Java Junkie and the Monkey

Spectral Spectacles

2007-03-28T22:28:00.000-04:00

So I've been busting my hump for a few days now trying to re-learn CSS enough to be able to code a fluid three column SS with a header from scratch. I don't know why it has to be from scratch, there are so many others out there that have already done the work and are more than happy to share it I know. I think it's just so I can prove to myself that I CAN. But given my short term memory problems, I am having the toughest time remembering enough of what I've read in time to script even a line or two. I may be making it more difficult by trying to incorporate old code into a new format so tomorrow I may just scrap it all, start from scratch, and put what I want where I want after I'm done with it all. Hey, wake up! I'm almost to my point!

My point is that I've been sort of consumed by this for the last two days, taking only VERY occasional breaks to visit a blog here and there to let my brain rest. Email has gone unanswered, private messages, shout outs and replies on forums like Maya's Mom and flickr remain unread, the baby was only sat on the potty chair three times today, etc.

As I sat in the living room TRYING to get some studying done from the laptop in between the turns Parker and Holly were taking running up and jumping on the keyboard, it occurred to me (while having to clean Holly slobber off of them) that I haven't posted a pic of my new glasses yet. So here ya go.. I know they're not terribly good pictures, but I'm too engrossed to comb my hair today, and I'm certainly not going to take a pic with my hair in the pony tail it currently is in and let you all see my huge elfin magic ears COMPLETELY hair naked.

I know there's a bit of ghosting on this one (thus the name of this post) and the angle makes my nose enormous but when you're trying to hold the camera for yourself and NOT turn on the overhead florescent or use a flash that would totally wash me out, it's not so easy to remain perfectly still.

And I know this one cuts off my chin AND shows the elf ears a bit, BUT you're not going to look at that are you? Nooo - you're looking at what a pretty shade of blue the arms are and the velvety shade of wine of the rims, aren't you? :)

Anyway, off to a "hot date" with Monkey to watch Casino Royale in bed while eating popcorn and folding laundry, woot!

And I'd like to thank Holly for my shiney new Redneck of the Year award!

2007-03-27T00:13:00.000-04:00

No matter how much I tried to run from it, no matter how many guys from NY I dated, no matter long I lived in the most "metropolitan" part of my home state, my dog has now qualified me as a certified MI Redneck.

How might you ask?

take a look at the pic below and see what you notice:

notice anything? Well I mean besides the fact that the inside window is horridly dirty and the outside one relatively clean (I'll explain that later.) Yes, you notice the obvious mud caked paw prints all over the metal frame... Notice anything else? Like they're mysteriously lacking from the lower window section? As is any glare from either the porch light or the camera flash?

Yes, my dog ripped out my screen and knocked out the storm window to my screen door frantically jumping and pawing at my door to get in because - get this - there was a black milk crate and a small garden spade in my garden. Yes, my evil going-to-take-over-the-world landlord/twinplex neighbor left them near our garden for a short bit as she was obviously trying to undo some of the extreme craziness the previous mad-gardener home owner left in our garden - er I mean set her plan in motion to take over the world by first eliminating all golden retrievers with her black plastic death ray and it's power component cleverly disguised as garden tools. And this, just one day after Monkey declared that this dog had "no fear factor" because he could run the hand vac for three seconds in the same room as her without her wetting my carpet.

I had to coax her off the 2x3 foot cement slab "porch" just to pee, which she did with her entire body shaking... I then closed the back door to use the little girl's room myself and before porcelain hit flesh I heard the *BANG*BANG*BANGing of her literally JUMPING and pawing at the door trying to get back inside away from the evil death ray. I opened the door and had a Plexiglas storm window come falling towards me.. Somehow, in rare pre-first coffee reflexes I grabbed it about a half an inch from my tow with ninja-like agility.

The funniest thing of all is that while I've always LOVED Golden Retrievers, and I adore Holly, I now realize that I love Golden Retrievers in the MOVIES.. You know, the ones that viciously growl and protect their beloved family against the mildly mentally challenged burglars trying to get to the kid that overheard them talking about the bank heist they were planning at the local diner while he waited for his waitress mom to give him money to see the matinee at the local movie theater. Instead I got something akin to the female dog version of Richard Simmons with endless amounts of energy that can be both exhausting and downright friggen ANNOYING at times. Picture his reaction to a burglar and you've pretty much nailed Holly down. Oh and more hair than a grizzly den in the spring. You know, those movie dogs never shed a single hair.

So there you have it folks. While I might eat, and even MAKE, sushi, know which wines to serve with which meats, and only listen to country music when I'm going to hear my dad play, I am now officially a redneck from MI.

Borrowing it from our children... The best $10 I ever spent.

2007-03-26T11:26:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite quotes I've heard lately is "We don't inherit the Earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children." It's Native American, though I'm not sure which tribe or if it can even be traced back to it's very origin. Regardless, it's something that really struck a chord in me.

Last night an event much awaited in our home occurred. It was the premier of The Discovery Channel's mini-series called Planet Earth and we bought the high-def channels from our local cable company for one month specifically to watch it. After the first 5 minutes of the first show in the series, I was confident I had never spent $10 on a better luxury. The show was inCREDIBLE.

The first three out of eleven episodes played last night but we only watched the first as we had other things that needed our attention. We TIVO'd the other two. But as we were curling up to watch a few minutes of something before drifting off to sleep, we flipped it on The Discovery Channel and happened across a later showing of one of the other two we hadn't seen yet and while I was dog tired I was also GLUED to the TV for over an hour. I finally had to pull myself away from it with promises that I wouldn't miss anything because of our TIVO'd episodes. And I can NOT imagine that show in non high-def. What a disservice you would be doing to yourself. It was a truly amazing experience.

One of the coolest things about the show is that they take about the last 10 minutes of it to explain to you the innovative cameras and techniques they used to get particular shots in the program. Many of the things you watch have never been filmed before or even seen by many of the scientists in the field simply because the technology wasn't available until now. For the first episode they show you how they get a ground eye close-up of wild African dogs from a helicopter that's over a kilometer away!

I'm sure I've gone on about it enough by now to give you the picture. Lou was very hospitable when he humored me the four times in the first 15 minutes of the show that I would come knock on his door and say "You've got to come see this!" Until before he knew it he was sucked into the show too. He had purposely set off to his bedroom because he didn't "feel like watching TV" right then but before he realized it, he was just as sucked in an amazed as both Monkey and I were.

My only real regret is that we can't keep the TIVO'd versions forever. Programs in high def take up a LOT of disc space and as I said, there are 11 in the series total. We can't burn them onto our own DVD's either, even though we own a DVDR. You can order the set on DVD's on Discovery Channel's web site but only Blu-ray DVD's can store enough data for high def so that won't be high def, but I'm still probably going to get it. Please, if you do have high def available to you do NOT miss this series. You WILL be astounded.

My First Real Love

2007-03-23T19:27:00.000-04:00

My first real love, you may be surprised to hear, was NOT Monkey. How funny that I comment every day on how very much alike Monkey and my first real love. It was love at first sight. The kind of forever and ever and never end love that feels like you got hit by a mack truck of warmth and happiness and joy and peace and purpose. Within a minute of seeing my first real true love I began to sing to him what would forever be "our song." And today my first real love, my true love, my heart, my savior, my purpose turns 15. And it doesn't make me feel the least bit old.

Unfortunately I don't have any pictures of when I first met my love, and very very very few of our first 2 1/2 years together. That's because his father refused to give them to me and I am absolutely certain that now they have been destroyed, lost forever only to exist in my memory. I have been forced to scouring relatives pictures for a snapshot here and there at some holiday or family event. And the first digital picture I have was of him holding his brand new baby brother over 2 years ago. So the best thing to do, instead of talking about who he was is telling you about who he has become.

I couldn't be more proud of my eldest son, Lou, if I tried. Well that is, unless, he did his homework like he was suppose to. THEN I would not only be proud of HIM but I'd probably be one of those blissfully obnoxious parents parents with a bumper sticker about how my kid was on the honor roll. No matter HOW much it embarrassed him. He is smart, but you know every parent says that about their kid. No one's actually going to say "the rock in the garden gives my kid a run for his money" but we all know those kids are out there, however UN-politically correct it may be to say. But I have proof. I have the IQ test that showed him a mere 5 points below genius on the "average person" scale that was given to him by the behavioral health department of the Henry Ford Clinic in Detroit. And lemme tell ya folks, this kid proves it over and over. But he's not just quick, there are things about his intelligence that CONTINUE to amaze his teachers, year after year. He's the most socially and politically aware kid that ANY of them have met. Trust me, they ALL bring this up every chance they get at how amazed they are about his ability to have an intelligence, informed, rational political discussion.

My Son is in his school's GSA club. GSA you ask? It stands for the Gay-Straight Alliance. And I couldn't be more proud. In a day when social judgement seems to be at it's highest, my son is helping to design T-Shirts that say "The highest result of education is tolerance - Helen Keller" and using school colors so that kids can wear them into the school pep rallies. Oh, and just in case you're wondering, he's straight. And just in case you wonder further, it matters not to me, as long as he's happy, healthy, responsible and caring. Which he is.

My first love is an artist, both in skill and at heart. He plays the guitar, writes poetry, and sketches. His preferred style is Manga, which is a specific style of Anime, and he's really good. Most importantly he's willing to listen to suggestions and constructive criticism, which is really important for those who want to improve where they start from. You should ALWAYS want to improve where you start from. That's how humans grow.

And while he is an artist and plays the guitar, it is the ELECTRIC guitar. He is a rocker. He loves The Ramones, Red Hot Chili Peppers, ACDC, Primus and Nirvana. He wants his eyebrow pierced and purple hair - both of which we have promised to let him do if he gets good grades this year. He'd like his lip pierced but those are too easily infected for a first piercing, so maybe, MAYBE if he gets good grades his sophomore year. He tries to be moody but smiles way too much, he tries to be dark, but loves way too much.

He LOVES his younger brother with a ferocity and a devotion very rarely seen among siblings. Many a time do we playfully argue about who gets to snuggle "the baby." And he's definately teaching him not to be afraid of heights, spinning around, being thrown about, and suddenly dropped onto a bed or couch. While it makes me cringe, it also makes me beam with pride and happiness from the depths of my heart and soul.

I could go on - for he's whitty and charming and sensitive and caring. He can be more agrivating than I had ever thought possible and out of no where touch your heart so deeply with a kindness you forget he ever was a "typical teenager" who thought he knew it all. He's one of two people who truly know and understand me and while he would probably be embarassed if I broke out into one of my "dances" in front of his friends, I have no doubt he'd stand up to them should they ever chastise me for it. So I will simply say that lastly, because I'm his mother, I have to brag about how drop dead gorgeous he is. He has the most BEAUTIFL eyes and combined with his whit, his intelligence, and his compassion and he literally had 3 girls BESIDES his girlfriend ask him out to the "Turn about" dance (in my time we called it Sadie Hawkins.) And the boy KNOWS how to wear a suit. He went to his homecoming with the shirt unbottoned, white cuffs pulled out of his charcoal jacket, and a black t-shirt underneath and looked like the cover model for GQ magazine. Unfortunately we had lost the battery charger for my camera and couldn't snap pictures. But here's what my baby's face looks like up close.

I'm not going to proof read this because every time I even go back one paragraph I well up and reading becomes almost impossible. So I hope there are no errors. Believe me that there's not when I say:

Happy Birthday baby, I so love you.

Put THEIR Money Where YOUR Mouth Is - B(.)(.)BS!

2007-03-22T22:42:00.000-04:00

Clever post title is it not? And believe it or not that's EXACTLY what this post is about!

As a tribute the good news my sister-in-law got today about the abnormality in her mammogram her doctor's office called her about 3 days ago, I wanted to take a minute to write about a woman that has no connection to my sister-in-law what-so-ever except that she knows me. This woman, Janis, has enabled me to take up the pink ribbon cause in what seems to be the only way possible for me. Chatting.

You see, I must admit than I am much geekier than many of you know. Most of my "friends" are little animated pixels, with real people controlling them from another computer, that join me in a digital world full of fantasy, bloodshed, death, and well... home decor. I am talking about the world of MMORPG's - or Massively Multi-player Online Role Playing Games. Think of Dungeons and Dragons computer game style and you've sort of got it but in MMO's there can be up to 2,000 or in some games even 3,000 people playing at any given part of the day. I met my dear friend Janis through the most recent one I've been playing, Everquest II. She and I have been emailing each other back and forth about our real lives because we haven't been able to play together for a little over a week now. And oddly I clicked on the link on the bottom of her email today that said "i'm making a difference. Make every IM count for the cause of your choice. Join now!" . I say "oddly" because I NEVER click the links at the bottom of emails. I just sort of ignore them much like I do commercials when I TIVO American Idol. And well if you don't click that link let me explain.. MSN's instant messenger system is now enticing people to use their instant messaging service over the instant messaging services put out by their competitors by donating a portion of the advertising revenue to the cause of your choice. My cause? Susan G. Komen for the Cure

Honestly it's a cause that I've been verbally supporting for over a decade now. My mother use to champion Breast Cancer Awareness Month for the Veteran's of Foreign Wars Women's League in her area. I remember every year her giving me a ribbon pin. I wish now that I would have kept them. I never thought then that breast cancer would hit so close to home or I would have done a hell of a lot more than just wear a pin to humor my mother.

Not only has my sister-in-law had a recent scare with an abnormal mammogram, but my Aunt on my mother's side is a survivor of breast cancer and the Christmas before my mother passed away she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. That gives me anywhere from a 20% to 36% chance of being diagnosed with breast cancer sometime in my life time just from those two things alone. Add into that several other factors that I won't bore you with and it's actually even higher.

Let me post now, however, that by while saying "I never thought then that breast cancer would hit so close to home or I would have done a hell of a lot more than just wear a pin to humor my mother." may SOUND narcissistic, it's not. I was just so terribly naive. With an annual diagnosis rate of roughly 180 THOUSAND women, breast cancer hits close to EVERYONE'S home. Your mother, your sister, your grandmother, your aunt, your friend. Chances are someone you know has had or will have to battle this demon. Help fight it. Chat away, use MSN's Instant Messenger today.

Oh and one more time for my breast cancer free Sister-in-Law - CONGRATS ON YOUR B(.)(.)BS!

Back in the Saddle Again!

2007-03-21T11:39:00.000-04:00

I'm ready. Ready to start blogging again. Ready to wake up and see the world every day again. Ready to be sociable again... And it feels damned good. Before I continue, to catch you up, if there even IS a "you" anymore out there (i.e. someone actually reading this) - this is a paste from a post that I started to write 9 days ago but never finished..

***Paste***

I'm fairly sure no one reads this anymore. I'm hoping soon I can change that but not immediately. You see, I kept waiting until there was something good to write about. Something funny or beautiful that wasn't overshadowed by grief and pain and worry. And just as I get to that place something happens and the world spins and down the whole house of cards comes crashing again. Balance has been THAT delicate. Since I last wrote I've suffered from yet another stroke for which I was hospitalized for 4 days while they drew blood vial after blood vial, specialist after specialist trying to get to the reason. So far only one possible cause has been found - one that my cardiologist and GP both think is a good possible cause but one that my neurologist does not. The rheumatologist was on the fence about. A test called a trans-esophogeal echo-cardiogram, in which while under a mild sedative they stick an ultrasound camera down your throat which is roughly the height of a screw driver handle and about one and half again the width of one until it is resting behind your heart, showed that I have a hole between the two upper chambers of my heart and when there is pressure (as in when you hold back a sneeze or when women bare down for push

***End Paste***

From there it would have gone on to say that I had also learned that my dad has another tumor, this one being behind his eye, that they are unable to remove or biopsy.. Why? Because his MRSA infection is so bad it's no longer responding at all to antibiotics - antibiotics that they had to take him off of anyway because he was taking such large quantities (all prescribed) that they were becoming toxic. About 10 minutes after learning this information my dad then dropped an even bigger bombshell on me. He is moving to Australia on April 18th. He already has the ticket, living quarters (a girlfriend lol) and a job lined up for him. His reasoning is "I've always wanted to go and if I don't go now I won't be healthy enough to go in the future." -- To me, however, he said "I'm dying and I want to die someplace nice and warm and beautiful and I don't want your Grandma and Grandpa to see another one of their children pass away before them." I don't blame him for the last at ALL really if he DOES feel that way (let me stress he's never said so) - at least the part about my grandparents because my grandparents lost their daughter, my dad's sister, to cancer when she was just 27 years old. However the selfish part of me wants to shake him and scream "don't you want to spend what time you have left with your family?? Family is what makes life warm and beautiful and WORTH LIVING." However, I'm trying to beat that part of me into submission with reason and understanding and compassion.

Since finding this out I've also found out my parents are getting divorced. Yes I know they've been separated for something like 4 years, and yes I know they're much happier apart than together. Yes I know they've each been dating other people, and yes I know that they will always love me regardless of how they feel about each other. And yes, yes I know that they're just too different in terms of relationships to ever really work things out. I know all of this. Here *tapping my temple*... Getting the rest of me to know it is a little more challenging. Home just doesn't feel like home without them together and this last weekend I even found out that my (step) mom is going to get remarried soon after the divorce is final, and then she'll be selling her house and moving in with her new husband (to-be) Bob. So not only does home not feel like home but home will no longer exist. Even though my dad and mom only got married something like 15 years ago, it was the closest feeling to "home" I've ever had. Probably because growing up we moved roughly once a year. So now I don't have a "home" anymore. Or at least I won't very soon.

I like Bob. I met him for the first time this last weekend and he's funny and sweet. You merely mention that you want something and he's off and running asking if there are any parameters ("do you want mustard or mayo on it?") - AND he's happily and EASILY retired. To put it in my mom's words - "He makes more from his retirement fund than I do working full time." And she's worked for the state for nearly 30 years so she's not exactly what I'd call scraping by either. In fact she said they'll be "wintering" in Florida and every winter they will pay for tickets and accomodations for us for 2 weeks to come see them. How can I think THAT'S bad, right? I don't. But, to be honest, way deep down inside I'd rather have my home. BUT I'm done with all of that. I'm done with crying and feeling sorry for myself and I'm done with freaking out and shutting down. I've had a year of it - "The year from hell" and as they say, "I've had all I can take and I can't take no more." I'm not a crier. Not by nature. I'm not going to even attempt to say I'm not emotional because I am but generally in the past I've gotten pissed instead of sad. I get angry when I feel hurt. But this last year I've done more crying, and more shutting down than I ever knew was possible for me. And believe me, I'm NOT going to tempt fate in THAT department again by saying it has been the worst that it could be... No no no, not going to do that and tempt fate to say "Oh yeah? You think so, huh?" BUT - I'm feeling more like myself every day. I'm feeling stronger because I've made it through these things and more. I'm feeling like it's ok to cry sometimes because it lets what you're afraid of out and I'm feeling like because I've learned this there are now times that I can genuinely smile; genuinely laugh. Genuinely be happy.

Genuinely feel like I can stand up, dust myself off, and climb back into the saddle again.

It it wasn't so much fun I'd ask you to stop the world so I could get off

2006-12-21T10:02:00.000-05:00

Life has been crazy around here. Crazy but very good. Exhausting but very good. Chaotic but very good.

Today, as I drink my second cup of coffee before 10:00 (laced with hot cocoa no less) so as to fuel me enough just to make it until Parker's nap time I cannot help but feel joy and happiness. No my Christmas shopping isn't done, yes our Christmas tree tipped over and broke some of my favorite )and brand new) bulbs because the cats had thought we had bought them a new scratching post, and in case you were just wondering, yes there's a mountain of laundry to do because this time of year causes flares that dwarf most of my other flares but I am so content that it really doesn't much seem to matter. I just wish it would snow so that Parker would have an actual use for the moon duck boots and snow pants that still have their tags on them. I also wish I could find our battery charger for our camera (hrmm, maybe I should look under the laundry ;) )

This time of year really is very warm and wonderful to me and I have no one but my mother and nothing but our squalid upbringing to thank for it. I only remember a few presents I ever got for Christmas as a kid - more for their sentimental reasons than because they were a coveted new spinning, sparkling toy - but there is an endless string of other Christmas memories that I cherish. So in honor of my mother, I now share with you a few of those I hold most dear.

Jingle Bells

Along with the countless number of other Christmas songs we'd sing in the car, Jingle Bells was also played by our rotating Christmas tree stand. I still remember it's

*EDIT* wow I don't even remember this let alone saving it as a draft! Man I must have been tired more to come soon though! :) I promise!

A Holly Jolly Christmas

2006-12-08T23:45:00.000-05:00

A ho ho ho and good tidings to all! I have so much to post about but alas it's a quarter to midnight and I've only now had time to post so this will have to be short and succinct.

After a visit with my neurologist things are only a little more clear as the hospital only sent the radiologist's report on my MRI, MRA and MRB. It seems that indeed I have had a decent size stroke or hemorrhage or hemorrhage caused from a stroke near, from where she pointed on the plastic brain model, the center of my brain. She also didn't speak much about it being a hemorrhage but concentrated greatly on finding out the cause for a woman my age with no history of early age strokes in my family, high blood pressure or high cholesterol to be having strokes and seeing if we can prevent another from happening. We'll be doing another round of MRI's in a couple months as well as a full blood work up that includes looking for a genetic disorder called Marfan syndrome of which I have some symptoms of like a protruding breast bone, a heart murmur, and slightly long limbs (I'm also 5' 81/2" - for a girl that's not SUPER tall but it's tall enough to cause a problem buying jeans most times) and in some ways share no symptoms at all (I only have 1 VERY VERY faint stretch mark from my second pregnancy and a few on my hips/tushy that I've had since childhood from learning how to do the splits.) I'm also very unusually flexible in my hips even though I've generally lost almost all flexibility in muscle related areas such as hamstrings. I wouldn't be surprised either way with that one. The good thing is that she said whatever it is isn't life threatening probably. *big sigh of relief*

Now I'm going to ask you all to do a huge favor for me. Well not even for me really but for some parents I don't know, have never met, and only have an extremely removed connection to. A co-worker of Monkey's called in to work today unable to come in because his step-son had stolen all the prescription medication in the home and handed them out at school as if they were candy. Two children are in the hospital, at least one in very serious condition. Shortly after the boy said he wanted to kill himself and is now in the suicide crisis center here in town. Please say a prayer, light a candle, dance naked under the moonlight, burn some incense or simply send out positive healing or thoughts whatever it is you do to all the children involved and to their parents. This hit so close to home with me that when Lou was a half an hour late coming home from school my mind several times over had to tell itself that the boy and Lou do not go to the same school in order to calm my nerves. Eventually Lou's teacher called telling me Lou had stayed behind to help him with a project and a big sigh of relief was expelled but please do what you do for the people, small and older, involved. No one ever expects their kid to be any of the kids involved in this tragic scenario and at any moment for any number of reasons there's a chance any of our little babies could have been.

Now on to the last bit of news I'm going to post about tonight. My early Christmas present and the reason for the name of this post.

Please say hello to Holly. :)

She was my Christmas present from Monkey :) She's beautiful isn't she? She's a 10 week old golden retriever. I know the picture is crappy but I promised someone I would post a pic of her today and my camera was able to snap one off before the battery died and unfortunately we can't find the charger and the flash didn't fire. I did what I could to lighten it but I'll hopefully have some better ones soon.

Because I can't wait any longer..

2006-11-24T15:35:00.000-05:00

With all the craziness that becomes our lives around this time of year, I had told myself repeatedly to leave blogging until I had some actual answers and to just take care of life instead. But I find myself thinking of what I would say if I didn't wait, so, uh, why wait, right? :)

first of all, updates.

Ouch, my head hurts

After the CAT scans showed that I had probably had several strokes my doctor ordered an MRI and sent me to a neurologist, who also tagged an MRA and MRB onto the MRI order. This meant a grueling hour long MRI test essentially. I have never had an MRI but I know lots of people who have (my Father-in-law, my own dad and my step-mom just to name the three people in my closest of family members that I know have had one.) I have heard about the claustrophobia and tried to prepare myself for it. What no one had ever said anything about was the UNGODLY noise and the cage they put over your face. I'm only slightly claustrophobic - in fact I'm not even sure it's classified as claustrophobia as it has much more to do with not being able to move than it does small spaces. I can play hide and seek and hide in the smallest of closets and be perfectly fine because I know I can leave whenever I want. I can be in the middle of a field and held down for some reason and freak OUT. Also, I have a huge huge huge phobia about things in my face. I've been known to reflexively hit people who moved a bite of something too quickly to my face for me to "hey taste this!" But I thought "I'll just close my eyes, do my yoga breathing, and MAYBE, considering I haven't slept in 4 nights, even be able to fall asleep. HA! again I say HA! HA HA HA HA HA! Anyone who can fall asleep during an MRI is CLEARLY deranged or 100% deaf. It was the LOUDEST banging, buzzing, clanking and thumping I've ever heard. And I might have even been ok enough to relax if it would have just been the same rhythm but every minute or so the clanking turned to thumping, the rhythm sped up or slowed down, and some other alarm sounding noise would go off.. For a minute, until it changed all over again. I LEFT my MRI with a migraine but fairly confident that I'd be getting a phone call saying "Oh, those things we thought were strokes? Turns out it was just some technician's thumb print on the film." That was on a Tuesday night.

By Wednesday afternoon I hadn't heard from my doctor and I relaxed a little bit. Remember, my doctor called at 11:00 the day after my CAT scan. Oh and did I mention we actually ran into my doctor in the hallway in the hospital going to my MRI? But by mid afternoon the hospital called. They wanted me to come back in for ANOTHER MR(add any of the remaining 23 letters of the alphabet here because I really don't remember) because the radiologist reading MRI scans that day just liked to have that particular scan. Good news was that it should only take about 5 minutes. Unfortunately I didn't get that tidbit until I actually went in haha.

Thursday came and went without hearing from my doctor, as did Friday. With every passing day I relaxed a bit more. By Monday they called to SCHEDULE me to come in to hear the results. I almost danced right there. The CAT scan results were more like "you need to come in RIGHT NOW!!!" so I just assumed that meant nothing but good news. I was wrong, but not horribly so. The MRI showed that I have, indeed, either had a stroke, or at some point had some brain hemorrhaging. He referred me to the neurologist again because some of it didn't make sense to him. I do, however, feel much better about things. It's hard wondering if, at some point at any minute my sons might be left motherless because I had an aneurysm due to weak blood vessels in my head. It's scary. Not in an "Oh my God I don't want to die" way but for me it was "I do NOT want to leave my children without a mother" and most especially I didn't want to put Lou through the pain of losing his or Monkey through having to raise Parker by himself (not that he couldn't do it because he's the best father I've ever known.)

I don't see my neurologist until the 6th at which point I'll hopefully walk away with all the answers. Since my doctor only actually ordered the MRI I'm not sure he got the results of the MRB and MRA, and I'm not sure the neurologist will get a copy of the MRI. I did my best to make sure but most of the time I felt like I was just babbling and mumbling so who knows lol.

The True Anti-Drug

All this feeling better could be, also, the result of my self UN-medicating. As I waited (and still wait) for my insurance to ok me going to a psychologist to adjust my antidepressants, I slowly began to run out of them. I soon found I only had one week left so I halved my prescription. And I started to feel better emotionally almost instantly. Two weeks later I ran out completely (while I still waited) and now I find myself the bouncy, flouncy, pouncy, trouncy fun fun fun fun fun (oh wait, that's the Tigger song) person I was before. I am still sick in all the physical ways I was before but I can NOT express how good it feels to actually feel happiness again. In fact I just sat here for about five minutes trying to figure out how and nope, I can't. :)

I have loads of other updates, too, but I'm exhausted from the day of cooking, 5 hour round trip and the near constant movement that yesterday brought. We went to see my Tover and his family for Thanksgiving and along with us, my grandparents and uncle, my dad, my sister-in-law's dad and his wife and her grandmother, we made the house pretty full. I spent Wednesday making homemade green tea truffles, strawberries dipped in chocolate and rolled in toasted walnuts and sesame seeds, mini Greek meat balls and toasted walnut and herbed cream cheese on celery. Don't let me fool you, though, I couldn't have done it without the help of Monkey and Lou chopping, mixing and dipping for the second round of meatballs and truffles (finely chopping semi-sweet chocolate can be tiring haha) and for the creamed cheese and strawberries. Monkey also spent at least 50% of the time chasing Parker around my Tover's family's house making sure he didn't try to eat everything, including my niece, and he and Lou did the majority of the Thanksgiving dishes for 15 people. And poor Monkey has to work RETAIL on Black Friday, too. Then he gets to come home and help me clean the house for my sister, her husband and my nephew to come visit us on Saturday. He really deserves the Man of the Year award just for this last week ALONE. But I digress. Other updates will probably happen Sunday or Monday. Hope all of my US friends had a GREAT Thanksgiving and all of my other friends had a great, well, normal almost Friday weekday. :) Talk to you soon :)

Not because I want to worry you more...

2006-10-17T09:36:00.000-04:00

Ever since my last post, oh a month and a half ago, a few people have emailed me, called me, or asked Monkey if I'm ok. A couple of you left posts on my last post asked. I'm really sorry to have worried you all. The bottom line is no, I'm really not very ok.

You see my doctor, a very nice man, upped my SSRI during the visit I had with him back then. For those that don't know, SSRI's are anti-depressants. I had originally, very reluctantly, allowed my previous doctor to place me on an SSRI because, according to her, some people diagnosed with CFIDS responded well to SSRIs. Anyone who's known me over the years can tell you other than the hell of a summer I had this year, I'm NOT a depressed person by nature. In fact the only thing I had been depressed about was being so ill for so long and all of the battles you fight, every day, with people's ignorance and misunderstanding. Just because I don't "look" sick or act "sick" people, even Monkey, sometimes forget that I AM sick. I'm actually very sick. I'll break it down for you later in this post. But I digress.

Because I was depressed somewhat about being increasingly sick for 8 years now and my lifestyle was such a vivid contrast to what it use to be back then yes, I had experienced some depression which is understandable and normal. So begrudgingly I allowed my doctor to put me on a very low dose of Zoloft (25mg.) And while it did not help my illness in any way (in fact I felt a little worse after taking it) I did notice I was not quite so depressed about being ill so I remained on the dose.

My sister who is a virtual walking medical encyclopedia did a bit of research about it and found that when used to treat my illness, SSRI's work much better when combined with bupropion (Wellbutrin.) When I visited my doctor I asked about it and he said he wanted to ramp up my Zoloft first because it was such a low dose. He said eventually he wanted it to be 100 so he doubled my currant dose to 50mg.

Now bless his heart, I know he's trying but he truly does not understand antidepressants I don't think. Most people know if you give a person who is NOT suffering from depression an anti-depressant and it will actually act AS a depressant because it retards the uptake - or something like that anyway. Long story short when my doctor doubled my dose I fell into a deep depression (and am still there.) I feel anti-social, withdrawn from the world. I struggle to keep my house from collapsing under housework. Most of my laundry's clean, however none of it is folded or put away, for example. When I'm not near tears I'm often edgy, snapping at poor Monkey for the slightest thing. My sleeping patterns became extremely erratic - or should I say even more erratic than they've always been.

For the first time in my life I tried to shop my way out of depression. Monkey found himself driving me to Walmart and Target and Meijers like we had won the lottery, me trying to finally bring our house to feel like a home. I really didn't get things that were totally unneeded. Things like more than the 4 towels that we owned previously, matching bath mats and actual shower curtains rather than just the see-through plastic liners were the targets of our spending. For the first time in 4 years I had more than 2 or 3 shirts I could wear and feel like I looked nice in, topping the list at like 4 or 5. New shoes for everyone. But then I would get home, look at all the stuff, and almost feel even more depressed because then I felt guilty for having spent the money.

Like I said, I've never been a depressed person at all. Until the most recent of years, not even about my illness. I've always looked on the positive side of things, no matter what challenges life threw at me - and boy let me tell you I have attracted quite the list of challenges through my life. Raised by an alcoholic mother and step-father and a fairly absent father, I was molested for 6 years as a young girl by my baby sitter's husband. After growing up I married the first asshole that came my way and ended up a battered wife, having my son kidnapped, and stalked. And those were just the highlights. And I had NEVER had a problem going without in times of need. I grew up poor, essentially, but I am grateful that I did. I don't remember WHAT I got for Christmas any given year (except little things here and there like the ziggy day of the week underwear I got when I was little) but I remember the time spent with family. I remember sitting on our sad, beaten brown couch that was ours, my Tover, my Mother and I, cuddled up with all the lights off except the Christmas tree lights, watching our Christmas tree turn slowly in it's rotating stand while listening to my mom's Christmas albums and life was perfect. But that's a post for another day. Through it all, however, I was sunny almost to a point where people thought I was an airhead.

I have also, for about the last month - month and a half been experiencing daily, almost constant, head aches, quite a fair share of them turning into migraines. Almost none of them alleviated by Advil, Tylenol or Excedrin or any combination there of. So, another trip to the doctors was scheduled, and rescheduled, and rescheduled.

The first time it was rescheduled was because I hadn't gotten my butt in to get the blood work done he had ordered during my last visit, which I lost by the second rescheduling, although that wasn't the reason for the reschedule. The morning of the second reschedule I awoke to find out we had no hot water in order for me to take a shower (pilot light went out) and when I went to get Parker out of his bed I found that rather than sleeping in he had been pursuing artistic endeavors with the contents of his morning, uh, well.. Eww, right? Well back up and read the first part of that sentence again. No hot water. No hot water in which to bathe him, wash the sheets, blanket and Raul in, no hot water in which to scrub down the crib in. So after about 20 diaper wipes I began, and spent the next 2 hours, boiling pots of water for a bath warm enough for Parker. On the last pot, as I was dumping it into the tub, I heard the unmistakable sound of the velcro tabs of Parker's diaper. Seconds (literally) later he was peeing on our new couch. Obviously I had my hands full.

However a week ago last Wednesday I did make it in. After being re-issued the blood work order, telling my Doctor of the daily headaches, trying to explain to him that the increase in Zoloft had made me terribly depressed, I walked out with referrals to a psychologist (just because a specialist would understand the complex workings of SSRIs better than my doctor) a neurologist, a rheumetologist and a cardiologist along with appointments for a halter monitor, a tilt table test and a CT scan for my brain. I thought the neurologist and CT scan were a bit over-doing for simple head aches so I waited to follow up on the referral to the neurologist. I figured once the CT scan showed nothing there would not be a need. That's what I thought anyway.

Last Wednesday was the CT scan and although I was a bit nervous about the scan itself, all went pretty smoothly. Until Thursday morning when I received a call at 11:00 from my doctor's office stating they had gotten the results back and that the doctor would like to see me THAT DAY, "ASAP."

After calling Monkey home from work (I don't drive), rushing in (what else are you going to do when you hear such a thing) and waiting in the examination room for 45 minutes the doctor came in and told me that my CT scan had shown that I have had "several severe strokes." That's right, me, 30something, never had high blood pressure or even close to it, never had high cholesterol or even close to it, never drank much at all or used drugs and until I became ill was the picture of health and fitness am having severe strokes. The ONLY thing in the CONS column for health is that I use to smoke - USE to. Obviously a bit of a shocker and at first all I could do was sit there with a look on my face that was probably pretty close to what it would be if you walked up and slapped me with a cold, dead fish. He wants to do an MRI and for me to follow up with the neurologist but of course insurance companies being what they are I have to go through all of the rigamaroe of getting pre-approved first. I can't really tell you any more than that because even when I did eventually chase him down to ask him the questions that were racing through my mind, he essentially replied "I have no idea, lets wait until you get in to the neurologist and see what he has to say."

In other news I'm really missing my mother A LOT these days. Out of the blue I find myself singing the song she use to sing every time I'd talk to her on the phone - her own version of I'm a nut and I have to stop and catch my breath as I'm hit by a sudden wave of grief. I know I had a strange and at times estranged relationship with her but I really miss her so very much. I miss who she was and who she could have been. I miss her silliness and her love for her grandchildren. I miss her dreams and and her devotion to her extended family. I don't know if I miss her more because of my depression or not and it doesn't really matter. She's not here and I miss her.

So here are a couple things I want people reading this to know:

This is not something I can just pick myself up by my bootstraps and dust myself off from - I am not CHOOSING to be depressed, my doctor is chemically making me that way. However I'm waiting for the red tape of my insurance to ok a psychologist before screwing with my antidepressants any more. I know that stopping them abruptly can be VERY bad for you.

My list of illnesses start with my big one, CFIDS. You can find out more about it here from Wikipedia. It is an actual illness recognized by the CDC. You can visit the info they have on it here and here.

I also have Hashimoto's Thyroiditis. It's "easily" controlled with synthetic thyroid hormone but "easily" is a relative term. I have to have my thyroid levels checked every 6 months minimum (usually a lot more often) and then usually my dosage is increased. It usually takes about 8 weeks for my body to get use to the new level and it remains at the right thyroid levels for about 8 - 12 weeks and then, as my immune system attacks my thyroid more my thyroid levels drop and a higher dose is needed. When my dose is too low I experienced uncontrollable weight gain, extreme intolerance to cold, even stronger fatigue than normal, a menses from hell, and all the other things listed in the above link. Long story short my thyroid levels are on track about 2 1/2 months out of every 6.

I suffer from hereditary migraines. I'm sure I don't need to link to anything regarding that, most people know someone who's suffered from them if they do not themselves. I've been having a lot of them lately but until I see the neurologist my doctor doesn't want to put me on any type of migraine related medication (Imitrex, Maxalt, etc.)

I've also been diagnosed with PEBV but the connection to CFIDS is controversial and I was diagnosed with PEBV in 1998.

and last but not least I have Mitral Valve Prolapse and suffer from Mitral Valve Regurgitation, which puts me in the 11 - 15% of people that suffer chest pains, shortness of breath and heart palpitations from MVP. I was told in 1998 I could no longer exercise or do anything that would increase my heart rate or it would cause heart damage. Unfortunately I don't seem to be one of the majority that have a low BMI thanks to my thyroid lol.

Anyway, wah wah wah boo hoo woe is me. This whole thing about strokes just has kind of thrown me for a loop. Everyone is trying to keep my spirits high, my Tover saying "Just be thankful that you haven't suffered from any apparent brain damage or loss of functionality." and as sweet (and true) as that may be, my brain also just keeps on screaming "but WHY and how do I stop that from possibly happening in the future?!?" because the last thing on this Earth I want to do is leave my children w/o a mother or leave Monkey with a slobbering, drooling vegetable to take care of.

Anyway, I'll see you when I feel better. Thanks for worrying.

JJ

Am I awake?

2006-09-09T16:38:00.000-04:00

I wanted to post a little update as I've gotten a couple emails from people wondering if I'm ok and why I haven't posted.

A week ago last Wednesday I had my first appointment with my new doctor (whom I really like and shows great promise to be able to at least help me some anyway.) When my last doctor put me on an SSRI for my CFIDS my sister, a virtual walking medical encyclopedia, informed me that SSRI's have a better success rate in treating CFIDS when coupled with bupropion. When I asked my doctor about this he said he first wanted to ramp up my SSRI dose first to quadruple what I was currently taking because I was taking an extremely low dose. Almost immediately I started experiencing a huge drop in my energy levels, which I guess is normal until your body gets use to the new dose. I found myself needing to nap 3 - 4 times a day. And wouldn't you know it right when that started to wear off Monkey brought home a nice little head and chest cold for Parker and I and Nyquil knocks me on my BUTT and I have a hard time shaking the sleepiness the drug causes but can't sleep w/o it when I have a cold. Unfortunately cold medicines that DON'T cause drowsiness tend to give me heart palpitations and anxiety attacks so they're pretty much out of the question.

So, in a nutshell, for the last week and a half I've pretty much been unconscious. Hopefully I'll start feeling a little more lively in a couple days or so but until then there's really no need to worry - and thank you all for your emails of conern. :)

A VERY good cup of coffee

2006-08-30T21:51:00.000-04:00

I woke up a week ago Monday morning to an angel from heaven quacking like a duck and choo choo choooing in my ear. I smiled to myself and closed my eyes, drinking in the sweetness of echos drifting over the baby monitor as Parker played in his crib. It replenished me much in the way it must feel to have a big glass of juice after being in the dessert for a long long time.

I still didn't quite feel myself exactly but to be honest I don't think I'll ever be the person that I was before all of this. The one thing this has really brought home to me is that you need to have the relationship you WANT to have with a person on the last day of their/your life because there are no guarantees and any day could be anyone's last. Don't let one single person in your life leave this world with you saying "I wish I would have seen/called/talked to them more" because there's never a way to take away that regret. Fill your life with your loved ones, near and far. Pick up a pen and a piece of paper and write far away Aunts and Uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews. Hold them as close to you as you can NOW. Life and love and family are far too precious to squander spending the days watching reality TV shows instead of making that phone call to that Nana you don't talk to nearly as often as you should.

As the week went on I caught a bit of a cold and a tummy bug but nothing serious at all, and slowly I started to feel more and more like I could feel the sunshine on my shoulders. Like I could breathe deep the cool morning breeze while I sip my morning coffee. I took advantage of the blankness in my mental space that had been filled with worry, grief and indignant righteousness and got done some of the things that have gone neglected far too long and planned yet other things. I'm also thinking of joining Monkey as a part-time student come spring because as much as I love photography, I haven't taken a class in it since high school and there really is SO much for me to learn. I'm not sure if I'd ever make a career out of it (although I'd like to) but I do feel if I have the opportunity and can at least muster enough energy for 6 - 8 hours a week to devote to something I love and didn't then I wouldn't be the person that I have always been. I wouldn't be the person devoted to self improvement and education and expanding horizons that I've always thought I was and taught my son to be. I would be the worst kind of hypocrite. I would be the kind that blames their downfalls on a few bumps in the road instead of standing up, dusting myself off, and walking toward that expanding horizon.

I feel like my life is changing before my eyes and I'm watching with baited breath waiting to see what will happen next, but in a good way. So much of me, my life, myself was tied up with my mother, her illness, our battles to to address her problems and the energy all of that just drained from me. Now that she is gone and I have said my goodbye to her I feel like I can finally move on with my life and now I have no idea where that will lead. To some that might be frightening. I could be paralyzed with fear not knowing where to go or what to do. But I think in my heart I know that it's opportunity. I may be a little older than most just starting their life but now I get to choose where it leads to. As I sit here drinking a VERY good cup of coffee.

Thank you to all of you for your support. Through posts here, emails and even phone calls I didn't quite feel so alone and you'll never know (I hope) just how much that means.

Today

2006-08-19T13:43:00.000-04:00

Today is the last day I have to write the eulogy for my mother and grandmother's dual memorial service. Today is the day that we pick up the things we'll need for the luncheon afterward. Today is the day that I pick out what all three of us will wear to the service and pack Parker's stuff to spend the day at Monkey's parents house tomorrow. It's the day that I try to sift through the pictures I've taken of my boys and have them developed so that I can share them with family members that I never get to see. Today I ache from head to toe - especially in my heart.

Today is the eve of the last day of being trapped in this feeling. Tomorrow I will say goodbye to my mother and my grandmother. Monday I will start fresh. Monday is a new beginning. I hope.

The Secret of My Own Addiction

2006-08-17T15:47:00.000-04:00

While visiting one of my most favorite blogs (for the second time today!) Life Of Pie, I read of a challenge put forth by another blog I read on occasion, Her Bad Mother. I read about 3 paragraphs into Kittenpie's post when I decided to leave the post temporarily to read specifically of the challenge. It wasn't technically a challenge. It was a call for help, a plea, an inward question asked aloud. The challenge, quite honestly, felt like something that should be simple but in reality is one of the most difficult things I've ever thought to do. It shall take me into the depths of my heart and the furthest reaches of my soul. It will be a test of skill that I shall more than likely fail and a trial that will be the most rewarding thing I've ever done on paper. Is it possible to write of the physical plane of love for a child and be understood?

I have yet to return to Kittenpie's post and finish it. I knew that I wanted to write without the influence of her words. She is an amazing, incredible writer and I also didn't want to feel so inadequate in my written expression that I would shy away from writing about this. I NEED to write about this. For it is this bond with my children that has gotten me through the darkest of my life. It is the touching and the smelling and the feeling and the soft love that is sitting on my lap watching Jack's Big Music Show that has pulled me through my days as of late.

Countless women, and men for that matter, have heard their parents talk about the first time they held them. How they were overcome with emotions. We all smile and nod our head and appreciate our hokey parents when they do this. We never realize just what a profound life-changing thing it actually is to hold your baby for the first time until we have children of our own. There's no way we could. There's no way to convey the flood of emotions. It's as if a levee that you never even knew existed and has been restraining all of this love suddenly breaks and you're standing directly in it's path. It washes over you. You can feel it on your skin, in your muscles, deep in your bones and down to your soul. And it becomes part of you, changing who you are forever.

The particularly unique thing about this is that it happens every time you bring another child into the world. When I had my first son, Lou, I nearly died and spent 8 long hours in recovery before I could even hold him. When I could finally stay conscious long enough that they felt it was safe to bring him to me they placed him in my arms. He was adorable, all scrunched up and puffy and I loved him much in the same way you love a niece or nephew. And then I started to sing our special song to him. The same song I had recorded myself singing and played to him for months before he was born via a headset on my tummy. The same song I sang to him in the delivery room when they placed him on my gurney next to my head. He looked up to me and recognized the song. It was if he knew I was his mommy, knew he was safe, knew what every mother wants to be able to tell their newborn baby. And when I saw this in his eyes the levee broke. I audibly gasped for breath because the wave had hit me so hard. And from that point on there is truly only one word that comes close to being able to describe the physicalness of the love for my children. Addiction.

I could haphazardly say that I need my children like I need to breathe but that would be a quick fix, entirely inadequate and completely inaccurate. While it's true that you need to breathe and that it's a physical need, we are usually not conscious of this need. Our bodies need oxygen so our brains send out the necessary messages to the necessary parts that respond in kind and we take a breath. It's all done on an automatic level. But, as the word automatic implies, we can choose to not breathe. We can hold our breath, even if only for a few moments. We can, in other words, stop breathing. Even at the risk of death I could not, even for the smallest fraction of a second, stop loving my children, even if I wanted to. And I can't even fathom or imagine wanting to. Because while I love my children so much it's actually painful, even in the most blissful of occasions, it's a pain and a bliss that I rejoice and revel in. It is a pain and a bliss that I could not exist without and that I thank God every day for blessing me with. I am a junkie for my kids ten fold.

I have the unique blessing of having a toddler that I can still get, however and forever and painfully exiguous, my fix. I can hold, and kiss, and pinch and love and cuddle and bury my nose in his neck while my older son moves into his own space, his own young adult hood, his own person and body. I can pull him onto my lap and breathe him in and I transcend into a plane that is neither me nor him nor neither. And even as I run my hands over the soft, pink flesh that is his belly, or cheeks or neck or legs or feet my heart is breaking because it wants more. I want to pull him into me, smush us together like two handfuls of dough to become one. Not to end him and not to end me, but to be THAT CLOSE to him. And yet I know that even if that were possible it wouldn't be close enough and it would be a tragedy to the entire world to void it of the beauty that is my son. The love for my children is painful. Painful because it will never be enough. There will never be enough time, enough laughter, enough smell or warm embrace or soft, wet kisses to satisfy the need that my heart, my soul, my body has. I will never be able to appease the addiction within me. And yet, I could never stop trying.

It is because of this addiction that I hate time. I want to stand forever next to his crib while he pulls me to him, his face buried into my chest while I kiss his head and rub his back. I want the dishes to do themselves, the beef for dinner to hop out of the freezer and on to a plate to defrost on it's own so that I can keep snuggling him on the couch. I want the phone to float to me when it rings and the laundry to magically shake off it's soil, freshen, fold and put itself away. I want nothing to come between my fix and me. I close my eyes and soak it in, like a sponge dropped at the shoreline of the ocean. I peacefully drink in his essence as though it was nectar from the Gods and it refreshes my soul. The warmth of his skin washes over me like a cool rain on a hot day, feeding the love I have for him and allowing it to bloom even larger, more radiant and beautiful than it was before. And I want it to last forever. I don't want to have to put him down or him to need to run and play and I selfishly hold on for as long as I can.

My addiction also has a playfully sadistic side. I crave to make him squeal with delight as my fingers find the spots on his ribs that throw him into giggling convulsions. It forces me to submerge my face into the warm, fluffy softness of his belly and blow. It compels me to grab his ankle and graze the bottom of his foot and toes with my teeth and watch him wreath around on his back beneath me. It drives me to pinch the muscles of his upper inner thigh while he instinctively kicks and squirms and laughs and washes away all dinginess life has shadowed my day with. I am urged on by my addiction, as if it were sitting on my shoulder with horns and a pitchfork, until right before it becomes no longer fun for the target of my mischievous torture.

Perhaps my biggest addiction of all is knowledge. The knowledge that he knows he will always be safe with me. The knowledge that he's secure and that his every need will be met. That he knows that he will always be loved and cherished and encouraged and cheered for. Most of all, however, I'm addicted to knowing that he shares my addictions. That he needs me almost as much as I need him.

Grave Robbers

2006-08-15T11:29:00.000-04:00

The pain and sorrow is what most people relate to when someone they know suffers the loss of someone close to them. Typically "the arrangements" are handled by one person and are really not thought about or at least spoken about unless the concern of financial burden is present. Decisions about what kind of service and who should be contacted seem as though they'd be made without much mental duress, leaving all the room for the emotional strain that a person would need. That is how I always assumed it was, anyway.

As the days grow nearer to my mother and grandmother's dual memorial service, however, I find out evermore how wrong I was. Today I got a nice good look into the seedy life that is running a cemetery. In 1975 my grandparents bought two plots and two vaults. In 1995 my mother bought a plot next to my grandparents'. While both my mother and grandmother wanted to be cremated, they wanted their ashes to be placed in their plots next to my grandfather. A month ago my brother contacted the cemetery and informed them that we'd like to have the joint service on August 20th. We really had/have no other choice for dates. My Aunt lives in New Mexico and would be here during that time, leaving shortly thereafter and Sunday is the only day of the week both my Tover and Monkey share as a day off from work. The cemetery had no problem with this and was happy to arrange it. Of course what they were most happy about we wouldn't find out until last week.

At the end of last week my Tover called them to give details as to time and whether or not we'd need the chapel and they informed him that since they're not typically open on Sundays that there would be an "overtime" charge of $200. He was a bit upset that this wasn't told to us originally and he and I discussed how to proceed. The cemetery suggested that we have the service on Sunday but that they take care of the cremains "at (their) convenience." We both feel that it's very important to us to know my mother and grandmother were actually laid to rest and not just thrown in a trash can or something not to mention the closure of it. My brother nailed it, saying "I kind of need the period at the end of the sentence."

After talking about it we decided to sell the two vaults that wouldn't be used (my Aunt wants her cremains tossed off a cliff and neither Tover or I are interested in the vaults for our own use) back to the cemetery to pay for the "overtime." I placed the phone call today to the cemetery to find out if that was acceptable. I was told, after some hemming and hawing, that yes they would do that. The woman said she'd have to speak to her supervisor to find out the details and call me back. When she did she told me that the figure she had given my brother only a few days before for the overtime charges was incorrect. The amount was actually double that because supposedly she had given Tover over time charges based on Saturday's rate not Sunday's. She also told me that they wouldn't credit us with the amount that the two vaults were worth today but rather what my grandparents paid for them in 1975 - a figure she didn't have right then coincidentally. After hearing this I said that I was almost positive that the paperwork had been kept and that my brother would be able to find out "if you need." She stammered and then said she would call me back as soon as she found the contract. She called about a half an hour later and said that they would be able to credit us $195 for each vault, essentially paying for the overtime charges. I am 100% confident that had I not stated my brother had the paperwork she would have given me a MUCH lower figure.

Let me state here and now if anyone ever so much as considers putting me, ashes or otherwise, into a cemetery I will return from the grave and haunt them for the rest of their lives. Who would have thought that those that are entrusted to lay our loved ones to rest for all eternity would turn out to be such shysters.

Bits of Tid...

2006-08-11T12:44:00.000-04:00

Ok first of all, sorry for the delay in posting Part 2. I think I'll end up condensing it down to a single paragraph or two contained in this post. For the last couple days Monkey, Parker and I have come down with something.. We're not quite sure what but it's really kicking our butts in the energy and muscle ache department. Two days ago I woke up feeling like I was going to hurl, which I actually never did but felt like I was going to most of the day. I chalked it up to the migraine I got mid-afternoon and yesterday when I went in to get Parker from his crib he had a panicked look on his face and he was gasping. At first I thought he was choking on something so I proceeded to pry his mouth open and then even tried to gently feel around with my finger to see if I could feel/get anything. What I got was handfuls of vomit, poor baby.

The two days prior to that I was in a place I've never been in before. I was:
1.) Uninspired (been there)
2.) Completely exhausted (been there) and...
3.) BORED (NEVER BEEN THERE)

I don't remember ever being bored in my life. Nothing sounded like something I wanted to do. Nothing. But yet I was so bored. Monkey suggested I post but see #1? Lots of topics entered my mind to post about but I didn't actually feel like writing, ya know? Anyway.. So here I am, lots of tidbits to post about so I'll try to be as succinct as possible.

Monkey's News:

I told him I'd give him until (last) Monday to tell people but he was too busy feeling like poo and trying to milk it for all it's worth. So the big news is that he's going back to school. He's going for Networking Interface blah blah blah somethingcomputerIhavenofriggenidea part time at night. It'll take him 3 years to earn the degree but we're all very excited here. That's a long way from his post a month ago about lacking self motivation.

Do You Love Me Part Deux:

Essentially after I got my dad home he became the world's biggest pain in the ass ever (said with all the love in the world.) I brought him home Sunday and tended to his every need all day long. By 11:00 p.m. I realized I hadn't even had a chance to eat anything all day long and found that my dad didn't have any pots or pans (they were in the oven I found out later.) So I grabbed a bowl and a saucer plate and nuked up some ramen noodles just to have SOMETHING, threw the bowl, plate and fork in the sink with the coffee cup, plastic tumbler and three pieces of silverware that were there and trudged my arse to bed with plans of doing the dishes after making my dad breakfast. I awoke at 6:45 a.m. to the sound of my DAD DOING THE DISHES because I had left them from the night before. I soon found out that since he's been living alone for the last 4 years he's become quite cantankerous about his house. After I shooed him back to bed, finished the dishes, made him breakfast and did THOSE dishes, I quick washed up in the bathroom sink and ran out to fill some prescriptions and pick up some supplies. Before heading out he asked if I would change the sheets on his bed when I got back and of course I said "Of course, Daddy." I was gone an hour. When I got back he had changed his sheets himself, made himself a second helping of oat meal and had THOSE dishes in a sink full of soapy water and was starting to wash them. Remember, this is the day after I BROUGHT HIM HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL.

I did my best to keep up with him, keep on top of his needs and often sacrificed my own (food, coffee, showering, sleep.) But by Tuesday it was clear to me (and him) that he was truly well enough to take care of himself and that I was only irritating him by only being one person with two arms instead of two people with eight. I called Monkey and asked him to make the trek back to Michigan to pick me up after he got out of work. I spent Tuesday doing everything that I could think of to make my dad's life easier after I left. I wasn't terribly worried because his (temporary) roommate who USE to be a nurse and after decades of marriage and children has decided to go BACK to get her RN's licence again would be back on Thursday which meant he'd only have one day by himself and his best friend Jack who is a retired doctor would be visiting anyway. I did more shopping, laundry and dishes. I cleaned the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen down. I even got the good people at Johnny Rockets to open up their doors to me an hour early and bought a huge tub of their chili for him. By Tuesday night I was so glad to see Monkey and to be going home I nearly cried. I've never been away from Parker for more than 3 or so hours before and it had been since Friday evening that I had been able to kiss ANY of my babies.

My In-Laws Party as the End of Women's Suffrage

Every year the church my in-laws live across from have an entire fair come set up on their vast lawn, complete with games, rides, fair food stands, gambling, rap music and the vast collection of people from every walk of life Toledo has to offer, from 280 lb Bobbi Sue in her little sister's tank top that the Salvation Army wouldn't accept and her 5 children whom are afraid of soap and water to Biff and Muffy in their his and hers matching Polo shirts and tennis sweaters. To celebrate this event my in-laws throw a party (and lemme tell ya, this family knows how to throw a party. Enough food to shame Thanksgiving and enough booze to.. well get a whole lotta people a whole lotta drunk.) It's the kind of party that their kids aren't afraid to invite their friends to. Their ADULT kids. Monkey invited his best friend and his wife and a very good time was had by all until religion, politics and women's rights were brought into topic. That's when I felt like the floor was pulled out from under my feet. When the reality of how much just four short years can change who people are slapped us directly on the face.

It's easy to think you still know the beliefs of your friends when you don't talk about them. It's natural to think that someone you've known for years still feels at least in the same fundamentals as they did when you last spoke with them about it. In other words, it's easy to be wrong and.. well you know what they say about when you assume.

We were speaking about our plans the next day and well, this being on a Saturday, we openly discussed the possibility of going to church (I refuse to be ashamed of my beliefs and am not shy about talking about them, but that's for another post.) They go to a Baptist church just down the road from my in-laws and we go to a Unitarian church downtown. The conversation drifted from how involved we were or were not in our church to our own personal faiths. I was saying how I'm very much a hippy kind of believer where God is all about love and peace and acceptance and understanding and she was conveying how she's still very founded in the religious roots in which she was raised, fire and brimstone. Anyone who really knows me knows this is the kind of conversation I live for. I LOVE "deep" conversation with good people, ESPECIALLY when they have different views. I thrive on the opportunity to grow and learn and have a better understanding of who they are as people and of the world in general. Unfortunately the conversation took a turn I didn't expect or prepare myself for and I found my mouth agape. As I look back I see that I was the one that opened the door for that direction, too.

My first husband was born and raised Baptist. Not just Baptist but farm community old school Baptist. And he wasn't just born and raised as a Baptist, he actually got a bachelor's degree in Religious Study and Inner Discipline at Mt. Hope Bible (then College now Training Institute) in Lansing, MI. and served as a youth minister for awhile. I decided to share with the two guests we had invited of the time when, right before we were married, my first husband told me he expected me to recite the traditional Baptist wedding vows where the man promises to be a strong and loving leader and the woman vows to submit to his leadership. Before I could even voice my disbelief that someone would want such a thing Monkey's friend's wife was wholeheartedly agreeing... WITH THE VOWS.

They come from a dual income family and as of yet have no children (which they're working on) but she quickly and quite succinctly stated that if they were to have children she would happily stay at home and raise them. Good for her, right?! I mean I AM a stay at home mom, I love being a stay at home mother, I love my children and I love raising them. I think every parent should do what's right for them and if staying home is what her heart tells her to do then more power to her. But she continued. She wouldn't expect her husband to do "anything" when he came home from work but sit in his favorite chair. No housework, no lawn work, no fixing broken plumbing, no taking out the garbage, no parenting, nothing. She would do it all. She would rub his feet, make his drink and be happy, and I swear to God this is a direct quote, "to cut his toenails for him." She would tend to his every whim and need. I sat there stunned feeling as though someone had pelted me in the face with a snowball unexpectedly. And then I continued to listen, and try to converse, as she would start to complain about someone with whom she worked that had a stay at home wife who actually expected her husband to DO things when he got home.. and then follow each statement with "oh but you probably agree with that" as if I were some sort of dirty evil tramp street urchin out to drag her unborn children into a life of drugs, sex and *gasp* women's liberation.

Don't get me wrong. PLEASE don't get me wrong. If this is what they want, both of them, then I do hope they have all that they want and are happy with it. I just really had no idea that people we hang out with on a semi-regular basis could have such different values and outlooks from ourselves. And I'm having a hard time reconciling how to proceed with a friendship. Do we simply stick to topics that are of common ground like the latest game console to come out or do we simply agree to disagree while secretly knowing that I'm the dirty evil street tramp that will show their children the gateway from doing chores to hell?

Attacked by a lampshade...

2006-08-05T00:11:00.000-04:00

oww
Originally uploaded by CCli.

This, my friends, is what happens when you drop a lampshade on your foot.... particularly the lampshade on the taller lamp pictured here...

It's like 1/4th inch thick tempered glass and it landed just right as I was putting them together... don't get me wrong... I like the lamps... I just hated assembly :P

A call to Duty

2006-08-04T15:07:00.000-04:00

While you're all waiting (at the edge of your seats, I'm sure *rolling my eyes at myself*) for part B, all of you need to hound Monkey for the INCREADIBLE WONDERFUL EXTREMELY AWESOME news that he has to share with you all!

It's HIS news so I can't share without feeling totally guilty but I'm bursting at the seams to tell you all some great news for a change!

Do you love me? Do you REALLY love me? Part A

2006-08-04T00:03:00.000-04:00

The exact name of the procedure they tried to do on my Dad was "Left Lower Lobe Video Assisted Thoracotomy" but they had to give up on the video assisted and just go for a regular thoracotomy, which creates a much bigger incision and a bit more recovery but not much. The tumor was essentially in the center of his lower lobe so trying to direct a miniature video camera through lung tissue to it was next to impossible really. Luckily the doctor knew almost exactly where it was and the incision was only 4 - 5 cm long. The surgery went extremely well. They didn't need to give a tracheotomy, which they had thought was a strong possibility because my Dad's radical neck dissection 5 years ago and the following radiation and chemo has left his throat with no left side muscle and tons of scar tissue. They were also almost positive that if he didn't need a tracheotomy he'd at least have to have a breathing tube in for a day or two. The thought of this absolutely terrified my Dad and we were extremely blessed because he was breathing very well on his own after surgery and they were able to remove the tube almost immediately.

What followed afterward, however, was a different story. While not technically an after surgery issue, the surgery itself started two hours later than scheduled and afterwards it took the hospital 4 and a half hours to find a bed/room for my dad. His surgery was scheduled for noon and it wasn't until 9:30 at night that I essentially demanded to see him because no one had yet told him the news of the biopsy and this is what scared him most (naturally.) They had just gotten him a room and were still hooking up IV's and such when I bounced in and told him it was negative. He managed a smile and a thumbs up before slipping away under the influence of residue anesthesia. He looked incredible for someone who had just been through such an ordeal. His color was great and the minimal nose tube for oxygen was beautiful compared to what we were told to expect. We were lulled into a false sense of security by the RN's almost eager sharing of information. What machine did what, told what, what it meant, what they were looking for, what each tube was doing, etc. I asked about diet because not only was my dad the world's pickiest eater BEFORE his RND 5 years ago but now he's essentially on a soft diet because this fact combined with the scar tissue, lack of muscle control and the fact that his saliva glands were burned out by the radiation has left him with only a handful of food items that he can and will eat. I was told I could bring some yogurt in for his lunch and by dinner he should be on a normal diet. I asked for the dietitian to come first thing in the morning. After watching over him for a half an hour or so, Monkey and I made our way back to my (step)mom's house.

We woke up, made a quick trip to the grocery store and headed over to the hospital. They had my dad on an epidural for pain along with self controlled morphine. It seemed to be doing ok. Now understand that while my dad is a big guy, he's very sensitive to any and all pain medication whether narcotic in nature or even as simple as Advil so this was more than enough. Monkey and the boys had to head home Friday evening so sometime mid-afternoon after Dad had ate two Yoplaits and assured he was good for a couple hours we headed back to Mom's house where Monkey and I crashed for a little while on the couches while Parker finished his second nap of the day. When we were all rested we all hopped into the van and headed back, boys in tow with a plan to meet my Tover and his boys there. Monkey and the boys dropped me back at my mom's on their way back to Toledo. The next day my opinion of the hospital would go to hell in a hand basket.

I got their around 11:00 because I had stopped at a Michigan/Northern Ohio/Northern Indiana store called Meijer. They're a fully stocked grocery store, extremely decent department store, pharmacy, deli and coffee house all in one. I wanted to pick my dad up some more yogurt, myself a cooler top and a couple games for the DS to keep me busy during dad's naps. When I got there he told me that the epidural stopped working sometime in the morning and rather than call the anesthesiologist back in they simply removed it. However what they didn't tell my dad OR I was that along with the self controlled morphine they also put him on a morphine drip AND they were injecting his IV with both an anti-inflammatory that causes drowsiness and a narcotic based pain reliever geared toward muscle pain. The dietitian showed up and my dad and I worked together with her to make sure she understood the kinds of food he not only would eat but COULD eat. He fell asleep shortly afterwards and a couple hours later I slipped out for some lunch. By the time I got back he was so drugged out of his mind I couldn't get more than one or two words out of him before he was passing out, even to the most important questions. And every time he sat up for any purpose at all he was puking his brains out. I repeatedly told the nurse that I felt he was on too many pain meds. Repeatedly she'd smile and nod and promise to "look into it." They also were taking more than an hour to bring my dad some more water, come to change sheets he had bled and vomited on, left him sitting passed out in a chair hooked up to various machines for an hour AFTER I requested help getting him back into bed (and was told someone would be in right away to help). He was left in a dirty, bloody, hospital gown and after they brought him in the things to change and wash up I was left to give him a sponge bath myself (not that I cared, I just think it's something that should be done by someone who knows what can and cannot be unplugged for a minute should do.) For dinner he was brought a cheese burger. My dad's daily diet consists of yogurt, Johnny Rocket's chili (which is very "Hormel no beans" like in consistency) and the like because of his radical neck dissection and the toll the radiation had on his mouth, tongue, and saliva glands. Essentially there is no muscle on the left side of his mouth and throat, his teeth and saliva glands were destroyed by the radiation and they didn't want him to have his dentures, either. And they brought him a CHEESEBURGER. When I took it back out and explained, once again, the type of foods he could eat I got the nod and the smile. An hour later the RN asked if ANOTHER cheeseburger had been brought up to the room, this time cut up. I wanted to say "My dad had surgery on his NECK, NOT his brain! If he could eat normal food if it was simply cut up he could cut it up HIMSELF" but opted instead for something less offensive to which the RN suggested they put it in a blender for him. I asked her if SHE would eat a cheeseburger that had been "blenderized" to which she replied with a grimace and a head shake. I smiled politely and said "Exactly. Just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you SHOULD."

After I came back from a dinner with my Tover and his kids they had finally agreed that he was on way too many pain meds and taken him off the morphine drip. He was a bit more coherent, in that he could actually get most of a whole sentence out before slipping back into unconsciousness. I knew it would just take some time for all of the drip to wear off and stayed until about 10:30 at night before heading back home. He called me by 10 the next morning telling me he essentially demanded to be released because after the drip did wear off he had the worst night he's ever had in a hospital, complete with the aid putting his ice water next to his used but not emptied urinal bottle.

I'll write about getting him home tomorrow. It's much more interesting and funny. All in all I'm ecstatic at the results of the surgery but severely disappointed in the hospital's performance in my dad's after care. It's the entire reason for the title of this post but as usual I got a little long winded. :)

To market to market to buy a fine pig.

2006-08-03T18:53:00.000-04:00

Just wanted to let everyone know that I'm home now. I actually got home about midnight Tuesday. There's a good post in the making but I've been battered by daily cyclonic migraines and long over due house keeping/organizing. Look for something tomorrow.

It's good to be home.

In the Garden...

2006-07-30T15:43:00.000-04:00

So I looked into the backyard today and saw this massive flower, no kidding, the size of a basketball...

so I was going to get a close up picture of it but....

THEY are back :P

How many times do I have to KILL YOU!?!

Small update...

2006-07-29T00:06:00.000-04:00

I (monkey) just got back from Lansing tonight. JJ is still up there to take care of her dad for a few days. I just wanted to share the GREAT news with everyone.... it's NOT CANCER!

You have no idea how ecstatic everyone is. JJ hasn't stopped smiling in 2 days. He's also recovering VERY well. He's breating normally, he never had to have a breathing tube, and his drainage is very low so they will be removing the chest tube as soon as tomorrow.

More later, I have to crash now :P

-M

New Digs and a bit of the AFK for me (JJ)

2006-07-26T02:55:00.000-04:00

So first off, how do you like the new digs? I've been working on it for awhile. I'm still working on other aspects of it (setting up pretty sites for my other two blogs that I'm working on, Big Butt Blogging and the soon to come Java Junkie Unfiltered, actually posting "about" posts, etc.) but I wanted to get this up before I leave town.

Why am I leaving town you might ask? Well a few weeks ago my Dad's PET scan showed what they thought were 3 very small masses in his left lung. Turns out it's one 14mm mass and Thursday they're taking it out. They're not sure if it's benign or malignant but it's probably the later because he's a 5 year survivor of stage 4 lymphatic cancer. He's also a musician and although he's never smoked a cigarette he's played in smokey bars 5 nights a week most of it. All of this sort of explains why I've been a bit anti-social lately.

A few nights ago I wanted to comfort myself so I looked up lung tumor statistics and I was slapped in the face with "never ask a question you don't want the answer to." I found that there's only a 1 - 2% chance that it's benign and even though it was caught early only 10% of lung cancer patients live past 5 years no matter when it's caught. Since then I've been doing a LOT of crying. And praying. And begging. And allowing Blues Clues and Jack's Big Music Show and the like to hypnotize my youngest into a state that allows me to hold him for more than 3 minutes at a time while I kiss his soft pink cheeks and neck and breathe in his wonderful scent just to keep myself grounded in some sort of reality that doesn't hurt.

I hope I got it all out of my system. I hope come Thursday I'm the person my family is expecting me to be. The strong one who takes care of those in my family that are hospitalized. The one that goes head to head with doctors to make sure the "best possible" route has been examined, all other routes have been equally examined and that it is, indeed, the best possible route. The one that makes all the phone calls, all the arrangements, and makes sure you eat what you're suppose to whether you like it or not, drink what you're suppose to whether you want to or not, and take any and all medication exactly on time. I am, as my Dad's doctors came to refer to me last time around, "Vlad the Impaler disguised as Susie Homemaker." Because Thursday is my Dad's surgery and afterward while he's in the hospital I will be at his side until they kick me out and when he's home I'll still be by his side until he doesn't need Vlad and I can come back home to my children and husband and be Susie Homemaker again. I won't be able to cry. I won't be able to be scared or worried or emotional or broken. I will have to be nothing that I am right now and everything I am not. I hope to God I can get it together in time.

I'm not sure how long it'll be before I'll be able to post. If I'm staying at my Dad's house I should be able to access my blog from there but if I'm staying at my (step)Mom's house (they're married but live separately.. Yeah it's weird, I'll explain it sometime) she doesn't even have a computer I don't think, in which case you'll be stuck with just posts from Monkey. If that ends up being the case I'll urdge him to delve into the photos I've taken over the last 4 months and post some every couple days or so just so you have some cute to balance out the serious/ranty posts he normally posts *smile*

Until then, everyone take care. And please say a prayer for my dad.

Paintin' in Pajamas

2006-07-15T01:04:00.000-04:00

Today was hot and muggy.. Mostly muggy. In fact I tried to take Parker out into the yard to play and the water that's been sogging our yard for days now was so warm it almost felt like bath water. It was so warm it creeped me out. As in "I hope this isn't backed up sewage of some sort.."

But that didn't stop me from breaking out the finger paints, poster board and super clever and chic egg carton paint holder for Parker's first experience with finger paints. Technically what he's wearing is pajamas but they're a very light, breezy material that clearly would hide any paint that might not wash out. I share this with you now.

An Artist at work.

Of COURSE we had to taste it

And then we had to see how it looked on US.

Then we had to listen to the paints and see what THEY wanted to become.

And do our best to help them realize their dream.

We had a wonderful time. But, as all 18 month old's do, we eventually got distracted by the jillion other things in the yard and I had to pull my protesting toddler back inside (remember, I didn't know *exactly* what was in the water that laid in inches over my yard. I'm sure there was at least dog poo from our neighbor's dog since we sort of share yards and I do NOT want my child walking and playing in Dog Poo Stew.)

Tomorrow maybe we'll tackle Play Doh.

For anyone who's interested there are these, plus a few more shots in 1024x680 shots (so that some crazy old guy would stop complaining about how to get "these women to post something larger than 400x300 on flickr?" :P ) on my flickr account.

I am Jack's lack of self-motivation

2006-07-09T21:29:00.000-04:00

Wikipedia defines motivation as the initiation, direction, intensity and persistence of behavior.

I'm starting to scare myself with my lack of motivation to do normal everyday things. Example, getting out of bed to go to work in the morning. I've been getting out of bed every single day for work or school for over 20 years but now it seems like the hardest thing in the world to do.
Instead of going out to the car to get the babies diaper bag I'd rather just go to the closet and get a diaper and a few loose wipes.
I'd rather lay on the floor staring up at the ceiling then get up to make the baby a bottle.
I'd rather keep going to the same shit job that I hate every single day then take the time to send my resume off to places people tell me are hiring.
Instead of making a dinner that may only consist of tossing some mix into the oven I'd rather order a pizza.
This has been going on for quite a while now and I wish I could figure out why.
I see other people that seem to be very motivated to do things, my father for example built a deck on his house a few weeks ago by himself where I can't even get out to the backyard to take out the garbage without a struggle.
I have no motivation and I wish I knew where I could get some.