THIS GROWING OLDER SHTUFF WILL KILL YOU...

     I've recently been told by my Gyn that a complete abdominal hysterectomy is necessary.  At this news I actually had a sense of relief because my female workings have never been kind.  Each month brings some new pain, twinge, cramp, mood, food craving, panic attack, etc.  It's just never been fun for me from the beginning. However, since hitting 40, the fun is really not in existence.  Finally, for the first time since I've "become a woman" I have regular monthlies.  However, these monthly gifts are accompanied by night sweats, hot flashes, killer cramps and semi-homicidal tendencies.  I know, 40(ish) is young to have the menopause symptoms, but like I said, my female workings seem to be less than perfect. 
I've been in pain for the greater part of a year; well, extreme pain that is.  Some days it is almost impossible to walk between the shooting pains from my lower abdomen and down my leg into my knee.  I've had an upper GI, two colonoscopies, intra-vaginal and abdominal ultrasounds, 6 pelvic exams, x-rays, mri's, ct scans all in the last 6 months.  Being that I work at the facility I get my health care at I sometimes wonder if they ever get together to discuss my anatomy since I've been intimate (in my warped mind) with several people.  I've been to the ER twice in the last month, numerous visits to my "Women's" health care provider to FINALLY get referred to an actual Gyn.  After a five minute, excruciating pelvic/vaginal exam, he concludes that scar tissue from my cesarean almost 22 years ago has fused my uterus to the right, and that I seem to have a lot of scar tissue through out,which explains A LOT.  Unfortunately all the scans I've had in the last six months do not show scar tissue. For awhile there I was convinced that I was imagining the pain because every test came back healthy. I was shocked to realize that I would get more depressed hearing "negative results" because I could not name the source of the pain. So, getting the word that there is a problem was relieving. Until I had time to think about it. 
     Mind you, I'm not really struggling with the hysterectomy in and of itself. Finally, no pain and heck, what was once fertile ground is now only a playground, and a seldom played on one at that.   I'm not even particularly stressed about the onslaught of menopause; I've been dabbling with it already for about 4 years.  What is weighing heavily on my mind is the fact that now I will have to face, in part, my mortality.  I'm no kid anymore.  I can wear all the trendy clothes and hot hairstyles I want.....the fact will still remain that I am about to have my inner organs, those which designate me as female, removed from within. I'm jazzed that my surgeon will remove the original cesarean scar instead of leaving a really ugly one that has been opened twice. (Can you say "Tummy Tuck"?) Yet, still, I'm about to end a large chapter of my life.  I have more or less ignored middle age but now I'm forced to admit, damn, I'm middle aged and my parts are, well, falling apart.  Not wanting more children and not being able to have them are two entirely different things.  The thoughts of no more periods, tampons, pads, cramps and all that loveliness should have me thrilled, right?  Then why am I struggling with this?  Don't get me wrong, I can't wait for it to be done because this pain has seriously affected my quality of life.  I can't play with my kids and grand kids, nor can I do my best at my job because I'm in pain 99% percent of my time.  We will not even mention intimacy with my husband.  Walking hurts. Standing hurts. Sitting hurts. I have to sit in this weird position leaning to the left with my right thigh elevated just so I can get a little relief.  My doctor has prescribed Vicoden, but has warned me not to take it...(Something about dulling the pain killers post surgery.) So, why do I feel depressed about it? I'm a huge contradiction; again, no issue with the surgery itself. Then again, I will be having parts of me removed. I will not have that which defined me as a woman.  Sure, I'll still have the box it all came in which will require far less attention and maintenance, but, well, but.....I don't know if I'm ready to face my maturity.  Everyone that has had the surgery has told me that I will feel like a new woman and will never regret it; I'm sooo down with that. But at what expense to my mind? Am I just being a cry baby expecting to have my cake and eat it too?  Am I irrational? 

     To date this surgery is scheduled for July 25th, with great hopes of it being moved up.  Between now and then I'm sure I'll have a lot of ups and downs. 

    I'll keep you posted.  

Picture courtesy of: http://smilinggreenmom.com/2010/01/women-and-stress/

I Think, Therefore I've confused myself.

WOW! It's been forever since I've posted. Mind you, I said posted. I've written many posts in my head but never seem to get them to type. A lot has changed in my life since my last post, many things for the better. I'm still in school working on a Masters in Social Work. I've decided to take the summer break however, because my brain is TIRED. I work at a veterans health care facility now and I've finally married my significant bother, I mean, significant other. I have a step-grandson that is almost two and the light of my life. My only bio-child, Brandi, is in the Navy, currently stationed in Japan. Life may not always be good but it does go on.

I have to laugh at myself. I just realized that as brave as I try to portray, I am not that brave. Today is supposed to be "doomsday" and I just caught myself checking the time. Do I believe in that shtuff, (yes, shtuff)? No, not really, but I am just paranoid enough to have that niggling "what if" thought in the back of my head. Our modern day predictor, Preacher Harold Camping, needs to get his money back on the How to Predict the End of the Earth classes.  He has previously predicted that the world would end in 1994 and here we are in 2011 still waiting...(http://www.foxnews.com/us/2011/05/21/preacher-harold-camping-gets-doomsday-prediction-wrong/) Nostradamus (sp?) had predicted many things that have not come true. Of course, his predictions were made back in the time that opiates were not considered drugs....Heck, be honest, some of the best writings come from that era. Edgar Allen Poe, for example, was sick and twisted, but dang he's a great read. Telltale Heart: Thu-dump, thu-dump, thu-dump. Awesome tome to scare yourself silly. (I have his greatest stories in a leatherbound edition.)

I just finished a philosophy class that covered such greats (freaks?) as Socrates, Plato and Nietzsche. Now, those were some twisted, um, alternatively thinking dudes. Philosophy, on the surface,  makes some valid points of sense. Deeper, however, and your brain starts twisting in your head trying to make it all work together. You've been raised to believe certain ways about certain things and here comes this philosophy jazz that makes just enough sense for you to start doubting yourself and your beliefs. Now me, being overly analytical as I am, had to over think everything, run pro/con mental lists and then try to parallel the teachings and ultimately caused a train-wreck of confusion between understanding what we had learned as children and was now being presented to me as an adult. My professor stated that we would likely be insulted at some point in this class, as it attacks the basics of our foundation such as love, religion, etc.. I was never insulted, although I did take in enough of the differences to start wondering if, perhaps, we were just really matter and did not exist at all. Hmmm. Food for Prozac, oops, food for thought. Now, the purpose of this class is to teach one to think outside the box and boy howdy, you do, unless you are resistant to any form of thought other than what you possessed from parental and societal programming before the class. The moral of my story, you ask? I have none. I do know that I tend to read too much into things and am really a sacrificial lamb for some cult guru to brainwash. Me thinks I think too much. Or do I?  (Thinking.)

If I had six months to live...

Sorry I haven't posted in awhile, I am now a full time college student and have a part time job as well as a full time mom and often dad, so my dance card has been over filled.

Below you will find my response to an assignment given by my psych professor, entitled "What would you do if you knew you had six months to live". I rehearsed my response then just wrote from the heart. I have to say this was a very difficult question to answer. Do you think you can?

Here goes:

What would I do if I knew I had only six months to live? I find it very difficult to answer this question. In my head I have rehearsed several different version of the answer, yet each time I feel as if I have left something out. I have to wonder, even now, can one truly answer this question? Will we be able to fill in all the blanks, or at least become satisfied before we meet our demise? In my humble opinion I would say no.
I turned forty last year, recently I turned forty-one. I have to admit in this time I have had some great mental discussions with myself about my mortality. I am no spring chicken, more of a late summer one, and I am feeling the effects of growing older. My knees do not spring up from a crouch any more nor can I get through the night without having to pee at least once. I know I am now in the "middle", meaning I am part of the middle generation as my grandparents are gone, my parents are still alive but showing the effects of sixty and seventy plus years of living. I have children old enough to have children, and one already does. I am still someone's child while also being a mother and a grandmother.
If I were to be given final notice, I would probably cry for a day or two. Then I would get up, brush myself off, and love the heck out of everyone within my reach. I would make sure my spouse-elect and children know what they mean to me, and what they have taught and given to me in their lifetime. I would make sure they had something of me, preferably my wisdom and my love to carry them through out their lives. I would tell my mother I forgive her, and my father too. I would look at the sky and the moon and the stars and the clouds and take deep breaths. I would host a drunken party night for myself and my estranged siblings. I would call my two ex-husbands and tell them I still love them and always will and thank them for the things they taught me, good and bad. I would make arrangements for my BFF (Best Feline Friend) Abbie to go with me. I would smile at elderly people and hug children. I would be all the things in that six months that I wanted to be in my forty-one years. I think I would sky dive, rappel (again) and spend a weekend on a beach with my human BFF and let her know that if I were gay I would pick her. I would call my lifelong friend and tell her that I am proud to have grown up with her and happy that I still have her in my life. I would strut my not so taut and firm arse proudly down a nude beach. I would scream at God and rail and pace, cursing his power and begging for forgiveness. I would make up my mind if I really believe in God. I have always considered myself more spiritual than religious.
I would not lament on the unfairness of my impending death nor make everyone sad by living like I was already dead. I would not hold back tears or fears or any honest emotions but I would not make everyone suffer with me. I will not, now, let a day go by without smiling at least twice and telling at least one person I love them.
I would, finally, forgive myself for not being a better wife, a better daughter, a better mother, a better sister and admit to myself that I am a wonderful person. Even when I'm not so wonderful.
While baring my soul in this missive, I have to admit that many things in our textbook have opened my eyes. I intended to pursue my degree to help others but have helped myself a great deal. It is really hard to ignore words when they are written in black and white and put before you. Chapter eight really did a job on my self-denial as well as my self awareness. In nine chapters I've healed so much. However, it is difficult to grow up, even in my forties.
Before I went I would advise those that are listening to love hard, learn as much as you can and teach a child what real love is. Money doesn't make you rich, seeing a stranger smile at you because you smiled at them is better than all the gold, chocolate and great sex in the universe. Hearing a child laugh is worth dying for. To use an over used passage that I have no idea who the author is: "Live every day like you are dying". Don't wait to feel or give or accept advice from a ninety year old lady in the line at the grocery store. Wisdom is learned and earned, so earn and learn, then pass it on.

If I can hear your dog barking, WHY CAN'T YOU?

Dogs bark, I know this. As a matter of fact, that's the reason why most of us have dogs. The dog alarm is a very effective warning tool. Yet, nuisance barking is just that, a tremendous nuisance.

I am a rather tolerant neighbor, if I may say so myself. When my neighbors' pit bulls broke through my fence and joined my dogs in destroying my back yard, I smiled and said "it's OK, it happens". Since then they've dug under the fence, assisted my dogs in breaking down my side gate and going on a spree run. Nothing like seeing two pit bulls, a boxer, and a German Sheppard running in a pack down the street. Thank goodness none of the four dogs have a clue what breed they are and are happy dumb dumbs. Things happen with kids, pets and intoxicated husbands on game day so you have to pick your neighborhood battles. Where my problem lies is with the middle of the night barking.

My dogs bark at night, no doubt. The thing is, I'm reactive. I don't let them bark endlessly. I will actually get up and check to see what they are barking about or at the very least knock on the window and say some choice words to them. I don't let it go on and on daylight nor dark. But the dogs behind my house, same ones as above, tend to bark for the fun of it. Last night I got up no less than four times to make sure it wasn't my fur-faces making the racket. Wake me up once and there is a chance that I can go back to sleep. More than that makes it impossible. So I spent the last several hours of darkness changing positions on my bed and cussing at the ceiling. Fact of the matter is that I didn't initially fall asleep until way past one a.m. only to be rudely awakened around four-thirty am. In essence, I'm cranky, grouchy and tired.

BUT....Why is it that I can hear them but the owners can't? Perhaps I should ask them their secret to sleep and borrow whatever they take. If it happened once in awhile I'd be fine but almost every night is ridiculous. I'm not into calling the police on dogs but....after a few restless nights that's starting to appeal to me. At what point should I stop being neighborly and get a little pushy? Further, I can't be the only person being kept up by the dogs noise as I have neighbors behind, beside and at the corner. Grrrrrrr.

Since it's daylight I think I may try to lay down for a few minutes. The dogs don't seem to bark during the day.