I am very good a couple things. Things I am good at would be cooking, knitting, science, and making people laugh. To balance out my perfection, I am very bad at a couple things, too. Things I am bad at include counted cross-stitch, anything athletic, and feeling as if I need to know all the answers. I am not saying I know everything, but I like to think I know everything about me.
I can be a bit over analytical. Maybe some people would say I am just doing research, but when there is an, "unknown," in my life, I will obsessively look up as much information on it so I feel like there will be no surprises. I do not like being caught off guard, so I find comfort in looking at every angle of the situation. That way I can at least know what my options may be. For ten years, I worked in medical offices. When obtaining a patient's medical history, I would constantly get vague answers to specific questions:
Me: "Do you have any heart problems?"
Patient: "Yes, I have had a heart defect since birth."
Me: "What type of defect?"
Patient: "I don't know."
Even more frequently than not knowing what type of health concerns they possess, patients had no idea what medications they were ingesting:
Me: "What medication do you take for this heart problem?"
Patient: "That white one."
How could you not know the name of the medication that you take for the heart defect you do not know the name of? That would drive me bonkers. Do some research, look it up on-line, commit to memory the medication used to treat it, any risk factors that could make the condition worse, and whether or not you could expect to drop dead from it in the next 40-50 years. This is the shit I need to know, and I often forget that not everyone worries about those things like I do. What is it like to let your brain retain a minimal amount of information and let the rest leak out like a sieve, only allowing the big pieces to remain? I am sure a lot of people find comfort in the big chunks, but I worry about the tiny pieces that float away because it's those little details that can make all the difference.
I had a doctor's appointment this past week. Unfortunately, some of the health problems I had last year are not quite done with me. Once again, I have been told that I am, "an interesting case," that does not seem to, "follow the normal treatment protocols." I have always been a bit of a rebel, but I did not think my liver was going to be a hell-raiser. I can tell you all sorts of details about liver adenomas. They are a rare tumor, benign in nature, and usually are asymptomatic. They can cause problems and need attention if they start multiplying or growing larger than 5 centimeters. They can rupture and in rare cases turn malignant. I have done my research. What is driving me crazy this weekend is that I do not know what to look into anymore. My doctor had me consult with another specialist to see if we can figure out why I am becoming the thing medical papers are written about. After an hour talking about me and nine tubes of blood later, the new doc said he would call me on Monday to let me know what he thinks is going on. Really? Monday? I tried to get him to at least give me some guesses on a disorder or disease or deficiency. If not, what the hell was I going to, "Google," this weekend? How am I going to self-diagnose without a place to start? Guess I will just have to wait impatiently.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Thursday, April 18, 2013
This one is for my best friend.....
We have all had something happen in our lives that, at the moment, devastated us. A moment that changes our lives and ourselves forever. An event that may have been anticipated or perhaps a complete surprise, but either way, an event that changes us in a way that can never be erased. When I was 19 years old, my father died. That was the thing that ripped me from my life, turned me around, and dropped me from a very high place flat on my face. I could not, and did not, feel the full effect of this loss until I was much older. It would take me decades to be able to see how my father's passing changed me. It was much easier for me to see how his passing changed others in my life. My friends looked at their parents differently. My younger sister seemed to lose the innocent look in her eyes. My mom was no longer the quiet, naive, sweet woman we all knew; she was turning into a smarter, tougher, scarred version of herself out of necessity. This made my mother some how even more loved (everything my mother does makes her more lovable). The point is, it made me who I am today, and I survived.
Last year, my best friend, "Cee," had her moment. At the age of 41, she became a widowed mother of two young children. A tragic, unforeseen medical condition took her husband away from her. Ripped her up, turned her around, SPLAT on her face. We were all in shock at her loss. She has kept her world spinning at a dangerously fast pace for the last twelve months. She has moved back from out of state, sold a house, bought a house, started both children in new schools, and got a new dog. She drops the kids off at school, does the shopping for the household, transports her children to kickball games, Girl Scouts, karate lessons, and tee ball season just began. Sleepovers, lunches, dinner plans, doctor's appointments, dentist appointments, vacations, holidays, road trips, and movies....all normal activities for a family to do, but in the past year, she has had to learn how to do them without her husband. Her precious children have had to learn to do them without their dad. Her in-laws have had to learn that the visits with their grandchildren now do not include seeing their son. What is the point of her, her son, her daughter, or any of us whom knew and loved her husband to have to deal with this loss? I have seen how the last year has changed her. I see a different look in her daughter's face. I see a pain in the eyes of Cee's father as if he still thinks he can fix her pain. He has always been there for Cee, but she has suffered a loss he cannot repair. Although all these changes are obvious to me, I know it will be years, perhaps decades, before Cee will see them. The point is, it will make her who she is in the future, and she will survive.
"Everything happens for a reason." We all know that old saying, and I think it is true. Sometimes that reason is so easy to understand, but there are times we search forever to find it. The conclusion I have come to is that sometimes the, "reason," is not our reason. I believe that there are definitely times when the reason that life-changing thing ocurrs in our life is to change someone else's destiny. As painful and senseless it is for Cee to have lost her husband and her kids to have lost their dad, there was a reason. Cee learned that a 10 year-old girl received her husband's liver. A yound girl's life was saved by that organ transplant. Her husband saved someone's life. Does it take away Cee's grief? No. Did it take away the tortorous, day-to-day waiting of the family of the girl? Did it ease the pain a parent feels when they do not know how long their child is going to live? Yes, yes it did. The point is, it will make that young girl, her parents, and her sisters the family they were afraid they would never be, and she survived.
We miss you, Dave. You brought my best friend happiness and companionship. You made two amazing children together. You saved the live of a child you never even met. Thank you. We will never forget you.
Last year, my best friend, "Cee," had her moment. At the age of 41, she became a widowed mother of two young children. A tragic, unforeseen medical condition took her husband away from her. Ripped her up, turned her around, SPLAT on her face. We were all in shock at her loss. She has kept her world spinning at a dangerously fast pace for the last twelve months. She has moved back from out of state, sold a house, bought a house, started both children in new schools, and got a new dog. She drops the kids off at school, does the shopping for the household, transports her children to kickball games, Girl Scouts, karate lessons, and tee ball season just began. Sleepovers, lunches, dinner plans, doctor's appointments, dentist appointments, vacations, holidays, road trips, and movies....all normal activities for a family to do, but in the past year, she has had to learn how to do them without her husband. Her precious children have had to learn to do them without their dad. Her in-laws have had to learn that the visits with their grandchildren now do not include seeing their son. What is the point of her, her son, her daughter, or any of us whom knew and loved her husband to have to deal with this loss? I have seen how the last year has changed her. I see a different look in her daughter's face. I see a pain in the eyes of Cee's father as if he still thinks he can fix her pain. He has always been there for Cee, but she has suffered a loss he cannot repair. Although all these changes are obvious to me, I know it will be years, perhaps decades, before Cee will see them. The point is, it will make her who she is in the future, and she will survive.
"Everything happens for a reason." We all know that old saying, and I think it is true. Sometimes that reason is so easy to understand, but there are times we search forever to find it. The conclusion I have come to is that sometimes the, "reason," is not our reason. I believe that there are definitely times when the reason that life-changing thing ocurrs in our life is to change someone else's destiny. As painful and senseless it is for Cee to have lost her husband and her kids to have lost their dad, there was a reason. Cee learned that a 10 year-old girl received her husband's liver. A yound girl's life was saved by that organ transplant. Her husband saved someone's life. Does it take away Cee's grief? No. Did it take away the tortorous, day-to-day waiting of the family of the girl? Did it ease the pain a parent feels when they do not know how long their child is going to live? Yes, yes it did. The point is, it will make that young girl, her parents, and her sisters the family they were afraid they would never be, and she survived.
We miss you, Dave. You brought my best friend happiness and companionship. You made two amazing children together. You saved the live of a child you never even met. Thank you. We will never forget you.
Friday, April 12, 2013
My dog
I have written about my friends, my children, and my favorite things. Today, I blog about my big, doofy dog. About two years ago, I had to convince my husband to let me get a dog. I begged and pleaded until he finally agreed that our home and family were canine ready. I had people say, "Just go get a dog. Once it is there he cannot tell you to take it back." You do not just mistakenly come home with a dog. It would have been easier for me to accidentally have gotten pregnant than to have accidentally gotten a dog (but there would have been just as much explaining to do since my husband was "fixed" years ago). I was not going to purposely bring a puppy home unless I knew everyone in the family was going to accept it. So, once the husband said o.k., I started the search.
Finding a new dog can take several different routes. There are those who find a stray dog in a parking lot, take it home, and they instantly have a new family member. There are those who are pure-breed specific. They know what breed they want, the specific breed standards, and they have their pet's family tree on paper. We kind of looked for a dog the way we looked for a car: it could be used, but the newer the better, low miles, not too big, not a compact, it didn't have to have all the latest options, but short hair and no drooling was a bonus. I looked at websites for rescue groups, the Humane Society, and on Petfinder. Every night, I would pull up dog pictures. Pictures of puppies and pooches that needed homes. Some had skinny bodies, others looked plump and wiggly. There were sad eyes, droopy eyes, black noses, pink noses, and even spotted noses. I would find several candidates, sit next to my husband every night after our daughters went to sleep, and get his opinion. He would look at each picture, read the description given, and then say what he thought. I must have shown him 100 dogs, so I do not know what caused him to look at picture #101 and say, "That one looks good." I asked, "Really? Can I contact the rescue group?" He agreed, and I was thrilled. I emailed the contact person. I filled out my application and faxed it over. I had a phone interview and my veterinarian was contacted for a reference. There was an adoption event at a local PetSmart. The plan was that I could meet the pup I had seen on-line (my first and only experience with meeting a male on-line), and if I wanted, I could adopt him.
I went to the store that Saturday afternoon. I walked towards the back where wire kennels were set up. There had to have been at least 20 dogs looking for homes. Nineteen dogs were watching me, barking, wagging their tails, some shaking nervously, others spinning in circles, and one dog was asleep in his crate. One dog was snoozing through all the commotion and all the doggie excitement. I quickly glanced at all the dogs and realized the guy I had come to meet was the one whom was sleeping. I knelt down and stroked his head through the bars of his cage. After a few pats, he opened his eyes, lifted his chin so he could see who was touching him, and his long tail started to thump. I met the woman who ran the rescue group. We had spoken over the phone just a few days before. She opened his kennel door, put a leash on him, and asked if I wanted to walk him around a bit. This new puppy and I had just met, and we were already on our first test drive. We cruised around the store, walking up and down the aisles. His little pink and black nose sniffed every bag of dog food we passed. He did not seem to really notice me at all; he was glad to stretch his legs and sniff some dog butts. I walked him back to the adoption table. I told the woman he seemed like a good dog, and I would like to take him home. After the papers were signed and the check was written, my new dog and me got in the car and drove home. He was a three-month-old mutt that was found in a barn with two litter mates. The DNA test done on the pups showed five different breeds: boxer, staffordshire terrier (pit bull), shar pei, akita, and beagle. I was not sure if a DNA test could be more vague! If his mother dog was on, "Maury," she would have had a lot of boy dogs to test for paternity. The day I brought him home, he weighed 22 pounds. It was kind of a blind guess at how big he was going to get, but the boy did have big feet. I would not say he really looked much like the breeds listed on his test sheet, but I would say he looked like at least five dogs pieced together. We would just have to see what he turned into as time went by.
Two years later, I can tell you what we ended up with. "Dalton" (named after Patrick Swayze's character in "Road House") is about 80 pounds of love. He is a sweet, cuddly, couch potato most of the time. He does like to run, and he loves to play with doggy toys. He is a bit skittish around new people (especially men), but once he knows you, he will share his side of the sofa with you. Dalton can perform commands like sit, lay down, and he jumps up on his back legs when you wave your hands in the air. He was house broken in about a month, and (I am not lying) he even throws-up outside when his belly is bothering him. When I had my surgery last year, he would lie in bed with me all day. He would bring me a dog toy so we could play tug-o-war and fetch from my bed. Both my daughters adore him, and he has never bitten or seriously growled at a soul. I never worry about him when other children come to play for he is used to hugs around his neck, kisses on his nose, and little girls squishing up his face because, "He's just soooo cute, Mommy!" He is never going to win an award for, "Watchdog of the Year," and I do not know if he would alert us if someone was trapped in a well or an old mineshaft. That is alright. When we adopted a dog, we were not looking for an employee; we were looking for a faithful companion. That is what we got.
Oh, and even though my husband was resistant to get a dog, guess who plays hide-and-seek with Dalton every evening? Yep. Mr. "We-don't-really-need-a-dog" loves that mutt so much. The first night Dalton stayed at our home, we were trying to decide where he would sleep. My husband said, "Well, he is lying in his dog bed, so why don't we put it in our room?" That dog bed has been on the floor next to our bed (on my husband's side) for two years. Sometimes Dalton sleeps downstairs on the couch, but most nights he is snoozing there by his master's side. I walked into our bedroom one evening to find my husband lying on the floor, his head on the dog's head, giving only what I would describe as, "doggie lovin's," to Dalton. They both looked up at me when I walked in and witnessed the man/dog affection. I pointed at my husband and yelled, "Dog Lover!!!!" He could not deny it. He loves Dalton as much as the rest of us.
If you do not have a dog, you need to ask why not. You do need to make sure you have the time and space for a dog. They are very much like having a baby: very cute and a lot of work at the beginning, but as soon as they learn where to pee, everything else gets easier. There are so many dogs (and cats, do not forget about the kitties) that need good homes. If you truly believe your heart and home have room for a pooch, go find your new best friend.
My next goal is to convince my husband to let us get a second dog. His arguement is, "Then you'll want a third dog, then a fourth dog." My rebuttal is, "I only made you give me two kids!" I'll wait a little longer, but I think think Dalton needs a brother.
Finding a new dog can take several different routes. There are those who find a stray dog in a parking lot, take it home, and they instantly have a new family member. There are those who are pure-breed specific. They know what breed they want, the specific breed standards, and they have their pet's family tree on paper. We kind of looked for a dog the way we looked for a car: it could be used, but the newer the better, low miles, not too big, not a compact, it didn't have to have all the latest options, but short hair and no drooling was a bonus. I looked at websites for rescue groups, the Humane Society, and on Petfinder. Every night, I would pull up dog pictures. Pictures of puppies and pooches that needed homes. Some had skinny bodies, others looked plump and wiggly. There were sad eyes, droopy eyes, black noses, pink noses, and even spotted noses. I would find several candidates, sit next to my husband every night after our daughters went to sleep, and get his opinion. He would look at each picture, read the description given, and then say what he thought. I must have shown him 100 dogs, so I do not know what caused him to look at picture #101 and say, "That one looks good." I asked, "Really? Can I contact the rescue group?" He agreed, and I was thrilled. I emailed the contact person. I filled out my application and faxed it over. I had a phone interview and my veterinarian was contacted for a reference. There was an adoption event at a local PetSmart. The plan was that I could meet the pup I had seen on-line (my first and only experience with meeting a male on-line), and if I wanted, I could adopt him.
I went to the store that Saturday afternoon. I walked towards the back where wire kennels were set up. There had to have been at least 20 dogs looking for homes. Nineteen dogs were watching me, barking, wagging their tails, some shaking nervously, others spinning in circles, and one dog was asleep in his crate. One dog was snoozing through all the commotion and all the doggie excitement. I quickly glanced at all the dogs and realized the guy I had come to meet was the one whom was sleeping. I knelt down and stroked his head through the bars of his cage. After a few pats, he opened his eyes, lifted his chin so he could see who was touching him, and his long tail started to thump. I met the woman who ran the rescue group. We had spoken over the phone just a few days before. She opened his kennel door, put a leash on him, and asked if I wanted to walk him around a bit. This new puppy and I had just met, and we were already on our first test drive. We cruised around the store, walking up and down the aisles. His little pink and black nose sniffed every bag of dog food we passed. He did not seem to really notice me at all; he was glad to stretch his legs and sniff some dog butts. I walked him back to the adoption table. I told the woman he seemed like a good dog, and I would like to take him home. After the papers were signed and the check was written, my new dog and me got in the car and drove home. He was a three-month-old mutt that was found in a barn with two litter mates. The DNA test done on the pups showed five different breeds: boxer, staffordshire terrier (pit bull), shar pei, akita, and beagle. I was not sure if a DNA test could be more vague! If his mother dog was on, "Maury," she would have had a lot of boy dogs to test for paternity. The day I brought him home, he weighed 22 pounds. It was kind of a blind guess at how big he was going to get, but the boy did have big feet. I would not say he really looked much like the breeds listed on his test sheet, but I would say he looked like at least five dogs pieced together. We would just have to see what he turned into as time went by.
Two years later, I can tell you what we ended up with. "Dalton" (named after Patrick Swayze's character in "Road House") is about 80 pounds of love. He is a sweet, cuddly, couch potato most of the time. He does like to run, and he loves to play with doggy toys. He is a bit skittish around new people (especially men), but once he knows you, he will share his side of the sofa with you. Dalton can perform commands like sit, lay down, and he jumps up on his back legs when you wave your hands in the air. He was house broken in about a month, and (I am not lying) he even throws-up outside when his belly is bothering him. When I had my surgery last year, he would lie in bed with me all day. He would bring me a dog toy so we could play tug-o-war and fetch from my bed. Both my daughters adore him, and he has never bitten or seriously growled at a soul. I never worry about him when other children come to play for he is used to hugs around his neck, kisses on his nose, and little girls squishing up his face because, "He's just soooo cute, Mommy!" He is never going to win an award for, "Watchdog of the Year," and I do not know if he would alert us if someone was trapped in a well or an old mineshaft. That is alright. When we adopted a dog, we were not looking for an employee; we were looking for a faithful companion. That is what we got.
Oh, and even though my husband was resistant to get a dog, guess who plays hide-and-seek with Dalton every evening? Yep. Mr. "We-don't-really-need-a-dog" loves that mutt so much. The first night Dalton stayed at our home, we were trying to decide where he would sleep. My husband said, "Well, he is lying in his dog bed, so why don't we put it in our room?" That dog bed has been on the floor next to our bed (on my husband's side) for two years. Sometimes Dalton sleeps downstairs on the couch, but most nights he is snoozing there by his master's side. I walked into our bedroom one evening to find my husband lying on the floor, his head on the dog's head, giving only what I would describe as, "doggie lovin's," to Dalton. They both looked up at me when I walked in and witnessed the man/dog affection. I pointed at my husband and yelled, "Dog Lover!!!!" He could not deny it. He loves Dalton as much as the rest of us.
If you do not have a dog, you need to ask why not. You do need to make sure you have the time and space for a dog. They are very much like having a baby: very cute and a lot of work at the beginning, but as soon as they learn where to pee, everything else gets easier. There are so many dogs (and cats, do not forget about the kitties) that need good homes. If you truly believe your heart and home have room for a pooch, go find your new best friend.
My next goal is to convince my husband to let us get a second dog. His arguement is, "Then you'll want a third dog, then a fourth dog." My rebuttal is, "I only made you give me two kids!" I'll wait a little longer, but I think think Dalton needs a brother.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
What is the best gift you ever received?
There are so many occasions where we receive gifts. We give and get gifts on our birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and to celebrate an accomplishment. Gifts are a special way to show someone you love them or to apologize when you do something stupid. If you had to think of the best gift you ever received, what would your answer be? A puppy? A piece of jewelry? How about if I asked you what was the best gift you ever gave to someone? Well, I have a story for you.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She was born into a home full of love. Her parents would have given her anything to make her happy and healthy, but unfortunately, she had a liver condition called biliary atresia. A condition that would deteriorate her liver and body and quality of life to the point where she was nearly broken. What could her parents do? What could anyone do but pray and hope that things would get better?
Last year, a woman dealing with a tragic turn of events was asking God why she was being faced with a decision she was not ready to make. Her husband had been brought to the hospital with a headache and nausea. Two days later her was pronounced brain dead from a cerebral hemorrhage. Why? How was she ever going to explain this to her children? How would they understand it? Would they ever know the kind of father they had only had for eight and four years? She only wished there was a way for her tragic loss to have a reason. Her head was spinning with the medical terminology being used in conversation by the doctors. Her heart was breaking at the thought of explaining to her children that they had to say good-bye to their dad. Her stomach was sick at the thought that she was going to be a widow at 41 years of age. Of all the nurses, doctors, friends and family at the hospital, she was also asked to give her attention to the organ donation staff. Would she be willing to let her husband's organs be evaluated to see if any were suitable for transplant? She did not have to think long about her answer. If there was anything they could harvest, she gave them permission to do so.
That girl received a new liver nearly a year ago. She is a smiling young lady that is the healthiest she has ever been. She gets to buy cute clothes again because she is living a normal life for an eleven year-old girl. Her parents must be so excited to feel that they are going to be able to experience something that could have been taken away from them. They are going to see her grow up.
Amid all the stress, emotions, devistation, and despair, that woman cleared her mind long enough to know that the only way something good could come from her heartbreak was to allow the organ procurement team to do their jobs. The precious gift of life that her husband possessed could become a gift of life to someone else. Someone received his spleen, his corneas, and his liver.
April 19th, 2013 is Blue and Green Day. It is about supporting organ, eye, and tissue donation. Make sure your family and friends know if you want your organs donated. If something tragic puts them in the position to have to make that decision, make it easier by telling them before it happens. If for some reason you feel organ donation is, "weird," or, "creepy," consider how you would feel if you (or your daughter) needed a new liver, or a heart, or a kidney, or a spleen, or a lung...
The best gift you can give is the one someone else cannot live without. How often do we get that opportunity? Be an organ donor. Make sure people know you want to be an organ donor. If you have to make that decision for someone you love, I think it is always best to err on the side of life-giving generosity.
(Dedicated to Dave, jr.)
Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She was born into a home full of love. Her parents would have given her anything to make her happy and healthy, but unfortunately, she had a liver condition called biliary atresia. A condition that would deteriorate her liver and body and quality of life to the point where she was nearly broken. What could her parents do? What could anyone do but pray and hope that things would get better?
Last year, a woman dealing with a tragic turn of events was asking God why she was being faced with a decision she was not ready to make. Her husband had been brought to the hospital with a headache and nausea. Two days later her was pronounced brain dead from a cerebral hemorrhage. Why? How was she ever going to explain this to her children? How would they understand it? Would they ever know the kind of father they had only had for eight and four years? She only wished there was a way for her tragic loss to have a reason. Her head was spinning with the medical terminology being used in conversation by the doctors. Her heart was breaking at the thought of explaining to her children that they had to say good-bye to their dad. Her stomach was sick at the thought that she was going to be a widow at 41 years of age. Of all the nurses, doctors, friends and family at the hospital, she was also asked to give her attention to the organ donation staff. Would she be willing to let her husband's organs be evaluated to see if any were suitable for transplant? She did not have to think long about her answer. If there was anything they could harvest, she gave them permission to do so.
That girl received a new liver nearly a year ago. She is a smiling young lady that is the healthiest she has ever been. She gets to buy cute clothes again because she is living a normal life for an eleven year-old girl. Her parents must be so excited to feel that they are going to be able to experience something that could have been taken away from them. They are going to see her grow up.
Amid all the stress, emotions, devistation, and despair, that woman cleared her mind long enough to know that the only way something good could come from her heartbreak was to allow the organ procurement team to do their jobs. The precious gift of life that her husband possessed could become a gift of life to someone else. Someone received his spleen, his corneas, and his liver.
April 19th, 2013 is Blue and Green Day. It is about supporting organ, eye, and tissue donation. Make sure your family and friends know if you want your organs donated. If something tragic puts them in the position to have to make that decision, make it easier by telling them before it happens. If for some reason you feel organ donation is, "weird," or, "creepy," consider how you would feel if you (or your daughter) needed a new liver, or a heart, or a kidney, or a spleen, or a lung...
The best gift you can give is the one someone else cannot live without. How often do we get that opportunity? Be an organ donor. Make sure people know you want to be an organ donor. If you have to make that decision for someone you love, I think it is always best to err on the side of life-giving generosity.
(Dedicated to Dave, jr.)
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