Da Goddess

Believe it or not, I feel a tad bit better today. Not great. Not fantastic. But just a wee bit. Good enough to tackle some photo editing. I’ll consider that a teeny victory and proof of progress.

Let us celebrate with pictures!

me mentioning I ended up photographing a gentleman at the Ren Faire that LD had photographed at Train Song Festival? Well, there he is in the third photo. Photo number two? Not happy with it so I’m off to play with it some more. I’ll switch it out later. Maybe. Or at least post the other version when it’s done. It may need to wait since I’m starting to get very sleepy at the moment and you just never know when I might faaaaaaaaaaaallllllllfksdfadlfkleepzzzzzzz

Back when Craig Ferguson’s dad died, he devoted the entire show to talking about his father. It was truly one of the most moving tributes to a parent I’ve ever seen. I wept openly. The rawness of Craig’s emotions were so real, hitting close to home. I thought of my own father and how I’d feel when his time comes. I couldn’t go there. I wouldn’t.

Last night, Craig announced the passing of his mother. Once again, he choked back tears, occasionally taking a moment to compose himself. It ripped at my heart every bit as much as the show about his dad, but he tried to keep it lighter. He tried. The heaviness — he wore his heart on his sleeve.

Once again, I tried to put myself in his place and I couldn’t do it. That time will come when it comes, but it doesn’t make me hurt any less to think of it now. In a way, watching someone else’s grief played out before you, in its most genuine and gut-wrenching form, you can’t help but go there.

Craig read a version of the following at his mother’s funeral and you know, every word rings true.

I am standing upon the far shore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, “There, she’s gone.”

Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and just as able to bear her load of living weight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her; and just at that moment when someone at my side said, “There, she’s gone,” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices to take the glad shout, “There, she’s coming!” And such is dying.

Over the course of the whole surgery and recovery process, my parents have been there for me. Despite their own infirmities, schedules, and needs, they were there. They always have been in some capacity. But oh how I came to know them differently over the past weeks. Funny to learn all these new and amazing things about them after all these years. This time with them serves to remind me that it’s as wonderful and awesome as it is limited. I hope and pray for many more years, but not at their expense. Not if they must be in pain. So I will accept the moments we share and cherish them like the treasures they are.

To my mom and dad, who are still, luckily, among the living and very present in my life: I love you very much. I will do my best to tell you so and enjoy your company as much as possible because one day I’ll turn to look for you and you’ll be gone. I know this. I don’t like it, but it’s a fact of life. It’s a pain we all must face at one time or another. We are never ready, never prepared, regardless of how it happes. In the meantime, though, I just want you to know how much you mean to me and how much I appreciate you. I am blessed.

Condolences to the Ferguson clan. Craig, thank you for sharing your family with us in the audience and for reminding us to never take our loved ones for granted.

Miss Holidays wants us to write a holiday limerick. That meanie!

I wasn’t gonna do it. But as I was looking longingly at pumpkin pie, the damn thing went and wrote itself.

Every year when the Holidays come,
I grumble and the bug I bah hum
An oh the hubbub is all quite distressing.
The kids need new clothes
For those they outgrows
I pray none of the new stuff needs pressing.

Nothing to get excited about, but there you have it.

Every year, I see emails or flyers from the schools about Adopt-a-Family programs. Never did I think things would be so bad that my family would be eligible.

Well, there’s a first time for everything and I just got word from the school counselor that my kids will have a few presents this year.

Honestly, I spent a couple hours the other day wondering how I was going to pull off the gift thing. The little money I have in the bank is earmarked for bills. And even though I was just approved for disability, it’s only $50 a week and that money goes directly to the bills, too. $200 a month just barely covers the bare minimum with utilities. Thank goodness I figured out a couple years ago that I didn’t need a landline for the old phone. That alone saves me about $40 or $50 a month.

So anyway, I took a chance and called the school last week and asked about the Adopt-A-Family program, how families were chosen, etc. The counselor called me back and gave me the info I needed. I sent her an email with all the specifics. I told her about LD and Mojo, their clothing sizes, color preferences, interests, things they’ve hinted they want. And I just got an email back saying that, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

I wish I could’ve done it on my own, but since I couldn’t, there was no way I was going to let useless pride stand in the way of the kids having a Christmas.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you, PTA council. Thank you, my special dear friend (you know who you are) who convinced me that sometimes you have to bite the bullet and ask for help when I need it.

I’ve been gone. Yes, I know. I left without notice. Sorry. Please accept my apologies. Frankly, I felt pretty rotten all weekend and was either sleeping, contemplating going to the ER, or watching old movies through a medicated haze. All that glamour — you’re jealous now, aren’t you?

Did I ever make it to the hospital? Why, yes, I did. And the big diagnosis? Other than my shortness of breath, my elevated blood pressure, my lower and upper extremity edema (swelling) — nothing’s wrong with me. My xrays were fine, my labwork was normal. I just feel like crap and that’s all there is to it. Oh, and the doctor told me I was fat. Thank you, you hack. Maybe if he’d done more than just interrupt me and cursorily auscultate my lungs he might have heard what I was saying and he might have done more than scowl at me for imposing on him. Needless to say, that’s one more person to go on my shit list since I’ve had surgery. My nurse, however, was fantastic (the second one, not the first one who failed to introduce herself or give me a call button or anything).

That’s really about all that’s going on, so I figured I’d see if anyone could guess what the item is in the above photo. Winner gets a big “woo hoo” and admiring gazes from the rest of the audience.

Mrs. Mikey just emailed an update:

I have not been able to get down to the hospital yet today but I did get a phone update just a few minutes ago. Mike has done really well today; his nurse Freddie said that they have him off almost all of the IV drugs and are only administering “pushes” now as needed. He has been taken off of the sedation meds and only has pain meds now. He is still out of it but is more responsive so I’m told. He still has the ventilator in but he has been breathing on his own for most of the day now. The doc that is caring for him is hopeful that in the next couple of days they will be taking the tubes out. All in all he is doing so much better.

Thank you all again for helping us through this really difficult time! Mikey, mini-Mikey, and I would not survive without your love and friendship through these insane times. Mikey, mini-Mikey, and I are truly blessed by all of your good juju and prayers. Thank you to all of you!!!!!!

We love you all!

So glad to hear he’s doing better. Wish I could go hang out with him, but it’s not like I can jump in the car and drive myself anywhere these days. Plus I have a few things to deal with here. I hate not going, though. I hate that he’s there alone during the day, sedated or not. Just knowing someone’s by your side is often comforting enough to help you relax and get down to the business of healing.

You get better, Mikey! We miss you!

I figured anyone could post regular flower photos. I know I’ve posted plenty. So, I decided I should post something that reflected my personality, twisted as it is.

From the “Nursing Home” series, the Pirate Collection.

Don’t ask.

Urinary tract infection

Antibiotics are being called in. Now I have to find a ride to the pharmacy. Fun times!

That’s one step and one solution.

I don’t think that’s the root cause of all that’s happening, but I do think it’s a contributing factor. Now we’ll wait to see what else comes out in the wash.

And neither does anyone else.

Spent three hours at the doc’s office yesterday, where they do agree that there’s something weird going on, yet we’re no closer to any answers as to what’s wrong with me than we were before.

Except…

Maybe I do have some fluid building up around my heart/lungs that’s causing my breathing issues and adding to the swelling in my feet and legs (and, occasionally, hands).

To be treated for that, I need a different doctor. One who knows about such things and is able to monitor treatment.

“Who’s your primary?” everyone asks.

“I don’t have one. I’ve been out of work for almost 4 years and have no insurance. I don’t have doctors other than those related to work comp,” I reply, time and time again.

So now the surgeon’s office is going to battle the insurance company to get me in to see someone who can help. They wanted me to go to the ER again to get some Lasix to relieve some of the edema, but I said I just couldn’t bear the thought of spending hours in the ER…again…so soon. Plus, unless I went in with a note from them, do they really think the ER would listen to someone coming in, asking for Lasix? And it also brought up a huge question regarding my visit to the hospital on Monday: after eliminating all the clots and this and that, why didn’t they treat the edema? That could have, at the very least, relieved the swelling and pain in my feet and legs. And I might have felt better.

So I’m going to wait to hear from the doc’s office today to see what the latest round of tests say and to see if they think I should still go to the ER. I think I’m just exhausted and miserable enough to go. If I do go, I want the doc to call ahead and tell one of the ER docs what he thinks I need.

The worst part of the week so far? Getting a voice mail from Little Dude, asking if I’m going to be picking him up from school at any point this week. I just about lost it right then and there. I’d already talked to his dad about this, but a separate call to him was in order after I got home and got my head together. No crying during the call to the kid is allowed. I had to keep it together. And so I did. I called him and started at the beginning.

“Hey, LD. Remember last week when Mom didn’t feel so great?” I asked.

“What? Nobody told me about this!” he said.

“Yeah, we talked about it. We talked about how I was getting more and more tired and sore and didn’t feel quite right.”

“Oh, yeah. I thought you meant something else. I don’t know what I was thinking. But yeah, I remember you were slowing way down.”

“Okay, so that was part of it. Slowing down. Well, I really wasn’t feeling very well and things have gotten worse. I was at urgent care on Monday and then in the emergency room later that night. Don’t worry, Papa was with me. They did a bunch of tests and sent me home. But things still aren’t ‘right’. And I went to the doctor today and they don’t really know what’s going on. They’re trying to figure it out though, so that’s good news. Until they figure it out and I start to feel better, I’m going to have you stay with your dad and Yia-yia because I know they’ll take good care of you.”

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good. I love you. I miss you, too. But I want you to get better. I’m worried about you, though. Are you going to be okay? The doctors will make you okay, right?”

“I know, LD. I love you, too, and that’s why I’m letting you know what’s going on. I know you worry and I want you to hear from me about these things. It’s okay to worry a little but you have to follow that up with prayers. And right now, I also need you to pray for Mikey, okay? He’s in the hospital again and had to have surgery. So, if you’re going to say a prayer for me, you really have to say one for Mikey and his family, too. Okay?”

“Okay. And tell Mrs. Mikey and mini-Mikey I’m praying. And that I hope Mikey gets better soon.”

“Definitely!”

“Mom? Feel better soon. I love you and want you to feel good again.”

“I love you, kiddo.”

“You’ll call me and tell me what’s going on, right?”

“Yep. Promise.”

And with that, he was cool with everything. As long as I keep him informed, he’s okay. Like most kids, what he knows for certain is better than what he might end up imagining if left in the dark. He’s a worrier. Always has been. So I’m honest — to a degree. I don’t go into major detail. I keep it simple and keep it positive. That way, he knows things are being done to make everything right again.

It just sucks to not have him home with me. I miss him. Yet I know he’s safe where he is and that’s good.

My mind reels. Gotta take care of me so I can properly care for him, but it hurts to not have him here. I’ve already had to go through that (though it was 100 times worse — and permanent) with my daughter, I don’t want to go through it again with him, you know?

Still, I have to get better to be a good mom. And to have a life again.

Blah.

Oh, and wanna hear something funny? I sent this in an email to It’s kind of a silly recap, but nonetheless true. And a much better way to end a post.

The ortho department at the clinic is the one furthest from the front door of the place right? And I slowly made my way in. A few snails sped by and flipped me off for taking up so much room, but I ignored them. Then, I get orders for an xray. I shuffle down there. I ask for a wheelchair back because I’m hurting by that time. Only chair they had though was a skinny one. I can get in one like that but I can’t get out. (Seat is low, arms are high — just can’t make it work, plus it’s a really tight fit with my fat ass) I shuffle on back to my room. Then I get orders for labs. The lab is upstairs. The elevators are at the front, by the entrance to the clinic. I ask for a wheelchair…a wide one. Oddly enough, these are shallower in the seat and the arms are down lower, so it’s easy to get in and out of. The nurse finds me the right chair and takes me upstairs. No way I could walk all that. I’d still be there right now! Up to the lab. Into the bathroom for a urine sample, too. Fun. Made it. Get back downstairs. As the nurse is wheeling me into the room I say, you know it’s a good thing you took me because otherwise I’d still be making my way to the elevators to get up there. He laughed. And then I broke out in this horrible sweat again. Followed by chills. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Time to go back to sleep until the doctor’s office calls.

Beth sent this to me so I thought I’d play along. answered on her blog a day or so ago and finally remembered to post here.

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Wrapping, usually. Sometimes bags. This year? Envelopes. Can’t afford anything else.

2. Real tree or Artificial? Artificial. Asthma. And all those needles.

3. When do you put up the tree? When we actually put one up, usually the week before. Sometimes the night before.

4. When do you take the tree down? This last Christmas? About two months ago.

5. Do you like eggnog? No. NOOOOOO!

6. Favorite gift received as a child? I don’t remember. Although my Spirograph was pretty damn awesome.

7. Hardest person to buy for? My daughter is a little more difficult since she’s a teen and a girl and a teen girl. My sister and brother-in-law pretty much do a great job with finding the right gifts, so she’s usually well-covered, thank God.

8. Easiest person to buy for? Little Dude.

9. Do you have a nativity scene? Not at my house. My sister has it now.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Um, right now, email when I remember. I used to be really good about cards. I keep thinking I’ll start up again and mail out a stunning card, but it never seems to happen. This year, I actually have a really beautiful photo I want to use, but I can’t afford to print or send them.

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? Nothing. First married Christmas and my then-husband got me nothing. Not even a card. Or a letter. Or anything. As in NOTHING. He did the same thing the next year. Needless to say, I was heartbroken twice, with the second time hurting even more because he knew how badly I felt the year before.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? A Christmas Story, How The Grinch Stole Christmas, and Elf. If the boy is around, we tend to do the Santa Claus series, too.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? When I have money and time. Currently, money’s the issue.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Yes, I have regifted.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Fudge and cookies

16. Lights on the tree? Yes, lots! As many as possible.

17. Favorite Christmas song? Oh Holy Night

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Home. But I’m leaning toward travel in the future.

19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer’s? Easily. Can you?

20. Angel on the tree top or star? I’m partial to an angel.

21. Open presents on Christmas Eve or morning? Mostly Christmas day sometime. Occasionally Christmas Eve. Depends on where Little Dude is scheduled to be (his dad’s or my house)

22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? Focus on quantity of gifts or the cost of them instead of the thought behind one special one. Oh, and dealing with the ex.

23. Favorite ornament theme or color? All the ornaments that the kids have made and/or ones that we’ve picked up doing something special, or from somewhere special. And then there are the ones I was given when I was a teacher’s aide. Love those. And any family ornaments.

24. Favorite for Christmas dinner? Ham or a big roast (beef or pork), mashed potatoes, green beans (plain for me, souped and onioned for everyone else — I just don’t like the soup part), rolls, and pie, preferrably pumpkin. Oh, and cookies. My family has the best cookies in the world.

25. What do you want for Christmas this year? A good macro lens, money, a Lensbaby Composer, money, a tripod, and a trip to Vegas.

26. Who is most likely to respond to this? I don’t know.

27. Who is least likely to respond to this? dunno

Play along, my friends. Leave your answers in the comments or on your blog but make sure you comment to tell me you’ve joined in the fun.

There may be all of ONE person here who remembers me from the early early days and might recall my near-obsession with Zach Galifianakis. Do you remember, There were endless posts about comedic genius, his massive beardedness, his soft, soft hair, and how his nuts ended up in my cleavage. No, no. It’s not what you think, you dirty, dirty birds. Shame on you! Yes, Zack was actually the reason this blog started way back in May of 2006 and although he’s no longer center stage, he does remain a fond memory. I have four episodes of laughter that I witnessed personally, memories of a the wrap party (which I attended with another fan, Lauren), and to this day I still have those nuts of his. In a tin.

Anyhow, I went to several tapings of Zack’s short-lived late night talk show (he was so much funnier than Carson D. and it was criminal that VH1 only gave him 9 weeks — grrrrrr!) and had the best time. One of the funniest bits on Late World With Zack was “Sneaky Jesus” and it’s been missing from the Internet for most of the last six years. So, without further ado, here is Zack and “Sneaky Jesus” (the full skit starts around 3:40). Bonus points to anyone who can spot me in the audience.

Now, hopefully, I’ll be able to find two of my other favorite sketches. I’m not holding my breath though — no need, as I’m short of breath anyway (ha ha…heh…cough cough)! Uh yeah.

I still love Zach. And I still miss his show. Damn you, VH1! DAMN YOU! But despite that, the blog lives on.

“I’m going for easy peasy lemon squeezy today,” Deb. And she lies. Liar liar, plants for hire (says Patrick Starfish). “So think back to when you were 15. Let the year play itself back to you. Pick one memory — even if it’s just a mere moment that stands out — and write about it.” That’s not easy. Not even close! I’m 42. And, yeah, I remember a lot about when I was 15 and frankly, I don’t want to remember it.

• Try to write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kick in. Just set a timer, make your kid count to 600 slowly, whatever. It’s an honor system. And I trust you.
• Aim for 250 words or less.
• Please have fun. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Together, let’s rediscover the simple joy in the writing process.
• Post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.

The long and short of 15 is this: My best friend pawned a very bad guy off on me. When he raped me, she, at first, acted surprised, and then later said, “well, he was always trying something with me but didn’t take it very far because of my dad.” Her dad was a cop. Did she warn me about this guy? No. Instead, she talked him up and pushed him at me. Football player. Father who was a city councilman. Big man on campus sort of shit. And a rapist. Not only that, but he had a friend join in “the fun” as he called it. It took me years to get over what happened. Years. And it took me years to acknowledge what my friend had set in motion. She knew. And she later admitted she knew it was likely to happen. I’m talking years. Like six or eight years later. She never apologized though. For her, it was an unburdening, an offloading of garbage. For me, it was a nightmare.

I ended up raped, treated like a punching bag with a bruised belly and thighs, and pregnant. I went through the trips to Planned Parenthood alone, except for one time when my little sister went with me. To this day, I don’t know why she kept that secret — that wasn’t how we went about most things at the time. Another friend bailed on me the day I was supposed to have my abortion, so I walked to and from the clinic. Well, almost completely home…my mom saw me walking and picked me up when I was a little over halfway home. She knew nothing. Not until later, when there was a “billing mistake”.

When my parents found out, my mom cried and my dad yelled. As the details became known, my mom cried a little more and my dad was ready to hire a hitman he was so angry. And then, things calmed down. It was never really talked about again, except later with my mom when I was about to have my daughter.

Fifteen wasn’t a great time in my life. Sure, I did end up with a truly wonderful boyfriend eventually. My first love. And it was all so romantic. But there were scars. Lots of scars. And some of those never really fade.

I did eventually cut the “best friend” from my life. It took years. Too many, to be honest. It took a long time to realize that she’d never understand how her actions almost ruined me, almost killed me. Even now, when my mom mentions her name, I simply reply, “she’s dead to me,” instead of feigning interest. I just can’t do it. I can’t pretend. Nor should I.

To this day, I hate “15”. I’m no longer haunted by nightmares about the rape. I do, however, worry about my daughter and the dangers that I know are out there. Yet, she’s different than I was. She’s bolder and stronger and steadier than I was at her age. She doesn’t take shit from anyone. Thank God! I worry about her, though. Because it can happen. It does happen. I just pray it doesn’t.

I almost didn’t write this. Then I thought about how many girls, how many women have been through the same thing and hide it from the world like it’s something they did wrong and something of which they should be ashamed. I figured it was worth writing it out (I’ve done it before, but it’s been a while) and making it public if it makes even one woman feel less alone, afraid, or ashamed. We did nothing wrong. And we survived. The only way to take one’s life back is to move forward and let the past be a part of our lives and not the sole definer. We had something bad happen to us and we are still here. We are more than rape victims or rape survivors. We prevail. And life keeps happening. I’m not ashamed and that’s that.

But I still hate “15”.

While at the skilled nursing facility, my mom brought me these delightful flowers. They were like sunshine in a cut glass vase. A couple sprigs of fresh lavender added a nice little pop of lively fragrance.

And me an award. Apparently, I’m fabulous. Well, yeah. I could’ve told you that. In fact, I think I have a few times. Tongue in cheek, though.

Anyhow, I meant to post this yesterday but got distracted by not feeling well and going to Urgent Care and the ER.

Let me just tell you something. I’m only as “fabulous” as my readers, as my blog friends. That means y’all are pretty great. Every comment, every email from you has meaning. You matter, m’kay?

So now I have to do a couple things. Here’s what the rules say:

THE RULES

1. You have to pass it on to 5 other fabulous blogs in a post.

Instructions: On your post of receiving this award, make sure you include the person that gave you the award and link it back to them. When you post your five winners, make sure you link them as well. To add the award to your post, simply right-click, save image, then “add image” it in your post as a picture so your winners can save it as well. To add it to your sidebar, add the “picture” gidget. Also, don’t forget to let your winners know they won an award from you by emailing them or leaving a comment on their blog.

Yikes! There’s more to it than I thought.

Five addictions:

1) Water. Ice water, to be exact. I love it.

2) Iced tea. Plain. No sugar. No lemon. No nothing.

3) Email/Internet. Let’s face it, in the last 46 months, my physical world has slowed down quite a bit and my focus has narrowed. Sometimes the best “living” I do is done online. What can I say? You make me happy.

4) My camera. Simply put, it’s my favorite vehicle. It takes me places I didn’t know I wanted to or could go. I meet awesome people, see incredible sights, and have learned a lot because of my camera and the world I see through it.

5) Music. I can’t play anymore. Forget the organ. Forget the clarinet. Those were days gone by…like a strand in the wind in the web that is my own. I begin again. (Apologies to Stevie Nicks) I love music. Music has always been a part of my life and always will be. From my grandfather and my mom introducing music to me to me carrying on the tradition with my kids (and hopefully with grandchildren), music is here to stay.

Now, for the five bloggers to tag:

Pam
Debbie
Vod, Vod Kaknockers
Jan
Temple

I could have picked lots more, but there are rules for a reason. Plus I feel woozy and need to lay down, I think.

Thanks, PRD. You rock.

Like Sgt. Schultz, I know nothing. Nothing!

I’m still not feeling well and am no closer today to any answers as to why I feel so poorly as I was yesterday. I am, however, one day closer to seeing the doctor. Appointment! Tomorrow! Woo hoo!

Yeah, so as I was saying, I don’t know why I have Fred Flintstone feet (swollen and misshapen), shoulder pain bilaterally, spontaneous and profuse sweating, weird pain in my legs, my belly hurts and not just around the incision, why I’m having trouble breathing (“maybe it’s sleep apnea,” said the Urgent Care doc. “But then why would it happen while I’m awake?” I asked), why I feel wobbly, unsettled, and why I go to bed thinking, “maybe I should set the alarm to wake me up in a couple of hours. If I don’t wake up, maybe it’ll wake the roommate and he’ll come check on me and call 911 if needed.” People who are okay don’t think things like that (normally). Yet, that’s how I’ve been living my life the last several days.

I’ve had emails from people saying, “yeah, you were feeling weird last week, weren’t you?” And then others saying, “is this like what was happening when you were in the SNF?” Yeah. To both. So this isn’t completely new and unfamiliar territory. At the SNF, they brushed it off like it was all nothing. Easier for them, of course. But obviously it was something. It still is.

But what is it?

I don’t know. Not yet, anyway.

I will tomorrow, hopefully.

Until then, call me Schultzie.