March 2015 archive

And Now I’m Weeping on the Couch

I have a not-so-secret obsession with spoken word poetry. I don’t often share my favorites because I feel so darn crunchy-granola when I admit that I snap along if I can really feel a spoken word poet’s flow, you know brother?

I watched this woman’s spoken word, her wedding vows, and I just couldn’t EVEN. It was so honest, so raw, so…long. It’s really long. Almost 10 minutes. I couldn’t believe she memorized the entire thing. But I was crying on the couch within the first 30 seconds that she began.

I didn’t know what she was talking about, mentioning that she’d already told him she’d wait for him, until I read through the comments. And in a “Well, now I can’t get off the couch because I have to spend the rest of the night weeping” turn of events, I realized she was referring to a spoken word she’d done years before wherein she literally REFERENCED the man she’d not yet met but would some day marry. If you only make time for one of them, watch this one:

So I’m not being a super fringe-wearing, flowers-in-my-hair, Ryan Gossling romantic paramour or anything when I tell you this: I said all that stuff she said in the second poet to my mom once. Same thing!

Well, it wasn’t the same thing as in the same poem or the same story, but one day I told my mom, “He’s here. In this city. And he’s waiting for me.” It was shortly after my divorce and I was in a state of COMPLETE and UTTER insanity. I didn’t know who I was or where I was going from minute to minute. I don’t even know why I said it?! Wishful thinking?! But I told her that my person was already here waiting for me and that when I met him I would know what everyone had been talking about.
I did PRETEND a few other people were “my person” who had been waiting for me. You know, aside from that pesky drug problem or living in an entirely different state or actually not caring about me in any way shape or form, they were all “my person.” I tried to force each one into the “my person” mold because, like Janette, I so desperately wanted them to be. So, of course, when my person showed up…I told him to go away.

But you know it has a happy ending so let’s let that go, eh?

It’s not the only time I’ve said something would happen that absolutely did, despite there being no reason or rhyme to it happening. When I started the list in my head I realized I actually do it pretty often. I think of something really important, I decide it’s going to happen, and then I decide I don’t need to know how it’s going to happen and I leave it at that. This has manifested everything from cars and enough money to live on to my favorite vegetable chips suddenly becoming available in my local grocery store. Basically all it takes is believing it’s going to happen and then being open to HOW it happens.

I kinda wonder if by the time Janette reached the resolve that he was out there and she’d find him, OR, she’d accept what God had chosen for her…along came Matthew. Try it! Ask for something, surrender to the way you’ll get it, and then leave it to germinate. No guarantees and no money back. Just a thought for you to try on.

P.S. Seriously be sure you have tissues if you watch these videos. I mean I’m still like a broken sprinkler head up in here.

 

 

The Medical Machine

Last year my son had his tonsils out. He’d had strep throat, the flu, many sinus infections, and a ruptured ear drum…I was starting to lose my ever-loving mind and by September I wanted to know if my son had an auto-immune disease.
Eventually, one pediatrician suggested a very strong anti-biotic to kick everything in his system, followed by a visit to an allergist and an otolaryngologist.

It’s an ear doctor. Go ahead. Try to pronounce it.

All these doctors agreed that Abe needed tubes put in his ears and non-stop allergy medications because he didn’t yet have specific antibodies indicating what he’s actually allergic to. I feel like we are still teetering on the edge of sickness all. the. time. But he has not been on antibiotics since December. That’s a huge accomplishment.

Since his last surgery 6 weeks ago, he’s developed a throat-clearing tick. His post-nasal drip creates a phenomenal little tickle all day everyday and poor Abe can’t get through a sentence without clearing his throat. His allergist agrees that it’s post-nasal drip coupled with habit. It’s SUPER annoying, but I’ll take it over a middle-of-the-night scream any day.

rotary-die-cutting-machine-high-tech-systemThis past week we visited the otolaryngologist for a follow-up and while everything was “great” and “perfect” and “just as she’d hoped”, she was concerned about his throat-clearing. “Acid reflux” she suggested. She offered to put a scope up into his nose, down his throat, and into his esophagus to check for signs of acid.
Let me frame that up for you.
After a tonsillectomy, strep throat, ruptured ear drum, and ear tubes, a doctor now wants to stick a scope down my child’s throat while he is awake in order to check for signs of acid reflux.
“What are the repercussions of just trying an over the counter acid-reducer and seeing if that makes a difference in his throat-clearing as opposed to another procedure?”
“There are side-effects of any drug,” she responded.
“Sure. But is there a reasonable explanation for why he may have suddenly developed acid reflux?”
“Eating chocolate, mints, tomatoes…”
My ex-husband, also in the room, looked at me with a He doesn’t eat those much with me, does he with you? face. I shook my head no.
“He doesn’t really eat chocolate often, nor mints at all. He doesn’t like tomatoes. I am really hesitant to have him scoped.”
“Yeah, well, I would recommend it but you can think about it and let me know when you’re back for another follow-up.”
This doctor is incredibly smart, excellent bed side manner, very clear communicator…I felt baffled. To me, it seemed so obvious: he has chronic post-nasal drip due to allergies and that causes him to clear his throat. Why would we assume there is another, separate issue when, after an admittedly novice google search, there don’t seem to be any lasting side-effects of trying an over-the-counter pill?
Could it be the same Medical Machine that Dr. Busy was in? The idea that there is ALWAYS something else medicine can diagnosis, treat, and cure? It was just two weeks ago that Dr. Busy ate his words and acknowledged the rod in my leg did NOT need to be replaced. I did my research and followed my intuition on that…seems like that’s the least I can do for my son.

My ex-husband and I chatted about it briefly afterward and both agreed that we’re going to follow our intuition and allow Abe the chance to outgrow this tic or, if we eventually see it as a possibility, offer him the over-the-counter acid reflux medication. It’s a HARD decision. It’s not one either of us take lightly. But it feels like common sense.

I should mention that he is brilliant, funny, charming, kind, and crazy-smart. He enjoys each and every day to the fullest. He is the absolute LIGHT of my life! And if he clears his throat one more damn time…

So I put it to anyone out there who has an opinion: another procedure, another nasal scope? Or follow my gut and maybe try an acid-reflux medication?

Either way, I want out of the Medical Machine for a while…

The One

glass-of-wine“Do you think there’s one right person for everyone in the world?”
“Nope,” he responded, taking a bite of his noodles.
We sat quietly at the wooden table in the setting sun for a few moments. I took a sip of my red wine and overheard a conversation at the table nearby about how men have the right to cheat if they’re not getting what they need from their partners.
“I think God gives you a lot of chances to have the relationship you want,” he continued, interrupting my involvement in the conversation next to us that I wasn’t involved in. “I think when you get the opportunity to have the relationship you want, you must treat the person like they ARE the one…if you want it to last.”
I think I remember staring at him, contemplating what he’d just said. I didn’t agree or disagree yet. I just stared.
“I mean, if I want YOU to be the one, I have to treat you like you ARE the one. I knew when I met you that you were it: you were the woman with whom I could have the relationship I’d always wanted to have, if you eventually showed up and treated me like I was ‘the one’, too. That’s why I was so persistent. Because I knew this could be the last relationship I ever started.”
“So, if two people simply agree to treat each other like they are ‘the one’, then a relationship can work?”
It was a heavy question. There was no arguing, no thick air between us. We were truly discussing what it meant to be “the one”. And was it possible for there to be a lot of “the ones”, each being another opportunity to treat them as such…
“Yeah, I think so,” he responded. “I think I got very clear signals, alarm bells even, that my last relationship was not one I should be investing time and energy into. I ignored the voice, the signs, because I wanted ‘the one’ so much. And I treated her like she was the one for way too long waiting for her to reciprocate. It doesn’t work that way.”
The conversation next to us continued up on a VERY high horse, throwing around words like “respect” and “real relationships.” I couldn’t help but chuckle noticing the two men who were discussing “respect” were about 20 years old, smoking cigarettes like an advertisement for cigarettes, and pointing out nice asses every few moments. The basis for their ideas was that a relationship is meant to make you feel good, not to GIVE of yourself to another person. To be honest, that’s how I viewed relationships as well, up until a few years ago, and I’m 33!
I recently heard Tracy McMillan, author of “Why You’re Not Married”, say that relationships are about giving, not receiving. I don’t know about your brain, but my brain immediately rejects that notion. Bear makes me feel special, beautiful, smart, important, and worthy. He GIVES that to me and I RECEIVE it. That makes my relationships something that gives to me. But that will NOT a healthy relationship make if that’s all it is. I have to give, give, give to this man. I have to give selflessly, even when I’m having a bad day. I have to give love, support, hugs/kisses, encouragement, and joy to him as a rule, everyday, like a JOB. And as I do, I realize being in a relationship isn’t to make me feel good; it’s to teach me how most things in life aren’t really about me.

Finding “the one” doesn’t happen until two other things happen first:
1. You’re ready to TREAT someone like they are “the one”. Even when they don’t freaking act like it sometimes. That means GRACE. Allowing your love to have bad days, to leave underwear on the floor, to snore, and still love them like crazy.
2. You’re ready to BE the one, worthy of someone treating you like you’re “the one”. You’re ready to give more than you receive, to honor yourself, and to know who you ARE.

“Well, how do you even know you’ve found the one that’s worth being treated like ‘the one’? And worth acting like ‘the one’ for?!” I asked him.
“That’s the part I think you just know. I looked at you and I just knew.”
“But I didn’t know…”
“No, not at first. But I knew you would know, too, if you eventually opened your heart. And you did. Lucky me,” he smiled.

It Takes 30 Days to Create a Habit…or Something

1073c58a05c0370f4a4b27f9ab3a5989I’ve always been told it take 30 days to make or break a habit. The 21 Day Fix claims to be able to do it even faster. I Googled the question and I found the following answers:
30 days
21 days
28-30 days
50 days
84 days
“It depends.”

I decided to put my yoga membership on hold while I go through The 21 Day Fix and I realized…wow. I’m already in the habit of working out after I drop my son off at school. This should be a pretty easy transition. But will it really?! I’ll bet after 4 months it would still be pretty easy to back out of my workouts. Even with the whole thing taking place in my own living room I could still make an excuse like, “Weeeell, the heat coming off of my body would probably throw off the AC system and I don’t want our electric bill to go up…”

But that begs the question, how did I create that habit going to yoga everyday?

Truth be told, I don’t know if I did. I mean I realized today that my habit of going to yoga after 4 months is pretty well ingrained in me, but it wasn’t the first few weeks! And it’s still just as hard some days to drag myself to practice as it was that first week.

I also haven’t smoked a single cigarette in 4 months. I wasn’t a smoker, but socially I’d puff along. A majority of the time I don’t really miss it. But every once in a while, it’s just as hard as it was 4 months ago to keep from trotting on over to 7-11 and grabbing a pack.

I think the point is that scientific evidence is all well and good, but I don’t buy that you can make or break a habit reliably without actual effort. Any AA graduate can tell you that staying sober never becomes a “habit”, like something they don’t have to try anymore. They remind themselves everyday not to drink…as I remind myself everyday to peel myself out of bed, put on clothes that are even semi-presentable to the general public, POSSIBLY brush my hair, and drive my car to the yoga studio. It all. takes. effort.

I’ve always figured once I did something long enough, I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. It would become easy, or I’d LIKE the change. Now I’m not sure that’s true about anything. Everything takes conscious awareness and action. Brushing my teeth, cleaning the kitchen, grocery shopping, laundry…hell, just about everything outside of slapping my happy ass down on the couch and watching Oprah for 12 hours takes EFFORT. So if you think that you’re going to become a healthy eater/physically fit/bikini ready in 21 days, you won’t. You might not in 90 days…you might not in 120 days! But you DO get to decide everyday what you do, what you make time for, and what habits you CHOOSE to continue.

Uuuuugh. More personal responsibility…

 

 

Mah Body (Is Weird Now)

Let’s be real.

My body is kinda weird now.

Weird knot on one side, weird divot on the other side.

Weird knot on one side, weird divot on the other side.

I have weird stretch marks and some kinda saggy parts of my already flat-ish butt, but only on the LEFT side. The side I haven’t really walked on for a year. The right side looks great.
My left thigh is thin. Too thin. It’s about 70% the size of my right one, which is INCREDIBLY well-defined.
My right calf isn’t as well formed as my left one, though, because I’ve been avoiding using my left leg EXCEPT for when I step down on my toe (which is always). And if you step down on your toe, what muscle does it flex? THE CALF.
I have a few lumpy scars on my left leg from surgery, a few divots in my right leg from the accident.
And that about sums up my legs.

Do we even start a conversation about my stomach? We probably don’t.

My arms, though. MY ARMS. My arms look fantastic. So I’ve got that going for me.

I’ve been favoring my left leg for so long that muscles in my body have literally atrophied. Not to a point that I can’t use them, but definitely to the point of being noticeably smaller and less toned. And because all parts of my body are connected, I haven’t been putting the emphasis on my core I usually do, or squeezing my buns when I go up stairs, or even holding my hips straight while I walk. So while yoga has been my secret lover since November, there are poses I’ve been doing in weird and kind of awkward ways in order to continue favoring my left leg.

I am both ready and terrified to re-start The 21 Day Fix. I’d just finished my 21 days last year, the morning of my accident. It was the muscles in my leg that held my broken femur inside my body, keeping me from MAJOR blood loss (not to mention having to see my own bone). I know how incredibly important it is to have strong, flexible muscles. I know FIRST HAND how they can save your life, and make life-altering accidents less life-altering. I know that building my muscle actually strengths my bones (and I could use some strong bones growing right about now). I know all the practical parts of starting The 21 Day Fix at day 1.

And I’m totally terrified.

I’m not starting over. I’ve starting in reverse. I can barely squat all the way down on my left leg, not because it hurts…because I’m so weak. I am scared that after 21 days I won’t be close to where I was last year, because I probably won’t. Frankly, it sucks. And I’ve got a million excuses not to do it.

EXCEPT.

Except that I’ve told a lot of people I would. I promised to show up with them and for them every day. I promised Autumn when I met her last year that I would start again as soon as I could. I promised myself I would get strong again. So, in essence, this is now an issue of character. I said I would do it. Now I will.

So if you’re one of those people I promised to suffer through that first hell-week or sore muscles and starving bellies with, I’m going to. Because everyday that I show up for you, you show up for me.

March 30.

We squat.

 

Messes and Love

Now that I do live with Bear (read yesterday’s blog if that comes as a shock), I live with boys.
A lot of them.
When I moved out on my own, Abe was barely 3. He couldn’t really be considered a boy. He didn’t do much. He didn’t make much of a mess. He didn’t even have his own room or many toys, so life continued fairly contained.
Now he is 4. He has his own room. LOTS of his own toys. And he makes messes.
Bear also has a son. He also has his own room. And lots of his own toys. And he makes messes.
Then there’s Bear.
We love Bear, yes? So much?! SO MUCH!!
Bear has several rooms. And lots and lots and lots of his own toys. But he’s not a child.

So his messes are REAL big.

I’m used to a very quiet, very well-organized home because I was the only one in it for the most part with a young child. Then when I moved in with a roommate, she was as OCD about the organization of the refrigerator as I was, so life was fine.
Now I feel lucky if food or drinks make it INTO the fridge.

There was a minute there when our households combined that I thought, Oh I can’t do this. I felt like I was cleaning ALL the time. Reminding people to put things away. Creating systems for organization. New systems for the systems. Baskets. Boxes. The label maker was born again.

I was a little panicked.

imagesOne morning as I sifted through old journals and books (always the last thing to be put away, aside from framed pictures), I opened one up. I read a few lines and a whole host of emotions came rushing through my body. I was writing about wanting to be loved, adored, cherished, and truly wanted. I wrote about it for pages and pages. I wrote and prayed so desperately along each line that it was incredibly sad to read. I felt so badly for this girl. She was so lonely and sad. She would have done anything for this love of all loves.
Including the dishes.

When I really sift through my life, I realize that if that girl had been given the chance to feel life’s GREATEST and most unconditional love, she wouldn’t have turned it down if it came with the caveat of never using the garage for storing cars and me being the only one who ever loaded/unloaded the dishwasher. She would have said, “ANYTHING! ANYTHING TO FEEL THAT KIND OF LOVE!” And I feel that way today. I feel really and truly like none of these things matter because of the love I am blessed to have. Do I WANT to pick up the same towel off the floor everyday and hang it up on the same hook? Nope. But by golly, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
#solucky

 

I Don’t Know What I Expected

So. I did it. I took the plunge. After a year of dating, I moved in with Bear.

This was a terribly hard decision for me. Heart-wise it felt very easy. Brain-wise…well, my brain is super proud of it’s ability to scare the shit out of me, raise What-If Monsters from the dead, and completely squash any hopes and dreams my sweet little heart might be dreaming. I didn’t want my son feeling as though I was forcing him into my relationship, nor did I want him feeling like he was less than the very most important person in my life. I figured it would be a good thing to ask him how he felt about moving in with Bear, so I did.
“Abe, how would you feel about moving in with Bear?” I said it in a really excited way.
“When?”
“I’m not sure. Soon? Maybe in a few weeks?”
“Ok.”
He wasn’t really seeming to care, or get it, so I went on. “We would move all of our things there and then we would live there, not at mommy’s house anymore. How would you feel about that?”
“What about my toys?”
“We bring them.”
“What about my trucks?”
“We bring them, too.”
“What about my clothes?”
“Everything. All of our things come with us.”
“I want to bring my rocks.”
“Ok.”
“Ok,” he said. It was quiet for a few seconds.
“So, Abe, I’m asking how would you FEEEEEEEL about moving to a new house and living with Bear?”
“I’m hungry.”

This is literally how the conversation went. I desperately wanted to have some kind of deep, connecting conversation about how he felt about moving in with this man and he wanted to make sure he got to bring his stuff and then told me he was hungry.
He’s 4. I don’t know what I expected.


I moved all of our stuff with the help of a few friends over the course of a weekend while Abe was with his dad. When I picked him up from school Monday afternoon, I brought him back to Bear’s house expecting a LOT of questions. I mean, the child asks 100 questions about the microwave when it beeps. I was prepared for an entire night devoted to questions about this move. And so we walked into the house, I gave him a snack, and he went into his new room and played with his toys.
That was it.
Oh, and then when it was dinner time? He came out of his room and ate dinner at the dinner table.

As usual, all that fear and concern I had for the well-being of my son was for naught. He couldn’t care less. We’ve been here in Bear’s house for several weeks and it’s like nothing changed. Things are just as normal as normal can be. I am both grateful and baffled. And I suppose occasionally I could take a lesson from the four-year-old in my life that as long as I have my rocks and I’m hungry, life is moving along just fine.

 

Why Taxes Reminded me of Church Today

Since I started going to church, I have noticed a lot of people talking about church. It’s like learning a new word. You learn it and then all of a sudden you hear EVERYONE saying it. It’s near the top of your brain so all you’re doing is noticing it now, but it seems like the whole world rises up to meet your new-vocabulary word and help you practice using it for a few weeks (which is very nice of the whole world).
Anyways, all these people going to church…sometimes it baffles me. I want to say, “You go to church?! Why?” Because they don’t seem like people who would go to church, or who act very…I dunno…”churchy”. They seem like people who act one way IN the church and a very different way OUTSIDE the church. I want to say to them, “You know God is everywhere, right? He’s not just at church. He’s ALL OF THE OTHER PLACES, TOO. Like…in EVERYTHING. He IS everything. Soooo…you know. He can SEE you when you’re not in church.”
I mean, what’s the point of being a Christian or a Jew or a Sikh or anything else if you enter your holy place of worship like the teacher can see you and then run out into the world the same way you ran behind the big tree on that playground where you KNEW the recess ladies only passed by every 15 minutes? God can see you everywhere, folks! And God doesn’t expect perfection, but He kinda expects you to try your best in everything.

taxesSo, I was sitting in my tax preparer’s office today (we’ll call her “MY PERSONAL ANGEL”) getting some notes on how to best file my taxes as a now-single woman, when suddenly I couldn’t find one of my W-2s.
“Oh my gosh! They were all in here! Where did it go?!”
“It’s fine,” MY PERSONAL ANGEL said. “I can always summon your transcripts from the IRS to get any W2s submitted for you in 2014.”
“You can?! You mean they already have all that stuff?”
“Oh sure. That’s the first thing they look at – whether the W2s you send in match the ones they have on file,” she explained to me like I’m an idiot when it comes to taxes…because I am.
“Nevermind…I just found it stuck to this other one. So they already know what I made and they’re just kinda waiting to see if I’m going to be honest?”
“Well, I mean…it’s the IRS. They’re not really waiting for anything. But if you don’t file everything you made, they’ll know it,” MY PERSONAL ANGEL explained.

And this is why my taxes reminded me of church today. Because there’s no point in going to church if your intention is only to reap the benefits of telling people you go to church. And there’s no point in telling the IRS you made less than you did if there’s any chance someone else has already reported your income. In both cases, THE BIG MAN already knows the truth. God already knows what’s in your heart, the IRS already knows what hit your bank account. There’s no point in lying. So just do your best, both on your taxes and in life. Except when you’re done with church you go to brunch…and when you’re done with taxes you drink.
Alcohol.

My Kingdom for a Spy Cam (A Leg Update)

Today was my 6-week follow up on my most recent leg surgery. If you don’t know that story, here’s the summary:
Had to switch doctors due to insurance from Dr. Fabulous to Dr. Busy.
Dr. Busy said I needed to have my entire femur reconstructed.
Dr. Fabulous’s second opinion was that I only needed the screw in my knee removed to encourage my femur bone to fuse back together.
Dr. Busy disagreed and was kind of a turd about the whole thing, making me get a bunch of tests before he would take the screw out of my knee.
Dr. Busy took the screw out of my knee.

So today was the real test…did my femur bone make growth progress? Was it possible that Dr. Busy was right and I needed the whole, big, awful reconstruction surgery?

I arrived way early and got right in for an x-ray. It was the usual, “Are you wearing metal? Any chance of pregnancy? Do you like my scrubs? Wait in the hall.”

I tried to sneak a look at my x-ray on his little screen in the x-ray room before I went to the hall, but I couldn’t see it.

“Salem?”

I was called into another room where I sat with an assistant who asked me questions about how many drugs I’m taking and if I want physical therapy. (I’m telling you, this entire office is just FULL of people who do their homework…) I asked if she could bring my x-ray up on the screen and she said it wasn’t working for her. I’d have to wait for Dr. Busy’s assistant, Assistant Guy, who was on his way in that very moment. We like Assistant Guy. He treats me like a person.

Assistant Guy walked in 12 seconds later and greeted me like the nice guy he is. I was coming out of my skin, so anxious to see if there was growth or not and at this point I felt like climbing over him and pulling up the x-rays myself. I’m pretty tech savvy. I could do it.
“Let’s go into the other office. I’ll pull up the x-rays there. It’s not working the way I want it to on this screen,” Assistant Guy told me.
Ugh.
He walked me down the hallway to a big office shared by lots of other assistant guys. All the computers were taken. “Well, let’s try another office…”
UGHUGH.
We walked all the way to the end of the hallway, which felt like it was a 1/4 mile long, into another assistant guy office. He finally clicked around enough times that he got my x-rays up on the screen. In my anxiety-ridden state, I couldn’t figure out if there was growth or not. It looked the same. It didn’t grow.
“I can’t tell…did it grow?”
“Oh, um…” he paused as if he KNEW I was dying inside. “Yeah. I mean, look.”
He showed me the x-ray from one month ago and the x-ray today. Growth? Yeah. I’d say so.

1 month ago

1 month ago

Today

Today

 

 

 

 

My bone is filling in and growing all around the rod in a golf ball shape. I literally jumped up and down. “IT’S GROWING!!!” I held my hands clasped together at my heart, looking on at my new little baby femur bone.

“How’s it going?” I heard a voice behind me. I turned around and there he was: Dr. Busy in a pretentious suit and tie with an apathetic look on his face. (Ok, now I’m just being mean…But seriously, the suit was shiny…)
“Oh! Hi!” I hadn’t seen him in 6 weeks. “It’s growing!”
“It is?” he asked Assistant Guy.
“Yeah, ” Assistant Guy pulled my comparison shots back up. “See this is a month ago, and then this is now.”
“Well,” Dr. Busy said, “I do see a little bit of growth.”
“Take a look at my first x-ray. The one from before the surgery,” I prompted him. I wanted him to remember what it used to look like.
He stared at the screen. “Huh.” He was a little dumbstruck.
“Great, huh?” I asked.
“Well…well, son of a gun.”

I’m not kidding. He literally stared at the screen with surprise and, in a moment of more emotion than I knew was possible for him, he uttered, “Well, son of a gun.” OH MY KINGDOM FOR A SPY CAM. I wish you all could have seen that moment. It was beautiful. BEAUTIFUL.

As I walked back to the little room with Assistant Guy, Dr. Busy muttered, “Well, that was the easiest surgery ever, I guess…”
And I wanted to shout, “YEAH AND HOW ABOUT ‘TAKE THE METAL ROD OUT AND COMPLETELY REPLACE IT IS THE ONLY OPTION’, HUH, DOC?”

Look, I’m not an “I told you so” kind of person on the regular, but this is a special circumstance. I listened to my gut, I got a second opinion, I did my research, and it saved me a $30,000 surgery and another 6 months of recovery. It’s one of the first times in my adult life that I listened to my own gut and simultaneously did my research. And it worked. AND I TOLD YA SO.

Once we settled back in to the little room, I asked Assistant Guy if I was in the clear. “Pretty much,” he said. “It’s fusing at a great rate and I figure in 2 months I’ll see it’s completely connected.”
“Can I exercise regularly again?”
“I wouldn’t run unless it’s on a treadmill,” he said.
“I wouldn’t run unless someone was chasing me, so it’s all good.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you in 2 months,” and he walked out.

IMG_0918I practically skipped out of the office and before I even got to my CAR I called Dr. Fabulous’s office and told his assistant the good news. She was thrilled and couldn’t wait to tell Doc Fab that his advice served me well. I’m healing. I’m whole.

And I treated myself to a hot coffee and a terrible donut when I got home.

 

 

Real People

b17148bad95b2389b348c466f6cc96f9I was doing dishes but I had to stop and write this down.

I love real people.
I love people who get REALLY REALLY mad.
I love people who make a mistake in traffic and then panic and put their hands on their heads because they have NO idea what to do with all the cars honking at them.
I love people who kill their houseplants.
I love people who can’t cook but try.
I love people who don’t make the bed (and the ones who do, too).
I love groggy, morning eyes that can’t hide ANYTHING, and also the people who choose not to hide anything for the rest of the day.
I love people who are HONEST. And I don’t mean, “Oooh, look at me, I’m so vulnerable I’m being ‘honest’ with you,” bullcrap. There’s a wave of people in my generation who use “honesty” to manipulate and I can smell it coming a mile away. (‘Cuz I did it, too, for a long time.)
I love people who step in dog poo and crack up.
I love people who suddenly cry when they realize something wonderful, even if it makes me uncomfortable. Their emotions are always so near the surface that sometimes they just fall out.
I love people who lose it. Just freakin’ lose it.
I love people who work hard, whether it’s for work or a hobby or cleaning the kitchen sink.
I love people who try HARDER.
I love surrounding myself with people who are all these things, even if they’re not physically near me.
I just love REAL people.

I’m only just starting to figure out who I am as a “real” person…what I really think and what I really know and how I really belong in the world. But let’s face it. I dunno. I dunno much. And neither do you if we’re all being honest. So let’s do that, yeah? Let’s all just be honest and get really really mad and laugh at dog shit and make our beds or don’t make our beds. Whatever we do, let’s just be real people.

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