12 Years Ago, Tonight

12  years ago, tonight at 10:20 pm my father passed away in a hospital in Connecticut. I was never a big fan of New Year’s Eve to begin with but since this happened, I roll into a little ball

English: Sculpture of a woman in fetal positio...

in my bed and cry on and off.

My dad used to buy me a candle every single year on my birthday, without fail, I’m sure my mom reminded him but it was a tradition. My mom, sister and I still have one or two of his well-worn, soft handkerchiefs that are like prized possessions. Our dad had a shelf where he had 13 types of small different after shave cologne which he would point out to us, often!

What’s worse, for my mom, is that January 1st is/was my parents’ wedding anniversary. We try to give each other support but in essence it’s really our own pain we need to get past. I’m the “crier” in the family or as my husband and son call me “the shrieker.” Good or bad and especially when surprised by something: a bug, a person, a loud noise, I have a natural instinct to be scared easily. My daughter is the same way. Sometimes we shriek at

the surprise of seeing each other.

She’s away on a trip and as much as I am happy she is having a fabulous time, part of me wishes she was home. But, as much as I am a mushy mess, my daughter keeps all her emotions inside, deep, down inside. My expectations of wanting her here are really quite different from what her being here would be like. She does not enjoy my massive display of emotions.

My son is definitely more like me, we understand each other. We can read each others feelings on the phone or the breath before we say “hello” on the telephone. I was like that with my dad. My sister and my mother are completely alike, full of false bravado and unaware of their feelings. Being without my dad for so many years has been a struggle.

The balance has been lost, the person who understood me most, is gone. I’m with two family members that don’t really get me at all, they just say I’m “too sensitive,” never realizing that sensitivity is a good thing and that they might be insensitive. What I’ve learned all these years is that people don’t change.

I will get through tonight, thankfully, NOT going out, eating my American cheese sandwich and drinking chocolate milk, my comfort food. Maybe I’ll have some baked Lays for the crunch factor. For dessert, I pre-ordered two of our favorite home-made jelly doughnuts

from a nearby bakery. My husband and I will toast each other with those doughnuts, in memory of my father. Growing up it was a tradition that we all had jelly doughnuts on New Year’s Eve together. I just found out my husband bought four jelly doughnuts and two black and white cookies, he’s definitely like my dad too.

As sad as I am to have lost him, I am trying (not very successfully) to focus on that deep relationship we had and how much he really did love me. I was his baby girl, he loved me plenty of that I am sure. It just doesn’t help to take away the pain. Nothing does.

 

 

*My dad took me to see Two By Two with Danny Kaye, for years after, with spoons and different glasses of water of varying heights, he would conduct and we would both clink all our glasses after the words “Two By Two.” The last time I tried to do that with him, he was very sick and didn’t want to do that. He had lost his joy and I knew that his end was near.

 

 

 

 

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#FWF, Kellie Elmore

 

 

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 I was so sure it was love…

 

my children are older than I was  when we first met.  I was a sophomore in college, you, Mark, were my anthropology professor. I was immediately taken with your dark, smoldering eyes, a glimpse of power.

I learned quickly that I could make your bad moods disappear. I’m not sure you noticed it but within minutes your childish grumpiness would turn into a low, throaty laughter. You sat behind your desk, head thrown back in laughter wearing your dirty, beige, cable knit sweater,t he one you wore almost every single day.

 


It was the first time that I had ever felt such intense emotions in my life like a stagnant flower suddenly coming to life again, bursting to bloom.  He flirted, his stares were a few seconds too long, my cheeks flushed with pleasure, my green eyes stared back.

 

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There was a moment, captured in my memory, when I sat in your office and I held your young daughter in my lap and happily played with her hair. She cooed so sweetly with contentment. I hadn’t looked at you at all but lifted my eyes for a second to find your eyes staring hungrily into mine, your mouth half-open.

You had awakened in me a budding sexuality that I had rarely felt before. I was naive, I had felt attracted before but never this way. I went from being a girl to a woman without him ever touching me.

I remember sashaying down the hall to see him, for the first time after summer break, 25 pounds lighter, noticing my hips move and my ass, firm and tight, feeling wonderful. Back in the seventies, we wore black leotards and jeans, clogs and my brown hair was lush and long. He definitely noticed the change with his long stare, I felt beautiful for the first time in my life without his approval.  I loved the way I felt, my hair in two long brown braids which he used to tweak, as if we were both in middle school.

I’d like to think he was being “good” for me, to spare me pain and himself trouble but I heard, more realistically, that he had gotten into a lot of trouble in the past and this was his enforced “no-fly zone.”

Truly, this man was a louse, a monster but I was caught in the whirl of his intensity and his charm. I felt sorry for whoever he was married to although ultimately she divorced him. I knew I thought I loved him, more likely it was too many years of blind infatuation.

If you ask me why, I obsessed about him I honestly can’t tell you. Maybe it was the game

of not getting what I wanted that was so appealing, maybe it was the first sensation of awakening sexuality. I’ve always been attracted to “the first dance” of romance, where you feel the flush rise to your cheeks, and your eyelashes stay closed a couple of seconds longer than usual. It’s all a game, a wonderful, sensual, romantic game.

The only think he did for me other than not having sex with me was this: he hated graduation, he never attended. When I found that out he wasn’t going I was devastated.  He asked me if it meant something to me if he attended or not. “Yes” I said but he made no promises and we never spoke of it again.

“Commencement” as I’ve written before, is a nice way of saying good-bye.  During the procession, I saw him standing in line in his black robes and colorful ribbons, his majestic glory. That was the one thing he did do for me, he came to graduation for the sole purpose of wanting to make me happy.

I never regretting loving him nor did I regret continuing to love him, if it was really ever love at all, because it was a love that was intense and pure. One sided, of course, but it took me from being a girl in love to being a woman to love without him ever knowing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Carry on Tuesday: Rain, rain, go away

Storm Clouds

Storm Clouds (Photo credit: freefotouk)

Scott and Sarah were days away from their honeymoon, excited to be going to Paris, France after their  sunny and warm wedding reception in Boston, MA. They couldn’t think of a more romantic place to go than Paris. To be in love and to be in Paris, enchanting and delightful, they imagined long walks, holding hands on the small, cobbled streets and kissing furtively behind hidden doorways. They couldn’t wait for the chocolate croissants, standing in the sunshine,  many cups of lush, thick coffee with cream, a different apple or pear pastry for every meal…..the intoxicating smell of freshly baked bread wafting on the side streets.

They arrived two days after their wedding reception, having spent one night in a luxurious room overlooking the Boston Harbor, a gift from their friends. They had been driven there from the reception, Sarah, still in her wedding dress and white sneakers, Scott in his immaculate dark blue suit and maroon tie. Sarah refused to change into another dress, it was her wedding after all and she delighted in seeing other people point at her and gasp: “a bride!” When little girls with pigtails looked at her in awe she smiled and waved at them. Watching a bride, when she was a girl, was always magical.

Their plane left in the evening and they flew on TWA straight to Paris. They arrived, excited, happy, in love, dreams dancing in their eyes. The weather the first day was colder than they thought it would be. Sarah, secretly thanked her mother who had insisted she bring a raincoat in her luggage.

The sky was gray and dark, winds were chilly and it rained within the hour. They made their way to their tiny hotel, dragging their suitcases through city streets until they finally reached their destination. Sarah was not happy about that, there were no rolling suitcases back then and she was tired, cranky and hungry and just wanted to close her eyes. Scott refused to take a taxi, absolutely refused, Sarah was furious and thus their honeymoon started.

Every day of their vacation in France was cold and it rained every single day. “Rain, rain, go away” Sarah sang out loud but she only got angrier when the rain did not let up. To try to get away from the weather they decided to rent a car and head South, they would salvage their honeymoon. However, wherever they went, the rain followed, the winds blew freezing air and the skies were dark gray.

Sarah was there over her birthday and they had eaten lunch in a rest stop on a toll road. They both ate chicken with rice pilaf. It tasted fine, but within an hour, Sarah was throwing up violently, over and over again. It was the worst case of food poisoning she had ever had. “Happy Birthday, ME” she muttered to herself, swishing her mouth out with Coke. They cautiously drove to a quaint, old town in the country where they stayed in a beautiful, old castle. From the outside it looked like a movie set but once inside it was eery and dark. There was no light in the hallways and in their room except for one hanging bulb, swinging from a thin rope.

They called it “the honeymoon from hell”, they couldn’t wait to get back to the US and their apartment. It was the worst vacation they had ever taken. Once home, Sarah, who had packed only one warm, black sweater as an after thought, ended up wearing it every day for two solid weeks. The first time they lit a fire in their fireplace, she tossed the black sweater in the fireplace, along with their memories and happily watched them burn up in flames.

Does Anyone Still Care Who Jennifer Aniston Is Dating? (Pop Cop)

The cast of Friends in the first season. Front...

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Come on people, do you really still care who Jennifer Aniston is dating this month? Wait, let me guess, is it a co-star from a recent movie? Every month it seems that there are articles on who Jen is dating and who she is not dating and whether she is still friendly with Friends co-star Courtney Cox.

FRIENDS WAS OVER IN 2004! I cared about the show, I will always like the show but the actors that played the characters? So over. If we are talking a Friends reunion, I admit, you have my undivided attention and interest. Janice’s presence is absolutely required along with another rendition of Phoebe’s Smelly Cat song. Until then, don’t bother me.

I admit I was surprised when Jen and Brad broke up but after that I kind of got over myself. I was heart-broken when Tom Cruise divorced Nicole Kidman again, not my life. I watched Friends over and over with my daughter. Every single episode again and again. My daughter would actually quote from the show, use references from the show but even she went on to Charmed, Lost and The Office.

She grew up, can’t we? I don’t need to look at magazine covers about whether Jennifer is adopting a baby or not. How about the media, the paparazzi leave her alone and let her figure out her own life?  How about not photographing her anymore; it’s just not cool. It’s also old. I’m not saying she’s old, but enough already.  Courtney Cox and David Arquette are now separated, gasp! Hang on to your BFF’s ladies, they will always be around for you, husbands, boyfriends…you never know, especially in Hollywood.

One more thing, I started a blog years ago called “Jennifer Aniston and Halle Berry Need To Get Over Themselves” (Halle is not known for her solid relationships either) but I decided against it. Instead, I know, I wrote this.  How about we follow around really good philanthropists or people who have made a positive difference in the world. How about People, Us Weekly, Star and all the other magazines, show us that you won’t cover Jennifer Aniston and Halle Berry for a whole year. Concentrate on real people, not actors or actresses or models or rockers. Show us only good examples.  Dare you.

I know, fat chance.

P.S. If Julia Roberts ever divorces Danny Moder I may just have to give up on the sanctity of marriage..not my own of course but everyone else’s. I admire them.

Write an Alternate Ending to a Movie ( OR TV SHOW FOR ME)

The comedy show Seinfeld becomes popular.

Image via Wikipedia

  • An Alternate Ending
  • SEINFELD ( I’m cheating)
    I am taking poetic license and changing an alternate ending to a television series. Yes, I am picking Seinfeld. What kind of moronic, disappointing ending was that? It’s been a long time since it ended but I clearly remember my husband and I watching it (along with the entire world) and hating it. I remember a jail cell and nothing much else. (Thank goodness.) So the ending I would have written would have been:
    Jerry and Elaine would become romantically involved again, getting married ( which of course would be unusual at best) and eventually having a baby which would be hysterical with both their neurotic ways…….
    Kramer would become a dot.com millionaire
    Newman would stay exactly the same, working for the post office and being mean.
    and George? …..George would be gay! A late bloomer. He never really had great relationships with women so he would discover, later in life that he was gay (“not that there is anything wrong with that.”) THE END.
  • A PLINKY PROMPT

I’d Be Lost Without You

2008-10-22 - 010 - Kona, Hawaii, snorkeling, f...

Image by cfinke via Flickr

Every morning I am greeted with a smile, a hug and a freshly brewed cup of coffee. He even sniffs the milk before he pours, knowing I have a super-sensitive nose and will gag if I even think something has gone sour. Today there was a small fruit cup with blueberries, strawberries and cantaloupe, sliced with love from a steady, beautiful hand. My hands shake so he carries the full cup of coffee to me, so I don’t feel bad and so there will be no spills on our fake linoleum Spanish tiles in the kitchen. In the middle of the night our feet or hands search for each other for reassurance and comfort. I don’t even mind when he snores loudly, though I do punch him lightly in the arm. Without protest he turns over. I used to say “turn over” but with our marriage code I have shortened the phrase to “apple” as in apple turnover and he knows exactly what I mean.

We have our own language, he and I, built on twenty-five years of togetherness, love and friendship. We are each others’ best friend.  I am not saying we have always had the perfect marriage because no marriage is perfect. We have had our rough years, our tough times but we struggle through it together, knowing that home is not just a place but a feeling. I sat through a Gordon Lightfoot concert for him, he came to see Neil Diamond for me. Sometimes he blurt things out that are supposed to be secret; sometimes I reveal my feelings when I shouldn’t. Sam Adams for him, Diet Coke for me. His Scotch is my Yoo-hoo, his dark chocolate is my milk chocolate.

I want our children to see that our marriage is strong, loving, yet not without flaws. I want them to know that marriage, like any relationship, needs work, a strong commitment and loving companionship. We help each other when difficult situations arise, and in life, they always do. When we were first married, we went through the infertility process together; it breaks many couples apart yet it brought us closer together. We share pain and joy, I am more emotional, he is more practical. We balance each other like a delicate balancing toy, sometimes tipping over, always able to right itself to startling precision.We try to laugh even during hard times. He has taught me to be less pessimistic; I have taught him that it is okay to be vulnerable.

Through the 25 years of our relationship we have grown closer together even after we have grown apart. He likes skiing, I like sunshine, he plays racquetball, I need to write. For a little while we thought it was odd that we did not share activities in common but we adjusted and compromised. We trust each other so that if he wants to go skiing, he goes with a friend. If I need sunshine in the middle of a gray, cold winter, I have flown to Florida for a few days. We can be independent of each other yet always happy to reconnect. We share the joy of traveling together, France, Australia, Amsterdam,  Aruba, Rhode Island. We held hands when we snorkeling on our engagement trip in Hawaii, my most favorite memory. While he would prefer to stomp through old ruins, I would rather walk on the beach finding seashells; we compromise.

He is an atheist, I believe in G-d. We have two amazing children, a boy, 18 and a girl, 16. We share their triumphs and their pain; we help each other deal with our ever-changing reality. If the children attack us, as teenagers often do, we immediately look at each other. The silent language of marriage is a subtle one, but we speak it fluently.

I fear the day that one of us is left alone. I pray it won’t be for a very long time yet thinking about it frightens me. He is the one person that I trust with my life, that I can count on without question. He feels the same way about me. We know the best and the worst of each other and accept and acknowledge both. If I had to, I know deep down, that I could survive without him; I just don’t want to.

Fat Fits

OUCH!  My pants are killing me and they are digging into my stomach and causing major red welts. WHO put them in the dryer for so long??! It is obvious that they shrank to a smaller size. Who hasn’t asked the very same question or said those very same words? When you are in your twenties or early thirties, five, even ten pounds are not that hard to lose. You skip some desserts, eat a few more salads with dressing on the side, you’re pretty much back to where you were. Not really a big deal although it probably seems like it when it happens. After all, you have nothing to compare it to. You can moan or groan and be a size 6 or 8 or 12 or 22 and still feel conspicuous. You can lie (as most of us have done) and say it’s “water weight,” “I’m bloated” or “just too much salt in that French onion soup (regardless of the mountain of gooey, stringy cheese on top).”  It’s all very plausible and they basically mean the very same thing. It’s not fun but it is fairly easy.

Now,  we are married and pregnant and you ARE eating for two! Thank goodness I had my children in my early thirties because now I hear that you are only supposed to gain about eight pounds for your entire pregnancy. Eight pounds? I probably gained that in between office visits when I was pregnant.  I didn’t crave pickles and ice cream much to my husband’s disappointment; he wanted me to wake him up in the middle of the night with cravings for chocolate ice cream with butterscotch syrup. I just wanted to sleep without peeing every hour on the hour.   With my son I craved Chinese food, French rolls from Dunkin’ Donuts with grape jelly (no butter) and bologna and orange American cheese sandwiches on white bread with butter; chocolate milk was the beverage of choice. After all, the baby and I needed calcium.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, a  mere twelve months after my son was born, we thought she would be Greek because all I ever wanted were Greek salads with extra feta cheese, all the time. It sounds healthy but it really wasn’t. The Italian (I know, right?) place I got it from gave giant-sized portions with about two pounds of salty feta cheese along with their deliciously creamy home-made dressing; extra dressing on the side, please.  It was a salad, and, in my befuddled brain, that meant healthy. It was also served with a lot of bread.  In addition, since I was pregnant in the summer, Carvel’s vanilla cones, dipped in multi-colored sprinkles were a must or extra thick, creamy French vanilla milkshakes to quell the nausea (if there was nausea), of course. Again, we needed even more calcium.  All that vanilla and my second child, my daughter, loves only chocolate. It figures.

Losing baby weight from two pregnancies in a row is a joke and besides, those pregnancy pants are so darn comfortable. Skip ahead a few years, okay, more than a few, and you’re fifty. You’ve gone through peri-menopause, menopause and post menopause and every single thing in and on  your body changes and you pretty much fall apart. The three pounds you used to be able to lose in two days? Gone.  You have gained weight by NOT changing your diet at all and you’ve developed a large kangaroo pouch for which there is no joey. Your fat is redistributed and your clothes don’t fit the same anymore. Your waist has all but (speaking of the butt, the butt reinvents itself and is its country), your hips take on Titanic proportions and you can’t even begin to describe your upper legs as thighs. They are more like battleships and the more you walk around, the more they shift and fight each other and no one ever wins; there are no survivors.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure things out and you don’t have to be a brain surgeon to put the pieces together; you are older now, middle- aged, middle- aged plus, or old and your body, in a sense, is breaking down. To put it clearly, after a certain age, you really do start falling apart.  I find this happening more to women than men but that could be because we just talk about it more. That is, women talk to women about these kinds of things ad nauseum.  This is not a discussion they are having with their boyfriends or lovers or G-d forbid, their husbands.  If we don’t speak about it, it must not be true.

The years go by, the numbers go up. You try to exercise but the numbers stay the same. If the numbers go up, it’s definitely muscle mass. It’s so damn cold outside how can we exercise? It is way too icy to walk and heaven forbid slip, you don’t want a broken ankle especially because your bones are more brittle now too.  You have the elliptical machine that you could use but with the foot/heel problems you have had your orthopedist strongly recommends you NOT use it because of the trauma to your already torn ligament. Of course there’s indoor swimming, which even if you had the ridiculous amount of money they charge at the gym, the thought of swimming indoors and going back outside to the freezing cold with wet hair is less than desirable. Don’t you get an instant cold that way? That could lead to the flu, swine, regular or all-purpose.

What can you do?  You either fight like hell and become a person who is relentless in starving and maintaining the lowest calorie account imaginable.  You can eat a moderate amount and not forsake all the things you love.  Or, you can eat as much as you want, when you want and just buy bigger clothes.  There are a few options in between and we can justify whichever one we want.  Basically,  fat is a relative thing. Health is a whole other article.  Do what’s right and what’s comfortable for you and don’t let anyone, ANYONE judge you. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t want to lose the extra ten or……if I easily could. But, the fact is, I’ve tried and I’ve tried again. Being 53 I just don’t care that much about what other people think of me. I know who I am and I’m the same woman inside no matter what the label says; let us be comfortable in our own skin, inside and out.

Laurie’s Down on her Luck aka Hibernation

Day one of my blog. I’m a 53 year old married woman and mom, I have two teenagers in High School and an almost 8 year old dog, named Callie. Yesterday, which should be the beginning of my woeful journey actually is not. Yesterday was just another installment of Laurie’s Down on her Luck. That started a long time ago. Probably since the age of 50 when menopause struck. Yes, Struck. It didn’t start or end, it interrupted the life as I had known it. Hot flashes, hysteria, sweats, irritability, tears? NO problem. Thanks to the almighty Prozac which I have been on for 5 years for serious worrying problems. Is it safe to call it the OCD of worrying? That was me. Prozac helped me with a quite easy journey into menopause and out. I had no complaints. I also had no clue what would start after that.

A seemingly easy menopause, not care free but not suffering like many of my friends. However, it attacked my body ferociously, like the way I attack Funfetti cupcakes with vanilla frosting. You understand.

Men-o-pause (and who came up with THAT name) kick-started a revolution on my body or perhaps more accurately To my body that is still not well. I write to you after a year and a half (and still going) with various illnesses, ailments and psychological trauma.

I was a fairly common place looking female, curly brown hair, funky pink glasses, green eyes ( my best feature). 5’4 inches, still looked good in a pair of jeans, v-neck long cotton Tee and reliable sneakers or clogs (if I wanted to dress up.) Not a hippie but certainly no fashion plate either.
My family and I live in this tony little town up on a hill where we half belong and half don’t. I am not a super mom, I don’t have a nanny, I stayed home with my kids, we lived on one salary, and had a tiny house in a sweet section of our neighborhood. The children played in the streets together, bicycles (with helmets), scooters, Razors (who didn’t buy their kid a stupid Razor?). Mayberry RFD meets The Cleavers. You get it.

When mansion moms came to visit they always described our house as “cozy”, “sweet” and “so great that you have neighbors right next to you on both sides!!!!” All of us in the neighborhood knew we were in the poor section of town but we didn’t really care. Much.
My son was in second grade when he brought home a “friend” from school. My son had just gotten new, Ikea blue furniture and he was thrilled. His so called bastard “friend” had taken one look at my son’s modest room and said to him: “wow, I knew your house was gonna be bad but I didn’t imagine anything THIS bad.” My son’s upset face lingers in my mind, yes, I do hold a grudge and I will forever hate this boy.
I truly do still hate this brat and I regret not calling his mother, but rumor had it she was a major bitch, one that I didn’t want to tangle with. I shouldn’t have listened.I should have called, my mistake entirely. That was then. This is now. I still hate him and i hate her and any living relatives that they may have.

I digress.

After going through menopause and yes, I did buy Christiane Northrups The Meaning of Menopause (what meaning?) it did very little for me and for my sister. We referred to the book as “The Bible” sharing it amongst the two of us (I paid)

The illnesses that followed:

During a routine check-up my internist (The Ice Princess) found that my thyroid level was underactive. YAHOO, I screamed, FABULOUS, I chortled. I finally inherited the thyroid disease that both my sister and mom had. I had been hoping for this for years. Does the term “be careful what you wish for” sound familiar? I had imagined myself eating DD jelly doughnuts (get that I have a sweet tooth?), mayo packed tuna (only white, never light) sandwiches with chips or fries on the side, sipping a vanilla-chocolate-strawberry (pick one or all) milkshake while shedding pounds. Never happened.

To make a long story short, my thyroid did not make me lose ANY weight but made me feel achy, tired, brain-fogged and wretched for months.
My “Ice Princess Dr.” left me weeping in the examining room while she brusquely left the room saying and I quote” There’s nothing left for me to do, nothing is wrong.” (I really DO NEED to find a new internist). She referred me to an angry looking Rheumatologist “in the group” who took one look at me and said “did anyone ever tell you, you had scoliosis? WHAT? It had been discovered that I didn’t have just any ordinary thyroid disease but one called Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, an auto- immune disease. The Rheumatologist, said I was fine, didn’t have arthritis and “oh by the way did you know that once you have an auto-immune disease you leave yourself WIDE open to getting other auto-immune illnesses? Gee thanks, troll, I hadn’t known that. Those were her loving farewell words. continue tomorrow!!!

Day 2 Halloween aka Boo (Hoo) Day
To wrap up the past, which is still by and large, the present, here’s what happens next: Ice Princess was revisited once or twice more, NOTHING “she can do…blah blah blah” eventually found a lovely Rheumatologist at another medical center. She was lovely and I referred to her always as “the lovely .Dr..Jane Doe”. She diagnosed me with Fibromyalgia (FIBRO what?) after pressing on all my pressure points and me screaming my head off. She said: ” i believe you have been misdiagnosed.” I am sure you have Fibromyalgia. YEAH, a diagnosis!!!! That was a great find, only bad part: NO CURE. “But we manage it” she said and I will make you much better. I believed, oh yes, I did believe.
And she did try, she added Cymbalta and this or that, we played chem warfare, her not wanting to call my shrink, my shrink, certainly, not wanting to stoop so low as to call Her. Great. For months I believed, but the pain, fatigue in all my muscles and joints, in every inch of my chubby body still HURT. I was a 95 year old living in practically a 95 year old’s body. I was weak, I was tired, I felt like I had the flu, every day, every hour…..this went on for months. Went back to Dr. Lovely and she said “this is all I can do, I can do nothing more.” Time to (as my first infertility Dr. called it,” to bring in the big guns.”

I had heard about Dr. GS from my sister, her friend Elizabeth and my sister’s husband’s friend too. To me, it sounded like he was the wizard of Oz. Really. I was actually intimidated to meet him and while his bedside manner was something to be desired (or I just didn’t like to hear the truth) he said that Fibromyalgia was a lazy diagnosis. (This being a little awkward since Dr. Lovely had trained under the new Dr. Guru.) His recommendation: treat the underlying disease which is the Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis. Treat the auto immune disease by taking: Plaquannel, Methotrexate (made me sick as a dog) eliminating some of my meds, adding even more. It was hard to know WHAT I was feeling anymore but he made me chart my course, every day..on a scale of 1-10, what was I? ! Being in “deep shit” as my dear friend and honorable aunt called it, 10 being: energetic tob e doing the macarena on a cruise ship for hours. OK, my metaphors but you get the drift. Ha Ha, the drift, get it, cruise, drift, oh never mind I love to amuse MYSELF with my own jokes, something my husband and my kids DO NOT APPRECIATE. I don’t care. If I think something is funny, I will howl and they will not extinguish what funny bone laughter I still have left in my body. Spirit was high around this time thinking that Dr. G was, indeed, a genius.However, I still hold against him that he sent a letter to the Ice Princess and every Dr. I had ever known referring to me as a 52 year old OVERWEIGHT female. OK, I know it was true but it sounded horrid. I mean really. My cholesterol was also sky high and he said no insurance company would ever cover me in this unhealthy state. Ouch. I had to have a heart check up (enter The Cardiologist) and started on a cholesterol lowering pill. Add ANOTHER Pill why don’t you? Been there, done that. Dr. Guru also suggested, several tlmes,) that I start on HRT (hormone replacement therapy) that , it just so happens, his “significant other” believed in it and was an expert on it and she was a gynecologist, specializing in It. I will not go, I will not see, I will not put all those chemicals ln me.” I chanted this every chance I could. After 3 more months of feeling crappy, I did go in, I did see her, I did, I did, but I will not let her talk me into it. “NOTHING SHORT OF A MIRACLE WILL GET ME TO TRY THIS” I BOASTED. But I went in anyway, asking G-d and my deceased father (who I miss so much) for guidance and insight. The HRT Dr. walked in, i sat in THE Defiant pose, ready to challenge every single thing she was going to suggest–I was prepared, in advance. Five minutes of formal talk, me on guard, giving her the evil stare, she stops for a minute. “Where did you grow up” she asked. I told her. Her face freezes over, (like it had been botoxed to look like a toaster but I knew it hadn’t, it was just SO SUDDEN……she leans back in her Dr. chair (btw, NOT a good idea to take your shoes off during a consultation when your patients can see your icky stockings) and said, “do you have an older sister? Huh? WHAT?? Now it was my turn to freeze and I said cautiously……”yes….why?” At which point she leans forward and her voice, which had been a monotone monologue turns into one of great childhood delight and absolute exuberant… “I’m Susie Shapiro (not her real name) and I grew up with you, I was great friends with your sister” and so she was. This was a teenager I remember being in our childhood apartment, this was someone I KNEW. My prayer, my only condition of considering HRT had been answered. Thank you Dad, Thank you G-d. Squirt me up!!! And it was then that I started HRT because I believe in things happening for a reason, that there are NO coincidences. I said nothing short of a miracle would get me to take HRT. Asked and answered. I began the next day.

November 1, 2009
IT’S MOMMY’S CHEESE SAUCE
My teenagers do not remember that I was the one who made their very own home-made (ok Kraft slices) cheese sauce. They called it Daddy’s cheese sauce the other day. He copied me. They think it was him and they don’t “remember” me making it. This is what I don’t want:
the kids to only remember me being sick, tired, broken bones, fibromyalgia, hashimotos….you get the drift. I made sure to tell them that I had created the delish dish but even my husband doesn’t remember MY invention. This stinks. To appease me, my husband said “ok, I’ll put on your gravestone “She created the cheese sauce.” I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. I am continuing to try and breathe deeply and have gone from hibernation in status to “getting centered.” For dinner I had brown rice, vegies and a hard boiled egg, usually served with Tamari sauce but we only had soy. I’m still on my back and go only to the bathroom. I know that this is the answer, that THIS, is what Oprah has been talking about. You get knocked on the head once, you should pay attention. I’ve been knocked down, run over, hemoraged and am in traction…..but I FINALLY know, I need to change my eating habits and other slovenly ways. Am only eating “clean foods” now and trying to drink water. I will never like that but at least I am doing it. “You are what you eat?” for once…good. Haven’t looked at the Halloween candy,
although my daughter put my very favorite (yum, Whoppers)in my bed stand table. I plan to throw it away, on the other hand, I could leave it awhile and see what happens.

I can’t DO moderation,(yeah, yeah Bob Green, I know, I know) I’m an all or nothing kind of gal. Oh, and what’s up with the “Good Life” products? I’ve been buying them faithfully and all of a sudden I hear that they are NOT all that healthy? HOW ARE WE, THE PEOPLE, SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE IN ANYTHING OR KNOW WHAT TO BELIEVE IN? I rest my case –I really would have been a great lawyer.

So, back to me trying to be Zen-like or just a little not me-like:
Still not talking on the phone which is surprisingly calm and lovely. Mom came to visit today and my sister is coming on Wednesday, that’s it for visitors. Waited till at night to write in this, but at least I did do it.
Haven’t taken any daily medications for today but it’s ok, I can miss a day. My stomach feels a little funny, don’t know if it’s just rocking and rolling from the excitement of healthy food or if it’s begging me for a PB & J sandwich with a glass of milk. Not yet. I hobbled to the shower this morning and it felt good to stand (?) under the hot water. Can’t exercise but can’t say I am not thrilled with that. Being able to WALK without pain will be my goal. To sleep a good night’s sleep (I hate these extra hour/fewer hour days) never could quite get the concept of “losing or gaining” an hour. But that’s just me. Anyone else unclear on the concept? Don’t be ashamed we should stand together with great pride!

November 2, 2009
Torn, (ligament) bruised. Broken (spirit) maybe I’ve turned a corner, or at least turned to the side. Centering Myself. Getting rid of the old
the past, the bad, unhealthy habits, food, no exercise, too much worry. Replace Fear with Faith. (thanks R.C.) A new beginning?
I love not talking on the phone or emailing just to email. Still love tv and movies, not gonna lie. Food is no longer the main focus of my world. I do
believe that G-D has been telling me all these thighs(HA Freudian slip) things for almost 2 years. I’m starting to get it. Only starting but it’s better than nothing. I’m even going to ask my husband for help with this computer stuff. I HATE asking for help, getting embarrassed and feeling foolish but I have to do it. I’m taking a small leap (ok, pinkie toe step–pinkie toe, the only didget that is still normal, and putting myself out there. I feel nauseous. I decide not to care. Gulp. Over to my husband…..