Missing You

Every day since returning to work, I've thought of a few things I'd love to blog about.  Some of them I was smart enough (in my opinion) to save somewhere (we'll see what you think in a minute, won't we?).


So, here are some parts of conversations and thoughts I've had over the past two weeks.


With my Mad-A-Girl at the doctor's office for Fynnie's monthly shot:
"Is that the music for me to dance?"  Yes, yes it is.  (Even better than dancing, Mad stepped into the middle of the packed waiting room and held her snowman out.  Mm-hmm, my girl's a performance artist.)


With my sister, who was reflecting on her (thankfully temporary) post-surgery life with a catheter and without hormone replacement therapy:
"I call the bag Whizzer.  Ya know, it's not that bad.  I'm kind of getting used to peeing like a guy.  I think I'm jealous."


"I'm so emotional.  I'm all over the place.  One minute I'm crying watching Pride and Prejudice and the next I'm cursing at the TV because it's too effing slow." 


"I don't want chocolate.  I don't know why.  It's got to be better than being high."


With my Wicked Stepmom, who texted me last week from her home outside of Atlanta:
"Hello from the sunny south.  NOT.  Snowed in.  One mom, six children, one nana, one papa, and one dog who doesn't want to pee in the snow!"


A few minutes later, "We are hoping for a small window to get them home.  It's going to ice up in two hrs, all is closed here."


In terms of real life, face-to-face conversations, I learned that my multi-tasking skills, and Nance's poker face skills aren't up to par anymore when I flashed her the pic of me trying on those pants in the middle of a meeting last week.  Okay, so Nance actually held it together pretty well after that view.  It was the shot of Madelyn trying to put "milk in a bag" for Fynn that did her in.


And, within my own brain, I had a pregnancy scare.  Yes, I did have my tubes tied.  But I recently joined a board for moms to share baby clothes and gear amongst ourselves (more on this topic later).  One mama, who has a gob of children and got her tubes tied last spring is now expecting a baby.  So, when my breasts were extra sore and sensitive, and my appetite and sleep patterns were changing, I immediately thought it could be a baby.  Between you and me, I was not exactly upset (as long as I didn't think too deeply about how life would change yet again).  Instead, the truth is that I had cracked nipples, a clogged duct and, oh yeah, my first period since forever ago.  It's a bundle alright.


There you go.  A little trip through my life and mind.  Aren't you glad I was able to keep these gems and share them with you?

Nitty and Gritty

Well not really, but here are some updates on my peeps.  In case you were wondering.


My friend, L, who has the spot on her lungs... it's shrunk.  Doc apparently thinks it was bronchitis.  I mostly believe my friend, but her whatever may come attitude has me wondering.  I often wonder unnecessarily, so maybe you can avoid reading too much into her comments about not wanting to know too much.


My sister made it through her surgery.  It was wonderful to be with her.  We did take a walk on the beach and around Imperial Beach on Monday (does that seem as long ago to you as it does to me?).  Weather was gorgeous but chilly.  This was my first time to their home.  Those poor people... their condo has ocean and estuary views from every freaking room in the whole freaking place.  The room I stayed in also had a view of the bullring in Tijuana.  Yeah, I don't want to go there or anything, but seriously... they have a view of the bullring.


My niece works at the estuary.  Strolling with her and my sister was like taking a guided nature walk.  Local birds, plants, history of wooden posts, plans for the area.  I wished my mother-in-law and husband could have joined us.  They would have enjoyed it as much as I did.


My sister, who could not eat anything and had to drink "Go Lightly" (which, as a nurse pointed out the next day made her "go heavy") insisted on making me dinner.  I requested a PB & J, but she offered me all of her favorite foods and made taquitos.  I know, you want her to be your sister, too.  She'd probably adopt you.  She's like that. 


Tuesday morning I drove her to the hospital.  She was very emotional.  Kept talking about her fears of growing a beard.  Of not making it through the surgery and what would happen to her children?  She even wondered if her son was going to turn out like her brother (that'd be a hell no).  The woman who checked her in was very kind, soothing, loving.  Sort of made it sound like, "Welcome to the club.  Just make sure you take care of yourself.  You're going to be fine."  As she walked away from the desk for a minute, Shelly turned around. 


"She's very nice," I said.


"Did you see her mustache?!"  Well now that she mentioned it... *sigh*... yes, there might have been a bit of 10:15 o'clock shadow.


Shelly's husband, Joey, and I spent as much time with her as they'd let us before they were supposed to wheel her off for surgery.  I have no idea why there was a delay of about 90 minutes between us leaving and when she actually went in.  Once she's healed a bit more, I'll ask her about it maybe.  There had been a "Code Green" (unruly patient) called to her area but we're pretty sure it wasn't for Shell.


Fynn spent most of the day in the wrap.  Thus, I spent most of the day walking.  It was a balmy day, maybe 70 degrees or so, clear blue skies and a view of the ocean from the hospital.  It was good to get out, to walk, to feel the sun's heat.  It would have been nice to sit longer than the time it took to nurse Fynn and play with her before she went back into the wrap, but I was glad she was so content.


Joe and I spent parts of the day hanging out.  He's not one of my favorite people, but aside from one incident several years back where I made myself perfectly clear I try not to let it show.  One extra good thing from my time down there is that we were able to appreciate how much each other cares for Shelly.  I bought him lunch.  He bought me a pack of Lifesavers.  After almost 10 hours without my sister between us, I feel like I know him better.  Understand parts of him, maybe.  And the rest I will continue to push back because he is my sister's choice.


When the surgery was finally over, around 6:30, Doc came out and showed us photos.  He pointed out dark spots and light areas and said, "She had a lot of reason to be in pain."  That just kills me.  You would never know Shelly was in pain.  Never.  I think I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but I'm sure that being nice would go out the window after so many times of hurting because I coughed, walked too far, laughed too hard.


We got to see her around 8:00 that night.  Her room was enormous, with two walls of windows and an ocean view (if only she'd gotten there before dark).  She greeted her husband groggily.  Teased her daughter about not having a pretty smile since her braces were removed earlier that day.  Turned to me and very lucidly said, "Shannon, I know you are away from home and are missing your older daughter.  But it's late and you should stay at our place tonight and go home tomorrow.  I don't want anything to happen to you."  Two minutes later she thanked me for the flowers Joe had brought in that I'd gotten for her.  I don't even know how she'd seen them or how she knew I'd brought them.  They were across the room.  She's like a superhero of kindness.  


She is my Beth; I am her Jo.


I did not stay another night, and thank goodness.  Storms raged in a few hours after Fynn and I returned home.


My dad went down the next day to see her.  She came home this afternoon.  Joe, who travels for work, leaves for Philadelphia on Sunday afternoon.  I wish I could go back down to help out, but I return to work on Monday.  Her daughter has one more week off from school, and she's very helpful and capable.  And Joe's mom will be nearby, probably dropping in often.  She's very nice, too.


There's probably more to tell, but I want this to be my last post of 2010.  Five minutes to go.  Happy New Year to you all.  May 2011 be everything you hope.

Deep Cleansing Breath

I said goodbye to Tom and Mad almost an hour ago.  Normally I wouldn't have any problem getting back to sleep.  Heck, normally I don't even wake up.  But in a few hours Fynn and I are heading south of San Diego to visit my sister.  I had envisioned a lovely lunch and a walk on the beach or maybe the Tijuana Slough National Wildlife Refuge, which is adjacent to their home.  Instead, we'll spend the day sharing as much of a clear liquid diet as I can reasonably partake in without affecting my milk supply and watching the movies she has lined up.


We will probably spend a lot of time talking tonight while everyone else is asleep.  She's afraid.  She's afraid of the surgery, of the recovery, of waking up and finding that she's grown a beard.  Of not being a whole woman anymore.  Of sex being different; that she might have a black hole without her uterus.


I am sad.  Pretty sure I'd be feeling the same things if the roles were reversed.  Not quite sure how to help her see that her fears are normal, but that "normal" doesn't make them true.


Surgery is not until tomorrow at 12:30.  That seems like cruelty to me, but maybe she can at least sleep late.  I guess a lot of people don't view 7:15 as sleeping in (I don't either, but Mad does).  She'll be in the hospital several days.  I'll be home tomorrow night.  I wish I could stay longer.

Little Sister

I may have explained a bit about my fractured family tree in the past. I'm lucky to get this post up; searching through old posts isn't going to happen. And besides, it's a bit like the start of Genesis, only in addition to all the begetting there would be all the wedding and divorcing and wedding anew. I tried reading Genesis three times. It's not fun.


Suffice to say that I am the oldest girl and second oldest of all the versions of siblings in my family. The second girl is my sister, Rachelle. We always called her Shelly or Shell. Turns out she hates that, but it's a hard habit to break. All three names are my little sister.


We are 28 days apart in age. I was the smart one who took advanced classes. She struggled academically. Shell was held back a grade, but still was mostly in special ed classes.


I was the chubby one with frizzy blonde hair, super pale skin and a fiery temperament. She was the sweet, thin, pretty girl who had long silky chestnut hair and hazel eyes.


I did well in gymnastics. She took piano lessons for a while, and did very well.


Probably the biggest difference between us was how we dealt with our insecurities. She retreated. I was bombastic. She was occasionally the tool I used to make myself feel better. It was an easy thing to do, point out her "flaws" or my so-called strengths. My dad (her dad, really) still talks about her as though she were some lovable clumsy dope who can't get things straight, follow directions or relate information.


He got the lovable part right. Every time we speak, I find some reason to be amazed with who she is as a person. To avoid sounding patronizing, I no longer mention this, but it is no less true. I think about the time, every time we talk, that I made her cry on the soccer field in front of her friends.


Thankfully, I've also been able to stand up for her, even as a kid. I helped put an end to something horrible she endured. Can you believe I had to seek help for her twice before my mom pulled her head out of... the sand... and did something? I cannot fathom that.


Her grandparents never really cared for me so I wasn't close to them. When each of them passed away, I was at her side, crying because she and her dad (my dad, as far as I'm concerned) were hurting.


Today Shelly called me and started off with what a great sister I've always been to her - the best! - and how she has always been able to count on me. I pictured her friends looking at me in contempt as I laughed again about some flub she'd made out there on that cold field.


Somehow we got onto another of our conversations about who did what first. We were competitive about almost everything. I got breasts first and had the first boyfriend. I got married first and had the first child between us. Odd, but I don't recall who got divorced first; that was a tight race.


She remarried first and was the first to have a second child.


She had the first daughter.


She's getting the first hysterectomy later this month.


She may get the first chemo, but I sure hope that is found to be unnecessary.