't you just do some of that tonight so you don't have to do it tomorrow, like you used to do." Humph, she remembers when she was five that she would come down stairs every five minutes until 9:30 pm to find me baking banana bread, cleaning the bathroom, and running the laundry.
After tucking two tired campers in their beds, taking my shower, and stopping long enough to think, I found I quite agreed. Though I was very tired, what would it hurt to continue to work through my chores so that maybe tomorrow I would have time for an afternoon nap. Sounds like a great idea! Thanks Daughter!
So I troop downstairs, look at the calendar and realize I am up for soccer snacks tomorrow! AGH! So the question is, do I finish making the banana bread mix I started, turn into muffins, and shabang...snack. Or, do I get up super early (I hate mornings and frankly have a hard time getting my body moving these days) and run to the store to buy a snack?
Yes, I know exactly what my mom would say as I remember her walking in the door at 7 am every Saturday morning with donuts and grocery bags. In PJs and rubbing our tired eyes, my sister and I would help her unload the car, and I would wonder when she slept as I knew she was still up past 10 pm when I finally fell asleep reading a book under the covers with a flashlight.
So, 8:40 pm, I start into my chores, unload the dish washer, start the laundry, clear the counters, wipe the counters, finish the banana bread mix, double it, change out the laundry loads, pour the batter in the pans, it is only 9:40 pm, think I have this gig licked (is that the right saying?), wipe off the counters, do the dishes, run the extra paintings from my show I installed on Monday and have been sitting there all week down to the basement storage, organize some toys, take out the first round of muffins, take my night pills, scratch a lot (rashing really bad today), apply lotion, and I am sure there are a few more small chores...oh, clean bowl and feed the hermit crab.
Phew, 10:45 pm...no problem, I have this. A little Tylenol, sit and blog, watch Private Practice recordings, and lotion on my achy toes. All that in two hours and still to bed before midnight.
Checked off list today:
order fabric for Hoffman Quilting Challenge
move paintings to storage
snack for soccer and breakfast bread loaf made
grocery list prepared
soccer uniform laid out but still no jersey...accept the fact he may have to wear a white tee in game instead
movie watched
caught up on Grey's anatomy and Private Practice
laundry run through wash and dry ready to fold
paperwork for colonoscopy located
prescription refilled
play date for next week arranged
10 minutes of silence (to be done at the close of this entry)
After tucking two tired campers in their beds, taking my shower, and stopping long enough to think, I found I quite agreed. Though I was very tired, what would it hurt to continue to work through my chores so that maybe tomorrow I would have time for an afternoon nap. Sounds like a great idea! Thanks Daughter!
So I troop downstairs, look at the calendar and realize I am up for soccer snacks tomorrow! AGH! So the question is, do I finish making the banana bread mix I started, turn into muffins, and shabang...snack. Or, do I get up super early (I hate mornings and frankly have a hard time getting my body moving these days) and run to the store to buy a snack?
Yes, I know exactly what my mom would say as I remember her walking in the door at 7 am every Saturday morning with donuts and grocery bags. In PJs and rubbing our tired eyes, my sister and I would help her unload the car, and I would wonder when she slept as I knew she was still up past 10 pm when I finally fell asleep reading a book under the covers with a flashlight.
So, 8:40 pm, I start into my chores, unload the dish washer, start the laundry, clear the counters, wipe the counters, finish the banana bread mix, double it, change out the laundry loads, pour the batter in the pans, it is only 9:40 pm, think I have this gig licked (is that the right saying?), wipe off the counters, do the dishes, run the extra paintings from my show I installed on Monday and have been sitting there all week down to the basement storage, organize some toys, take out the first round of muffins, take my night pills, scratch a lot (rashing really bad today), apply lotion, and I am sure there are a few more small chores...oh, clean bowl and feed the hermit crab.
Phew, 10:45 pm...no problem, I have this. A little Tylenol, sit and blog, watch Private Practice recordings, and lotion on my achy toes. All that in two hours and still to bed before midnight.
Checked off list today:
order fabric for Hoffman Quilting Challenge
move paintings to storage
snack for soccer and breakfast bread loaf made
grocery list prepared
soccer uniform laid out but still no jersey...accept the fact he may have to wear a white tee in game instead
movie watched
caught up on Grey's anatomy and Private Practice
laundry run through wash and dry ready to fold
paperwork for colonoscopy located
prescription refilled
play date for next week arranged
10 minutes of silence (to be done at the close of this entry)
Monday, May 2, 2011
Victory in Death
I had this great essay in my head about stones fitting into small spaces. But then, my thoughts have been derailed with the killing of Osama Bin Laden. This may be justice. This may be the way things ought to be. And heck, an eye for a thousand eyes, right? Yet, I have a feeling of melancholy swelling in my throat. Well, that isn't the proper word. I guess it is karma.
Well, heck, here is the story of the stones; simplified as I am now too tired to pour out literary details. You have a bowl of pebbles and a bowl of large river stones. If you pour the pebbles into the crevasse, you will fill up the crevasse. But, then, what about the river stones? They won't fit. However, if you put the stones carefully in the crevasse and then pour the pebbles in, the smaller pebbles will filter down around the stones.
Okay something like that. Like I said, I lost my enlightenment when the news interrupted my Sunday night ritual of watching Desperate Housewives and Brothers and Sisters, organizing my calendar, erasing as many e-mails as possible out of my inbox, and painting my toe nails lavendar. The point is to first deal with the big things. Get them done, check them off your list, get them out of your head. Then fill in the spaces with the little things. For if you spend your time filling up with details, the big things will not fit. Or maybe I meant to notice the spaces in between.
Well, gee, I think I screwed that up and should probably not post this. But, in the end, writing it down gets it out of my head. Yes, I smile and am enjoying where I am in life right now. I exercise every other day and get in my studio as much as any mother-artist could. Yes, I had the most fabulous birthday on the twenty second. But, I cried all morning. I cried a little this morning too. There is a pit in my stomach that is waiting for the shoe to drop. Like if my life gets too fabulous, the Big C will come in and fill up my spaces. Yes, I think I rather forgo the pebbles for a little while longer.
Thank you for holding my hand, my friend. Thank you for making me laugh until I nearly peed my pants. And thank you for telling me it is going to all be okay when it is not. I may make it look easy, but.... That is the art in living, I guess.
I know there is a victory in a death tonight. Yet, it is a death. And maybe that is the pit that swells in my throat. Or it could just be the Tykerb making me nauseous again. Who knows.
Well, heck, here is the story of the stones; simplified as I am now too tired to pour out literary details. You have a bowl of pebbles and a bowl of large river stones. If you pour the pebbles into the crevasse, you will fill up the crevasse. But, then, what about the river stones? They won't fit. However, if you put the stones carefully in the crevasse and then pour the pebbles in, the smaller pebbles will filter down around the stones.
Okay something like that. Like I said, I lost my enlightenment when the news interrupted my Sunday night ritual of watching Desperate Housewives and Brothers and Sisters, organizing my calendar, erasing as many e-mails as possible out of my inbox, and painting my toe nails lavendar. The point is to first deal with the big things. Get them done, check them off your list, get them out of your head. Then fill in the spaces with the little things. For if you spend your time filling up with details, the big things will not fit. Or maybe I meant to notice the spaces in between.
Well, gee, I think I screwed that up and should probably not post this. But, in the end, writing it down gets it out of my head. Yes, I smile and am enjoying where I am in life right now. I exercise every other day and get in my studio as much as any mother-artist could. Yes, I had the most fabulous birthday on the twenty second. But, I cried all morning. I cried a little this morning too. There is a pit in my stomach that is waiting for the shoe to drop. Like if my life gets too fabulous, the Big C will come in and fill up my spaces. Yes, I think I rather forgo the pebbles for a little while longer.
Thank you for holding my hand, my friend. Thank you for making me laugh until I nearly peed my pants. And thank you for telling me it is going to all be okay when it is not. I may make it look easy, but.... That is the art in living, I guess.
I know there is a victory in a death tonight. Yet, it is a death. And maybe that is the pit that swells in my throat. Or it could just be the Tykerb making me nauseous again. Who knows.
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