tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67765168921311943402024-03-12T17:08:53.009-07:00Kar's Kith and KinKarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.comBlogger1771125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-47496867998558790982017-08-28T16:08:00.001-07:002017-08-28T16:22:37.175-07:00A Relationship<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If one was to describe my romantic life pre-Ben, I truly think he could quite aptly use the word "love-lorn." Once, when I was twenty or so, in a vicious fight with my then ten-year-old sister, she yelled, "No wonder boys run away from you!!"<br />
<br />
Ouch.<br />
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I wittily (I thought at the time) retorted, "No wonder you don't have any friends!" Uh, good one, Kar. And way to take the high road. My gosh.<br />
<br />
Let it be known that my sister and I are now get along famously. I was recently spending time with an old friend, and when I told her this, she said, <i>"Really????"</i><br />
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Miracles happen. Or, more aptly, growing up happens. (Sorry I was such a craptastic big sis, Lex.)<br />
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Joining me in my love-lornness was my high school bestie, Pooh. When we would relate our tales of heartbreak and unrequited love with one another, where I would use a lot of figurative language ("Trying to function without him in my life is like cutting my arm off and trying to function!!!") she was more succinct. And probably a lot less obnoxious. She would plaintively, wistfully, yet very simply say, "I just want a rellll<i>AY</i>tionship...."<br />
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Now let me explain. Pooh, despite her nickname (which originated with her brothers, and which I, keeping with what seems to be a hallmark of my personality - my obnoxiousness - continue to call her), is a very proper young lady. She doesn't use cuss words. Nary a <i>hell</i> nor a <i>damn</i>. But it goes farther than that. She doesn't even say <i>crap</i>, or <i>sucks</i>. When she asks how my kids are doing, I'll say something like, "So-and-so (anyone who intimately knows me will know of which child I speak) is just a <i>butthead</i>, Pooh! Despite my best efforts!! How has a child like this sprung from my loins???" When I ask how her kids are doing, the farthest she will go is to say, "So-and-so is an extreme punk. Not just a punk, Kar. An <i>extreme</i> punk."<br />
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<i>Punk</i> is strong language for her.<br />
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But it's not just the lack of...earthy...language that sets her speech aside. She has exquisite pronunciation. Her <i>s</i>'s are crisp. Her wh's include the breathy <i>h</i>. She finishes her -<i>ound</i>s with each phoneme included. As I've spent more time with her mother and her aunties, I've realized where she gets it. Her mom, Bethie, her Auntie Siggie, and I were recently looking for a parking spot. Bethie somehow got turned around in the parking garage and was driving the wrong way, and nary a spot was to be found. She said something to the effect of, "Well, Jiminy Crickets." Siggie quite properly (and jokingly) intoned from the back seat, "Now, now, Beth, that language is <i>beneath</i> you!!"<br />
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I adore them.<br />
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So when there is an <i>l</i> in a word, Pooh will make sure it is flicked lovingly off the tip of her tongue. "Belllllieve me, Kar, it was a nightmare." "I rellllly upon you to see this through." Well, that last one seems like a dire thing to say. I can't think of a situation where she might have said such a thing to me, but you see what I mean.<br />
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Being the consistently obnoxious person that I am, I would tease her from time to time. We'd be talking about our dating lives, and I'd elbow her and say in a wispy voice, "I just want a relllllllll<i>AY</i>tionship....." And she would always gamely chuckle.<br />
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Eventually, a truly great relllllAYtionship came into her life, when we were in college. She met a gorgeous, huge, generous, funny man named Cazzie. He played football. She was smitten with him, and he with her. I knew she would no longer need to yearn for that relationship. <br />
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And what a relationship it was.<br />
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They brought out the best in each other. They encouraged each other to reach further, to be better people. They were both sharp thinkers, and Jane Austen should have watched these two if she was looking for examples of witty banter. They were evenly matched. They were teammates. They were in constant communication, because their schedules were crazy. They're busy people, and their kids are busy people. They tag-teamed and dropped off and picked up and coordinated. They encouraged each other to spend time doing the things each of them loved. They didn't need to be together constantly to know that they each were loved. They had the same parenting style, and they supported one another in that way. They never spoke ill of each other. I think the closest Pooh came was usually a sigh, and a "Well, he's being <i>neat</i>." And that was the end of it.<br />
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Pooh was generous in sharing Cazzie with everyone. Caz had a magnetism that was undeniable. A kind of star quality. Whenever we spoke, he made me feel so important. <i>He's talking to me!</i> I've never met another person who has had that effect on me, I don't think. I know others have felt that. Cazzie did have a million friends, but then I think he also had another million people who really wanted to be his friend. Admirers. <i>Fans</i>. Pooh shared Caz with all of them. He was a remarkable person - truly, a person to be remarked upon. She was never jealous of the time he gave to others. <br />
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What a relationship it was.<br />
<br />
Pooh shared Caz once again this weekend. He fought a very quick and very fierce battle with meningitis. As he lay on life support in the ICU, hundreds - and I mean <i>hundreds</i> - of people came to see him, to see Pooh. Caz was a coach, and the lives he has touched are very, very many. Pooh shared him. She let every one of them come into his room and cry over him, hold his hand, kiss his cheek. She hugged every one of them. She became a consoling rock as others wept and mourned. She patted their backs and looked into their eyes and spoke to them. She could have spent every last millisecond ensconced with him in that room. I know I would have. He was <i>hers</i>. She was <i>his</i>. She had that right. But, just as she had graciously shared him with the world for the past 17 years, she did so once again. She has given a profound gift to hundreds of people in the past few days. <br />
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I know that relationships like this beautiful, sacred one go beyond the grave. Pooh is now sharing him with heaven. He has work he will do up there. Hundreds more to touch. When Bishie, Judgie, and Marlo grow up, they'll know what kind of relationship to hunt for, because they had a perfect model in their home. Pooh and Caz were a team. A unit. They talked through disagreements. They hugged. They loved each other devotedly. Someday, they will reunite in a joyous reunion and never, ever again be apart.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-32517979896212067972016-08-22T22:55:00.001-07:002016-08-22T22:55:27.479-07:00Retirement Location, Check!Ben and I are so, so blessed sometimes. Yes, "sometimes." I mean, breast cancer. Children with mental illness. Me with mental illness. Job issues. 'Nuf said.<br />
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But then, sometimes, something amazing happens:<br />
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(Ugh, I'm using Ben's work computer, which is an Apple, and it took like ten minutes for me to figure out how to put this picture here. Me no likey.)<br />
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I guess one of the "perks" of Ben's job is that he has a few clients with a few properties. And these clients really are just so nice. We went to Hawaii last year and stayed at a client's rental in Oahu, free of charge - we just had to get there, entertain ourselves, and get home. Amazing! <br />
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And then these clients, at whose place in Portland my mom and I stayed after surgery (Ben calls it "surgerrhea," and now I mentally say that every time I say "surgery"), have a place on the Oregon coast, Cannon Beach to be exact. They're all, "Go stay at our beach house, free!" The nicest people EVER!! <br />
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Because of some weirdness in scheduling with a checkup appointment for me in Portland and dropping the kids off at Camp Kesem, or, as I like to call it, Free Camp for the Rest of Your Life for the Price of a Parent Having Had Cancer, we came to the coast last weekend, dropped the kids off at camp yesterday, then Ben and I came back to the coast for the entire week!! Then we'll grab the kids and come back to the coast this weekend, and then home.<br />
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I quite honestly think that this is our first family vacation since...Dylan was a baby? Usually, if Ben and I are able to scrape together enough money, we just go by ourselves - vacationing a family of six is really spendy. But having the kids with us is actually pretty fun!! Even though we forgot Dylan's ADHD meds. That makes things pretty tough. But he had lots of places to gallop around like a little colt. That boy is all limbs right now. And almost as tall as me. It's so weird to give him a hug, and he's, like, my size. With bigger feet than me. And he could probably beat me up, if he wanted to. Which he wouldn't. He thinks I am the BEST. The feeling is mutual.<br />
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Haha! He asked to be buried in the sand, and Gage kept just kind of throwing sand in the general direction of Dylan's face. He kept having to spit it out of his mouth. And Sadie garnished Dylan's head with a sprig of some nearby bush. Haha! When we checked the kids in at camp yesterday, they did a lice check, and this girl is like, "Whoa, I'm seeing a ton of black dots on this kid's hair; can you come over here, Sass?" (They go by nicknames at Camp Kesem. One of the nurse's names is Sass.) I was like, "Um, well, we did bury him in sand yesterday..." They determined that yes, indeed, the black dots are sand and not lice babies.<br />
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So. Cannon Beach is a really small little town - it does have a small grocery store, but it's really overpriced, so you have to drive down the road to Seaside to get food for a decent price. Depending on the time of day you go, it could take you five minutes or an hour. We ended up going over there twice on Saturday to get supplies, and I'm pretty sure half of Portland was clogging Highway 101, desperate to get out of the heat. We've been mainly staying put, but I'm begging Ben for a little detour to Tillamook (Cheese!!! My obsession!) and a Geek Out Trip to Astoria to see the places they filmed Goonies. We'll see how the week goes. We have to be judicious in our spending. August is an expensive month, what with Gage's and Sadie's birthdays.<br />
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When we got here on Friday, we made a beeline for the shore - just a short walk from the house. I dropped all my stuff and walked straight to the water. There is just something about the ocean. I LOVE the beach. It's just so healing. Huge. Majestic. I don't ever do a ton of swimming in it - saltwater makes me yak - but I appreciate it so much. I got a little weepy, standing there. It had been...9 years? Since I had seen the ocean. Far too long. <br />
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We all attempted to wade in the water, but it just, um, HURT. There are a select few of you that will understand this comparison, but here's the best way I can think to describe it: When I was a young woman, we went to camp every year at Camp Darby. Running through camp is a creek. With the COLDEST water. Snow runoff. Straight from ice form to water form. You can earn a bead for your camp necklace by doing a thing called The Polar Bear - I think you have to sit to waist-deep in this creek for...one minute? Five? I can't remember. I just remember sobbing from the pain. Everyone sobbing and screaming. Haha! I have pictures. Proof! They're at home. I'll have to put some on here. It's intense. But then you get this really awesome bead for your necklace. And bragging rights. <br />
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So yeah, this water is painful to stand in.<br />
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So I just parked my bumb in a chair 'neath an umbrella and watched the ninos attempt to make sandcastles sans sand toys.<br />
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Yep, we forgot to pack them, along with Dyl's meds, AND Micah's meds. Sigh... I was wondering why Micah had been so very emotional the past few days, and had been complaining of stomach pain. Duhhhhh. I hadn't refilled his meds, and he hadn't told me he was out. And I was on hydrocodones. I was doing well if I was able to just keep my eyes from crossing. I had to literally <i>concentrate</i> to keep them from just....woop!....meeting each other at my nose. My poor son has been going through withdrawals from going without anxiety medication. Trust me, that is no picnic. Luckily, Sass has my back and was able to pick them up from a local Walgreens today. My son will be back to his usual sullen self, rather than his Actor-in-a-Melodrama Self.<br />
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Friday was just perfect. In fact, it was just plain old hot. I have been assured that this is weird for the Oregon coast. Ben, having had melanoma, doesn't take any chances in the sun anymore:<br />
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Micah is on a quest to find seashells. He made quite the haul of broken ones. Danged seagulls.<br />
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Cannon Beach has this huge rock outcropping called Haystack. You can see it in the background. Gorgeous! So that's the view to the left. The view to the right:<br />
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Pristine.<br />
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And, you know, sunset. I can't get enough of sunset on the coast:<br />
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Saturday was reeeeeeally cold and foggy. We spent most of the morning indoors. Which was an interessant situation, because cable is currently not installed. So no TV. No electronics. Just us and some puzzles and games. And can I just say that it was so much fun???<br />
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Do kids ever play dominoes like they're meant to be played? Haha! Actually, Sadie and I had a rousing game of Mexican Train after the boys got tired of standing them up and knocking them down. In Dylan's case. In Micah's case, they kept falling before he got them all ready, and he would break down sobbing. Or Gage would come over and mischievously knock them over. And Micah would break down sobbing. Or he didn't feel like the dominoes were divided equally among the brothers. And he would break down sobbing. Poor kid. Anxiety is a beast.<br />
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It was a blast. It reminded me of staying at my grandparents' cabin at Palisades Lake. Playing Blackjack and betting with Skittles, packing all our food there and eating in every night... such good memories.<br />
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Oh, and Dylan was introduced to the VHS tape. Haha! The owners of the beach house have a VHS player and a bunch of tapes, so he and Sades watched Back to the Future and E.T. A sample from a conversation between Dylan and Ben:<br />
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Dylan: Dad, why won't this play?<br />
Ben: Um, it looks like you need to rewind the tape.<br />
Dylan: Re....wind??<br />
Ben: Yeah.<br />
Dylan: What does..."rewind" mean?<br />
Ben: Oh! Um, you push this button right here to make the tape wind backwards to the beginning. See this brown tape stuff here through the clear plastic window on this tape? The images are on the brown tape stuff. And it slowly winds onto this spindle as you watch the movie. So you need to wind it the other way in order for it to play from the beginning.<br />
Dylan: Whoa.<br />
Ben: And don't forget to rewind it again after you're done! <br />
Dylan: Why? Can't the next person...rewind....it when they're ready to watch it?<br />
Ben: It's just a courtesy. Be kind, rewind!<br />
Dylan: Huh?<br />
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Haha! Priceless.<br />
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Even though it was still butt cold, the kids wanted to play on the beach again that afternoon:<br />
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You can't even see haystack! It was so foggy, all day. Sadie is also all arms and legs - did you notice? I have gangly kids. She'd better get a volleyball scholarship.<br />
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The two older boys and Dad took a little trip down to the shore at night, during low tides, to check out the tidal pools and now-bare outcroppings:<br />
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The green things in the below picture are anemones. And you can see the starfish in the above picture. On the way home, Dylan told Micah a scary ghost story that he learned at Camp Caldera, where he was last week, or, as I like to call it, Two Years Ago a Boy Bullied Me and I Overreacted and Made Threats and Was Suspended for Two Weeks and Invited to This Club for Troubled Teens Which They Call Camp Caldera But Nobody Ever Really Says that It's for Troubled Teens Camp.<br />
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So then Micah comes into the house just fa-reaking out, refusing to stay in the cute little room that he had decided was his room to sleep in for the weekend... Poor little anxious kid. He did NOT need to hear ghost stories. He's going through anxiety pill withdrawals, for heck's sake.<br />
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Then, of course, Gage fed off of Micah's freaking out and freaked out himself, and then HE decided not to sleep in the little room that he had decided was his for the weekend, so he and Sadie squished on a floor mattress, and Micah, uncharacteristically, ASKED to share with Dylan (those two rarely get along), so he slept on a couch and Dylan slept on a hideaway bed, and Micah, having Anxiety Bladder, peed on his couch as he slept.<br />
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Poor kid.<br />
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Don't worry. I cleaned it really good. It's not like the pee couch in Seinfeld.<br />
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Yesterday, we took the kids to Camp Kesem. I didn't take any pictures - I should have. But we got them all squared away. We had really prepared the people in charge for Gage and his needs, and he has his very own counselor! The counselor's name is Brick. He has a family member with autism and knows his stuff. He seems really compassionate and awesome. Another counselor helping Gage is named Sports. Gage picked his bunk bed and unpacked his little toothbrush and everything, and I talked to Sports and Brick about some good strategies to help Gage deal with transitions, his sensory issues, etc. I had prepped Gage all week by making a Social Story for him - ideally, a social story is a little book with pictures to show where he would stay, what it would look like, where he would eat, etc. I was lazy and just showed him all the pictures on the computer. Which worked just as well. He did great when we dropped him off. No tears. The kids will have a great week.<br />
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We're back at the coast today, and it is quiiiiiet. Ben has to work 8 hours a day from here, still. I'm making sure the house is spic and span and cooking for us two. And....putting together a lot of puzzles. And doing a ton of reading. Haha! It's a little weird. But lovely. I'm healing wonderfully, standing up a little straighter, able to do more, totally off hydrocodones (but still relying heavily on ibuprofen and Tylenol), etc. This is a great place to heal.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-89108016711190563962016-08-13T18:00:00.000-07:002016-08-13T18:00:07.385-07:00The New LadiesHeyyyyyy! I'm back! And trying to type while mainly reclined. So far, just these past 16 words or so, it's hurting me in this general area:<br />
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Right?? So I came out of surgery with like 14 tubes coming out of me, which I expected. What I did not expect was random bruising on my arms:<br />
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I wish these pictures could do it justice. Seriously. I don't know WHAT went on there. I remember them putting in two IV's, both on my right arm, because my left arm has lymphedema and had a big old pink bracelet to remind them about that - it is a no cut, no pressure, and no beat-it-up-with-baseball-bat zone.<br />
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My mom and I have been trying to figure out what on earth is going on there (and I kept forgetting to ask the surgeon when she checked in on me each day), and she said that she heard that sometimes, a patient is under, and the surgeon is hooking up monitors and stuff, and even though the patient is out of it, they aren't, like, fully out of it? And they start fighting the nurses and surgeons and assistants or something?? I think that is terrifying and fascinating. It makes me a little proud of my bruises. I mean, attackers, beware!! I now know that I would fight like crazy if attacked. I'm a little scrappy. Who knew?<br />
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And, you know, I can't show you pictures of my surgery site, because, now, what used to be my muffin top are breasts. It's so weird. And amazing! They're so sooooooft!! I forgot about how soft original boobs are. And these aren't original, but they're fatty like unto original ones. I was like, "Oh yeah! Side boob! Women have side boob!!" And I keep bumping into them when I'm, like, walking. Or pouring myself a drink. I have to maneuver around them now! Crazy stuff.<br />
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Sorry I'm all over the place. Blame the hydrocodones. I guess this should be more of a linear retelling, but I'm just popping all over the place. <br />
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So you know, my ma and I drove into Portland, found the apartment, got all settled, etc. We discovered that the closest grocery store was a Whole Foods, so we walked there and got some supplies for breakfasts and stuff for Mom. I really wanted to buy these amazing herbal soaps in the doorway, but I kept the urge under control. I mean, lemongrass basil soap?? So cool! We ate at what we thought would be a 12-ish dollars per meal place, and it turned out to be a 20-ish dollars per meal place, which was an unhappy surprise. We should have known. It is downtown Portland, after all. We drove to the hospital to make sure my mom felt like she knew where she was going. I showered, and we settled down to sleep (my mom is really a wiggler; I was like, "Are you Gage? Hold still!"). We woke up, I did all the anti-bacterial washing stuff yet again, and we headed to the hospital.<br />
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And you know, it takes forever to talk to 25 people about the procedure you're doing, making sure everyone is on the same page, etc. They gave me my IV to put me to sleep, and my mom got really weepy. She's just so awesome. I love her. I bid her adieu, and that's really all I remember.<br />
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After a couple of hours, they came out and let my mom know that it had taken a really long time to get my body ready for this surgery. Something about low blood pressure (it's been a prob ever since chemo). But maybe this is when they struggled with me and decided to get out a hammer and hit my arms repeatedly. As a consequence, I didn't get out of surgery until after ten at night.<br />
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They had me in the intensive care unit for the first...two or three days? It was just supposed to be one day, but my new left boob was struggling. They have these monitors that they use to check the blood flow, and you actually listen for the flow. If things are going well, you hear the blood flowing back and forth, back and forth, with each heart beat. It sounds, to me, just like an ultrasound, when you're pregnant, and they listen for baby's heartbeat. So when the blood flow is working well, you hear this whoosh-<i>whoosh</i>! My right boob is an A+ student. My left boob is like a C student.<br />
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Apparently, they use fat from your lower right abdomen for your left boob, and vice versa for your right. I'm not sure why. I had a hysterectomy several years ago, and my surgeon said that there was soooo much scarring in my right abdomen, the worst she's ever seen. THE WORST SHE HAS EVER SEEN. What??? I mean, I knew that it was a hard recovery after my hysterectomy, but... it makes me a little mad at my former gynie/surgeon. Anyways. For whatever reason, I was really scarred up on my right abdomen, so it was hard to harvest fat/blood cells from there. She even had to take some of my muscle right there in order for the operation to work out at all. As a consequence, my left side feels a little harder and a lot more perky. It feels a little bit like a tissue expander again. Maybe not as uncomfortable. <br />
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So it was a little nerve-wracking to have them check my boobs every single hour for three days straight, praying that the boob was there to stay. It fought well and is doing great.<br />
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My tummy is now...tucked. It feels really, really tight. I have to always have a pillow under my knees for a couple of weeks, because if my legs are straight while lying down, it's just too dang tight in my lower abdomen. I swear you could bounce a quarter of my tummy, guys. It's crazy and really, really wonderful. And my new belly button looks like a heart. Not kidding. When it stops looking gross, I'll take a pic and put it on here.<br />
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So after being in the ICU for a few days, they put me into the cancer wing of the hospital, which I liked. It was very quiet. The view from my window:<br />
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My nurses were nice - my night nurses were nicer than my day nurses, and I wondered why that is... It's like the meaner, older, stricter teachers in the day, and the young, fun teachers at night. I found that I'm a little bit of a rebel when I have narcotics in me. I was only supposed to go pee if I called a nurse first. And I'm like, I'm fine. I kept moving my arms outside of the range I'm supposed to, but that's more forgetfulness than willful disobedience. I wasn't walking as hunched over as I was supposed to... I pulled out some staples with my fingernails...<br />
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Kay, these staples were RIDICULOUS. You don't need to staple a cord to a person's chest to keep it in place. It's called medical tape, friends. And they itched so badly. So one day after a disgusting dinner, I dug those suckers out and gifted them to the food person to take away. I have all these red dots on my tummy and between the two mounds on my chest. I thought I had scratched hard enough to draw blood (I didn't react very well to the IV painkillers I was first put on), but no, those marks are from STAPLES. All over my tummy. I did remember to ask my surgeon about them, and she said that sometimes they need to hold some flesh somewhere for awhile during surgery. So they use staples, apparently. I can't pretend to know their business, but it just...makes me uncomfortable, you know? I'm not un piece du papier! <br />
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The catheter left me with a UTI, and the doctors wanted this culture to come back instead of taking my word for it. I've had so many of these, I know exactly what I'm dealing with, but...we had to wait for the results. The results showed that I was right, and they put me on a pretty powerful antibiotic, but they had to change my anxiety sleeping meds because of drug interaction stuff. So I didn't sleep for a whole night, which I wasn't a fan of. After that, they gave me a sleeping pill until the end of my antibiotic.<br />
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Luckily, the days went by quickly (thank you, Olympics!), and I was released Wednesday to go to the apartment in Portland. <br />
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My surgeon said I could just go all the way back to Bend, but I worried about driving that far so quickly after being released, so Ma and I settled in at the apartment. Mom took excellent care of me. Washed my hair, changed my dressings, made sure I was taking my meds on time, etc. It was so nice to have her there. <br />
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My hair has been looking a lot like Ted's in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Good times.<br />
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On Thursday night, I had a full-on panic attack. I'm starting to recognize these better now. I was certain that the hardness in my left boob was because it was being rejected by my body, and that I needed to go in and see the surgeon STAT. And I missed Ben and the kids so badly. I just sobbed and sobbed and begged my mom to take me home right THEN. Luckily, the lady at the surgeon's office kind of calmed me down, and my mom promised that we could go home yesterday.<br />
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The ride home ended up being a bit of a fiasco. We went a different way than usual, which was beautiful, but very windey. I spent much of the time feeling nauseated. And it took twice as long as it should have to get home. Lesson learned.<br />
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It wiped me out pretty badly, our driving misadventure. So I've been resting all day. Mom, Ben, and the kids went swimming, and I wanted to go watch, but it's an outdoor pool, and it's hot outside, and I just feel kind of gross today, so I'm chilling inside. And writing this meandering post. Sorry, guys. My razor-sharp wit is temporarily dull! Hahaha!<br />
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I had another sobbing episode last night at bedtime. I think it was partially because of relief; I just can't believe that this long, long road is, for the most part, ending. It's been two difficult years, and I just can't believe that I don't have to have this surgery weighing me down anymore. But I also cried because I'm trapped in my body yet again. I keep getting knocked down hard and having to climb back out, and it's just getting really old. And I'm still at the place where I need help getting out of bed, showering, etc. That's tough. I'll just have to really take it easy and rely on the help of others. My mom went above and beyond to help me, when she was feeling pretty crummy herself. Thanks so much, mommy!! And Ben's mom is coming tonight to help for a couple of weeks. Thank heavens. <br />
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So yeah, if you're in Bend, come on over and say hi! Because I'm just friggin' stuck inside for awhile. Sigh. But I have to remember how blessed I am, and how thankful I feel. With the Lord's help, I can get through these next several weeks of recovery. Peace out!Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-48500349674089520912016-07-29T00:26:00.001-07:002016-07-29T00:26:39.614-07:00It's the Final Countdowwwwwwwn!!!<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Image result for commercial geico final countdown" 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egn0pBEvb+w+1dYYBgTtXpQuxI0E7+VS7WGA5T60wjXrgJ03p0LT4uhSCIkHpzFSjxi8dZH/ABFIYot9CTzJ3JOpLHUn6x7U5bwxieVGOF4aczHr/wBn70viqgZVUasfn+iRRno/L2CYlYgdfz1+0fOmSlPYlgXMbDb05fQCksKDJQkUc4Rxy/YEWrrKN43WfQ0DNScOwOnOgLpiu0V7Ijtl71lEwOp8MjmxAFXTs9iv2ixnSCVOV1mGDDeVO1UfhRV7SHUlYVoPi8PwMs6BgAsctxRXCWr2HXJlCd4c8gAi5Oz84J6cqi4S1YvwghvCSNAdCfTrQbCW3NqzkaJtoT9d+ugiPOpK3yqjvMuY6ARUM3giYec3+ghBVspBlqUFWTDiKeuGq5wjGPmE3cwJ1Fwa67+LSaN3L+hJkCYB019CPzphFujM1VPtbh2ZmVRqqK5PkxIB+lHcTjwhkDNQq/fa5cZ4QoQq5gZIEnQc9JqbNVLjMr1sq2o1qHetzVl7T4AreaB4Z35eWvyoXcw2XwtvRK0+heFvNauKy7jXyPkfKr5w3tTbYgOwU+c5Z/q2HvVEv6N19a9sq3I/Pb61V4nQnd5aW3F+aiR1GoqZgeLKwM+E1ltt2Qypy/0nT5UZ4dxc7OJ8xv8AKs7/ACv4uf0l+tSt3s4yn2NRLmHZB1mhPBOLLyYHyJ1q3CCJ5HWs76Oq3fIXbfnQxe0iWWCPm11UJBYiYkzoo+9HL2DGeBzNVXtB2SvpiDdAm2xGVuQhQAp6HSq4kt9s+rRvjVz99axdpldXIfK2mV0UIVYbSVOjeZ6Uf7N8TBXvcmTMxDgTo+pIOnQgzznlWe2MU1kqrrmzam2TEJMZiYMSQY9DVgwOIS1fS4rE2jAcfyt8U9Spn9Gt8Y77XxrhJ0OlJYnqaUMGRsZHI+XKK9OFbrWeVex5ZcjnQHtxgVdFcmGBgeho82Ebeaz7tTxnPdZEOdVXKY2mZOvtVQqCi2NQNdYFRcZgHQyVYT5UU7LkPcJO41Aq827CuviAI86d7z0Of57NZmUdhEQPOptjCT8Z25cqPcfwCoUa0DlbcdDUBbPUx1j++1VLqbMuEW0Ub6CpeIwD3FUWlgEySdNKLcGwVsrmiT560YW2P1tWfX9c9RXP899q5gOy6g5rhLHoNBRtOG2wICD5UxxHjVu34UId+g2HqfyoE/HLxM548gBH2qM76Vbzyr9vwWwOZ+51NDrt7M5adFBjyOyn/kVpzF4idNdKgu0WmP4jHy1P1ZK6ayiKTz6k0u5tTbDanLnIeYpKcwpQ614aVb1kUBa+w6pdv92xIzqcpG4dfEPUEBhHpV1xFh8OgFy4vd5wVuRqCQQFI5AmNRWV8Hxps3rd0fwOrewOv0mt5dFcQQGU9dQRUdBRLLmUZ803G0zbQGg+88qcxQJSwACYsoPkWFELeHAfMmmtxmB1BGdhop2Og1FQcU2QIVOYIpQgnKZBLA5gdNz8qRGzKISR4j4VB5fiJ+1NW8c66LIG0TI+VenHfus2aXnURmAB8yNfWm7vEEIACvm5mRHtFAD8bxjIzeP+EjIBPiiATO1I7P3IsMYgq6wSIGu4zfWnsqTmyCfP7+tEFuArkRWlozZiGXTY6jT2igJ3ERhzhyRlZiIkHnsTJMVnvF8OVeWZS3PIZUCNBPXWtBw2CRR44OnkBHOBsKqnG1tOwVCocN4lC+IqASx00IjTlSqubiuLhALbOcpZ8qKG/hkzPyAM+2utRMVhXS4UytoJjVtD5wPnFWziN4905XR7d63cgRp4EClwehMBR11pN++DjLZLjMykOSWuA6aKe7yiPICOtOdYpUltk+dLu2ykGZP4eZ9vzqzYThSG/iCEd8sMO7i0uqyf3d0zv1kGCajX8BYOEt3wCLoYK5FthKmRq85TEDXnNX5JsQMbxS03d9xZNsqoDazmaACSeeoJnfXyrTuxPEe/wq5vjQ5HEzt8JnnKx7zWXrhhMgj6/YVZeyGPWzdgMMrjKR0YaqfuPep752Hz1laCqqHloqJ2xukdzdRc2XNmX8SHKCCPrT2I8WVh7+lOdoWK2hcC5snxqN+7PxFfNdD6T5VhI1DH7K2sWneWHhioADbHKPCJ3B5ULucNt4bD926n9oaCwbcGZ06LpHnRPhuOFgi5bM2n102E8/Kj3aXArjLC3bUG6mw/ENyv5jz9a25rLrnDPZPG5rZtEybRhTzNo/6Z+Wnyo5Wd8CxwS6r6gQqXB/LAQGOQ0t+4erf/AJsn4qdidJ7WYo28LcZdCQFnpmIE/WssRdcqj2FXrthxJTh8upDMAfTl9QKYwNi2gHdqBmAII3+dG4VVbAWu6uB8saweX0q+4W5IHKqtx+0FfNsG19+fnTK9pbqLltKsx8RBMnoFqbNXx1n1auPvZW0Q+hPwx+L+1U43h6n9fKoV+5cuvnuks3OeXkByqVh8OzfCPUnQD1NVzMie+tqRg+IOjSDodCBTXE8ZeMgMSp1GtLOFAMFjPkjH609awy/huH/blHuTT9anaF2LL7kH1pwg1PxWIUkKuy8hsOvmfU1HYCaYVG9cpOMMKi+Un38X2KD2pu2MzBfxED5mPzrzFXs9xm26D6n6k01GzXtw7eorqQ529RQD5rwGDNcxrwtQDtzryrdezeI7zCWH5m2k+oAB+orCLTaRWv8AYG+f2G0Omcf+bf3qegLYd1R3S4AQGDLIBlXOojnBmRVd7O20ex3jFSyksFAKhyWKnT5aUexdsNetnnI5dTFAuySLGV2Kg3ysxI0uGQRI0OlSQLxe4IbMPCMvwaGCfFlPpyNNFEfOuEu51EEd8sOB6iI+VWbjvCDffEZCkSwQgR4lOgjpGlUHglxreJC5ZJJQr59D5aR6E04Brhtl2zLdSHBAWDIPMk/SpeO4imHUqsFh8THZT59T/KKc49jktyyDIzDM3MIOcefIDyrOuI403D0UbCZ9z1Y9aJNCVxLj9x2JViNxmMFiDoQBso8h86R2XQteYCT+7fQc8xVPF5ePU0Ky0b7H4UtiQ0rCKzNmJAIiANP5ip9qq/DgtxK4othnnLdGGAJMqsAtcKjdyFyiTzc+lO3yhx9l0W41n4AyTlJCtItxGm0x51LwfdItnFYhXc3LhW1bVgVCr4IAbwyIHSTlr3H98LdzvLiYc4Ql0yQ2Zrgc21YHQaMV0GpJrNRrDXmGKxMWbweFIUEuYynWQTqZ0BNC+GcRFrDjK6m4zrNtlAMloZAdweeoI0qXcvrZv27to4h0uR3rSx75iPAJIGzEaCNiK9TDlMQ1q9YsWVvKWzOqk+EAMFAaA0mYkaiaYMcUxNvvC7ILYMGQcwza5tgMo20+tDcTj03Cg/zA6/Ib1Pv38EMtgXL1wq0XLp1RljcGTlO23nQbHcJHiZGBUbHqDtB96uVGLvwbj+dFkyP1NXPh+KDLO/L2rE+EX2ssQ0hTBE/rart2f7QWwSpaB15D1PKseuc+NZ0CdsExWAvEW7jfs92WtzDDztmRuv1EedDuG9t8XZjI402DLI+WlabjLNrGWHsOQQdUYa5XHwsP1tNZTc4MVZkcrbZTlOZgqluUE9RqK04sv1PUP3+1WIuO9xsgLmWCKFUk6mBrGuvqTV57J3mu2kuPJPi1PTMYrPbaiznF20GJQ5c0wJEh1I302rYOFcCfDW0tPGZVGo2IOs/ce1aS4z6mkY22GUpMNuNOY2oHc4g1r9wFm5PgjYg9PflVlbBeItUPi/Z+61sYm2pm2dD16j/uooVLHXrrNlunVSRlgaHnpTYWADsPzpzG4nvnklUIEEHQz59TScOifx3FPkug92NOE9w+GNwzMAfE3L/s+VT7mKVAByGy7mep8/tUTGcUUDJajTSQPCv9IO58zQ9ASZO9Aa/2L4EtzDd5eBm5qkEgqvIzzJ3k1Te3PDL2Gu5DcdrTaoSAJHMHKACR/atT7LtODw5gD90m3kIpjtjwn9pwroAC6jPb65l1IB8xI96lpnph+HYLNczV4VryKpmrFgwWb8KsfcjIPqwPtUW2f7+/6NSrwyqVmZaNNvANfq30qNTW9NN3TXpakOaAftsIAPPalG3SLAGWD7VLwWCu3Ae7UvBVdPxMYVR1JoCJEGte/wAPDOCT+u5/8qz5uzGIVijqoInTODqNxpzq3diLrYbDv3jA2y/gKyYeIdTpt8P1qegtt4HvLYB3cE6awI0mf1NAuBWYZzOiYlhH9V0ipXEbV68zJbYq9sKWOWU1Oxk6aEddtqG4LNJ8IQrdZZWZ01k5uZqSWjArBuf+4/3oHxjs8O/XE2/CxkN0JOgby0mTRjhV6U13nWd560A7bcUyQgMBVNxoMT/Cin3ohqN2q4qbrhIVcgAbJsWA+sfraq7FOliSSdyZJ8zSSa0hG4pdt2UypKnqDBr0VxphoHCscLqDKoZ7udSssEVXRFu3CoPhK3MrSo5EmKlX7BXF5Vm9euoEZmIIGJWcyMSIAyrMDWANNap/ZrjL2SbasqhyBmYSFJgMdNYyzp+dWnHY/ubSYfDsA3ha7cGpF62RluI3NjBBOoKkedY2ZVygHFMWww4svcUXbD5VtpAaU0Vjzb15R1qu4y9dvtmv3Gc+ZmrLd4VmzXCxZ2kkmJJO5Mb+9Bb2FKhieQq5idDb4GgB8go+5ovwok5bX4oCjzO1BcMJOY7miT6XEI5QdPKqoO9ozFzQHu1AtqRqPAIP1zGkYDjPdKVVFMmZk7wF1HMafU07hbhW46FSyE6DffmBUbH2AhJQQNPYnlSBPD7jqRlLr/QSPtRfG4bNlNxy7N4sp31GUFvMgac4FCsFbJMvMcl2BPKfKia2O7bvBDdfI9Y6UwewfZtrgIN3w/GGYMxC+FGVtPJANeVb41tb9pSupAEfLb3isi4RipLKvNSD6SG/L6Vdux/Fsjd0x0O35gVNES2FOHENk7vMcszHnRHjOFH+oux+L+9DcNbzsFESTAnQUhfQNc4LYu5u8tKTmOux67ihvaDgVhMM7W7aqywZ56GrNcsm3cdG30PkQRuPlQvtK4GGuz+GPc7VSWbW1qRaplDUiyKZN07E/wDocP8A0fmaNg0G7JOv7Fh4O1pQf6o8X1mi2eoaz4xjtvwhrGJfwZbbszWzyIMEgehO3pQCtY/xM4f3uGF0fFZM/wCxoVvsp9jWTVUZ9TKpGJxMkD8IjTYnmfnTffV1dTUQ12kG7XV1Agl2ewRxN0WVYLoWJOwUbnz3Hzq88G4KLCsFxAJLqVIX4WXcgE67D5V1dWXduqnwUv2ld3uG8xZ/AIA0JMsy+Znel2rVpNVZyFhQANC2kkCNTpvXV1R7NP8A2vujnUmDGcAxImTPX3oUMd+9uMJKtiHB/pZgJ/8AI11dRxaXUEeGYzKSDoRKt6gwDVK7acRzNd1+J1T/AGoD+YFdXVpz9SqSOSQqgknQACST5Ab0VHZ7FQJthZ2DOik+xavK6rtJGs8OvNdaytstcUwwEQPMsdI86VZ4XefvAihzbMOFZSZG5AnxDQ7V1dS0zvDOB37657XdwDBm4FYEciNwanG4QoKsjfiFtw65ucEbHyNdXUUFYficaGfelY5w9t43INdXUgrHDTLx0om8GGHWK6uqqEZeIXEe4obQAkA6gelT714QCYJ3BJ0k6a9DpXV1IBGJvSdQf+RonwK607krzDGdOcV1dToWThd1UfwMIP8AC2h16Toam4jFETlJVhqpG4Yag/OvK6pJeuyvapcRZAeA0Q6+f9juKax1/u2gHTdT5f3rq6j9V+If+ZlrjFmJMDUmfvVa7Y8c2sq3m+23IV1dTiVXTEVOwjliFUEk6ADeurqdJtuCxi27aWxACqBA20HKn/8ANB1rq6oaonF8Wt2zcttqGUiJI15bdDB9qxd7sEgyCNCD1rq6nE9P/9k=" /></div>
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His <i>face</i>! Hahahaha!!!! Priceless.<br />
<br />
So yeah, my surgery is one week from today. Am I nervous? Yeah. Even more so than two weeks ago, when I was <i>supposed</i> to have my surgery. Sheesh Loueesh. I've had two more weeks to get even more nervous and anxious and sleepless. The suspense is KILLING me!! I know it will be okay. I do. I think most of my anxiety is centered around getting everything done that I need to before leaving town, and in making sure Ben remembers all of the appointments and things to which he has to take the kids in my absence. And you know, driving in downtown Portland, and figuring out the trolley system for Mom so that she doesn't have to drive in downtown Portland when she goes back and forth from the apartment where we'll stay a l'hopital. Whether I'll be able to set up wifi in the apartment. Stupid crap like that. <br />
<br />
When I said that I don't worry so much about the little crap, that was <i>mainly</i> true. I mean, I'm still <i>me</i>, right? So I get anxious about stuff. But I'm maybe not as edgy as I used to be. Which might be because I'm on really good meds..... Haha!<br />
<br />
And yes, I've double and triple-checked to make sure this thing is really going down. I got the call from l'hopital to do all the pre-check-in stuff. I can't remember half the instructions they gave me. Am I supposed to avoid deodorant starting the day before surgery? Two days before? How many days before am I supposed to stop shaving my armpits? It's a little foggy. They really should send e-mails with this stuff. I mean, hi, they deal with chemo-brained patients all the time; you would think they'd put all of this in writing! I do remember her telling me that I have to shower with anti-bacterial soap the night before surgery, and then shower again with the anti-bacterial the morning of surgery, that I have to wear freshly laundered jammies, sleep in freshly laundered sheets, and change into freshly laundered clothes to arrive a l'hopital.... The really interesting stuff is the stuff I remember.<br />
<br />
Let's hope that my surgeon has forgiven Ben for swearing at her; I'd really hate to have her leave a rusty nail in my gut as retribution. Haha! Naw, I'm good. In case you missed it, my ma is going with me to Portland, and Ben is going to stay here with the ninos and work from home. I think it will be fun. We'll have to watch a whole bunch of British chick lit - we will have come full circle from when I was a Couch Person during chemo and we watched as many British miniseries and shows as we could. We'll probably still giggle quite a lot. Maybe even more so, because I'll have those huge painkillers in my system. Blood grenades, here I come!<br />
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I'm going to have a LOT of downtime in the next month or so, so you'll probably hear more from me than you ever cared to. And the writing will be.... interesting. I remember trying to write thank-you notes after my mastectomy, and then I just got too tired to make sure people actually <i>received</i> said thank-you notes. So maybe a month later, I pulled the pile out so that I could rip open the envelopes and add more thank-yous to each person - these people just kept helping and helping and helping, and I didn't want them to think I didn't appreciate all the different stuff they did, right? So I ripped open these envelopes, and I was like, "Who WROTE these???" The handwriting was unintelligible! And the sentences meandered all over the place. I mean, it was like, "ThankyousomuchforhelpmecanceryardbabysitbloodgrenadeshahabestpersonEVERmusthavemetin<br />
heavensoulsisterseverdowithoutyou?" <br />
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Good times.<br />
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Am I nervous about the painkillers? Yep. They're hard to get off of. I think it's harder emotionally than physically to get off of them. Truly. It terrifies me. <br />
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Am I looking forward to staying "in hospital," as the Brits would say? YES!! I freakin' love l'hopital. I feel so safe there. Truly. Hospitals have helped me out many, many times. I love having someone to take care of me. I love drifting in and out of sleep. I love the reassurance of an IV bag. Love the catheter. DON'T love the food. But that's okay. I'll have my mom smuggle me in some good grub.<br />
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Kay, it's late, and I'm rambling, so I'll say hasta. You might hear from me again. If not, I'll see you on the other side! I'll be sure to keep you <i>abreast </i>of any further developments. Haha! That never gets old...Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-11346660501549570972016-07-29T00:09:00.001-07:002016-07-29T00:09:19.647-07:00Two years ago today...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Oh my goodness, Ben and I just realized that I went in for my double mastectomy exactly two years ago today. <br />
<br />
I feel like I've aged a lifetime since then.<br />
<br />
I was sifting through pictures to find the above one, and I got a little emotional. I was dancing at Ben's neice's wedding. I was playing with my kids in Lake Chelan. I was loving my new house. I was gardening. I was so vibrant. So healthy.<br />
<br />
So I thought.<br />
<br />
As I progressed through those pictures, there's the above the picture, and then maybe a picture of a bouquet or two, and then.... nothing left in that summer folder on my desktop. <br />
<br />
It was rough.<br />
<br />
Not pictured are the demons I faced when my children were at sleepaway camp, Ben was already working in Bend, and my darling youngest was thousands of miles away. My darling dog - my dear, sweet Pepito! - was adopted into a new, loving home. <br />
<br />
And I was alone. In the house I had hoped to grow old in.<br />
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There was so much loss, all at once - Ben's job, my cancer, Gage's autism diagnosis...<br />
<br />
I think I'm still mourning in a lot of ways. I miss my old, vibrant body. I miss my extended family. I miss my dog. I'll never have feeling in my left upper arm, or anywhere on most of my torso, again. I miss not having to wear compression. I miss gardening. I miss a house where we could really spread out. I miss my Idaho friends. <br />
<br />
However, also not pictured is the overwhelming outpouring of love and support I received from hundreds - I mean that literally - <i>hundreds</i> of people. People I had only met eight months before. People I grew up with. My family. Acquaintances. People very far away. People next door. They landscaped my yard and painted my house so that we could sell it. They watched my kids. My sister took my youngest to Chicago with her and provided life-changing intervention for him, being a caretaker for him for five whole months! My parents took me into their home so that they could care for me during the darkest hours I would face. I was surrounded, <i>enveloped</i>, in love.<br />
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Not pictured are the hours I spent suffering on the bathroom floor, the sopping wetness of my parents' poor guest bed from all the night sweats, the terror I felt as I watched my body disintegrate before my eyes. Not pictured is the panic that arose when I was rushed to the hospital with neutropenia and dehydration. Not pictured is the weird feeling you have when you're severely dehydrated - you get the feeling that people are trying to talk to you, begging you to drink, and you just don't care anymore. Not pictured is the relief you see when you see a nice, full IV bag that's emptying into your body. Not pictured is the strange burning you feel from deep inside after each chemo treatment - like a full-body blush. The pain from the shot that pumps up your white blood cells to fight infection. The incessant disinfecting, sanitizing, praying that I won't get sick anymore. The tear-filled FaceTime sessions with Ben and my kids. My shoebox full of medications.<br />
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Not pictured are the hours I spent curled in a chair next to my parents' fireplace, gaining light and knowledge and warmth from my Heavenly Father. Not pictured is the constant, continual love and support from family and friends that I received. Not pictured was a perfect re-alignment of my priorities. A life-changing re-alignment. That's what happens when you face death. Not pictured are the hours my dad stood in line in the frigid cold with Micah so that he could pet a reindeer. Or the hours my mom and I spent giggling, crying, and watching Elizabeth Gaskell movies, joking that I really was becoming long-suffering, because I had been suffering for soooo long... The small road trips she, Micah, and I took to see southeast Idaho in all of its autumn glory. The look in my dad's eyes whenever he came home from work and came straight to the couch to see how I was. The hours he spent looking over my EOB's and paying my bills for me. My mom stubbornly insisting upon taking my temperature, and me stubbornly avoiding it, because I didn't want it to be too high and have to go to the dang hospital again. My mom advocating for me with doctors and nurses when I was too weak to talk. My friend, Megs, and I spending as much time together as humanly possible before I would have to move. And the gifts! Oh, all the gifts people brought me and sent me and gave me. People are so good. People are so good. Not pictured is the lovely lady who gave me a chance to teach dance when I felt well enough, and how much that healed me every week. How it gave me something to look forward to. <br />
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If there was a word to describe how I feel after two years, it's this: grateful. I'm grateful that Heavenly Father saw fit, in his infinite knowledge, to let me stay on this earth a little bit longer. I had more work to do. I'm so grateful for the perspective this experience has given to me. All the little crap that used to bug me is not a big deal anymore. I'm a little more patient than I was before. A little more empathetic. I hug my kids more. I hug my husband more. I watch more sunsets. I laugh off things that used to offend me. I've truly gone through a refiner's fire to become better. Stronger. And I'm grateful for that.<br />
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Plus, now I get a chance to use the word "abreast" in a double entendre as often as possible. Example: Today I texted one of my dance bosses to let him know I'd be missing a teacher's meeting while in Portland. Then I said, "Be sure to keep me <i>abreast</i> of any information you discuss..." <br />
<br />
His response, "Ha!" seemed to have a little discomfort behind it. Which I love. One of life's great pleasures is making men uncomfortable by talking about girl stuff. Haha! <br />
<br />Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-30743892755711951942016-07-21T22:48:00.003-07:002016-07-21T22:48:49.050-07:00EarplugsI remember first learning about sensory perception/processing disorder. My adorbs friend, Shelly, told me about it - two of her kiddos have it. It's really hard to describe; <a href="http://childmind.org/article/sensory-processing-issues-explained/">this</a> is a spectacular article that really explains it in easy-to-understand terms. <br />
<br />
Little did I know, when I learned about it, that I would have a child who would struggle with it. Lots of autistic kids deal with sensory perception issues; Gage is hypersensitive in some ways and hyposensitive in some ways. His hypersensitivities:<br />
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<b>Loud Noises</b><br />
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<i>Exhibit A - Fourth of July Fireworks</i><br />
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<b>Bright Light</b><br />
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<i>Exhibit B - at Tumalo Falls. He might as well have been staring straight at the sun. He will only wear sunglasses for a few minutes, and refuses to wear a brimmed hat. Which leads us to....</i><br />
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<b>Certain Fabrics</b><br />
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<i>Exhibit C - at Richardson's Ranch near Madras, Oregon, in front of an enormous pile of lavender quartz - I die! I am OBSESSED with rocks. Anywho, notice the pants that Gage and Micah are wearing. They refer to them as "soft pants." Neither of them will wear jeans.</i><br />
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<b>Certain Kinds of Touch</b><br />
<br />
A light, tickling touch is unbearable to Gage, and sometimes he jerks his hand away from mine, or will arch backward when I try to bring him in for a hug. But other times, he comes to me for a hug (he usually likes to back up into my legs to receive a hug. Like a beeping, reversing FedEx truck. Haha!) or slips his hand in mine.<br />
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His spirit animal is a cat, I think. Only wants lovies when he initiates. :) I'm not offended. It's what he needs.<br />
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Now for Gage's hyposensitivities (a.k.a. He needs more input from his senses in the following ways - regular, day-to-day input isn't enough for him, and he seeks more):<br />
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<b>Spatial Relationships and Moving the Body</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Gage loves jumping, bumping and crashing activities... (bumper cars are a fave):<br />
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And deep pressure, like tight bear hugs. I worked a lot in special ed this past spring when I was subbing, and we had an autistic kid who craved deep pressure. There was a gymnastics mat - you know the kinds that fold up like an accordion, and then can be laid out flat? And his favorite thing was being squished between two layers of those gymnastics mats. His classroom aid would gently push on him from the top. He was like the patty in a hamburger.<br />
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<b>Spatial Relationships and Head Position</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Gage is in constant motion. He loves spinning around, rocking back and forth on the exercise ball, being tossed in the air (he loooves Ben tossing him high and onto our bed), and jumping on furniture and trampolines. One of his first phrases when he <i>finally </i>started speaking was "Jump jumping!" which, in Gage Speak, was "I want to jump on the trampoline!" We once had a trampoline. And a yard in which to put that trampoline. And a house which had a yard. We had a lot of things. Sigh.<br />
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Sometimes I get sad about that.<br />
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I digress. <br />
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So, as far as sensory perception disorder, there are kids who, when overstimulated, will cry, scream, get whiney, etc. And then there are those who will avoid the thing which is causing distress, running away from the noise, hiding in a quiet room... Gage is part of the first camp. We find that, when he's getting overstimulated, the best way for him to "reset" is to do anything involving vestibular motion - the spatial relationships and head position thing I just talked about. (And, BTDubs, my sister, Lexi, is the one who taught us ALLLLL of this stuff. She works in pediatric physical therapy, dealing with lots of kiddos who have sensory issues. She is amazing.) He'll ask for "head squishes" - gentle squeezing pressure on his skull with the palms of our hands. He'll start spinning around and around. He'll run back and forth between our front door and our back door, pausing at each door to jump up and down and flap his hands frantically. He looooves rocking back and forth on the exercise ball, forward and backward. Or he'll come for a hug and push to have both he and I rock dramatically left to right or front to back. Or he'll jump on the furniture.<br />
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My favorite. :)<br />
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I think all of us have a little bit of sensory stuff going on. I find, as I get older, that I am more and more sensitive. Something that has been off the charts sensitive for me, ever since chemo, is loud noises. Gage's occupational therapist says it's very common for people who have had chemo, which I found fascinating. I've done a little research on it, and it sounds like chemo will sometimes affect peoples' hearing. A lot of people who have undergone chemo start to have hearing loss, but I haven't really read anything that definitively talks about hearing sensitivity and chemo. But I believe the OT. She is sooooo wise, and has helped us so much.<br />
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For me, all of the small, background noises are the same as the important noises. For example, my fabulous friend, Sara, took me out to dinner for my birthday back in April. We were in a restaurant, and talking about this very topic, and to demonstrate, I said, "So that lady talking over there with her friend, the music over the speakers, the boy busing tables behind us, the cook frying things in the kitchen, and you and I talking, are all equally loud in my ears. It's like the volume for all of them is turned way, way up."<br />
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I've read some things that say that the extreme stress that cancer treatment causes can make you more sensitive to noise, which I also find interesting. That would describe the onset, but I'm trying to figure out why it's still hanging on.<br />
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Whatever the cause, it's obnoxious as heck. I've kept earplugs in my purse for Gage when we're in loud restaurants, etc. (He has a hard time keeping them in. I need to just buy a pair of those noise-canceling headphones for him.) But I find that I've started keeping a pair of earplugs for<i> myself</i> in my purse, as well. And then I added a pair to my catch-all area in the kitchen. Being Mom, I spend a LOT of time in the kitchen. And our living room is right next to the kitchen, great-room style. (Can a room that's, like, 30 feet by 15 feet be called a "great room"?) Ben seems to enjoy watching TV at eardrum-bursting decibel level in the living room. He also seems to enjoy tickling his children, which leads to them screaming either in glee (Gage) or dismay (Sadie). Ben also gets hyper sometimes and loves to sing in a falsetto opera - one of these days, I seriously think he's going to shatter the glass of his big, honking aquarium which sits in our living room. (I wonder if Ben is understimulated in his nice, quiet office all day and needs stimulation when he gets home...) Sometimes the kids will be yelling at each other in the living room. Or I'll have to put the fan on while I'm cooking on the stove top (which is as loud as a passing tornado, in my opinion). And it's all I can do to keep from running from the house, screaming and tearing my hair out. I'm a sensory avoider, as you can tell. <br />
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I use earplugs quite often in the car. Because of the whole falsetto operatic singing thing. And because Ben loves him some buttrock. Or the kids will be yelling at each other in the back of the car. (They are particularly adept at yelling at each other.) So I pop my earplugs in and slip off into oblivion. <br />
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I mean, I can still communicate with everyone while my plugs are in. I just feel like they put the noises back in the priority they should be - I can hear my kids when they're talking to me, and it drowns out the TV/the kids fighting while they do dishes/microwave fan crap that should stay in the background.<br />
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Before it dawned on me to use the earplugs, I had to take little sensory breaks in my bedroom, covers over my head, door locked, hands squeezed over my ears. I'm doing much better now that I've gots my beautiful little squishy, neon orange cylinders.<br />
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I also do yoga in my bedroom when things get a little too much. It really helps. My favorite is Yoga with Adriane on youtube. She's fantastic. I do yoga almost more for the mental side than the physical, I swear. I just crave that peaceful, quiet place that it takes me. All is right with the world when you've gotten your sweat on and are at the end of your workout, in savasana.<br />
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(How did they find this picture of me? As you can see, I've lost 40 pounds and grown boobs! You didn't know? Weird!)<br />
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Psych.<br />
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Actually, it's time for me to do some yoga for spinal health, so I will sign off for now.<br />
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Namaste.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-35602956512524729642016-07-17T22:00:00.001-07:002016-07-17T22:00:20.216-07:00It's Been Six Months!Sooooo...I was visiting Idaho recently, and I had a few peeps ask me why I wasn't blogging lately. I feel badly. I mean, I really do love writing. I just got so stinking busy! Whaaat was I doing, you ask? Oy vey. So much. So. Much.<div>
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I think I told you guys that I was working on getting my Oregon teacher's license. It took some doing. I've got a provisional license for now - I have to take a couple of tests before next May in order to get the full, four-year deal. Something to add to my checklist. I'll get some downtime for a couple of months coming up here, so I'll have to figure that out, study for it, etc. </div>
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I've been applying for jobs, but so far, no bites. It's alright; I've talked to a lot of teachers around here, and it's pretty tough to find a full-time gig. I started substitute teaching in April, working at least a few days per week, and it was crayyyyy. It was such an adjustment to go from stay-at-home mom to working mom. I was so tiiiiiiiiiired <i>all the time. </i>But it really was nice being in the classroom again. I mainly got calls to sub in elementary school, and one school 45 minutes south of the city I live in seemed to like me and call me quite a bit. That was nice - it's hard going to a different school every day, never knowing where you're going or what you're doing. And I'm kind of okay not having a full-time job; I was able to go online and mark the days I couldn't work. My kiddos and I have lots of appointments, so I could have the time off that I needed to take care of all that stuff. So if it turns out that I don't work full-time, I think I'm okay with that. They pay subs really well here, too, which is awesome.</div>
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My dance teaching jobs really started heating up this spring; I had to choreograph several numbers, make some costume pieces:</div>
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<i>(poodle)</i></div>
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... make some set pieces:</div>
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<i>(this was actually a work-in-progress picture of a fallen log set piece - I forgot to take a picture of the final thing!)</i></div>
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..... attend extra rehearsals, and run auditions for next year's placements. I didn't mind this kind of busyness one bit - I LOOOOOVE teaching dance!!! It has been so healing. Such a rush. To watch the girls on stage, performing something that I created?? It's so emotional and incredible. </div>
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I can't ever, EVER go back to not dancing. It's as important to me as breathing. And working with kiddos in a teaching capacity? Count me in!</div>
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Dancing hasn't made my foot problems any better:</div>
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But I think an attempt to jog again really was the final nail in the coffin. I not only worsened my plantar fasciitis, but I developed a nasty case of posterior tibial tendonitis. I've had constant physical therapy, I have to tape it up every time I'm active, I wear orthodics, I do the stretches and strengthening exercises... What has finally provided me some relief is this new therapy that's not covered by insurance, called EPAT. Electrical Pulse Something Therapy. The doctor uses this wand thingey, which taps your foot over and over with an electrical current. It hurts a little bit - not too much. The idea is actually to<i> create</i> inflammation, which is weird. Everything I had done in the past was to reduce inflammation. But to create inflammation stimulates your red blood cells to really go to work trying to heal the area that's been electrically shocked. I've had more relief with this therapy than anything else I've tried! I'm grateful. I still have to baby my foot, though. No more jogging for me. I've started doing a lot of yoga. I need to start swimming laps, or maybe try to get into spinning again. </div>
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Micah really wanted to try ballet this year; he really loved it until about January or so. It takes away his precious time with his friends, you see? He fought me every single Monday night about it, but by January, he had already been given a part in a number - Prince Charming for Cinderella. I told him that he had to finish it out, since the other kids were counting on him. My boss actually taught his class and cast him in that role, but then we combined her class and mine, and she asked me to choreograph the number. I created a little pas de deux to do with the little Cinderella. It was so cute. He really struggled to learn his part, even until the very last rehearsals. </div>
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Which makes sense. We had him tested this spring by a psychologist, just to kind of pinpoint what it is that causes his rage; but I also had the psychologist check to see if there was dyslexia or some type of learning disability - he still really struggles to read, even the easiest of words. So the final verdict: He has dyslexia, discalcula (dyslexia with math), a processing disorder (an inability to process, interpret, and retain what a person learns), and some kind of mood disorder - she thinks he may have the early symptoms of bi-polar disorder, but we'll know more about that when he goes through puberty.<br />
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Was it hard to learn these things about Mike? Not really. I already had my suspicions about all of these conditions; as his mommy, I probably know him better than he knows himself. And this Micah, the Micah who struggles, has always <i>been</i>. It's not like he was doing great one day and then suddenly not doing great. He's struggled since the day he was born. I don't know any differently. I think I've mourned more for Gage than with Micah; Gage seemed perfectly normal until 14 or 15 months of age, and then suddenly, my sweet baby was gone, and my autistic son emerged. I still struggle with that. But Micah has always been...enraged. Difficult. His meds take the edge off; he's gotten a little more aggravated this summer, as he's spent more time with his siblings, but he's doing alright for now.<br />
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Cancer Stuff: So, I've only recently figured something out - these bouts of horrible, horrible...ah...<i>dysentery</i> (wink, wink) would happen almost two weeks to the day from each Herceptin infusion. Not every time, but maybe every other time. I never really put two and two together before. In fact, I had a really bad bout two weeks after my very last infusion. It was so intense, and my dehydration so swift and violent, that I started having seizures. I was hospitalized overnight, and glad to be. It was really scary. I haven't had any more problems with that ever since February. Thank goodness.<br />
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I see my oncologist (Dr. Existential Crisis - seriously, we discuss religion and life and God every time I go in) every six weeks or so. He still insists that we don't need to do any scans on me. I guess this is kind of the new thing - you can get more accuracy by feeling for new lumps or changes. I think that, if I had stage 4, or we hadn't gotten all of the cancer out with the mastectomy, we'd be doing scans. I'm okay with it. They flush my port every six weeks when I go in. My local surgeon (Dr. Pirate) checks my chest every couple of months for any weird-looking changes or anything alarming.<br />
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Something new, and obnoxious that happened: In March, when I saw my Portland surgeon, we scheduled my surgery for July 14th. We scheduled my last pre-op for the day before surgery, and we even scheduled my post-op appointment. Ben has a client with an empty apartment in Portland, and he offered to have us stay there after surgery. I was to stay in the hospital for four days or so, but still stay in town in case anything bad happened, for the next seven days, Ben taking care of me. Ben's mom was going to come down and be with the kiddos during that time, Then my mom was going to come out for two weeks, for when we came home from Portland. She had bought the plane tickets and everything.<br />
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You can tell something bad was about to happen, right? That's Foreshadowing, baby. So I get a reminder call for my pre-op a couple of days before, we're all ready to go, Ben and I drive over there, we get to the pre-op appointment, and we meet a nurse.<br />
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"So, Mrs. S, I see here that you are allergic to Omega 3 Fatty Acids?"<br />
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"Um, what?"<br />
<br />
"You're allergic to fish oil, right?"<br />
<br />
"Uh, no. Not at all. Not in the least."<br />
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I should have known something was wrong right then and there.<br />
<br />
So we figure out that I'm, in fact, <i>not</i> allergic to fish oil, we update my med list, etc. Then the Physician's Assistant comes in, he makes sure I had pre-op photographs taken (I did back in March), asks me if I have any questions. <br />
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I say, "Yeah. Uh, when am I supposed to check in at the hospital tomorrow morning?"<br />
<br />
"Um, what?"<br />
<br />
"You know. For my surgery. Tomorrow morning. Here."<br />
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"I have you down for August 4th."<br />
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"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT???"<br />
<br />
You get the idea. So, um, somehow, the scheduler back in March had scheduled my pre-op and post op, but apparently, not my surgery. My surgery was given to some other lady. Frown. I burst into tears and cried for a good two hours.<br />
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The PA had my surgeon come over from the hospital (an airbridge away) to try to clear things up, but there was nothing she could do. According to her. We asked if she could maybe do my surgery in a couple of days? Nope. Her partner (this surgery requires two surgeons) will be on <i>vacation</i> then, you see. For a good two weeks. Ben and I explained that people had driven for hours to help, that people had bought plane tickets. Nope, nothing doing. <br />
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I was devastated. I cried and cried and cried. Looking at it now, it's not THAT big of a deal. I guess it's just....I have been waiting for two years to be made whole, you know? To have my final step pushed back, even by only three weeks, was hard. And I felt really badly about my mom's and mother-in-law's sacrifices and expenses. Sigh.<br />
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And then there's the issue of recovery time. I've been told it will take two months; which is why I scheduled it for the summer. The new date - August 4th - will push my recovery into the new school year, which will affect my ability to substitute teach and to teach dance. C'est tres frustree.<br />
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Ah well. I have to keep reminding myself that at least I'm alive. And I'm sealed to my family. (If that sounds weird, I'm a Mormon - look up sealing on lds.org! Good stuff!) And my mom, after four hours on the phone, was able to switch her flight without a penalty fee. <br />
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As a consolation prize, Ben and I ate at an amazing place in Portland called Tilt:<br />
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We went to the temple trip:<br />
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(More Mormon stuff! lds.org! Look up temples!)<br />
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We slept one night in the fabulous apartment with a beautiful view:<br />
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And I got a proper cut and color, by someone besides Great Clips and myself:<br />
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I loooove it! <br />
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And I get three more weeks of summer fun before becoming, yet again, a Couch Person. The apartment will still be available in August, as well. So it will be alright.<br />
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Kay, I've gots to go. Hopefully I'll write soon.</div>
Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-15551388878845277312016-01-21T11:53:00.001-08:002016-01-21T11:53:13.852-08:00An Anti-Climactic MilestoneAy carUMBA, why am I blogging when I have dance lesson plans and choreography to work on??? And dishes and laundry to do? And jogging to suffer through? And a dear relative's book-in-progress to read and to provide thoughtful input upon? Why am I blogging, with so much to do?<br />
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'Cause I miss writing. <br />
<br />
I'm just going to have to schedule writing on my blog like I have to schedule my daily workouts. And my daily scripture study. Which, strangely, is going swimmingly. I've had a lifelong struggle keeping my scripture study consistent. I think I subconsciously made a New Year's Resolution to do so. (I refuse to make real live New Year's Resolutions. Because, invariably, I fail, and then I feel crappy about myself. Just trying to save myself the negative self-talk. I have to be a good caretaker of my psyche, and this is one of the ways I can do that.)<br />
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So anyways, guess what?<br />
<br />
I am DONE WITH ALL CANCER TREATMENTS FOREVER AND EVER AMEN!!! It really is a huge deal. I remember when I was in the throes of chemo, back in Idaho, more than a year ago. I was sucking on ice chips during one of the medicines in my cocktail - was it taxotere? Adriamycin? Cytoxin? I had to suck on popsicles or ice chips during one, and I had to put my fingertips on ice packs during one... I honestly think I've mentally blocked a lot of that miserable time out of my mind. As well I should. It was THE worst thing I've ever gone through. <br />
<br />
Anyways, back to my story. I was sucking ice chips, and a really cute gal with very short but curly hair came in. She sat in the recliner next to me, and we got to talking. She was there for one of her herceptin treatments. She had the same exact cancer as me - HER2+. She had gone through chemo for four months, just like me, and radiation for two months, just like I would, and had a couple of herceptin treatments left. I remember looking at her hair and thinking, "In a year, my hair might be that long!!" <br />
<br />
As she got situated in her chair, a nurse and her doc (who was also my doc) came into the infusion room, enormous smiles on their faces. <br />
<br />
"Hey, Bonnie [I just picked this name because I can't remember her real name, and I just read an article in the Ensign that quoted a lady named Bonnie], guess what?" Doctor Who Doesn't Really Care if You're Dying of Dysentery-Related Dehydration said. [I picked this name because, well, the name really explains itself. The dysentery-related dehydration hadn't happened yet, because I was only halfway into my treatments. The fun was soon to come. I'm still a little pissed at DWDRCIYDODRD for the not-caring stuff. My oncologist here actually gives a rat's arse about me. Mainly. I'll get to that in a second.]<br />
<br />
"What?" responded Bonnie.<br />
<br />
"We miscalculated! You don't have to do any more treatments! You're done! You've done a year of herceptin! You're outta here!!" crowed DWDRCIYDODRD.<br />
<br />
And sweet Bonnie burst into happy tears.<br />
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I yelled, "Get over here and give me a hug!" Because I couldn't go to her, since I was all hooked up to tubes and might have even had my hands on these ice pack thingeys. She obliged. (We had only spoken for a few moments, but we had bonded, as all cancer sufferers and survivors immediately do.) And I might have shed a tear or two for her. <br />
<br />
I remember thinking, "Man, when I'm done with my last herceptin infusion, I am going to be so emotional!!! I'll cry and cry and cry!!"<br />
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So, yesterday, when almost the exact same scenario happened to me (I found out after my treatment yesterday), all these months later, I was surprised that not a tear was shed. (By me. My cute chemo nurse cried.). I blame it on my anti-depressants. Those things are <i>strong</i>. I still feel extreme joy and extreme sadness, but you won't see one tear dripping from this eye. That's just how it is. <br />
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I often think (because I think really weird thoughts), <i>Man, if I was an actress, I'd have to go off anti-depressants. Because you gotta be able to cry when you're an actress. Nobody would hire me. </i>Haha! Like I could ever be an actress! Even when I wasn't on anti-depressants, in high school drama, I had a hard time conjuring up any kind of tears. Of course, the only serious play we did was written by my drama teacher, and boy, was it crappy. It was called Castle Dracula. The dialogue, plot....heck, <i>everything,</i> was really ridiculous. A sample of a line I had to scream: "Stop killing my FRIENDS!!!" With such crappy material, I had no choice but to use the old vicks-vapo-rub-on-the-fingertips trick. Oh, you don't know that trick? Weird! Kay. So, you dip your pointer finger and your thumb in Vicks before you go on stage for the scene in which you'll have to cry. And then, when it's time to cry, first, you put your finger and thumb into where your tear ducts are, like you're pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration and angst. <i>Or</i>, you cover your eyes while your mouth starts fake trembling, and really, you're smearing Vicks all up in your eyes. And then you can cry like a baybay.<br />
<br />
Tricks of the trade, dude.<br />
<br />
Anyways, so yesterday, when I found out I was totally done with cancer treatment, I was just mainly...joyful. Smiley. Giving hugs to all my chemo nurses. Joking around. Partially because I can't cry, but also because herceptin was a cakewalk. I had zero side effects from it. I've felt fantastic, really, since fall or so. I had my ups and downs last spring and summer, but I think that was just my body trying to climb out of this hole that chemo and radiation had thrown me into. But since September or so, I'm gooood. <br />
<br />
I think that, if the end of chemo had been the end of my cancer-treatment journey, I would have been very emotional. Because it was so horrendous. Also, my journey isn't quite over just yet. I have to tackle the enormous Reconstructive Surgery Beast this summer. Maybe when I'm done with that, I'll cry those tears of joy.<br />
<br />
So, yesterday, though I didn't give an Oscar-worthy crying performance, I still wanted to celebrate. Because it really IS a big deal! No more cancer treatments, ever! You know, unless it comes back. But I don't like to think that way. And you know me - I like to partay. So I put up a general announcement up on facebook yesterday - "Yay! I'm done!! Someone should throw me a party!" I didn't mean that someone should <i>actually throw me a party. </i><br />
<br />
But wouldn't you know it? My good friend Sara saw that post and threw me a fantastic, impromptu dinner party at her house. We had barbecue chicken sandwiches, intoxicatingly yummy strawberries, and adorable pink mini-cupcakes. She also got me some pink tulips and a balloon. <br />
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Such a cool surprise! Thanks a million billion, Sara!! <br />
<br />
Oh, and we can't forget the small celebration my kids and I had after school yesterday. My nurses had given me a bottle of Martinelli's sparkling apple cider (and a little certificate), so I left it on the table so that the kids and I could celebrate together. <br />
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When they got home, Sadie yelled, "Mom!! What are you doing with WINE in our house?!?" I can't figure out why on earth she would automatically think that I had decided to start drinking, despite her ten years of experience with her teetotaler parents. What in our experience together makes you think I would start drinking now? And put a bottle of wine on the table to trumpet my announcement to all the world??<br />
<br />
After I assured the ninos that I had, in fact, NOT decided to start drinking, and that this was just fancy apple cider, the kids were eager to try it. "Look, Mom! I'm drinking WINE!" said Sadie, holding the bottle up to her mouth. I chuckled, then popped the lid off and poured each kid a glass. Gage drank his quickly, then said, "Mommy, I want some more bee-yah!" [Gage's pronunciation of "beer," apparently.] Haha! It was funny. <br />
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He even wanted to clink cups with Sadie and say, "Cheers!" <br />
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I don't know where he gets this stuff, I swear!<br />
<br />
Anyways, reaching this milestone really made me want to throw caution to the wind and get my reconstructive surgery done ASAP. I mean, physically, I can do it the <i>second</i> I want to, now. But after talking to my mom about it, I've realized that this DIEP Flap thing is going to be a huge, hairy beastmaster of a surgery. I will be down for the count for a solid two months. I can't do it right now. I have dances to choreograph and dancers to teach. I'll just have to be patient for five more months. Sigh. And THEN I can feel like I'm done and can move on with my life.<br />
<br />
I'm planning on getting my port out when they do my surgery, so until June or so, they have to flush my port every six weeks to prevent blood clots. Yikes. Bikes.<br />
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When's my first scan, you ask? Oh, um, NEVER. Which is where the my-new-oncologist-may-not-give-a-rat's-about-me-either comment from above comes in. <br />
<br />
Sooo, um, I guess most oncology practices don't do scans anymore, unless there's a reason to do a scan. They assume that all the crap you just put your body through for a year and a half did its job. If you get new pain, or a new lump, or weird blood lab results, then they do a scan. Until then, you just...hope that this nasty thing that was killing you is...gone?? I don't know. My doc, GLIHYDGIA [Good luck! I hope you don't get it again!], said that studies have shown that getting scans every three months is equally as effective as paying attention to new pain, new lumps, weird lab results. So why do it? is what they're saying. I gave him a good answer to that question: Um, so that a gal can get peace of mind. So that she has <i>scientific proof</i> that the cancer is gone. He said, "We KNOW your cancer is gone. Your scan after your mastectomy showed that!" Then I said, "Um, then why did I just go through all this HELL??" <br />
<br />
As you can see, we had a very frank conversation, and basically, he gently and kindly said that his practice doesn't do that. That he's had a few women go to a different doc so that they can get that peace-giving scan can be performed. I know how my parents feel about it - they want scans. I don't know. I mean, I'm not the oncologist, you know? I trust that he knows his stuff. He has been a fantastic doctor. He gives his patients his cell number so that, if, for instance, you think you might be dying of dysentery, he can help you. I really do trust him. But.... I don't know. So for now, I'm going to maybe do some research and see what I can find out about this new way of thinking about post-cancer care. I don't know. What do you guys think?<br />
<br />
Kay, I have to take off and make a lesson plan for tonight's beginning ballet class. Ciao!Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-51847638152977099832015-11-30T15:22:00.003-08:002015-11-30T15:22:57.557-08:00The Giving of the ThanksMy title is a reference to how a character on my kids' favorite cartoon show speaks. Her name is Starfire, and she's from another planet. <br />
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Micah is besotted by her and tries to talk like her as often as possible. It drives me bonkers. <br />
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Soooooo, how's it goooooing?.....Um, yeah, I'm a slacker. Or, more accurately, I'm crazy, crazy, crazy-busy. Sorry for the lack of posts.<br />
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Some updates: I've decided to apply for my Oregon teaching certificate and get a job teaching school again. The bottom line is that one income isn't cutting it for us, at least here in Oregon. I can only think of....one woman that I know here - ONE! - who is able to be a stay-at-home mom. The rest have to work. That's just how it is here in Bend (and actually, that's how it is in a lot of places nowadays). As I've fasted and prayed to know the Lord's will for me, I've felt impressed to go down this road. I can't completely let go of teaching dance, but I will have to cut down a bit so that I can be home more. And that's fine. Making sacrifices is part of growing up, no? <br />
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Luckily, teaching is a great profession if you have kids in school. You're gone while they're gone, and you get home when they get home. More or less. Teaching is also a great profession if you want benefits whose monthly premium won't bankrupt you, amiright?? And if you want to have any kind of retirement plan. These are pretty important things that we're lacking right now. So I'm-a pull up my bootstraps and DO this thing.<br />
<br />
Unbelievably, c'est simple to get my certificate updated and transferred to Oregon. I can't believe how simple. I've double- and triple-checked. I'm just waiting on an official transcript, along with a licensure verification letter from Utah, and I'm good to go. I got fingerprinted and everything. Did you know that women's fingerprint lines are thinner and finer than men's? Something I learned at the ole' police department. That fingerprinting dude was a chatterbox.<br />
<br />
I think I'll probably substitute teach while on the job hunt. It's a good way to make some money and get your foot in the door. Here in Oregon, you can't be a substitute teacher unless you have an Oregon teaching license! Isn't that interesting? That was definitely not the case in Idaho. And subs get paid much better here than in Idaho, which is a good thing. They actually get paid better than actual teachers!! But I'm still going for the full-fledged teacher thing, because of the whole benefits-and-retirement thing. And because I do NOT like flying by the seat of my pants. I want to know my students, I want to make the lesson plans, and I want to teach those plans. I'm a planner. Big time.<br />
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I feel very peaceful and...dare I say...excited?? I really think that these intervening years, while I have stayed at home to raise my ninos, have brought me more maturity (don't laugh), along with the experience of being a mother of a certain child who shall remain nameless who doesn't give a rat's about his grades. And the experience of being a mother to a child with ADHD, a child with anxiety and ODD, and a child with autism. When I was 23, I had NO idea what these parents go through. And now that I'm a mommy, I really do want to be kept in the loop. I want to know what assignments Dylan is getting and how he's behaving in class. I want that connection that I was kind of lackadaisical about keeping when I was a childless young woman. I think I've learned to hold my tongue better, and I think I've gained more self-control. I think I'm going to ROCK this thing this time around. And I'm excited.<br />
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And yes, I will be like a zombie. Teaching sucks the life out of you. I remember well. But this is what I went to school for, and this is what will help take my family to where we need to be. We've been living paycheck-to-paycheck for as long as I can remember, and I'm just....DONE.<br />
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We had a fantastic Thanksgiving this year; Ben's mom and stepdad came down from Washington for a few days. This is the first time in a LONG time that I haven't shared cooking duties with my sister and my mom, and daaaaang!! I cooked for two days straight!! Vivienne Leigh and Olivia de Haviland kept me company the day before Thanksgiving; I watched Gone with the Wind twice - with commercials!! I never get sick of that movie.<br />
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Oh Scarlett, you fool...<br />
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Actually, I did have help with the dinner - my sweet mother-in-law helped me with preparations the day of, and my good friend, Costco, provided the pies.<br />
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And, slacker that I am, I forgot to take pictures of us eating our bounteous feast. Sigh. But I do have one of us swimming at my in-laws' hotel:<br />
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Note my flat butt in Full Effect. <br />
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And standing outside their hotel room, with the Deschutes River behind us:<br />
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Methinks I'll probably use this picture for our Christmas cards this year, since my darling friend Megs doesn't live in town to do our family pictures anymore (sob).<br />
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My in-laws got to see me teach dance one day:<br />
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Doing standing panches. Ah, I love those darling little girls. I love my job.<br />
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They got to see Dylan play goalie on his indoor soccer team:<br />
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We also went to see The Good Dinosaur. I cried. Like, <i>a lot</i>. I had run out of anti-depressants the day before - it's amazing how swiftly the lack of meds affects me. I also had an enormous giggle fit in the car on the way home from the movie - also a withdrawal symptom. As well as heart palpitations and nausea. Good times. I'll have to tell you sometime about that one time when I forgot my anti-depressants ON MY HONEYMOON. Ben and I need a re-do of our honeymoon, for sure. The poor man was probably like, "What have I done??? Biggest mistake of my life!!!"<br />
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Luckily, I was able to get a re-fill, and I bounced back within a day or so.<br />
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Oh, and we also went to this fun center place - bumper cars, bowling, and arcade games:<br />
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The kids had a blast. Thank you so much for spending your holiday with us and for all the fun things we got to do, Greg and Gloria!!We love ya tons. And how on EARTH do I not have any pictures of you guys?? Man, I'm a jerk.<br />
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Welp, I have to sign off - we got a foot and a half of snow last week, and Gage's bus can't make it up the hill to our place yet - it's like the freakin' luge up here. So I have to walk down the hill to get him. Au revoir until next time!<br />
<br />Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-13399345371132272872015-09-24T09:34:00.000-07:002015-09-24T09:34:48.689-07:00Duuuuude.Man, I'm so sorry! Let me just tell you first off that my scan turned out AOK. The weird blister/scar tissue thingey on my left chest ended up not having cancer cells in it. I guess the test they did - called a Fine Needle Aspiration (really, it seems like a biopsy to me) - is 97-98% accurate, and because of that small margin of error, to be on the safe side, my doc is going to monitor it every six weeks or so to make sure that it doesn't grow or change. I see him again in...two weeks or so. Doctor Pirate. Maybe I should bring him a larger hoop earring as a gift. Wink.<br />
<br />
So yeah, I left a lot of you hanging out there. I had put a post on my Facebook wall, where most people who know me were able to see it, but I realized, after a reader I don't know found me on Facebook to ensure that I was okay, that I left people high and dry. And for that, I apologize. I sometimes forget that it may not only be my close friends and family who read this thing.<br />
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And I'm so sorry for lack of posting! Sometimes I get into an anti-posting funk. And sometimes I'm really, really busy. Both are the case for me right now.<br />
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Yes, I have started my dance teaching jobs!! Here is one of my "offices":<br />
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A nice, big space. Ideally, I'd want different flooring and more barres, preferably fixed to the wall, but I'm just happy to be dancing, you know? Adjusting to dancing 7 hours a week is interesting. I was really, really sore at first. Heck, I'm sore now! Which is the way it is when you dance. Depending on the moves you're doing that day, you'll be sore the next couple of days in the weirdest places. My knee was sore after doing a move in the yoga pigeon pose when I taught lyrical this week. My abs are sore from leading those same girls in a core workout. I've lost some weight in the past several months, so my pants are loose in my waist, but now they're becoming exceedingly tight in my legs. I think my muscles are getting bigger and bulgier thereabouts. Which is good. My inner thighs have been woefully fat for the past several years.<br />
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Ben is doing a great job with the kids on the evenings that I'm gone, getting their homework done, getting them bathed, etc. I'm just...so happy doing what I'm doing. I probably should get my teaching certificate updated for Oregon, but... it just doesn't feel right. After all, for the first time in my entire life, a year and a half ago, an actual audible voice in my head told me, "Teaching dance is <i>what you were meant to do</i>." And I'm not talking about a voice like a schizophrenic would hear. (I do have mental illness, but it's not schizophrenia!) I'm talking about the Holy Ghost. Usually, the promptings from the Holy Ghost come as impressions in my mind and feelings in my heart. So this answer to many prayers at the time hit me hard. You hear a voice from the Lord, you follow it.<br />
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And hopefully my meager earnings will help us muddle along. It alarms me more and more how little we're making, and how much more the cost of living is in Bend compared to Idaho Falls. It's killing us. I feel like we've backpedaled ten years. <br />
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I don't know. I'm starting to realize even more fully how blessed I was growing up. I keep comparing Dylan to where I was at his age. He's 12 and living in a cramped apartment with no yard. We can't afford to put him in extracurricular activities. In fact, he has to baby-sit for about 45 minutes each day between when I leave for work and when Ben gets home. When I was 12, I was living in a roomy house with a huge yard and taking dance lessons, which were extremely expensive. I had no idea how good I had it. <br />
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I just worry, so much, about any detrimental effects our lack of fundage will have on our kids. We won't be able to help them fund their college tuition, or maybe even their missions. To say that it's extremely humbling is an understatement. I'd say it's more...soul-crushing. I just have a lot of guilt.<br />
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Which is why I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't work at the vocation I went to college for. Maybe I could endure the sheer mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion that wiped me out when I taught school, in order for my kids to have a better living situation. I remember coming home from work, just...a shell. A shell of a person. I had no more energy to give to anyone or anything else. I worry that, if I returned to my original vocation, would I have anything left to give to my kids? I'd be grading papers and making lesson plans instead of helping them with their homework. I would have no energy to prepare dinner or do anything fun. I would be falling asleep sitting up on the couch at 9 each night. I would have no down time with Ben. <br />
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Yet...they would have a more stable home and would be more financially secure. I don't know. All I know is that God is at my helm, and He let me know that this is what I'm supposed to do, and that it makes me infinitely happier to teach dance than it did to teach school. And I have the time during the day to volunteer in the kids' classrooms, to take them shorts when they stubbornly wore heavy sweatpants on a day that it was like 85 degrees outside (one guess as to who that was), to take medicine for Dylan over to his school, to pick up Sadie from her school when she was sick and threw up. To go through the hours-long process of submitting paperwork for the kids to get insurance for another year. To arrange dentist appointments, speech therapy appointments, occupational therapy appointments. My kids have some pretty major needs, and they need a mother, not a shell.<br />
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I just hope I'm not being selfish. :(<br />
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As far as my health, I'm doing well. I went in for another herceptin infusion last week:<br />
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Badda bing, badda boom. No side effects. I'm so grateful.<br />
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And I really hate that shirt. I don't know why I continue to wear it. <br />
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I continue herceptin until February, and I have reconstruction in July or so. My foot is really, really ticked off at me for dancing on it. In addition to the plantar fasciitis that has plagued it for two years, I've now developed posterior tibialis tendonitis. That's a mouthful. I tape it every day that I dance, and I wear my big old clunky shoes with orthodics when I'm not dancing. I'm due to get some custom orthodics in about a week, and I can't wait. My feet are my moneymakers! I need them healthy!<br />
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The kids are doing great. Gage quickly got used to the school routine - in fact, he's doing much better since school has started than he did in the summer, when there was less structure. Micah is doing fabulously on his anti-anxiety meds. A complete turnaround in that kid. Sadie has started speech therapy. And Dylan seems to be handling having seven different classes better than he did last year. I can't believe he's a seventh grader! They're all growing like weeds. Dylan's feet are bigger than mine! And he's only a couple of inches shorter than me. Sadie wears my size in shoes and is only maybe four inches shorter than me. And I'm a tall person!!!<br />
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My church calling is fantastic, and I'm reading an incredible book right now - Into Thin Air by John Krakauer. Amazing. I've had a cold, so I haven't been sleeping well - lots and lots of coughing. But it seems to slowly be improving. Life is good!<br />
<br />Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-20103683618359598322015-08-26T21:51:00.000-07:002015-08-26T21:51:04.047-07:00The last time my abode was this clean......was when I only had Dylan and Sadie. Ya wanna know why?<br />
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My oldest three have been gone at camp this week.<br />
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Oh, wait, wait, wait. I'm not trying to be a jerk. The main reason I got on here tonight was to let you know that I haven't gotten my test results yet. I was supposed to get them today, but apparently, Doctor Pirate was in surgery until late this evening. So I'm supposed to hear from him tomorrow. I'm so sorry to keep you in suspense. Some people I know (*cough* Lex *cough*) are even more nervous about this test result than I am (I love that you're more nervous than I am, Lex), and believe me, I'll let you know as soon as I know. I've had a Peaceful, Easy Feeling today, though. (What classic rock group sang that song?) Perhaps because I started the day right by praying, reading my scriptures, and an hour of yoga - my back is yelling at me right now, saying, "Too many bridges, Kar! Too many bridges! You're in your late thirties, ya know!" Perhaps it's the Holy Ghost, speaking peace to my soul. I know I'm going to be alright.<br />
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So anywho. Back to camp. They go to Camp Kesem. For those of you who weren't with me last year, Camp Kesem is a nationwide organization that provides a free, week-long camp experience for kids whose parents have or have had cancer. There are 60-something chapters of Camp Kesem throughout the United States, and it's just wonderful. My kids went to the Sun Valley, Idaho chapter last year, and this year, they've gone to the Gresham, Oregon chapter. If you're ever looking for a good charity to support, this is one to think about. Kids from age 6 to 16 can go. Even if their parent has been in remission. They get free camp, every summer, until they're sixteen. The idea is that they get a week to just...be kids. A week not to worry about their parent. In my case, a week where they don't have to baby-sit all the time while the parent goes to a million doctor visits. Dylan and Sadie have been absolute rock stars since I've been here in Bend. I had radiation EVERY SINGLE DAY for eight weeks, and Dyl and Sade watched The Two Littles EVERY SINGLE DAY while I went. I'm proud of them for kind of stepping up to the plate for me, but I also really looked forward to this week for their sakes. <br />
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Also, it's a whole week where I don't have to hear fighting about the damn X Box.<br />
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A whole week where my house actually<i> stays clean.</i><br />
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A whole week which gives me the opportunity to de-junk their bedrooms without them saying, "But Moommmm, I still play with that toy all the time!! I don't want to donate it!"*<br />
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Have I told you about Micah's Spidey Sense? He's so funny. So, in this neighborhood, there are a lot of rentals, and therefore, people are moving in and out all the time. A lot of people, rather than cart a bunch of stuff to The Goodwill, throw crap they don't want in a box or on a table with a little sign saying, "FREE." <br />
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Somehow, Micah can sense when one of these boxes or tables is set up. It's like he has this honing device. So he comes home with crap all the time. He has a salt shaker, gravy boat, and sugar bowl from some apartment. Another raid scored him some ceramic birds and a beautiful ceramic high heel which is decorated with little glass roses. Most recently, his aquisitions were a large box with like 20 little sample-sized bottles of perfume and several broken Christmas decorations and ornaments. <br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
The perfume was AWFUL. Every time I came upstairs, or really, whenever Micah was in my vicinity, I started sneezing, because this perfume is too old, I think. You know that very bitter, eyewatering smell that perfumes get when they're too old? I hate to say it, but...it's Old Lady Smell. Times fifty. <br />
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We finally told Mikey he had to get rid of the perfume. Ben gave him an old bottle (but not too old) of his Preferred Stock. A much more pleasant smell. Ben also had a stroke of genius when it came to disposing of this perfume. You see, we've had this issue with our garbage can. We're good about bagging our garbage and not putting leaky bags in or anything, but whoever lived here before didn't really care about doing that. So whenever you open it to throw garbage in, you get this horrible Dead Body smell. Or Old Mildewy Milk. It's hard to describe. But it makes me gag. I've sprayed the inside with our sprayer and poured bleach in there and sprayed it some more and emptied it out and aired it out, but that smell is so pervasive. Anywho, Ben decided to empty the perfume bottles into the garbage can.<br />
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And whattaya know - no more Dead Body smell! All we smell is old lady. And we are AOK with that.<br />
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So today, I went through Micah's...ah...treasures...and threw out the ornaments that were broken - there were a few that were intact. He'll probably notice they're gone, but dude. We don't live in a mansion. We don't have a whole lotta space. I gotta do what I gotta do. Plus, I let him keep the Questionable Black Fluffy Boa. I was sorely tempted to get rid of it, but instead, I laundered it and put it neatly back in one of his toy bins.<br />
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The house looks fantastic. I'm drinking it in, because the second the ninos return, it will go back to its former pit-like existence. Dude, next year, Gage gets to go! Which means - a whole week without the kids? I'm not wasting that on staying at home and cleaning the house, man. I'm going somewhere fun! Oh wait. I might be recovering from boob surgery. Hm. Well, we'll see.<br />
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Anyways, do you want to see this camp where the kiddos went? We snapped some pictures when we dropped them off. I have NEVER seen a nicer camp. It's a YMCA camp.<br />
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A horse corral? An archery range? A chapel???<br />
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The younger kids' cabins have (dead) grass on the roofs...<br />
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And yes, round doors. Like little hobbit houses. Taco was standing in front of the door - hard to see. At Camp Kesem, the kids and counselors all go by nicknames for the week. So this dude's name was Taco.<br />
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The cabins have skylights, indoor bathrooms...it's ridiculous.<br />
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I mean, if this is camping, sign me up!<br />
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The kids' nicknames this year - Dylan is...crap. I can't remember. Something about Commander Something. Or Something Chief. It's from some dumb video game. I'll tell you when I remember. Sadie's is...<i>Mangle</i>. No, not Mango. Mangle. A character who is actually nice from a video game that we don't even own! It's called Five Nights of Freddie's, or Five Nights at Freddie's, or something. The kids play some kind of live version of it during recess, apparently. Mike decided he wanted to be called Spark. He originally wanted to be called Sparkle, but shortened it to Spark. Here are the kids, making their name tags:<br />
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Why would such a sweet little girl choose to call herself <i>Mangle</i>? It's beyond me. Dylan in his cabin:<br />
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The older kids' cabins are up on stilts - the terrain is pretty uneven there. And there are these bridge thingeys between each one:<br />
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This is Dylan's porch. They built around an existing tree. So cool. It reminds me of that Tree House show with that excitable tall man.<br />
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Who's the dude in the striped shirt, leaning against the railing? Uh, that's me. I look like a dude. Who carries a purse.<br />
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We saw a few of these around. I wondered if they were the counselors' tents or nurse tents or something. They remind me of Mongolian tents.<br />
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Dude, I went to camp for church, and although there is a soft spot in my heart for Camp Darby, it was NOTHING like this. I think I might have liked camp a whooole lot better if I had this setup! The kids are so lucky. I know when I pick them up tomorrow, they'll have many tales to tell. We'll see if Micah is the most popular kid at camp again this year. Haha! <br />
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<i>*</i>Which really means that they haven't touched the toy for three years. Or it's a piece of garbage. Like, literally, a piece of garbage from the street.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-35351110698943884602015-08-25T23:38:00.002-07:002015-08-25T23:38:42.585-07:00It hit a little too close to home.Soooo, if you have plans to watch How I Met Your Mother, or as Ben and I call it, HIMYM, you'd better not read this post, because it will be a major spoiler.<br />
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Ben and I do enjoy a good binge-watch, and we've been bingeing on HIMYM for a few weeks. We finally finished the last season last week.<br />
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And I cried for like an hour afterward.<br />
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I've kept it together pretty well these past few months, so for a series finale to make me cry, nay, even a <i>comedy</i> series finale, I surprised myself. First off, may I just list my beefs with the finale? If you haven't watched this, you'll find it boring. But it does lead in to why I started crying. You may scroll down if you need:<br />
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1) Barney and Robin divorce after only three years??? After alllll that leadup? And this beautiful wedding that they had? And all the amazing things they did to surprise each other? And they were both so good for each other! (a.k.a. They were both totally selfish.)<br />
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2) And Robin gets all busy with her job and doesn't hang out with her friends anymore? Even when Lily stood there crying in her Moby Dick Halloween costume, all cute with her pregnant belly??? <br />
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3) Here's my biggest beef. The thing that made me cry. Ted spends TEN YEARS searching for his soulmate. So much heartache. So much loneliness. Such hard breakups. Ten. Years. And then he FINALLY meets The One. And she is so fantastic! She plays base guitar! She works to end poverty! She makes English muffins sing, like puppets! She totally fits in with Ted's friends! She is the mother of his children! <br />
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And you see glimpses of their future together. And it is so great!! They have a healthy, supportive, wonderful relationship!!<br />
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And then she dies, ten years into their relationship/marriage? She <i>dies??</i> This light in Ted's life, his soulmate, the mother of his children? Dies? So that the writers can make this big arc come back full circle and he is free to finally date Robin? Because, conveniently, she's single now, since she and Barney divorced? What about Ted's wife? The unselfish one? The one that wanted to be with him from the get-go???<br />
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I cried because this girl died. I mean look at me. I can't even remember her name. But here's the thing: she is more significant than for me to not know her name. She is more significant than only being in Ted's life for ten years. It's bad enough that her boyfriend, who she really thought was the one, died when she was 21. But for her to finally find love again, but then be taken away at the age of 39?? (Yes, I calculated it.) <br />
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It's not fair. She didn't get a fair shake.<br />
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And I'm scared of dying.<br />
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No, that's not it. I'm not scared to die. I just don't <i>want to</i> yet. I want to be an old granny. Like 80 or 85 maybe.<br />
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The thing is, I'm trying to ignore this...bump...on my mastectomy scar. And I've done pretty well so far. But when What's-Her-Name died when she had young children... It was staring me right in the face. So I cried and cried. Ben held me, and I sobbed and told him that <i>I don't want to die!</i> I like to pretend that cancer is completely behind me, but until I've gone the perfunctory... three years? Five years? I don't know what it is, even. But until I've gone that amount of time without any traces of cancer, I don't know how easily I'll rest. <br />
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I suppose this is premature scanxiety. I won't start scans to see if cancer is still staying away until my last Herceptin treatment, in February. But I'm going through a type of scanxiety, really.<br />
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I went to a breast specialist today ("He's <i>obsessed</i> with <i>breasts</i>...hey, that rhymes!" What show?). He looks like a pirate. He has a Jeff Goldblum Jurassic Park-era jerry curl mullet going on, and one gold hoop earring in his left ear. I liked him the second I saw him. And he really took the time to talk to me and look at my bump and measure it and figure out a plan of action. Taking into account my type of cancer's <a href="http://www.breastcancer.org/research-news/20091104">tendency to recur</a> (my type is HER2 Positive), he decided to do this needle extraction thing. It entailed a small, hollow needle extracting some cells from this bump. It was painless, because I don't have any feeling there. Gage was in the room, however (my baby-sitters are at My Mom Has Cancer Camp this week), and try as I may, I couldn't shield his curious eyes. He was fascinated by it, at first, but then commanded the doctor, with some concern, "Don't hurt my mommy!" It was sweet.<br />
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Doctor Pirate says that tomorrow, they'll get the results back and call me. There are three possibilities: 1) It will be positive for possible cancer and they'll have to do a biopsy. 2) It will come back benign and we don't have to worry about it. 3) It will come back inconclusive, and they'll have to do a biopsy. They are trying to avoid a biopsy in case it's just weird scar tissue; radiated skin is very difficult to heal, and they don't want to cause any damage if what we're looking at is scar tissue.<br />
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So it's not scanxiety, per se, since this isn't a scan. But it's the same kind of a deal - a test to see if I'm cancer-free. So, dear friends, can you pray for me today?? (Let's face it, it's like 11:30 while I write this, and you are all in bed. So I'm saying "today" because you'll most likely read this tomorrow.) I'd appreciate it. I really am, for the most part, thinking positively about it and assuming that it's no big deal. I guess I'm just coming to a realization that...I guess I won't be out of the woods for a long time. And I <i>so </i>want to be out of those woods. Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-61969709977315829232015-08-19T21:30:00.001-07:002015-08-20T11:27:55.097-07:00It's worth it just for the cheesemonger alone.It has become an absolute MUST in my book to visit the little Bavarian-themed town of Leavenworth whenever we visit Chelan each year. An adorable little town nestled in a valley with towering, lush, green mountains surrounding it? Hanging baskets and pots just overflowing with petunias - at least 5 in front of every shop?<br />
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Bavarian pastries? The occasional traveling preacher who shouts hellfire-and-damnation at the top of his voice in the central square?* Those reasons alone are reasons for me to want to go.<br />
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But the cheesemonger? Oh, the cheesemonger. It's my favorite. My souvenir from Leavenworth every year is the same: a big old hunk of cheese from the cheesemonger, which I devour <i>in its entirety</i> (we're talking to 1/4 to 1/2 pound of cheese) on the hour drive back to Chelan.<br />
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I also enjoy taking cheese-loving selfies and sending them to my sister, Alexis. Actually, I've only been doing it the past two years. But I will continue to make this a happy tradition. (You're welcome, Lex.) I can't find my selfie from last year - last summer, as you know, was a bit ca-ray-zay and I can't find half my pictures. I found out I had cancer right when we got home from Chelan last year, so those vacation pictures, plus any more from the remainder of the summer, are...somewhere. Quite possibly on my parents' computer's hard drive. Which I forgot to check when I was home for the 4th of July. (D'oh!)<br />
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But I do have my selfie from this year:<br />
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It's, um, a neat picture. All pictures of me are...neat. (Meaning, <i>not</i> neat. I'm really, really unphotogenic.) Yes, my hair looks almost strawberry blonde in that light. It was an unfortunate box dye job. I have some greys, but don't want to pay a professional to color it, since my hair is only like an inch and a half long. So not worth it yet! When it's longer, it will be a different story. We (meaning Ben and I - Ben's favorite thing in the world is to dye my hair. I think this is seriously so adorable) tried a different brand and color, and voila - I'm a strawberry blonde in certain light. In other light, my hair is the color of Carrot Top's hair. If you add the Angry Eyes the girl in the Ulta makeup store gave me back in July, and if my hair had been coming in curly instead of stick straight (not that I'm complaining - stick straight hair has been The Dream my whole life! I'm lovin' it!), heck. I would be Carrot Top's doppelganger. Hang on a minute; let me find my Angry Eyes picture:<br />
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Hahaha! See? Carrot Top hair color, Carrot Top eyebrows. Kay, take a minute and scroll up and see the <i>real</i> thickness of my eyebrows (I overplucked in the nineties - didn't <i>everybody</i>? And now they won't grow back), and then scroll back here to see the comparison. There is a WHOLE other story about this little eyebrow makeover.<br />
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Short version:<br />
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1) It was supposed to be a free consultation.<br />
2) It wasn't free. It was $25. Which I found out AFTER the consultation.<br />
3) I think the eyebrows look a <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>little</i></span> bit better with actual makeup on other parts of my face:<br />
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4) But it's still a <i>whole</i> lotta eyebrow when all I've had for 20 years are the skinny ones. I'm used to them. And they won't freakin' grow anyways, so to get dramatic eyebrows like these, I'd have to basically paint them on every day. I don't know if I want to invest that amount of time on a look I'm not completely sold on yet. Who am I, Cara Delevigne? Have you SEEN the eyebrows on that girl? Yowza. I mean, they work for her. Don't get me wrong. But they're...intense. Note: Yes, one of my front teeth is moving. I am not happy about it. Note #2: Yes, Mom, you were right to <i>counsel me in the beginning</i> to keep the enormous caterpillar eyebrows I was born with. But I had a little college rebellion and ate only cheesy breadsticks for every meal and plucked the crap out of my eyebrows. For a rebellion, it wasn't so bad. Except for the whole trip-to-the-hospital-because-my-body-couldn't-poop thing.<br />
5) To get this thick eyebrow look, all I needed was to buy two products, totaling $50!<br />
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Fifty bucks? Who am I, Paris Hilton? I don't think so. That didn't happen. Okay, half of that happened. I got the eyebrow pencil. Which is, arguably, the nicest eyebrow pencil I've ever had. It had better be, if it was $25. #stickershock #buyersremorse #itsneverhappeningagain #makeupshouldnevercostthatmuchIdontcarethatmuchaboutitandhardlyeverhavetimetowearit<br />
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So yeah. Back to Leavenworth and my adored cheesemonger. So I went on downstairs (it's a downstairs establishment, like MacLaren's in <i>How I Met Your Mother</i> [an addiction that Ben and I both enjoy]), and when I walked up to the counter, the dude remembered me! I'm trying to figure out if he was pretending to remember me (which, in Kar Land, translates into sweet-talking me) so that I'd buy a lot of cheese, because I don't look much like I did a year ago. Maybe it was my Extremely Magnetic Personaaaaaaality! Haha! Anywho, whatever. His sweet-talking worked. He had me sample a few new cheeses that had come to their full age, or whatever kind of cheese talk you use for that. I really liked the one you see in the top picture. And I took not one, but TWO pictures with my cheese:<br />
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That's the entry to the shop.<br />
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Oh, and by the way, they have a Cheese-of-the-Month Club, in case you were wondering what to get me for Christmas... I'm dead serious. (See you those gorgeous hanging baskets? I <i>die!</i> I'm in Gardening Withdrawal [GW], since I don't have a garden anymore at the ugly townhouse where we live. I'm seriously thinking next year of getting window boxes. And hanging baskets. I gotta do something gardeney. I'm dying without a garden to take care of. I did have two porch pots with some really happy begonias this summer. So there's that.)<br />
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I must warn you - if you don't have a lot of money to spend, Leavenworth might not be the place for you. It's mainly shopping. And I really do hate window shopping. Why waste my time looking at stuff I can't buy? But the cheesemonger and the hanging baskets make up for it. And the Bavarian pastries. And, of course, the hellfire-and-damnation preachers.*<br />
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Gage, window shopping for a birdhouse:<br />
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Which he didn't get. He chose some Minecraft character miniatures, of course! Nothing says Bavaria like Minecraft character miniatures. Even if he had wanted a birdhouse, I wouldn't have gotten one. I don't want to encourage the pigeon vermin around here.<br />
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Also, consider yourselves lucky that you don't see Gage's other hand down the back of his shorts. It is a constant nowadays. You can ask anyone who who has spent any amount of time with us lately. Gage is an official Bumb Grabber, in the grand tradition of S kids. Actually, I don't remember Dylan or Micah being Bumb Grabbers. But Sadie sure was. They like the feel of their buttcheeks, evidently. Gage also likes the feel of another part of his anatomy, but we won't get into that.<br />
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I keep begging Ben to let our family take a Bavarian Photograph - it's like the Old Time Photographs you can get at state fairs and in Old Town ___________ (insert any city in the western United States here), but with Bavarian costumes! The lederhosen, the fraulien-in-bustier-and-serving-steins-full-of-foamy-beer kinds of costumes. It matters not that I've never drunk beer, or that German bustiers are a little bit...slutty-looking. (Is this because of Halloween? Did Halloween do for German bustiers what it did for old-fashioned Nurse Costumes?) I want to be a fraulien in a bustier and holding a stein, dang it! I could make it modest! I would arrange my billowing tunic underneath the bustier into a modest one. (And yes, technically, I'm a <i>frau</i>, not a fraulien, but I doubt fraus wear bustiers. Perhaps they do. I'm not schooled in age- or status-appropriate traditional Bavarian garb. I just think it would be fun to wear a bustier sometime.) By the way, do you know what the worst German-or-perhaps-Transylvanian-I-didn't-really-pay-attention-in-bustier movie costume is, according to Kar? This one, from <i>Van Helsing</i>:<br />
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You want to know why? From far away, during her fighting scenes and all, that stitching in her chestal area looks like...n words. Not <i>that</i> n word. The n word I have a struggle saying. I'll give you a hint. I no longer have n words. Get it? I also struggle with the fact that Ben has a Hollywood crush on Kate Beckinsale. Hmph. (I'm allowed to have Hollywood crushes, but he, on the other hand...Hmph. I may institute a "Let's keep our Hollywood crushes secret" rule in our marriage. I'm a jealous sort.)<br />
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You guys will have to talk Ben into letting us take an Old Time Bavarian Photo next year. It's on my bucket list. Oh. And it just occurred to me that frau-in-bustier photos might look better when one has <i>two</i> items to, ahem, <i>boost</i>. That would have looked really, really funny if we had done that this year... A bit lopsided.<br />
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Thanks to my sweet mother-in-law for getting some souvenirs for the kiddos. They love them. Dylan saved his souvenir money to unlock some stupid thing on Stupid Minecraft. That game was created by the Devil himself. Ask any mom. They'll tell you.<br />
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*I actually really dislike hellfire-and-damnation preachers. Does that tactic actually work?? I'm more of a catch-them-with-honey kind of a person.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-52677349876864859352015-08-12T20:41:00.001-07:002015-08-12T20:41:22.248-07:00The Beautiful Old House on the HillBen's mom and stepdad's house is just amazing. It's more than 100 years old and overlooks the tiny town of Chelan. We love coming here. <br />
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Ben and the kids checking out the old, hollow tree:<br />
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A view farther back - you can see the town and the hills beyond. You'll notice it's a bit smoky. There are two fires in the area - it's so bad outside that you can visually see ashes falling from the sky, and it smells like a campfire. It was like this last summer.<br />
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The swing that hangs from the hollow tree:<br />
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It's so refreshing to have a lawn on which the kids can play. We haven't had access to that for awhile:<br />
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Gage loves bubble baths:<br />
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Making card houses with Grandpa Greg:<br />
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I made German pancakes one morning. Ben took a picture of one of the pans. Apparently he was appreciative. He cracks me up:<br />
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Okay, I'm off to watch Poldark. Have you HEARD of this new show? Look it up, immediately. Ah-MAZ-ing!!Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-67615758689079536322015-08-11T10:29:00.001-07:002015-08-11T10:29:23.603-07:00Chelanigans!We're here, in the land of beautiful orchards and smoke-filled skies, once more. Central Washington, Chelan, to be exact. (The smoke-filled skies is a reference to the fires that seem to plague the area every summer. This summer, there's a fire near a small town called Staheegan. No idea on if that's the correct spelling.) Ben's mom and step-dad live here. We la-hove it here. And we love Ben's mom and step-dad. His step-dad, Greg, actually just finished a huge stem cell and chemo-filled hell - he has/had bone marrow cancer. We wanted to visit him once his white blood cell count was in a safer range. He's doing okay; the chemo's side effects are still raging through his body, and that's really hard for him. But his latest scan shows that he is free and clear. Such good, good news. <br />
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Greg's brother, Jodi, lives here, as well, and he is HI-larious. My favorite joke of his so far this week: He just bought the movie, <i>Insurgent. </i>He showed it to us, saying, "Look! I got <i>Insurgent!</i> We should watch it! I can't wait until the next movie, <i>Detergent</i>, comes out. It's where they all wash their clothes. And then the fourth movie, <i>Astringent</i>, is when they try to clear up their skin." I'm still chuckling over that joke. Haha! He's so funny.<br />
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Saturday, we played in the lake:<br />
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Gage got tired and conked out on the blanket:<br />
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My adorable mother-in-law:<br />
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Micah's more of a play-in-the-sand guy:<br />
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Greg has to keep his feet up most of the day - his neuropathy and edema are still pretty bad from chemo:<br />
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Benj:<br />
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Oooh, oooh, I forgot to tell you some most important news: Micah was tested by a child psychologist, and he does have ODD, but in combination with generalized anxiety disorder. So he's on medication for both problems, and his behavior has improved a thousand-fold. We are so, so grateful. This diagnosis and medication is an answer to basically seven years of prayers over this kid. He actually seems...happy. For the first time. Truly happy, contented, and at peace. It's like the shell that was covering the true him - the Anger Shell - has been stripped away, and he is able to emerge. So, so thankful. This vacation with him has been extremely pleasant. I'm thrilled. <br />
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Micah is also taking a vitamin supplement called Q96 that my friend, Kara recommended. It is supposed to help anyone with any kind of neurologic/mental health issue. I'm sure it's helping him as well. If not, it certainly can't hurt to get more vitamins and minerals into one's system, no?<br />
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Kar Cancer Update:<br />
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Still going in for my herceptin IV every three weeks which, thankfully, has no bad side effects. A troubling little...nodule? Blister-like bump? Has appeared on the scar line of my left chest. My radiologist says it's either just my skin still trying to cope - apparently, the radiation stays in your body and continues to zap the area at which it was aimed for six months after your last treatment. Man, no wonder I'm so tired!! So it could be that my skin is still trying to heal, and it's difficult, because the radiation is still there, wreaking havoc. Orrrrr..... it could be something we need to biopsy. I need to make an appointment with a breast surgery specialist in town so he can check it out. So if you are ever praying for me, pray that the blister-like bump is just...my skin, still mad at me for being radiated, and not any type of recurrence of cancer. I'm thinking positively and just planning on it being angry, sad skin.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-64320295430879246722015-07-30T20:39:00.003-07:002015-07-30T20:39:53.553-07:00A Traumatizing People-Watching Experience<br />
So, one of my new employers had a little dance performance for her students at the county fair! She asked that I come and help a little with props, as well as just getting a chance to watch and meet some of my future students. It was great. I got to see my future pointe and ballet students, as well as some to whom I think I may be teaching modern, lyrical, and jazz. It was such a treat. The girls performed a lot of their dances from this spring's production of The Wizard of Oz that the studio did. We had the Lollipop Guild, some poppies, scary trees, the scary monkeys, the Ohhh-Eeee-Ohhhh guys... What a clever idea for a show. I can't wait to work for these girls and this sweet lady!<br />
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I invited Benny Bones to come. I wanted him to meet my boss, plus I wanted to have a little teeny date with him. Dylan's at the age now where he and Sadie can baby-sit sometimes, and it's wonderful. <br />
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Also, I couldn't think of going to a fair and indulging in fair food without him. It's a grand tradition for us, going back 15 years or so. If he went to a fair and ate fair food without me, I'd be soooo sad.<br />
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I've gots to say two things about the fair. No, three. Wait, no, there's more than that.<br />
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1) The fair grounds here are nicer than the fair grounds back home.<br />
2) The food wasn't as good as the food back home.<br />
3) Where were the horses? The cows? The quilting/flower growing/art/photography buildings?? Maybe these things only happen at state fairs?<br />
4) Is the fair back home a state fair or a county fair? Can someone riddle me that?<br />
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Another reason it's a must to include Ben in any kind of fair outing is that he feels very compelled to touch the animals. He looooves animals. Our favorites were the pigs.<br />
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They aren't stinky at all. Now the sheep...that's another story. Our least favorite animal display? The pigeons. Grrrrr. Actually, that's not quite true. There were some really funky-looking pigeons. Like hundreds of breeds. I appreciated the ones with huge Tina Turner 'dos and the ones with feathers on their legs. Those were pretty cool. But I would still shoot them if they were hanging out on the adjacent roof, crapping on my patio. <br /><br />
Though the food was sub-par compared to the food at the fair in Idaho, they still had a lot of the required foods. Elephant ears, funnel cake, and the like. And fried candy bars. I love me some fried food. Oooh, and I had a heavenly gyro with a side of <i>feta fries</i>. That's right, my friends. <i>Feta fries</i>. They were just as good as they sound. <br />
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There was a really, really pathetic girl where we were waiting for our fried Oreos (shout out to Lex!!! She knows what I'm talking about there). Actually, there were a LOT of pathetic girls at the fair. But back to the pathetic girl to whom I'm referring. I shall hereafter refer to her as Is That a Shirt You're Wearing as a Sundress? Girl. So the Fried Everything Stand (but no fried cheesecake bites! Minus five points for that, Fried Everything Stand) was right next to a, like, Mojito booth or something. Some kind of exotic alcohol booth. I don't know anything about alcohol. It just looked...exotic. Alcohol from Hawaii, or Mexico, or something like that. Anyways, Is That a Shirt You're Wearing as a Sundress? Girl and her friend were there, drinking, with some dudes. All young single adults. As you may have guessed, she was wearing a sundress that really looked like a flowy shirt. I mean, it seriously only went to her crotch area. I was afeared for her.<br />
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Especially when a Zumba group got up on the nearby stage to do lame-o dances. I'm not saying every Zumba dance is lame-o, you Zumba-aholics out there. Don't get all up in arms. These, though, were lame-o. I was like, "Um, if you want to actually burn some calories, perhaps you should move around some more?" Fo reals. But the music they had was NOT lame-o. It was thumpin', and people were kind of swaying around in their seats and clapping their hands and everything, there in the food court. Zumba music is enjoyable music. <br />
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Is That a Shirt You're Wearing as a Sundress? Girl was really into the music, and rightfully so. She would sway and kick her cowboy boots together and whatnot. And I could not. stop. staring. at her. I just kept thinking, "Oh my gooooshhhhh, her dress is going to flip up! And it cannot afford to flip up! It's already at the crotch/bottom of the buttocks line! Oh please, ITASYWAASG (Is That a Shirt You're Wearing as a Sundress? Girl), don't raise your hands in the air like you just don't care! Don't dooo it! No jumping! No jumping!" You know that saying, "It's like a trainwreck! I can't look away!"? That.<br />
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So the lady at the Fried Everything Place called Ben's name (he tried to give her my name, and I was like, "Really, babe. Let's keep it simple for her." Is it easier to remember Ben or Karlenn? Yep.), and he went up to get our fried Oreos, and my head kept swiveling toward ITASYWAASG. Because I could not stop worrying about her dancing shenanigans. Sure enough, right when I was staring her out of the corner of my eye, she did some fancy footwork involving some jumping, and the back of her dress (shirt) flipped <i>up! </i>Ahhhhh! My eyyyyyes! <br />
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She was wearing a thong. A thong-tho-tho-tho-thong.<br />
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It was really gross. So very gross. The dude standing at the stand-and-drink table with her didn't notice. He probably would have been appreciative. <br />
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Fairs are funny. There's good people-watching at fairs. <br />
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Me and my fried oreo:<br />
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One daren't smile after eating an Oreo, amIright?<br />
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And look! I can eat at a fair without worrying about becoming neutropenic and going to the hospital for four days! Hooray!! (This is my lovely chicken gyro. Lamb gyros make me yak.)<br />
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What a difference a year makes.<br />
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That's right, it's been a year. On July 25th last year, I was diagnosed. On the 30th, a year ago today, I had my mastectomy. I've come so far. I have so much to be grateful for.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-65482840610904384072015-07-23T20:25:00.001-07:002015-07-23T20:25:39.238-07:00You down wit' ODD? Yeah, you know...he...Soooo, as you know, my seven-year-old, Micah is.... an angry little fellow. We've talked about this before, dear reader. This isn't a surprise. <br />
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His angry, volatile, often violent demeanor has definitely taken a toll on our family. It's exhausting and difficult to be a sibling or a parent to a kid who is constantly hurting others, crying, screaming...he's only happy like 1% of his life. He's unhappy, and as a result, all of us are unhappy. <br />
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People who are just meeting him here in Bend are like, "Well, you guys have been through a lot of stuff this past year...Maybe he's acting out..." True dat on having been through a lot. But Micah has been pissed off since he was <i>born</i>. We kept thinking it was a phase, or that he was just more of a willful child. We've been consistent in our discipline with him. It's not from lack of guidance or parenting. I can say that with a clean conscience. We've tried so hard. Soooo hard. With all of our kids.<br />
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I finally decided to talk to his doctor about it. I felt like my health concerns were under control (mainly), so I felt ready to tackle this. He referred us to a child counselor. He and I have gone probably...six times? The first four times, I was like, <i>Ummmmm... </i>I mean, a lot of childhood counselors use play-based therapy. Which I completely support and understand. And she uses a lot of art-based therapy, which is right up his alley. But for those first four visits or so (and she invited me to go in with Micah for them), it was, "Wow, Micah, you made a really pretty picture! How do you feel about that? Doesn't it make you so happy to create something beautiful?" "Micah, what a great bead necklace! You are so good at making bead necklaces!" And I was like, dude....<br />
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There was something nice that she had us start - every night, Micah and I were to sit down together, and he was to think of a success he had that day, and also a strength that he has. And then I had to come up with two of those, as well. I felt that it improved things a little - it moved the attention from negative to positive. I think it was a good exercise for both of us in that way. And when we were in Portland that one weekend, man, he was our MVP. So kind. So much fun. Such a good attitude. I was really hoping that the change in our focus was making a difference.<br />
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But then Micah kind of regressed back into the violent and angry behavior. It's especially difficult because all of us are exposed to it all day long, now that it's summertime. And it's not from boredom. We do our city's library program (he freakin' hates reading, P.S.). We do our city's Lunch and Learn program at one of the local parks. We got a free swim pass for our family at our local swimming pool and are using it liberally. He ain't bored. <br />
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He's just...mean. <br />
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So when we visited with his counselor for his fifth session, I was like, dude. Let's get down to the nitty gritty. So I painted a more thorough picture for her of what our home life was like. Micah was right there, so I kind of used...careful vocabulary. "His behavior is very...volatile. He causes...bodily injury to his...siblings...almost every single day. It makes us feel...despair. He is very...antagonizing...the...majority of the time." <br />
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I think she finally realized that we were dealing with something pretty difficult. She had us make two charts that we keep on the fridge. One is the "Making Up for It Heart," and one is the "Kindness Necklace." In the heart, we write the things that Micah does to "make up for" hurting his siblings, either physically or emotionally. So let's say he kicks Sadie in the knee, causing it to hyperextend (Yes, that's an example from real life). Then he has to do a service <i>for her</i> to make it up. Like scrub her room. (He had to do that today.) With the Kindness Necklace, he gets to color in a bead on the necklace every time I catch him doing something kind for others. I have us write down the kindnesses he did next to each bead. Once the beads have all been colored in, we get to go the bead store and get a couple of dollars' worth of beads. (Bead necklaces are his current passion.)<br />
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The charts are effective, but they don't seem to be making as large of a difference as we'd like. He is still hurting someone almost every single day. Honestly, I feel bad for my other children. Having to grow up always worried about getting hurt all the time...not the best thing. Something really big needs to happen.<br />
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We went to therapy yesterday, after Gage's speech therapy and occupational therapy (it's exhausting keeping up with all of these therapies...). As we further discussed Micah, the therapist opened up a book of...emotional disorders? Psychiatric disorders? I don't know what the PC term is for it. We looked up "anxiety." Micah only exhibited one symptom for "anxiety." As we further tried to put our finger on what is bothering him, the therapist thought to look up ODD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder. As she went down the checklist of symptoms, I was like, "Yep, yep, yep, yep..." I asked to take a picture of the page to send to Ben:<br />
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All eight of these. Micah has <i>all eight of these</i>. And has had them for wayyy longer than just six months. Try like <i>five years</i>.<br />
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We're taking him to a child psychologist to see if she can do some evaluating and testing to see if this is what we're dealing with. And what we can do to help him. Our counselor did say that often, if ODD remains unaddressed, the child with ODD becomes an adult with Antisocial Disorder (a sociopath) or Narcissistic Disorder. <br />
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That kind of freaked me out. I watch Investigation Discovery, dude. True crime TV. Do you know what a lot of these really, really bad dudes have? Antisocial or Narcissistic Disorders. Yowza.<br />
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So, I'll let you know how it goes. The counselor said that ODD often goes hand-in-hand with ADHD or depression. I know he doesn't have ADHD. I have a son with ADHD, and Micah ain't it. But if he is also diagnosed with depression, there may be medications that can help him.<br />
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And you know what? I'm at the end of my rope. If the psychologist said, "Hey, he has depression, and I think he would greatly improve and be a lot happier if we tried a medication for him," I would be like, "EXCELLENT. GIVE ME THE DRUGS." Because that's how desperate the situation has become.<br />
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Sorry to be a Debbie Downer. Just...keepin' it real, I guess.<br />
<br />Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-8942503289056039102015-07-20T19:06:00.001-07:002015-07-20T19:06:14.755-07:00VP DayAs in, Victory Over Pidgeons Day.<br />
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After a few phone calls and one threat to call the department of health, I managed to finally capture the attention of our back neighbors' property manager, and he sent workers over to affix... I shall hereby call them <i>Potentially Deadly Impalers</i>...to the dormers of said property:<br />
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They also foamed in underneath the dormers, where the pigeons had burrowed in and nested, and put some Potentially Deadly Impalers pointing downward right there. <br />
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Ha-HA!!! The sum-beyotches can't figure out what's going on. They keep checking near their old nesting places and wandering all around the roof:<br />
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That's right, you Rats with Wings, your little babies got <i>foamed in</i>. They will DIEEEEEE a horrible deaaaaaath. And you will have to find a new place to nest.<br />
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I'm not usually so bloodthirsty, but I've just had it. Last week, I did my Weekly Poop Sweep-Up, then went to hook up the hose and the sprayer nozzle to finish off the job. When I walked back onto my porch, what did I see? What had fallen in just that three-minute interim?<br />
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Not a cracked egg with a dead, half-formed pigeon fetus inside. I had already swept up three of those that day.<br />
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It was an actual baby pidgeon that had somehow tumbled off the roof, bounced off the rain gutter, and landed flat on its back. On my porch. It's little umbilical cord was hanging off its belly.<br />
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It had fluffy white downy feathers, and it was still ALIVE. I watched it take a few more breaths, and then it stopped breathing. It had probably broken all of its little hollow bones. I sighed, got a plastic bag, used it to pick up the bird without actually touching it, then <i>threw it over the fence next onto my neighbors' property</i>. Which means that I threw it, like, a foot. I know it was petty of me, but I was just SO SICK of this disgusting s-hole.<br />
<br />
So, we'll see what happens. My property manager said to watch and listen very carefully for any potential nesting on our own building. "Oh," I said, "I will. Most definitely."<br />
<br />
There were three dudes here to do the work. Since I had just swept our porch last night, it was still poop-free, so I let the kids stand out there (with shoes) to watch the guys put the stuff up. Since the sliding door was open so I could make sure the kids weren't bugging the dudes, I heard the dudes talking.<br />
<br />
Turns out, all three of them are scared of heights.<br />
<br />
Snooooort....Hahaha!!! Um, hoooow did they get this job if they're scared of heights?? Haha! I would hear snippets of their conversation:<br />
<br />
"Sam, I swear, if you don't hold this ladder steady, I will <i>kill </i>you."<br />
<br />
"You can do this, Jeff! Just...don't look down!"<br />
<br />
"Why do <i>you</i> get to stay at the bottom and hold the ladder?"<br />
<br />
"Um, because I'm fatter than you, and the ladder totally won't support my weight."<br />
<br />
"Okay. Phew. I'm done. It's John's turn."<br />
<br />
"Dude, I already took a turn!!"<br />
<br />
"We each have to take a couple of turns, since Fat Sam won't take his turn!"<br />
<br />
"I'm telling you, it won't support my weight! I will DIE!"<br />
<br />
It was pretty funny.<br />
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<br />
Fat Sam was nice and let my kids climb on his small ladder:<br />
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I hope this does the trick!!<br />
Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-63463304354668009352015-07-12T22:47:00.000-07:002015-07-12T22:47:05.279-07:00A very proper tea, indeed.Kay, so, technically, I'm not really supposed to say, "I'm in remission," or "I'm a survivor" for like five more years. But here's the deal: the scans after my mastectomy showed no more cancer, anywhere else in my body. And, just to be safe, we kicked my body's butt with chemo, radiation, and now herceptin. I asked my I.F. oncologist, "So when can I say, 'I'm in remission'?" And he said, "You can say it now! As far as the scans go, you are in remission. You are cancer free." <br />
<br />
I'm taking him at his word.<br />
<br />
So my mom decided to throw me a Cancer-Free Parteeee. I suppose we could have called it, "The One Year Down and Hopefully We're Good Party," but that's not nearly as catchy, eh? <br />
<br />
And leave it to my mom to figure out the coolest thing we could do - a tea party at a historic house in Idaho Falls! Apparently this business, where this lady has tea parties at her house, has been around since 1998. I wish I had heard about it sooner! It is so very, very cool. My mom throws the BEST parties. I really think she should be an event planner. For now, she is content to be Number One Mom and Grandma. <br />
<br />
Mom decided to throw it when all my sisters were going to be around, but also in conjunction with my 20-year class reunion, because many of my old classmates are still in touch with me and really reached out to me when I was getting my diagnosis and going through chemo and all. We were only allowed strictly 20 people - no more - at the venue, so we did our very best to try to include everyone. I'm sure we missed someone, and that makes me feel badly. Please, don't be mad. Or, if you're mad, direct your anger at my mom. Haha! Just kidddddding....<br />
<br />
When we arrived, the lady would choose hats for us that kind of coordinated with our outfits. Or you could pick your own. She had them all hanging on the walls. A lot of ladies brought their own hats to wear. My mom's was absolutely perfectly matched with her outfit:<br />
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Since I am a matchie-matchster, I appreciate Mom's matchie-matchsterness.<br />
<br />
Then we all settled down to have tea. The lady told us something really fascinating about the gloves that women would wear back at the turn of the century and earlier. When it came time to have tea, they would take the gloves off and lay them on the table. If a woman was married, the fingers of the gloves pointed toward the center of the table. If she was single and looking, one glove's fingers dangled from the edge of the table, with the other pointing toward the center of the table. If she was single and NOT looking, she laid them sideways, with the fingers pointing toward her plate. Fascinating, no?<br />
<br />
And then we were left to mingle while we ate what I can best describe as Little Foods. There were several courses of little foods. My favorite were the British-style scones with freshly whipped cream dolloped on top. Oh baby. I could have eaten fifty of those things. Lex took the following picture, I believe.<br />
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She really is quite the still life arteest with that phone of hers. This was the Pound Cake and Sherbet course. Mmmm.<br />
<br />
The house is arranged such that there were two tables, one in each adjacent room, and that made me sad, because I wish we could have all been at one table. I wanted to talk with and hang out with every single person there! Maybe we should have done it like speed-dating. Ding! And the next darling friend to chat with. Haha! I get major FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out), and I didn't want anything fun happening at the other table when I wasn't there, dang it! Apparently I missed the stand-up routine of Natott and Lextello:<br />
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Haha! But our table had a blast, too. A few high school friends were at that table, and we talked about the boys we crushed on in elementary/junior/high school. It was great. Em (She is SO PHOTOGENIC! So jealous! She is beautiful, inside and out):<br />
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And the equally photogenic, supportive, and lovely Nicole:<br />
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<br />
My good friend/best-neighbor-ever/visiting teachee, Casady, was sur ma table, aussi:<br />
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My two crafty friends, whom I am proud to say I introduced to each other, were aussi sur ma table:<br />
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My sister's adorable in-laws were at my table, too. You'll see them in a minute. At the other table were my fabbity fab-fab mom, my sweet Aunt Terri (pictured with Nat Farley and Lexi Spade):<br />
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My fierce and loyal friend, Apes:<br />
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And one more of my sister's in-laws, my English-teaching soulmate and blogging idol, Mindy (you'll see her in a minute, too.)<br />
<br />
All of these people were so good to me during some of my darkest times, and I was tickled to have them there with me.<br />
<br />
After we had all eaten, the lady had us pass around this star thing and make a wish for me (me, me, me, me!), a wish for themselves, and a wish for someone else they know. Some people chose to keep their wishes private. Some people made really nice wishes for me; I was trying not to get choked up. Since I was the guest of honor, I got to make two wishes for myself and one for someone else. So I wished that 1) I'll never, ever, ever have cancer again, of any type, 2) That my lymphedema will go away, and 3) That my father-in-law will recover from his cancer treatment and live the rest of his life out in health and happiness. (Love you, Greg!)<br />
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Let's get to some more pictures. I love this one of my sesstras:<br />
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Could my hat beeee any cuter?? I have to show you another one with us, because by some weird trick of the light/my sister Beads' razor-like cheekbones, she looks like that plastic surgery lady who gets surgeries to look like a cat:<br />
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Hahahaha! (I'm frowning because I was told to do a real old-fashioned pose, and that's what people did back then - they just stared and frowned. Perhaps I was also frowning because I missed out on the comic duo of Lexel and Natdy. FOMO, people. FOMO.)<br />
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But seriously. Lady who wants to look like a cat:<br />
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And Catwoman Beads:<br />
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Haha! Don't worry; she's the one that showed me the picture and told me she looked like Plastic Surgery Cat Lady and laughed. So I feel alright about sharing the chuckles.<br />
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Out front with the sisters, and mama, and the auntie: <br />
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My Megs:<br />
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And alll of us!<br />
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Top row: Beads, Nat, Lex, Mindy (blogging idol), Joyce (another junior high English teaching warrior), Casady, Marmie, Terri, Kathleen. Middle row: Aprillium and Becky, sweet mother of very tall and very smart children. Bottom row: Megs, moi, Jenny (Sister to Mindy, daughter to Joyce, in-law to Becky, and also, one of my high school classmates!), Nicole the photogenic, and Em the photogenic.<br />
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Nicole, you look a bit like Carmen Sandiego in that hat. I like it. Jenny's hat was completely, perfectly matched to her dress. It was kismet.<br />
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We decided to take one in the true spirit of the turn of the century, with very serious faces, indeed. <br />
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Hahaha! Snort. Look at my mom's face! Seriously, double click on this picture. It will give you a good belly laugh.<br />
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Thanks, Ma Mere, for throwing me such a fabulous party. And thanks, ladies, for being there for me. I love each of you so much.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-55956697020619312842015-07-11T09:03:00.001-07:002015-07-11T09:03:09.975-07:00I'm really good at drawing moray eels.So. The beeeeg road trip to Idaho Falls. <br />
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It started out...not so stellar. But let's be honest - the "road" part of "road trip" is only fun if there are no kids involved. Especially kids who have to go pee every half an hour. (I really think I need to get Micah checked for diabetes...) We had to get two new tires before we left town - our two front tires were baaaaaald. I seriously love that phrase. One's tires being bald. It's very figurative.<br />
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But the tires didn't come in time, so the day we were supposed to leave, we were still waiting for them. I finally get a thing on my phone that they had arrived at Discount Tire, so I head over there, and I find out that they got delivered to Discount Tire in some small town in the southwest of Oregon. Sighhhh. So we had to do this thing where we sold our two good tires to the store, and then they put on four new tires of a different kind. This whole snafu took several hours. So we didn't head out until like 2:30.<br />
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I was really hoping to just punch out the whole drive, which would have gotten us to I.F. at like one in the morning, but if there's one thing that my parents worry the very, very most about, it's their daughters driving at night. They begged me to stop about halfway, in Boise, for the night. They paid for a hotel for my kids and me. (Thank you so much, Parental Units!)<br />
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Oh! I forgot to tell you that Ben couldn't come on this trip. We want to visit his mom and stepdad in August, plus we went on our trip to Hawaii in May, so he doesn't have any extra vacation time.<br />
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The kids and I were so tired that we collapsed into bed soon upon arrival, but we did take the time to swim in the pool the next morning, before checkout:<br />
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Gage has ZERO fear of the water. He loves holding his breath and putting his head under water. He's amazing! At my class reunion later that week, people would ask me to show them pictures of my kids from my phone, and these were the only ones I had! Haha! I try to take them off the phone and put them onto my hard drive as often as I can.<br />
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So then we headed the rest of the way to Idaho Falls that day. We spent that afternoon and then the next morning with my darling friend, Megs. And I was an idiot and forgot to take pictures. We had a blast with you, Meggie!!<br />
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By this time, all my sisters except Lex were in town, and we thought it would be a great idea to greet her at the airport. At one point, we thought of making a big sign that said, "Welcome Home, Sister S!!" but never really put it into action. When we got to the airport, we had a few minutes, and my resourceful sister, Beads, procured a drink box from the snack store and a sharpie. It was perfect for our sign, but there was this big, wordy blurb in the middle of the box. Beads suggested that I draw a horse on the blurb, since Lex works at a place that does hippotherapy, and she is a huge horse fan. Um, I did a really bad job:<br />
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It looks like a moray eel with an ear and hair. My heck. Can you believe I took art in high school? You would never, ever know. Oh, and the bubble coming out of the moray eel's mouth says, "LYLAS, you SS!" LYLAS stands for "Love Ya Like a Sister!" (From the days of yore, when kids passed actual written notes in class instead of texting each other. That's how we often signed off. "LYLAS!!") The "SS" part has origins from college with my friend, Nitz. We used to call each other Silly Sluts. I know it's naughty. And it's completely untrue. We were really good girls. We would kind of lisp the s parts. We thought (still think?) it was hilarious. My sisters caught on to it, and then we shortened it to "S.S." Because I'm the Initials Queen. The IQ.<br />
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Lex loved the sign. And the crazy, cheering people (a.k.a. my family) who greeted her when she got off the plane.<br />
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Mom offered to take my ninos home while the Sisters Four went to Babe's Bakery for lunch. Best. food. everrrrr!! (Thanks, Mom!)<br />
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Funny story about Babe's Bakery. When Lex was in college, she brought a boyfriend to IF for a visit, and they made the absolutely required pilgrammage to Babe's. Babe's is really funny, because the waitresses are....a little bit brusque. The one is okay, but the other... she kind of throws the menus at you and tromps off. And most of the women who work there are a little bit older - maybe retirement age? Maybe a little bit younger? As Lex's boyfriend looked around, he said, "Well, I can see why they call this place 'Babe's.'" Hahaha!<br />
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I got a Monte Cristo sandwich - my usual. It was awesome - as usual.<br />
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When we were leaving, we saw this license plate - one of Beads' many nicknames is BJ, because her middle name starts with a J:<br />
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That license plate reminds me of a song on my favorite Doris Day movie, Pillow Talk. The song is called Yaya Roly Poly. Whenever I see the above picture, I start singing, "Yaya BJ, BJ, yaya BJ, BJ..." <br />
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We also noticed that Nat matched both Lex and me. Her shirt has the same color of stripes as Lex's sweater, and she and I were wearing the same exact capris:<br />
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Sam's Club specials, baby. <br />
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Can you believe how long Lexi's hair is getting? And how dorky mine looks? Haha! I need to try the cool Ellen DeGeneres fauxhawk or something.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-90739463418950486602015-07-09T13:04:00.000-07:002015-07-09T13:04:21.882-07:00Find the Smelling Salts!OMGeeeee. I have many, many fun tales with which to regale you, and I'll do my best to catch you up a little bit. <br />
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Latest piece of news: My kids and I traveled to Idaho Falls for "nine fun-filled days." (Splash!) So many things to tell you about it. I <strike>promise</strike> would really <i>like</i> to promise to get to it, but....you know me. What I usually do is this: When I actually get a second to sit down and blog, I think of the very most recent piece of news or item of interest. And I write about that. Then I go and backlog other entries for things that happened before that. If I can find time. Sigh.<br />
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So the latest thing is that I fainted a few times a couple of nights ago. I haven't fainted since I was like...13? My dad was popping a pimple that was in my ear, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up on the bathroom floor. He was looking at me really skeptically, like, "Did you just fake that???" Yes, I was a drama queen, but I would never fake something that has the potential to hurt you, a.k.a. fainting.<br />
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So here's the story: my kids and I (Ben hadn't gone for the nine fun-filled days to Idaho - he had to work, so I flew solo) were on our way home from Idaho Falls and stopped for the night at a hotel in Boise. At midnight, I woke up feeling very nauseated, so I went and took care of business in the bathroom and went back to bed. And then I had another intense feeling in my gut - you know the feeling. Think <i>Dumb and Dumber.</i> You get the idea. So I get up to go to the bathroom again, and the next thing I know, I was waking up on the floor outside the bathroom, flat on my back. <br />
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Whaaa? Did I just faint? That was weird. But I still had those urgent evacuation feelings, so I scrambled up and opened the bathroom door. And then it happened again! I woke up on the floor of the bathroom, underneath the bathroom counter, pants and undies still down, and lying in...um, my Gross National Product. You know what I'm talking about there, right? I had intense pain on my left foot, my head, my shoulder, my hip, and my elbow. I was like, duuuude. And then I passed out again.<br />
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When I woke up, I was still in the same situation. I imagine I looked something like this:<br />
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You didn't know that I dyed my hair blonde and got extensions on? Weird. <br />
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This time, I had presence of mind to clean the floor, soak my clothes, and take a bath (I didn't trust myself to try to stand in the shower). Then I crawled over to my phone, and then rested for awhile on the carpet. Then I called my sister-in-law, who, like a superhero, woke her son, and the two of them came over. He watched my sleeping kiddos while she took me to the hospital.<br />
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The hospital did blood tests, urine tests, etc., but couldn't find anything specific. They figure I just caught a bug, and as usual, it affected me more intensely than the normal person. My oncologist did tell me that my white blood cell counts still aren't that spectacular. <br />
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Anyways, they did replenish me with a couple of IV bags of fluid, which I appreciated, because it had been a violent few hours after the fainting episodes. No amount of immodium could stop it. I really hate when that happens.<br />
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Yesterday, after I came back from the hospital, I truly felt a lot better and thought I could drive the remaining 5 1/2 hours to Bend.<br />
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I was wrong. So wrong.<br />
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It started up again, and I had to keep pulling over on the side of the road to relieve myself. It was really horrible. Finally, two hours from home, I called Ben, sobbing, and begged him to come get us. Then I drove to a local park and had the kids play on the big toys while I lay prone on a blanket in the shade. His coworker, Allyn (superhero #3 - Ben is superhero #2 of this story) drove him all the way to Burns, the city where we were, and then he drove us all the way home. I slept the whole time, then immediately went up to my room and slept some more.<br />
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I feel better today, though weak.<br />
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But I want to go back to this fainting thing. As I look back on it, I just keep thinking, "That is so INTERESTING!!" I know it's weird. But I just can't get over the fact that I hit my head and foot really hard as I fainted, then hurt the side of my body where I landed, and I didn't even feel it happening!! I can feel the bruises and bumps now, but my body was traumatized, and I wasn't even aware of it. It's really, really fascinating to me. I'm not saying I want to take it up as a hobby, but...it's one of those mystifying things I'll talk about in years to come, just like I still talk about my son who was sleepwalking and fell and gashed his head open and didn't even wake up. Just got to his feet and climbed back into bed. So strange.<br />
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Well, I need to go get ready to feed the Sister Missionaries, but I will really try to tell you all about my trip soon. Watch out for this nasty flu bug. It's a dooooozy. (Groundhog Day)<br />
<br />Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-90117731433157234942015-06-26T12:44:00.001-07:002015-06-26T12:44:17.013-07:00Kar Versus the PigeonsUm, I just barely learned that you spell pigeons without a d. I've always put a "d" in there! It doesn't look right without the d...<br />
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I've never had a problem with pigeons. I've never had them poop on my head or anything. Even when I lived in London, and they were everywhere, they didn't bug me. I think my benevolent feelings toward them stem from two things: 1) The "Feed the Birds" song from Mary Poppins. What can be sweeter than an old lady trying to keep these cute, sweet little birds from starving?? 2) They make the most pleasant noises. It really is quite soothing. 3) I've never had to clean up their shizzle.<br />
<br />
Well, now I've changed my tune. Because of the third reason.<br />
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Let me first take you on a little tour of the extensive grounds on which we reside right now. Here is our front yard:<br />
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It is a rough triangle, full of landscaping rocks. <br />
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For a family with four kids, this is a <i>dream.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Would you like to see our gorgeous backyard?? Hark:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfSI9eddvmpgVpj6t94gxrBPcKSYd0fTBnz32vLKbYgixk0lz-eV50TBcJms3_QCL5XInfl0UeocgUUIAjfNGwWUMvbIhSW4sTNNODiwnhwzSQlTOQLYRz9IWx83U2z4RLvifw0L653s/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfSI9eddvmpgVpj6t94gxrBPcKSYd0fTBnz32vLKbYgixk0lz-eV50TBcJms3_QCL5XInfl0UeocgUUIAjfNGwWUMvbIhSW4sTNNODiwnhwzSQlTOQLYRz9IWx83U2z4RLvifw0L653s/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
It's a small porch, maybe the size of a twin mattress - probably a little skinnier and a little longer. And that's it. <br />
<br />
When I got here, I was panicked. Where would my kids play? The street is right in front of our triangle-o-rock, and cars frequently drive by. There are no sidewalks. Luckily, we have some speed bumps right before our house, which slow people down considerably. And my kids, being ever-resourceful, have made friends in a cul-de-sac a few duplexes away. The cul-de-sac is very safe, and kids are outside playing all day long there. The kids cut through small, thin, miniscule yards to get there instead of walking along the street. It really is an answer to a prayer.<br />
<br />
I don't know. I could go on and on about our living situation, but that's another post for another time. Suffice it to say that it's really hard to find affordable rentals in Bend, and we're lucky that we even found this place. And there's no way we can afford a house here. We'll have to save some money for a down payment, which will take time. It is what it is, and we can bloom where we're planted. I sometimes play pretend; I pretend that we live in Manhattan, where families live in apartments and don't have any green space of their own, and it's okay. Their kids are okay. They go to Central Park to play. And this is kind of how we live. We go to local parks with plenty of grass on which to run and picnic. This is our reality, and I'm learning to accept it.<br />
<br />
Anywho. The duplex behind us has a little bit of a pigeon problem. They have burrowed up under and inside the eaves of the dormers. Here's a view of the neighbor's dormer as seen from our third floor window (sorry the pictures aren't that clear; I didn't want to try to remove the screen and have it accidentally drop three floors to the ground below). I've seen birds hop right up inside of that right hand side:<br />
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Look at the poop, feathers, etc. that clog up the rain gutters:<br />
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There are only a few pigeons hanging out right now - it's literally 100 degrees outside today. There's one in the shade of the dormer:<br />
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One hanging out on the second dormer in the building:<br />
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Another one hanging out in this area:<br />
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But trust me when I say that usually, there are ten or so hanging out. These birds roost right above our porch. Which makes our porch look like this:<br />
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It actually looks pretty good right now. You should have seen it this spring. <i>Every single inch</i> was covered in pigeon shizzle. I go out and sweep it with our outdoor broom once a week or so. It's horrible, disgusting work. We don't put any patio chairs or a grill out there, because it's pointless. They would be covered with pigeon shizzle within minutes. You might see, in the top left corner of the picture, a shattered pigeon egg. I probably see one of those per week. Sometimes the contents haven't yet formed into a baby bird. Other times, I get to clean up tiny pigeon fetuses along with their crushed shells.<br />
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Obviously, we don't let our kids onto the porch. Who even knows what resides in that poop!! Tuberculosis germs? Salmonella germs??<br />
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This spring, I called our apartment manager and talked to him about the problem. He, incredibly, suggested that we buy a bee-bee gun and shoot the birds. I was like, "Um, okay. Thanks...?" I was really hoping he'd take care of the problem. Maybe because the birds roost on the duplex that isn't run by him.<br />
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So I went and bought a fake owl. Ben hung it up from our dormer. It didn't do jack diddly. It has since turned in the wind so that it faces our condo in shame:<br />
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Then I bought this stuff called Scare Ribbon. It's shiny and silver and supposedly scares birds away. The only problem is that we don't know how to put it up. It's meant for orchard trees. We also don't have a thirty-foot ladder with which to climb that high. <br />
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Ben went and bought a pellet gun, with little plastic bee bees, and for awhile, every day when he came home from work, he'd shoot the birds with the bee bees. This helped a teeny bit, for awhile. The birds would hang out on the other side of the condo where they roost. We were really hoping they would find new homes on account of getting shot by painful plastic bee bees, but no dice.<br />
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The people who live inside the roosting condo are...interesting. A little scary. They may be in a gang - they strike me as the gang type. When they have barbecues, they all stand outside and drop the f-bomb every other word. They're a little intimidating. But I'd been pushed to the limits with this pigeon issue. So one day, while I was on my way out of the neighborhood, and I saw them getting stuff out of a black sedan with heavily tinted windows, I pulled over next to them and said hello.<br />
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They were actually very, very friendly to me, though someone driving by apparently looked at the man who seems like the leader wrong, because he started walking toward the car with this intense look in his eyes, and arms up, like, "You want a piece of me??" I asked if they had pigeon poop problems, and they said that they have occasional poop on their cars, but since their front door has a really big porch with a really big awning, they kind of poop all over that, and it doesn't affect them too much. I asked them if they had a 30-foot ladder, and regrettably, they didn't.<br />
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About a week ago, I approached them again while they were having a The Leader's birthday barbecue/swearfest. I asked them for their apartment manager's phone number, and they retrieved it for me. I called my apartment manager and gave him the number, and he promised to call that manager right away. <br />
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Nothing has happened.<br />
<br />
I'm considering calling the local health department and issuing a complaint. Ben thinks that, if someone could just get up there and affix that spiky stuff along the peaks of the building, that would take care of the problem. We just don't feel like we should have to pay for it, since the pigeons aren't actually roosting on our building.<br />
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Sigh. I'll let you know if anything happens...Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-35722578872528826802015-06-19T15:05:00.003-07:002015-06-19T15:05:45.070-07:00The dream of the 90's is alive in Portland!Hahaha! Dude, have you ever watched Portlandia? If you watch the first episode, you see kind of a "music video" to a song called "The Dream of the 90's," and it is hilarious. The two characters kind of talk about Portland in between the lyrics of the song, about how, in the 90's, people got tribal tattoos and random piercings, and how girls in glasses were hot (I love that part. Because I wear glasses.). And they say that Portland is still like that.<br />
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I haven't ever been to Portland before this year, but dude, this song is so accurate! We went last weekend so that I could see my plastic surgeon there and decided to make a weekend of it. As we spent time downtown eating and walking around, I was like, "Am I in the 90's?" Flannel shirts everywhere. Grunge songs playing in every eatery and store. The dark, matte lipstick. Piercings on every nose, every eyebrow. It was crazy! And really funny.<br />
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I'll get back to Portlandia stories in a minute. First, I want to tell you about the visit with my surgeon.<br />
I really like her. She's smart, but also has a really good bedside manner and actually acts like a real PERSON instead of a robot. I appreciate that. I asked her what my chances were of trying to do tissue expansion again and having it be successful. She basically said that chances of that happening were 0%. Once the radiated tissue has protested, it will always protest. Even two years down the road!! They could try to do this thing where they use skin from my back, and put an implant where my left chest cavern sits right now, and cover it with the skin, but I'll have to get the implant replaced every 15 years or so, and that is only if there isn't a leak in the implant or anything. She prefers a DIEP flap, that thing I told you guys about a few months ago. She says that, with a DIEP flap, you put in some hard recovery time, but that's the last you ever, ever have to do surgery for the rest of your life. The recovery time is 6-8 weeks. <br />
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Ugh.<br />
<br />
I still have PTSD from having to get a hysterectomy two years ago, when that recovery took 8 weeks. It was <i>torture</i>. Because of that surgery, my biggest fear isn't the surgery itself. It's the recovery time. I just so, so, so don't want to do it.<br />
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I don't want to do anything at this point. I just want to be left ALONE. I'm like Greta Garbo. (I just vant to be left<i> aloooooone</i>....)<br />
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Which is why it's a good thing that they can't do it until February. She wants me to be done with my herceptin infusions, which will be in February of next year. And then they can take out my port (Portia!) at the same time they do the DIEP flap. <br />
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What's cool about the DIEP flap is that it acts like normal breast tissue. If you get fat, they get bigger. If you lose weight, they get smaller. Almost like real boobs... <br />
<br />
And.... she recommends having fake nipples made. I guess they use skin from somewhere and, like, fashion nipples to go on the fake boobs. And then they do this pinkish tattoo to complete the effect. I was like, "I don't know....." She said, "It's obviously your choice, but I have done so many of these surgeries, and my patients find that having nipples again is very psychologically healing." I told her I would think on it. <br />
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You know, when I was in 6th grade, and I started growing boobs, I HATED them. I was so upset at the loss of my former, boobless life. I would take off my training bra and stuff it in between the couch cushions. I just couldn't believe I would have to wear a bra for the rest of my LIFE. <br />
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And now? I don't know. Part of me just wants to get my right tissue expander out and be done with it. And part of me doesn't want to look like a teenage boy. Wants to feel like a normal-ish woman. I don't know. The luxurious thing is that I can take all the time I want to decide. And I can spend the next eight months getting my health back. Getting stronger. In eight months, if I still don't want to do it, then I can wait longer. Or I can get my right expander out and be done with the whole thing. <br />
People say, "You can at least get prosthetics." Nah. Not my bag. I don't want to bother with them. I've also heard so many funny stories about them. My friend's mom had fakies that would kind of work their way out of the bra and be up around her neck all the time. My Bend plastic surgeon's friend had one pop out when she was swimming, and they couldn't find it. Her son kept diving to the bottom of the pool to look for it; little did he know that fakies float. That thing is probably stuck in that part of the pool that sucks old water in for cleaning before pushing it back out into the pool. You know, the part with the little white, plastic door? And it makes a loud sucking noise?<br />
<br />
I don't want to deal with prosthetics. I have to put constrictive compression garments on my chest and arm all the time as it is. I already have to deal with something that is not my skin that bothers me and makes me hot. I don't need to add to it. To me, prosthetics are like wigs during chemo baldness. Don't want to deal with it.<br />
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Wow, sorry. That was long-winded.<br />
<br />
Kay, so Portland. We stayed in a hotel; and we actually paid quite a bit for it. And it was a piece of craaaaaap. The pool was an outdoor pool in the middle of the concrete parking areas and wasn't heated at all. And it was kind of a cooler weekend. Our kids were so desperate to swim that their teeth chattered as they splashed around, and they emerged only after 15 minutes, with their lips blue. Good times. The other people staying at the hotel were, frankly, really scary. As we walked to the pool, one lady leaned out her car window and said thickly, "Hey, do you have a light?" I politely told her I didn't, and as we entered the pool area and put our stuff down, Ben said, "I think she wanted to lure you over there so she could beg for money." <br />
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So I guess this is how we vacation when a wealthy client isn't lending us a place to stay. I guess these are our peeps. <br />
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We liked the time we spent <i>away</i> from our hotel. We went to the zoo, which was <i>fantastic</i>!! So much fun. Here is Gage on their little zooish train ride:<br />
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He was in hog heaven! Those of you who know Gage know that he LOVES train stuff. Haha! He just saw this picture and said, "That Gage. We have sandals on." He hates sandals as much as he loves trains. Which is to say, passionately. He also hates shorts. But, being the mean mommy I am, I packed only shorts and sandals. So he had no choice but to comply. It wasn't that cold (when you weren't in a non-heated outdoor pool), so it's not like I was torturing him. I didn't want him to get too hot while we were there, so I just...omitted warm clothes, except for jackets. I did the same thing to Micah, who hates shorts as well. This will probably be the first and last time that he wears shorts this whole summer...<br />
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More zoo pics:<br />
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Sadie is the biggest ham. Haha!<br />
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We ate dinner at this place called Killer Burgers, and while we waited for our food, my kids were getting more and more agitated with the screaming grunge music inside. There was a homeless young man on the corner just outside the door. My kids kept staring at him and worrying about him. He had some other homeless friends visiting him. A girl was selling things she had made on a blanket, and she had a kitten on a leash. After a little while, she and her companion packed up their stuff and left with their leashed kitten. Dylan, whose birthday it was, begged us to get the burgers to go so that we could get out of the music. As we got to-go boxes, Micah and Sadie decided to each give up part of their lunch (Micah gave up his fries and Sadie gave up her burger) to give to the homeless kid. It was really sweet of them.<br />
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We ate at a place called Slappy Cakes one morning. Ben's work associate recommended it. It was fantastic. You have your own griddle in the middle of the table, and you squeeze your own batter on it and cook your own pancakes. You can pay extra for fun toppings. I got blueberries and lemon meringue for mine. Yummmm. Our family, being our family, soon turned it into an art fest. Ben and the kids drew Mickey Mouse, a kite, Shamu...<br />
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Yep. It was a really long wait, but worth it. Mainly. Gage was really stressed out by the loud grunge music screaming from the speakers. I had to whip out my handy-dandy earplugs (I've learned to keep them in my purse for situations like this). And he kept messing with them, so I don't know how much they really helped him:<br />
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Did I mention that Sadie is a ham?<br />
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"Look, Mom! I'm a walrus!" <i>Clap, clap, clap</i>. Our waiter was a guy with a thin, scraggly ponytail and a thin, scraggly beard. He was wearing a flannel shirt over his work tee and extremely, extremely short shorts. Haha!<br />
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Portland.<br />
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Not pictured from our weekend - 1) our awesome friends Kyle and Shelly, with whom we hung out, and who watched our ninos while we went to a session at the Portland temple, and also 2) pictures of us at the temple itself. Ben took some on his phone, and he keeps forgetting to send them to me. What a beautiful temple it is. I sure wish we had one closer. It's tough to go to the temple when it's three hours away and you're on a really tight budget. And when you have four kids. :) It was really neat, though - we had some friends going through for the first time, and it was awesome. Thanks, Shelly's Grape Jelly and...Kyle... I need to find him a nickname soon. I'll think on that, as well. Kyle's Grape Style?<br />
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The kids are eagerly looking forward to our next summer adventure - going home to Idaho in a couple of weeks for a visit. Yes, I still consider Idaho my home. I'm a tad homesick. My sister Lex calls it "Idahomesick." Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-58710545222898798572015-06-10T13:51:00.000-07:002015-06-10T14:00:19.857-07:00A Few UpdatesAy carumba. So many things to tell you, my one reader, about!<br />
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One week later, and my legs are still banged up from my Mountain <strike>Falling</strike> Biking incident. The poofy left leg? Well, the poof is gone, but now I have just one huge bruise covering my entire shin. <br />
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Adults aren't meant for falling.<br />
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I mean, my kids fall all the time, right? But they're kind of...boingey. And smaller. They don't take up so much area/volume as I do. They're able to kind of rebound from falling. Oh, and football players. I don't know how they can stand to fall all the time. Seriously. <br />
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Or maybe it's because my body is now an Old Lady Body that falling was such a big deal for me? I'm lucky that I didn't break a hip! Haha! My blood pressure still sucks, and my bladder acts up every now and then. Stupid chemo. When I go jogging, it reminds me of what it would be like if I was, like, 80, and trying to jog. It's just ridiculous.<br />
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Let's talk about something nice. Let's talk about Kar teaching dance!! Woot!! It took a really long time for everything to get settled and figured out, so I didn't talk about it on here until I knew for sure. And now I know for sure.<br />
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The first thing that happened was that I got hired at a studio here in Bend to teach on Fridays and Saturdays. I'm going to have a chance to do lots of choreography and have some lyrical/modern teaching opportunities. I'm really excited about that. I mean, ballet is my Number One Dance Love. But modern/lyrical? Number Two Dance Love. It will be fantastic.<br />
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I've had a chance to take some adult ballet and modern classes at this studio, and it's been SUCH A BLAST. When I'm not huffing and puffing. From my dang blood pressure. The teachers understand. Hopefully it will get better and better with each passing month. I'll take more classes this summer; right now, both classes are preparing their numbers for the spring show, and I don't want to get in the way. <br />
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Can I tell you how great it feels to put on a leotard and tights again?? To move my body in those old, familiar ways? Pure healing. That's what it is for me. <br />
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And then I got hired on at a studio about 20 minutes away to teach during the week. It feels like a really good fit; the bosslady up there is a definite kindred spirit. I'll also be teaching ballet and lyrical up there, as well as a little bit of pointe! Yeee! I love pointework!<br />
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I might be teaching some summer classes up there, as well. We'll see. <br />
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Also, I'm going to be teaching ballet to a cute girl in my ward here, in her house. Ben made me a portable ballet barre! He had a ton of fun making it; he's immensely proud of it. As he should be. My darling kiddos are enamored of it. Sadie almost thought of taking dance classes again. For about three minutes. And then she remembered how much she disliked it! Haha! I'm good with that. Ballet isn't for everyone. I get it.<br />
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Oi vey. Her form isn't the best, but that's because she only took, like, four months of ballet. Haha! Roll those feet out, girl!!<br />
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The last bit of news is boob-related. Kay. So. According to my plastic surgeon here in Bend, plus a doctor my nurse-anesthetist sister works with (he actually talked to me on the phone! He does only breast reconstruction and really knows his stuff), plus several reputable websites like the Susan B. Komen website, etc., I might not ever be able to successfully do tissue-expansion on my left side again. They all say that once rejected, my left side will always reject them. I mean, there is a small chance that it wouldn't reject, but I don't like the percentages I'm seeing on that.<br />
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The only other option is to do this DIEP Flap thing, the tummy tuck-type thing. I really don't wanna do it, but do I want to go through life with a concave chest? (Maybe. It's kind of tempting to just take my other expander out and be DONE FOREVVVVER WITH THIS CRAAAAP.) The more research I do, the more I'm finding that this surgery has a very, very high success rate. And that it's not as scary as I first imagined. It's something I'm considering. <br />
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Soooo, I'm going to Portland on Friday to see a specialist there about it. We'll see what she has to say. (Nobody here does this surgery.) She'll probably look at me and see if I'm a good candidate, etc. We'll ask lots of questions and just get more of a feel for what this surgery might entail and if it's the right choice for me. I'm not saying I'm ready to commit to anything. But I think that at least exploring this option is an okay thing to do for now.<br />
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So yeah. I'll let ya know what she says! And what I decide! My only decision right now might be just to wait a year. I did ask my surgeon here about that - I asked him if I could just...take out the right boob tissue expander while I think about things for a year, and he said it probably wouldn't be a good idea. If we try fakies again, it would be dumb to cut out all the skin I've expanded for the past year. If I do a DIEP Flap, there's no guarantee that I'll have enough tissue for both boobs. So we have to keep the right one in just in case we need to do one fakie and one...creatie. That's what I'm calling the boobs that a DIEP Flap can make. Creaties. <br />
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I'll let you know what happens. Right now, I have to stop typing and help Gage find his damn train toys. Sigh.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6776516892131194340.post-5470273739198337772015-06-04T12:24:00.001-07:002015-06-04T12:24:18.157-07:00Masochistic Mountain BikersDude. I am in so much painnnnnn!! Wanna see?<br />
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Can you see how swollen my left knee is? Ouch. Ouchity ouch. And obvi, you see the bruises and scrapes everywhere. I will refrain from showing you the enormous bruise blossoming on my hip, because it's in close proximity to my Buttocks Flesh, and I wouldn't want to show you my Buttocks Flesh. I've been scandalous enough to show you above my knee. But I'm not <i>that</i> tarty, to show you my Buttocks Flesh as well.<br />
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This is from falling while mountain biking. Twice. Yesterday.<br />
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And yesssss, I was wearing full biker pants. Which are now torn up. Apparently I should have worn knee pads and elbow pads as well? I obvi was wearing a helmet, thank goodness.<br />
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Ben's coworker/buddy is way into mountain biking, and he invited Ben and I to do on this group ride that some bike shop sponsors. They let you rent the bikes and helmets for free; probably to help people "catch the bug" of mountain biking and lay down some major moola for their own bikes and gear. One of the dudes in our group said that my bike was worth $6000.<br />
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Ay, carumba! Whoooo spends $6000 on a <i>bike? </i>Maybe people without kids? (Kids are really expensive little creatures.) Or really rich people? Bend contains many kidless rich people. Many, many, many.<br />
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Anyways, the shop sends a few of its employees along on these rides. What did they call themselves? Ambassadors. <i>Ambassadors.</i> Haha! I love it. One of them kind of leads the pack, and one is in the middle, and one is at the end, to make sure everyone is safe. Which I appreciated.<br />
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I had zero idea of what we were getting into. I figured that, since this ride was for beginners/investigators, it wouldn't be too hard core. Um, I was wrong. There were these places with two trees really close together, and you had to go in the middle of them, with these enormously wide handlebars, and try not to get the handlebars to hit the trees...Eeeee! Ben calls that "Thread the Needle." He used to do a lot of mountain biking before we were married.<br />
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And then there were these little hill things that had huge boulders on either side, so you had to try not to get your pedals caught on the boulders. And then going downhill and trying not to skid... Eee! I'm such a wuss! There were times when I was kind of...squealing...nervously. Squealing really is the best descriptive word for it. I was going, "Eeeeeeeeee!!" Like a little squealing piggy.<br />
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Ya know, I never wanted to be a wuss, growing up. Whenever we went waterskiing, I pretended to be nonchalant and totally brave when preparing to jump in the water with my ski. But inside, I was quivering a little bit. It's a little scary! And all of my sisters will attest to my extreme wussiness when it comes to rollercoasters. O.M.Geeeee. All three of them laugh really hard and raise their arms in the air and smile ear-to-ear. I scream bloody murder, and then my throat runs out of sound, so my mouth is still in an O, but nothing comes out of my mouth. And then I nearly faint from sheer terror. They love to take turns sitting next to me, because they find my roller coaster fear quite humorous. I have a really funny picture somewhere of Dad, Nat, and me riding on this big, scary ride at Lagoon. They tie you all together in a bunch, and then they swing you way, way back, stories off the ground, and then let you go. You swing back and forth a few times, and then they reel you in. And in the pictures, Nat and Dad have their arms stretched wide like birds, and they're smiling, and they're looking at the scenery from up there. As for me, my eyes are tightly screwed shut, and both of my arms are clamped to Dad's arm.<br />
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Back to mountain biking. I guess that, when you're going through or over these obstacles, you kind of stop pedaling for a minute and hold your pedals at the 3 o'clock and 9 o'clock spots to avoid getting snagged by big rocks, tree stumps, bushes, etc. And I didn't know that, so my first fall was because my pedal ran into a tree stump. That's when I hurt my right knee and hip. I was wearing my compression sleeve and glove on my left arm, and they did a good job of protecting that area. Luckily, compression stuff didn't rip, but it is a little on the fuzzy side now. My OT is going to kill me.<br />
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The second time I fell, it was my own fault. I had been taught the 3 o'clock and 9 o'clock pedal rule by then, but I kept forgetting, and this time, my pedal ran into a big old rock that was sticking in the ground. I landed in a bush, but the bush didn't really break my fall very well, because that's when I got my left leg injuries. Sigh.<br />
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I almost cried that time.<br />
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Ben did great. He was taking all these jumps, threading the needle with much proficiency, and not getting winded when we summited big hills. I was quite jealous. I was really huffing and puffing up those hills, mainly because my blood pressure remains obstinately low. And here is Mr. Never Works Out, kicking my trash. That's how it always is. We went jogging together a couple of months ago, and he hadn't jogged since...high school? I don't even know. And he was totally outlasting and outdistancing me. Rarrr. The healthy jerk. :) Haha!<br />
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I need to remember that my body is still in reconstruction mode. My OT put it this way: "Karlenn, your body just experienced Hurricane Katrina. Everything was wiped totally out. You're at the point right now where maybe you have running water again in some sections, and some electricity again in some sections, but for the most part, there is a massive reconstruction happening. And it's going to take a really long time to get you to where you were." So that makes me feel better about my physical limitations. I can't expect so much from myself.<br />
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We stopped at a summit, and I was breathing pretty heavily. This cute older guy (who kicks my butt at mountain biking) was like, "Here, drink this packet of goo. It has some sugar in it and will totally help you." So I swallowed a gulp of goo and nearly vomited. It tasted just like that horrible orange drink that you have to ingest before a gestational diabetes test. But in goo form, which made it worse. When I told the others that, they all looked at me blankly. Because none of them had ever been pregnant. Because they're Rich Kidless Dudes. And One Rich Kidless Lady. So then the nice old dude gave me this almond granola bar thing instead, and that was yummy. And gave me more energy, I suppose.<br />
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Ben's buddy let me drink from his water bottle. Ben and I were grossly underprepared.<br />
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Do you like my shirt? It's my fave.<br />
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So today, I've been very, very lazy. Sitting on my buttocks flesh and not moving around very much. Not so much because I'm lazy, but because moving hurts. :)<br />
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I told Ben he can go solo next time. I prefer my exercise in the Will Not Cause Bodily Harm category. He can go bond with the other males (and one female) who haven't ever had to drink the gestational diabetes drink, and I shall remain at home, blissfully intact.Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16109952872373436694noreply@blogger.com2