Humanity -

Oy.

Ok. So I'm handicapped and have had oh ... five surgeries and three ER visits w/in the last two months. I'm tired, it's true. And when I'm tired I am one cranky girl.

Went to Meijers to get some chicken stock and shallots to make my own chicken soup (no energy to boil a chicken right now, thank you very much) and ran into the poorest excuse for a man I've seen all year. And I'm divorced ... KWIM?

This MORON has done a "create-a-space" parking job next to my where I was parked in a handicapped parking space. Vito was w/me so I knew I wouldn't get TOO lippy because:

1. Vito, despite his rockin' Vito looks, is a very gentle soul. He is very concerned about things not getting "out of hand." Me? I like an occasional out of hand every now and then. This may be one of the things that draws us to each other. I know he won't let me get hurt. He knows I won't let him get bored.

2. I try not to pop off just because I physically hurt.

Well, I slid sideways between the cars to try to open my door, turned and stared down the man in the passenger side of the vehicle next to me. He finally looked at me and I just shrugged. It was a meaningful shrug but not a "I want to hurt you" shrug. More of a, "COME ON, Dude. REALLY?" Vito insisted on standing and staring him down while I backed out. In truth? I think he knew I was hurting a lot and was probably on the edge of a meltdown ... and when I get like that it doesn't take a lot of throw me under the bus.

So. I back out, whip out my iPhone and take a picture of the guy's license plate. I mean, really, if you're going to be willing to go out on the inconsiderate AND illegal limb, one must consider the possible consequences.

WHAM. He hops out of the car and yells at me, "YOU' RE TAKING A PICTURE OF MY LICENSE PLATE?"

Me: "Yes, I am."

Him:" My wife went into the store because she forgot some stuff. You took a picture of my ((^(#^^$&%#% LICENSE PLATE?"

Me: "Yes, I did."

Him: "She's gonna be in there for like five $&#*^*@%^ minutes and you're giving me THIS $(*&#($^#?"

Me: "Guess so."

Vito steps in. Literally. I am still in my car but this guy is now reaching for my door handle. Vito says, "Sir, the problem isn't that your wife forgot something. The problem is that you are parking illegally to begin with NEXT to parking for the handicapped. This is rude. You could have chosen a lot of options besides this."

Me? I'm still pretty ticked. My stomach hurts, I have a fever, the whole kidney debacle has not gone well the past two months. I feel it rising inside. What the movie "Mean Girls" calls "word vomit."

The pasty faced young man looks at me again, "You really going to call the cops because of something my WIFE did?" That did it. Crossed all lines. Really. He's' going to blame HIS behavior on his WIFE? Nice. Really, really nice. Top notch hubster and human being. And then it comes out. I realize I'm sitting in the parking lot of a grocery store in the hinterlands of the midwest yet every second spent being raising in NJ and NY is rising to the surface. Out comes,

"OH PLEASE. MAN UP!"

I stop. I cannot BELIEVE I have yelled this at a complete stranger. Even Vito is silent. He knows this, um ... urge to strongly voice my opinion comes out when say, watching the news, but he's never seen me raise children and he's never sat in any of my classrooms. He's never see me hold anyone responsible for their behavior before and I could tell he was stunned. So stunned, that he began to laugh.

Laughing was not a good choice. Not now. So he hops in the car, slams his door and says, "WOW, I so wish I had that on voice recording. I'd send it to your KIDS!" I have to explain my kids have heard me hold them accountable before. I ask, "have you never heard me 'do' this? IN FIVE YEARS?" Apparently, I've been on my very, VERY best behavior!

A drive to my little slice of heaven is in order. Where the birds and horses and I will become one with the wind. Where I can see the tops of the dunes of Lake MI. Where I can HAVE my LLBean buoy and no one will care. Where the air smells FRESH and I can hang out my sheets. Where there are no condo or apartment police. Where I can be as looney as a jay bird and as long as I'm not hurting anyone or anything no one cares. Where I can live my imaginary fantasy life undisturbed, grow herbs, make soup, and KNIT (while wearing T4 clothes, yes, yes, yes.)

We drive on to a lovely small town where I can get what I loving refer to as "my ginger water." They just take a hunk of ginger root and shoot it through a Vitamix w/a lemon before they dump in the hot water, but it's nectar of the Gods to me. Vito gets coffee. But before we can go sit at the beach we have to wait for our order. And that's when it ALL turned around. Apparently the store's credit card machine was broken and the woman behind me didn't have any cash. "Never mind" she says politely to the coffee chick. And then, in that moment where we all wonder "do we buy her hot chocolate?" the gentleman behind her says, "Oh please, put her hot chocolate on my tab." The place goes silent. A holy hush. We exchange a glance this young woman and I. She's blinking wildly and I realize she's close to tears. Like I said ... when I don't feel good? Under the bus? In an nanosecond. Now I well up. Pretty soon the two of us are crying and Vito is thanking the man for BEING a decent human behind. The guy was perplexed and asked, "Isn't that what a person SHOULD do?"

"YES" we all respond in chorus. My faith in humanity has been restored. My resolve to never shop at Meijers again confirmed and I am at peace. Slowly Vito and I work our way out of the coffee shop and onto the sidewalk where I continue to expand on my fantasy life. I'm never going in a big store again. I'll go to the fish market and buy veggies from local farmers. If it's not in season I'm not eating it. So on and so on. Finally he suggests maybe I'd prefer Europe to the United States ... maybe Belgium where I can both get jacked up about their lack of government AND shop locally. Until they split the country in two. And rusty as it is, I do speak French. No Flemish.

We go sit at the lake where I can remind myself how much BIGGER Lake MI is than the Meijer's parking lot. Where dogs run gleefully up and down the beach so HAPPY to be released from there cages/houses. Where people are leaning against their cars breathing deeply and sighing to each other, "who'd have thought we'd have lived until March." Everything in me relaxes and I realize I haven't been out of the house since two surgeries and an ER visit ago. I take other pictures w/my iPhone. Happy pictures. Almost-time-to-take-down-the-snow-fences pictures. Dogs Gone Wild pictures.

We drive home, unload the groceries and Vito heads for home. I'm in bed again ... but, for you DYT fashionistas, wearing a black night shirt. It's the best I can do and that's good w/me.

The Empresses' New Clothes

No clothing posts yet! Just back home yesterday from another emergent surgery. What a nightmare.

This stay my room mates consisted of the following (thank God I was only in a two bed room!)

The first one. A middle aged Spanish speaking woman awaiting dialysis who, at 3:00 AM when I was wheeled in vomiting into one bag and pushing that morphine drip with the other hand, had the TV blaring some "cha cha cha" station with overweight, overbleached, over made up women squeezed into little its bitty baby doll halters and "swim skirts" gyrating around an aging man. Not a good look. On ANY of them. I asked if we could PLEASE angle the TV so I didn't have to watch this. Morphine is good, but only to a point.

They got her to agree to angle it. Why she need to agree,I ask? Does my medicare not pay the same amount hers does? Of course it does. But she isn't old enough to have medicare and she certainly isn't working. Must be on medicaid. The dreaded of all dreaded. The need based. The shunned. I feel a political rant coming so MUST DIVERT. Let the television dance begin! I turn it down, she turns it up. I turn it down. She begins to cry. Did you know one can cry in a language? I did not know this. Now I realized she curses on the "down side" of the loud sobbing. I buzzed a nurse who spoke spanish to come into the room and asked, "Is she swearing at me?" She cocked her head, looked at me and said, "She HATE you!" I said good, maybe should could direct some of her hatred on my kidney stones and encourage a little action. THEN at too early o'clock she begins to make noise. NOT exactly singing, maybe praying? She throws open the curtain (good morning) and asks, "You Christian?" I shake my head yes. "You speak tongues?" I give the blank stare. She goes back into it. Maybe she's still cursing the kidney, who knows.

Finally, around noon she leaves for dialysis. Ahhhhhh. But when she comes back she is crying. HARD. I asked the nurse, "Does dialysis hurt?" "No." Who knows. Maybe the thought of sharing a room (her side had the window) with a non-tongues speaking, no-spray-on-tan loving woman withOUT red lips (just toes ... one does not need to remove nail polish presurgery) threw her over the edge.

Finally she left. I actually do know the general dialysis story. These women come into the country and their husbands leave. They raise 5 or 6 kids on government aid and then get kidney disease. They drink hard, smoke hard, lead a HARD life. And then all medicaid will do is "treat" them. Kind of like fishing: catch and release. So they get into a medical crisis, go to the hospital, get dialysis until they are stable, and then released. All the while the family doesn't want them back. (I only know they because my one of my dearest racist nurse friends even admits the way older Mexican woman are treated is horrific! In FRONT of them their families say, "We don't want her anymore, YOU keep her!") So maybe she was crying because for four hours in dialysis she felt "ok" and she knew she was going to go home and have to reach the "not ok enough" stage to go back to the hospital, where they feed her, care for her, and make no demands of her. Or maybe she was just in a bad mood. I certainly was.

The second roommate only spoke DUTCH which caused much positive attention. People swarmed around her asking where was she from in the "motherland." Excuse me? Now I think her attempts at English sounded VERY germanic indeed. Of course, English speaking Dutch DO sound germanic. Apparently SHE had kidney issues as well and her sister was coming from the Netherlands today for a party on Saturday. Her big concern was that the house wasn't clean enough and there wouldn't be enough food. She complained the sun was too bright so shut the curtain (remember, I'm on the OTHER side of the room with the curtain between us already drawn.) The good nurse closes the curtain and the woman begins to snore. And I mean SNORE. I can't turn the TV on (rude) and I don't speak in tongues. Dang. So I just lay there playing Suduko on my iPhone while 15 people walk in and out to see her. Many of them her many children with their adult children with them. I listen to one young women show off her photos of MONSTANTO where they make the GENETICALLY ALTERED hybrid corn seeds for her and her husband's farm. Do they realize what they are doing? Yes, getting the biggest bang for their buck. I shake my head. Only in America.

She's exhausted (kidney issues really do leave one feeling like dog doo ... when one's body doesn't filter out the toxins correctly it really is yucky.) So on she snores and the friends come to ME. I say, "She has a stomach ache and is tired." (I've heard this often enough. I'm not a nurse ... screw HIPA. I used to be a teacher ... we're mandated reporters. So I dutifully document.) I whipped out a paper towel and suggested to her visitors that they sign a nice note she can read when she wakes up. THEN her minister comes to visit, wakes her up, reads b the one of the lamest of verses I can IMAGINE and tells her to envision the vista (not visa) God has planned for us. And he prays a prayer anyone could have said for free. I wait four more hours for someone to sign me out. Four long boring hours. I knew I was leaving in the morning on Wednesday. Who sleeps in a hospital? The door (my side of the room) is just as much a disturbance when HER nurse walks in then when mine does. Can they not keep a similar schedule for those with room mates? Of course not. That would be silly. Why not just come in twice as much ... so maybe every 20 minutes in the night to check vitals.Why not, indeed.

WAIT. Here comes some clothing news! I so wait for four hours in my non- vomit proof black tunic that has now hung in a "closet" for over 24 hours, my leggings, and no longer chic looking back Uggs. I realize I wore them when I off roaded in my Honda Accord on my "country" property a few weeks ago and had never cleaned them. Who cleans when writhing on the floor midst kidney stone attack?

So I got home. Turns out His Highness, The Baby is going to see his father in a play. Hugged me, asked if there were clean towels, must have showered and left. Must be the same play Alpha and the DIL came to see ... but forgot to come see me.

I'm a little more than pissed at these children who are so lovely to others. What do I do? Text them and divvy up the amount they said they'd get me for Christmas? (Contribution towards an iPhone. I totally WRECKED their best Christmas surprise ever. And the ever thoughtful DIL did get me a SEPHORA gift card. I am so glad Alpha married that woman!!!!) The Musician presented me with a great hand made photo album of the cool places he frequented in his "hood" in Laurel Canyon. I've never been in CA and miss him like crazy ... we moms love envisioning our kids in their environs. I love thinking of him living in this beautiful area full of rustic beauty. Able to be musician by night/appt. and neighborhood resident the rest of the time. The musician is a peace lover and he lives amongst peaceful people. Moms like that.

So ...yes, I know exactly what I'm going to do today. I'm tired of having my feelings hurt ... yes, my feelings will still be hurt but at least I won't pine for being "owed." ReleaseTHAT into the Universe!

I slept fairly well last night ... but I wish I had slept about 12 hours more. Maybe if I get in another six tonight I'll feel slightly human for the stent removal tomorrow.

So.

That's my life .... I am miserable. It's my job to figure how how not to be. I think the secret lies in loving yet not caring about being loved in return. How does one get there?

Oh. In case you read this blog because you want to hear about my DYT style antics? You will. You'll also get to hear about my steel beamed Barn I'm going to live in and all the nifty green ways to NOT poison oneself within four walls.

But mostly? You'll just hear about my days. Which are not filed with decorating, child rearing or any other humorous thing. You'll hear a lot about invisible chronic illnesses that befall hard working, graduate degree owning individuals (mostly women) and how our governments AND our churches are willing to let them slip through the cracks of their own lives ... because it's so much prettier for them that way.

Me? I'm not even that angry about it anymore. Just determined to slip through that crack ONLY when every breath of fight is gone, grasping at the edges with my unadorned T4 nails.

- Show quoted text -

Sunday -

I did a lot of reading about lithotrypsy recovery last night and mine appears to be completely w/in the norm. Given that, I can relax, take my pain meeds, and snuggle up w/ my hot water bottle.

It's good to be encouraged ... to recognize that I easily slip to the dark side, and need to work on learning facts such that I can encourage myself w/them.

Vito stayed most of the weekend, cooking, cleaning, and general molly coddling. It was a lovely thing. Plus, gelatto with home made lemoncello is nothing to turn one's nose up at!

I feel very behind in where I meant to "be" by now and am having to let it go ... to recognize not all deadlines are GOOD deadlines and that sometimes they need to be a sliding deadline or overall goal. A SOMETIME goal.

Thanks to zebragirl I downloaded an app that will help me make better use of the clothing I own. I loves me clothes, don't get my wrong, but I like owning IT not having it own me.

I watched the Oscars and am sooo, sooo happy both Colin Firth and "The King's Speech" won. What a testament to the strength of human nature. May I be that strong as I face what lies ahead. I am thankful God make me a 4/3 and not one to shrink into the background. Yes, it has made me enemies in the medical field, but it has also gotten me where I need to go at time.

So good night all. May tomorrow be a stronger day!

NOT the clothing post -

I know I said I'd write about living as a T4 (bold and stunning) but after a nightmare of shockwave lithotripsy on Wednesday I can only say I'm sporting the same LL Bean nightshirt I've been wearing variations of for years.

Really. Men's nightshirt ... good for nursing, snuggling a child, and just plain old cozy. I bet I'm on my fifth one. So that's my clothing bit for the day. I tend to find what works for me and stick with it. Very T4. (Note how I worked that in!)

On to the main event. Surgery. No big deal. I like my doctor well enough but I don't think he's REALLY going after the right course of action for my overall condition. Surgery went well enough and on Wednesday I was happily peeing silt ... sure that the badness was COMING OUT.

Until Thursday. A dear friend brought me lunch and w/in 20 minutes the pain and projectile vomiting began. Thus began the round of phone calls (also known as *I* don't want to deal w/her YOU do it!) The hospital said to call the doctor. The doctor said to go to the hospital. Between the pain, anger, and projectile vomiting I was NOT a happy camper. I get to the ER where they promptly attempt to load me up with a medication I am ALLERGIC to despite wearing THEIR bright orange wrist band as an alert. Really? Really? Does ANYONE pay attention to all their self devised safety measures? Is it REALLY up to the patient writhing in pain soaked with vomit? Apparently so. This is where being a T4 comes in handy. We don't get showy angry. We deep freeze. NO, you may not give me that. NO, I don't care if I'm not following medical advice. NO. NO. NO. You do it and you do it RIGHT. I don't care if it takes longer. I don't care if you label me as difficult.

Dr. Jerk, who I've seen before in the ER sends me for an X-ray. There are three stones in my urethra. Great. How big are they? He doesn't know. How can he not know? Did he go to medical school? Does he have its image on the screen and a handy cm measuring device? One would hope so. Will I be able to PASS THEM? He's not sure. Wait. WHY am I here? Maybe it would have been better to vomit at HOME. It certainly is a lot cheaper.

Today I am peeing merlot. That's apparently normal. Yeah, whatever. I am so sick of pain meds I could scream ... but if I don't take them I scream anyway.

Ugh. Larry James (lovely cat) is just so thankful mommy is in bed for days. I guess I'll be forgiven for a lot of Kitty Boy transgressions.

The Clothes Part -

So as a Bold and Striking Type 4, I'm supposed to dress just that way. In fully saturated hues plus large doses of black and white. This sounds good to me as "fussy" is something I just don't do. I have protested too many times not to know I'm already a minimalist yet I have the HARDEST time giving up some of my favs.

1. Chambray. Really. Work shirts, anyone?

2. Denim dresses. Again.

3. Overalls.

Granted they're all play clothes, but what's a T4 supposed to wear out to play in the yard, or with the kids/grandkids/dog?

DYT (aka: Dressing Your Truth)

It all began on a particularly HORRID day as I lay on the couch contemplating how many more days I'd live this way. To help myself get my mind off my, oh ... PAIN, I surfed. Fab Over 50. That's cool. I've always thought I was fabulous much to the chagrin of those who'd rather I didn't. I still think I am ... disabled or not. Seemed like a good enough page. Nice layout. Funky clothes. Healthy food. OVER 50 (KEY!) I surfed on.

Pretty soon I came to an online contest link, "Which one of these beauty products would you like to win and why?" In front of me was an array of stuff from lipstick to books, to "bundles." I read all the descriptions carefully and decided, what the heck, I want the works. So I typed in, "I'd like the beauty bundle where I learn my type of beauty. Before I was disabled I knew who I was and how to dress, but as one who now lounges around most of the day, I've lost all sense of self." A few days later I received an email saying I'd won. I promptly emailed back saying they must have written the wrong person. Thus began the "yes, you won, " "no, I never win anything" email tag.

Well, they were right. I DID win. Being the good little researcher I am, I looked up this "Carol Tuttle" expecting to find clothing that costs like oh ... $150 for a t-shirt. Nope. There was this very "real" looking woman talking about how ALL women are beautiful (I'm up for that) and how we tend to judge ourselves by societal standards. BINGO. Did I really win? Did I hit the jackpot? I read that some of her vita and realized this chick didn't just show up on the scene and announce herself "Queen of the Wardrobe." Nope, she did HER research and had much more experience in energy profiling than she did with dressing. I was liking this. REALLY liking this and could HARDLY wait for the books to arrive. Arrive they did and the soul searching began.

Basically Carol has divided people into four groups:

T1. The Bright and Animated. (certainly not me.)

T2. The Soft and Subtle (see also certainly not me.)

T3. The Rich and Dynamic (now we're talking my language)

T4. The Bold and Striking (again w/the certainly not me.)

I read on and realized each personality had been WELL described.

T1: Bright and Animated. I can tell a good story w/the best of them, but have no T1's in my family and I think that's a good thing. I'd have clobbered them (bodes well with Rich and Dynamic (also pushy when operating in their dysfunction.) However, I see my best friend in this type. Random brilliant thoughts like pop corn. Cute as all get out. I find I can only do "these people" in small doses. They're delightful, but they exhaust me.

T2: Soft and subtle? ME? No. I've been compared to an atom bomb ... yet also described as one who comes and just stays quietly. My father used to call me the iron fist in the velvet glove. His pint sized tiger. I recognized 2/4 if not 3/4 of the sons have some T2 in them. Mr. Sensitive for SURE is a dominant 2. The Lawyer and the Musician definitely have very tender aspects of their nature. Even The Baby (although he's loathe to admit to this.)

T3: Rich and Dynamic. NOW we're talking my language. Moves through life with a swift "push" and gets things DONE. Yeah, baby. Except ... was this really me? Did I act the way I did because I NEEDED to? Raising four sons alone while getting an M.Ed and teaching full time is no small process. Neither is moving halfway across the country to escape some issues I didn't care to deal with. Caveat: the issues came w/me.

T4: Bold and Striking: These are the model types. Yeah, I did a stint as an adolescent doing some runway stuff for a local department store, and yeah, I did pose for some painters and photographers. It was my face ... I though it was the Ukrainian Jew thing in a sea of white bread faces. But maybe not. Maybe it WAS the high cheekbones, deep set eyes, fairly chiseled jaw. I read on. WAIT. They were describing ME. A loner but a lover of people. Quiet. Loyal to those they respect, otherwise their own authority. Blunt. A perfectionist. Detail oriented. Etc. etc. Huh. I ran to the mirror looking for this bold, striking woman but just saw a nigh unto 56 year old with a big nose. Later, I looked again with my hair pulled back. Yep. There it was or rather ... there *I* was: high cheekbones, symmetrical face, not very large pores, widow's peak. WHAT????

Because I was sure I was really a T3, I mean, COME ON, I sent my photo in. I still have the one Anne Brown returned to me and can hear her gentle voice beginning, "I looked at your photo before I read your comments and when I pulled up your picture I saw stillness." (By now I was in tears.) "To your T4 perfectionist eye you see your flaws where others see your beauty." BRING ON THE TEARS!

So only then did I go through the T4 course where I sobbed my way through hearing about myself. I'm NOT the only one who feels misunderstood. ALL people do. If ONLY we all could see the beauty and POSITIVES (not just the negatives) in other energy types. I recalled moments when my children were young.

When at age 4 I realized Mr. Lawyer was going to be a Lawyer. (Type 4)

When at age 2 The Musician began calling out the instruments he heard played over the grocery store Muzak. (Type 4)

When at age 5 Mr. Sensitive told me someone hurt him on the inside. (Type 2)

When at age 3 The Baby "stomped" my beloved Hyperion Lilies because "he didn't like their shape." BTW, he said this astride a tricycle. (DEFINITELY a Type 4.)

HUH. If ONLY I had known this pre-divorce. If ONLY I had known this when my kids were little. I will say my adoption story was a blessing in that I devoted myself to parenting (and later teaching.) I have always only wanted my sons and students to know and value THEMSELVES before moving on into making life choices.

I'll save the clothes part for later.

Right now I'm going to go bake some gluten free brownies for Vito.

How did it turn into February?

It's been six months since I've "blogged" and although I'm still not a fan, I am determined not to let my life go unnoticed. I've changed the name of my blog from "Slipping Through the Cracks" to "Chronically Living." WHY? Because I'm living and have every intention of squeezing every drop out of life that I can get.

MAJOR changes since October.

1. Dumped by the man I THOUGHT was the love of my life. Yeah. Really. Bad news? It hurt like hell. Good news? I now know what love ISN'T! The even better news is that I think I know what love IS. Just like Mr. All Wrong said ... it's about consideration and consistency. (Sometimes Mr. All Wrong said Right Things.)

2. The house has SOLD. Yes, after 13 years of divorce the "family home" now houses another family. I prayed for years for the RIGHT family to purchase my lovely 1911 Craftsman bungalow ... and they were busy growing up, getting graduate degrees, and making babies. They are now happily snuggled in and the place looks wonderful. Full of life, laughter, and love. Really. It sounds so cliche' but every time I have to pick up mail I leave w/a smile on my face.

3. I am living in an APARTMENT. As in an apartment COMPLEX. This has turned out to be a much greater experience than I had imagined. I thought my cat, Larry, and I would move in, paint a few walls, and call it a year. Nope. We learned apartment etiquette (which involved NOT saying "hi" to your neighbors every time you see them ... too invasive.) We've learned the difference between a vole and a mole and find voles to be more adventurous as well as more amusing.

4. This spring I am BUILDING a house on a lovely 2.5 acres in the country. I just drove out there this morning to see it in all its muddy glory. I drove in (no driveway) and promptly got stuck in the mud. Spun my tires like a mad woman and finally finagled my way out of there. I admired my "off road" Honda Accord in the grocery store parking lot but am too tired to do anything about it.

Tomorrow? Dressing Your Truth. Or rather ... one of the tools God has used to help me learn who I REALLY am. Watch out, world.