Full Disclosure

Did I ever tell you about the time that TJ, Peter, our PCA and I were waiting at the Toys R Us Customer Service desk?

We were waiting to see if they had a Power Ranger Megazord that TJ wanted to spend his gift card on.  He was all keyed up and excited.  There was a crowd of people at the desk waiting behind us to be helped.  You could feel the tension rise off of them as the Toys R Us-er looked up our toy on their system to see if they had it in stock.  It was taking a long time and their impatience was palpable.  Suddenly TJ says to me, REALLY LOUDLY as he has no volume control, "Mom, you have a mustache.  You'd better not grow a beard too."

Oh.My.God.

My PCA and I could not control our laughter.  Tears streamed down our faces.  My stomach hurt from laughing so much and it could not be stopped.  Even thinking about it now makes me laugh.

Well, not right now.

Y'see, he is right.  I've always had a little 'stache.  Embarrassing but true.  Most of those little hairs are blond and fine but clearly there are enough darker ones to warrant such a comment from my ever-observant no-filtered child with autism. 

In boarding school I used to Jolene it.  Bleach the hell out of the thing.  It's the kind of boarding school thing you would do in groups of two or more - apply bleach and hang out together and laugh while you waited for it to work.  Truly a bonding thing.

A couple of years ago we had a girls' trip to our friend's house in NH.  During a Target run we all bought mini electric shavers.  Standing in our friend's hallway by the mirror we all trimmed our eyebrows and such...I shaved the 'stache.  Again, bonding. 

Part of the glory that is recovery from pulmonary emboli has been not being able to shave.  God forbid I cut myself while on blood thinners - I'd bleed out in no time at all.  So Sean the Dreamboat brought home an electric shaver with Epilatory functionality.  I don't think that's a word but let's just say it is now, shall we?  Basically it grabs each little hair and rips is out by the root.  It feels like tiny needles poking your skin until the hair is removed.  You know the hairs are gone when it doesn't hurt.  Basically it's one of the many torture devices designed for us women to make us feel beautiful and humiliate us as the same time. 

Anyway, it works, but really hurts like a bitch.  So now that I'm off the blood thinners I can shave again.  Problem is, in a few days it's as if I never shaved at all, and I have to do it again.  I am way too lazy for this.  So this morning I busted out the electric epilator.  Pits, check.  Legs, check.  It really does the trick and lasts much longer, even though it hurts. 

Then brilliance struck.  Why not epilate my face?  I looked through the attachments for a smaller piece appropriate for faces.  Nothing. 

This is when most people would realize that maybe that is a clue that you are not supposed to epilate your face.  I am not most people.

Onward I forge.  Leg and pit hairs cleaned out, I'm ready to go.  Was that TMI?  Eh - it's too late now.

I start with the 'stache.  Ohmygod ow ow ow ow ow.  Tears spring into my eyes immediately but I'm way too bad-ass to stop now.  Little drops of blood appear where little hairs once stood.  Onward ho.  'Stache is done, and really red, but it's too late to stop now.

Chin, lower lip area, left side of face, ow ow ow ow ow, check.  On to the right.

Suddenly, the epilator GRABS MY FACE and rolls some of my cheek into it's roll-y contraption of agony!!!  HOLY OWNESS!!!!

I stop to see a red mark getting redder.  Not bleeding, but it definitely stands out.

Now this is when most people would stop and put the torture device away, right?  No, not me.  I'm almost done, I can't quit now!

Long story short (too late), it grabs my face two more times on that same right side before I finish and put the motherplucking device away. 

I have 3 angular red marks, kind of like the letter "Z" but they are not touching each other.

I also have make up.  Thank god.  It covers up quite nicely.

And my face is as smooth as a baby's ass.

44

Since I last wrote, on August 1, you could say I have gone through some changes.

The most obvious is my recovery from the Pulmonary Embolism I had on July 28.  Since I have been home from the hospital this has taken over my life.  I have never felt more exhausted.  Even now, 3 months later, after I have been given the go-ahead to exercise.  All is well and good until my body revolts suddenly after 3 good days.  Or until it starts fighting a simple cold.  I have no energy for anything else.  I know this is temporary and will hopefully be gone by the time my PE anniversary rolls around, but it has changed everything I do.

Another side effect from the PE is neck pain.  I have been in physical therapy for the last 12 weeks after my neck and shoulder muscles suddenly seized up completely  Long story short, 12 weeks later and I have almost full range of motion back and much less pain.  It's amazing to me how connected everything in the human body is, and how blood clots in the lung have thrown my whole body into chaos.

Since July 28, the ground under my feet has shifted.  It shifts still.  It has effected everything, changed everything to the point of feeling foreign.  Not all day, not every day, but it has definitely been a constant.

How awful it has felt that one of the only constants in my life has been change.  Every day a new feeling.  A new fear.

I am not comfortable with uncertainty.  Who is?  It has made me question everything.  My sobriety.  My sanity!  My self to the core.  Some friends have suffered because of my uncertainty.  I have suffered because of my uncertainty.  I have questioned the stranger in the mirror every day.  She has a new fear behind everything she does.  She is terrified her boys will have to grow up without her.

Friday is my birthday.  44.  

I have learned it is ok to not always be Ms. Polly Sunshine.  It is ok to have a bad day and not feel guilty about it. 

I have learned that having TJ, Peter and Sean makes me the luckiest person to be alive.

To be alive.  So lucky to be alive.

I will find my footing.  The ground will still shift but I will be able to shift with it. 

44 will be better than 43.

Make a wish.

Do not panic!

I had a quick visit to the emergency room today - everything is fine.  A little scare.  I'm really tired right not but not too tired to post highlights from the Sean and Lauren show.

Sean:  "The docs are talking about you - shhh! They're saying...'her husband is awesome.' "

Me:  "Want me to hold my breath and make the machine beep?"

Sean:  (deadpan) "That's a fun game."

Me:  "I'm bored - dance!"  (He did!)

Me:  "This sucks - I want to leave."
Sean:  "I'll wheel you right to the car - they'll never notice."

Me:  "Yeah but they'll hear the getaway music playing in the background."

Sean:  "And hear my crazy old man laugh."

Me:  "I have to pee."

Sean shows me the bedpan display a la Vanna White.

Me:  "I'm not peeing in a pan!"

Sean:  "That's how they used to do it."

Me:  "Who is they?  They from the hospital days of yore?"

Sean:  "Yes, that is they."

Good thing we weren't there for very long.  Maybe they heard us and let us go home to spare them further performance?  Woo hoo!  Mission accomplished!

Some say morbid, I say funny

I have had some really weird dreams since this pulmonary embolism nonsense has arrived to liven things up around here, but most of them I have forgotten.  

Here's one I remember:

I am viewing my closet from above (good news, right?), like there is no ceiling.  On the floor I see three ladies sorting through my shoes:  my friends Lisa, Jennie, and Alison.  

It just so happens that these are my closest friends with the same foot size as me.  My step mom does too, and my sun-conscious and I feel badly she wasn't included in the dream!!!  I'm so sorry Kathy!

Anyway, apparently I left all my shoes to these wonderful friends, and a scuffle suddenly breaks out between Lisa and Alison.  There are slightly raised, strained voices and gentle, yet increasingly aggressive, shoe pulling.  

While this was going on, Jennie was still on the floor, taking advantage of the other girls' distraction to shove a few extra pairs into a bag on the side.

How funny is that?  

This has been so helpful to me today because every time I think about it I crack up!  The laughs have been much needed ones.  

I'm here to say, my sweet friends, that I plan on sticking around a while longer to use those shoes myself!!!

But when it is my time, Lisa, Jennie and Alison, the shoe collection is all yours.  And Kathy - yours too!!!

There really is no place like home

I'm home from the hospital.  I haven't slept the past 2 nights because my roommate snores MUCH worse than my husband ever has, and she has 7,000 loud visitors who don't like to leave.  So this afternoon after I tried to nap and a doctor came in and said "this is a party!!!" I knew it was time to go.

We stopped at the pharmacy on the way home to fill my prescriptions.  Sean went in while my greasy hair and I stayed in the car.  When Sean came back I pretended he surprised me so I could say "what are tryin' to do?  Give me a pulmonary embolism?!?!"

Get it?  'Cause I have a pulmonary embolism???

Then driving home Sean said "that guy in the car in front of us was so scary looking I almost had a pulmonary embolism!!!"

You can imagine the rest of the ride home.  We cracked ourselves up.

I'm so happy to be home.

Here's why I can't sleep...

Apparently I will do anything to have something to write about, even if I don't mean to.

Let me explain.

The day after my last Zumba class I had some pain in my back.  I didn't remember it hurting during the class, or even the same night, but I figured I must have pulled something.  Oh well, I thought, a little hot tub time and it will be fine.

On Friday the pain was still there, and in addition to the back pain it hurt when I breathed in.  It wasn't terrible by any means, and I am no doctor (clearly), so I just figured the back muscle is connected to the chest muscle (sing it!  You know you want to...), and I power Zumba-d with such amazing force that my body needed a little time to recover.  That's how powerful I am, I thought to myself.  Seriously.

Anyway, by Friday night the pain was so intense I had to sleep sitting up in bed surrounded by pillows so I wouldn't roll over.  

Come Saturday I learned that if I'm sitting perfectly straight or standing I'm ok - the pain is much less.  Good because I had a dear friend's birthday party to go to and I didn't want to miss it.  Priorities, people.  Anyway, the party was great, but the pain started to kick in around 10, so my dearest husband and I left early.

That night was horrible.  I have never been in so much pain in my life.  I couldn't sit, I couldn't stand, I couldn't lie down...nothing.  And every breath was so painful it made me cry.  Sean and I both figured I did a huge number on my back and I finally fell asleep sitting straight up sometime around 3:30 am.

There's more.

Now it's Sunday.  I'm supposed to go to a minor league baseball game with Sean and the boys, so I lie down and rest while the pain allowed me to do so.  We finally decided that sitting in a little metal chair was not the best idea for me, so Sean took the boys without me.

Just as they leave I have a minor coughing fit.  And there is blood in the tissue.

Not yet giving myself permission to freak out, at least not out loud, I call our doctor's office and the doc on call tells me to go immediately to the ER.  So off I go, texting Sean. 

Long story short (too late), I'm admitted with a pulmonary embolism.  A blood clot in the lung.

My experience with PE is only from the show ER, and Lucy died from a PE.  Althought she got stabbed too and had a boat load of other stuff going on, so that's hardly an appropriate comparison, but still.

So when I told my ER doctor (who had nice hair by the way) that Lucy died from a PE, he said "If this thing was going to kill you, you'd be dead already.  You would have died Thursday."

Well that just stunned me into silence.  And those of you who know me know that almost never happens.

Anyway, I got admitted into the hospital and they bring me water whenever I want it.  Isn't that nice?  They give me pain meds too, which helps a little, but I still can't sleep.

Oh, by the way, don't tell my mom!  I don't want to freak her out.  Thanks.

The Placenta Song

There is a song in my Zumba class called  "The Placenta Song".

It's not really called "The Placenta Song", but that's what I call it.  In the middle of the song, the lyrics go "something something placenta".  I swear.  It could be "left of center" but I really don't think so.  

Which makes me think of other songs where lyrics may or may not be sung correctly, but who cares because it's funny.  When my mom used to sing along with "Flashdance: What a Feeling" on the radio circa '82, she would sing "take your pants down and make it happen".

See?  Funny, right?  Especially if you know my mom.

I remember another friend singing "Dirty jeans, dungarees" instead of "Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap".  Her version is much better.  Another friend sang "She know just what it takes to make a pro-blem" in "Bette Davis Eyes".  Love that - much funnier.  

I'm thinking we should sing our own lyrics loud and proud - and watch people's reactions around us.  Good sociological study, right?

I think I need a hobby.