Close Call

It’s a good thing my daughter is a Certified Nurse's Assistant, because when I fainted on Sunday, she knew exactly what to do. Aside from catching me before I hit the floor, she kept saying over and over to sit down and put my head between my knees. (Which, by the way, really does work). Of course, I had no idea she was saying anything because I had already blacked out, but she gave me a second by second replay later on. Not sure why it happened; dehydration and/or lack of food while in the sun, I assume, but it made me reflect back to all the times I came close to death. Three, to be exact. I hopefully have 6 more lives to go because I'm not counting this last episode as a near death experience. But let me tell you, fainting is not fun. It's very strange to not remember those few seconds when you have left consciousness.

But I do recall my near death experiences. And I mean really near...like another 20 minutes and I would have been gone. For good. Adios. Arrivederci, Au Revoir, Hasta la vista baby.

The first time was back in my 20’s. It was a normal workday and I was at my office sitting at my desk, doing my job, when all of a sudden the pain going through my abdomen was excruciating. I figured I just had a really bad stomach ache and lay on the floor doubled over in pain for 4 hours. That’s right…four hours. Why is it that we don’t call our doctors right away because we don’t want to ‘bother’ them, in case it’s a false alarm? How ridiculous is that? When the pain started spasming through my rectum (sorry to be so graphic), I decided gas was not the diagnosis of the day and realized it was time to make that call. He wasted no time in telling me to meet him in the emergency room. He also wasted no time in taking out a 15 inch needle and shooting it into my cervix. ARE YOU F**KING KIDDING ME?!?!? What would a good word be for 10 times worse than excruciating? I don’t know…let me see…ummmmm…there is none?? Torturous comes to mind but that’s not horrible enough. Labor pains are a minor annoyance compared to that pain. And not only did he do it once…he did it 3 times. “Just to be sure”. And it was like a boomerang. He shot it in and out it came. In…out…in…out. Good thing my legs were strapped in or a swift kick in the face wouldn’t have been out of the question. In fact, it would have been an absolute sure thing. In fact, maybe I would have aimed lower just so he could experience a quarter of the pain he was inflicting on me.

I was taken into the operating room within minutes having internal bleeding. They cut me open as if I was having a c-section and stitched up my burst cysts on my ovaries. Cysts have been the bane of my existence my entire life. A little one here, a big one there, and never do they come quietly. Geez…there’s got to be something they can come up with to catch these little suckers before they catch you.

My biggest mistake was coming home from the hospital with 20 staples in my tummy and watching ‘Airplane’. You can NOT laugh with 20 staples in your stomach. After about 5 minutes of trying to hold my incision together, the T.V. was turned off.

My next almost jump into the netherworld kept me from work for 8 weeks. Every time I stood up I would black out and get headaches that I can only assume mimic migraines. Whoa…that wasn’t fun. To this day…no clue where the internal bleeding  was coming from. But after a lot of iron pills, a lot of rest, and time to recoup, I was fit as a fiddle. Fit as a fiddle…what the hell is that supposed to mean anyway. Fiddles are fit? They’re inanimate. How can they be fit? If I was inanimate, I would make myself fit, too. With a D cup for my boobs and a 22 inch waist, blue eyes, no cellulite and never age past 34.  Anyway…as always, I digress. But have you ever taken an inordinate amount of iron and realized what a number that does on your stomach? That’s fodder for a whole other blog.

My last near death excursion to hell (or maybe heaven? Nah…probably hell) was quite a bit more dramatic at the onset. It was like one of those scenes in the movies where someone is on the ground, dragging themselves towards a phone, trying to get help, after they’ve been shot. It was around midnight and I had gone downstairs to use the bathroom so I didn’t wake my husband, since I wasn’t feeling too well. I was nauseous and feeling a little weak. Once I saw the blood pour out of me, I crawled out of the bathroom to the stairs. There I was…pulling myself up the stairs to yell to him, but I had no strength to do either. So I hung on, draped across about 5 steps, for a minute or two, and finally got the words out, in a barely audible voice.  “Help me.”  How he heard me is beyond my comprehension, but he jumped out of bed and within seconds we were in the car on the way to emergency. Have you ever been in a cop car on a high speed chase? Well, this was as close as you could get. Two bleeding ulcers later, and a shitload of blood transfused, and I was on the road to recovery. It was a hard lesson to learn that taking too many anti-inflammatory pills could burn holes in your stomach. Having a tube stuck down your throat into your duodenum isn’t the most pleasant either. But who the f**k cared…I was in a twilight haze and happy as a clam to be on the operating table. Cauterize all you want, doc. Close up those suckers. But keep me anesthetized! Woohoo. There’s something to be said for anesthesia. 

And speaking of happy as a clam. What the hell does that one mean? Clams are happy? How do you know clams are happy? Is it because their shells look like they’re smiling?

[I think I’m going to coin a phrase. First I want to know where ‘coin a phrase’ came from. Who coins phrases? How does coin and phrase end up in the same thought?]

Life. How I cherish my life. After these 3 near death experiences, (actually 5 because I almost drowned twice as a toddler), I never take anything for granted nor do I take chances. My doctors are on speed dial. I’m a member of ‘Life Alert’, I’m having a tracking device implanted in my body, I have a list of all my meds and medical history permanently tattooed on my chest, I’ve map quested every hospital within 50 miles, I’ve friended every fireman, health care provider and medical assistant I could find. I have a siren with blinking lights in my glove compartment, and I visit the doctor on a weekly basis. Just for the hell of it. Medical paranoia has now become a part of my makeup but who cares. I’d rather be a hypochondriac then dead. Welcome to MY world!

Open Wide

Have you ever had a tooth pulled? I've had more teeth pulled than I have left in my mouth. Last week I had another molar extracted. A little laughing gas, a lot of novocaine, and 5 minutes later...toothless. Just like that. I never had laughing gas before so I was a little worried what words might come out of my mouth since I had no idea what state it would put me in. Who knew what kind of propositions and gestures I would offer the oral surgeon. Luckily, I was a good girl. At least I think I was. Ok...maybe not so much. Ok...sue me...he was adorable...I couldn't help myself!

Trying to drink from a glass with some novocaine left in your mouth is a pretty humorous feat. I wasn't really paying attention but when my shirt started getting soaking wet...I realized I was drooling down my chin for the last 20 minutes. I'm surprised any of the water made it into my mouth and down my throat. My numb, droopy lip and lack of facial muscle control should have been an indication that I still had no feeling in my face.

Chewing on dry gauze is like nails on a chalk board combined with chewing chalk and licking the black board. I cringed every time I would have to replace the piece of gauze in the socket. And they don't give you 'hole- appropriate' sizes...they give you huge squares so that you look like you are chewing on golf balls...and it sticks half way down your throat so you are gagging most of the time. And the feeling of chewing dry gauze is just....ugh...I can't even think about it anymore.

Trying to talk with a new crater in your mouth ith challenging. The air that now flowth through your teeth, or lack thereof, causeth a lovely lithping thound. A bit Thylvethter-like.

It takes a little getting used to but eventually you realize you will not need to hire a speech therapist. You do ultimately figure out how to redirect the air so your tongue hits your palate behind your front teeth and your speech sounds normal. Or so you think, until someone is staring at you with head cocked, brows furrowed, scratching their chin, trying to figure out what you are saying.

Eating food also has its challenges. Now that I have very few molars left, conquering mastication is a victory. Of course, most of my food ends up in my digestive tract in whole pieces. I can now trace the incredibly large chunks of food as they meander through my colon, following the large lump down my body to its destination. It's very alien-like. Actually, it’s pretty creepy. It has finally dawned on me why I have so many digestive problems. Duh.

I assume that over the next few years all the roots of my teeth will slowly get weaker and worn down, and one by one, they will be removed from my mouth. First will be the few remaining molars. Then each tooth, from the back forward, will disappear until I am totally gumming it.

Another chapter in the aging process. ‘Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.’

Hide and Seek

While I was visiting my sister in N.Y. last week I had a few incidences with her so called daughter that I wasn't thrilled about. She would take liberties with my stuff that I would never allow in my house. I would find things missing from my suitcase and couldn't figure out where they had disappeared. A couple of shirts and other items were nowhere to be found. I thought how could she just take them without asking? Pretty rude if you ask me. Even my socks were missing and I was thinking...ew...why would she want my socks...especially after I wore them. I found some of my things after a day or two stuffed behind the couch cushions, under the couch, and hidden in the closets. Did she think I wouldn't find them there? I was starting to get really angry. I asked my sister to please talk to her, but it didn't seem to help at all.

One night she snuck into my bed and snuggled up to me. I couldn't fall back asleep and kept pushing her over but she would continue to move closer to me again. It was becoming really annoying. Maybe that was her way of asking for my forgiveness, but it wasn't really working for me.

When I went to brush my teeth the next morning, I found my toothbrush on the floor. Seriously? What could she have possibly been thinking to take my toothbrush and then leave it on the bathroom floor? She had absolutely no respect for my belongings. I checked my toiletry bag to see if she had taken anything from that, especially my medications, and luckily she hadn't gotten to those, but she did manage to take my hair brush and some of my make-up brushes.

One afternoon a friend of hers had come over, and it seemed like more of my things had disappeared into the black hole. It was like a conspiracy between the two of them.

Finally I had had enough. I decided I needed to have a sit down and tell her exactly how I felt. When I could finally get her to stay and listen, she looked up at me with those big brown eyes…

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                              And that was the end of that.

conspiring

innocence

Run for Your Life

As I’ve gotten older, my workout routine has slowed down somewhat. Not only do I have more aches and pains, but I have to say, my stamina is definitely not what it used to be. I get winded just walking up and down my stairs.

I know they say that working out keeps your body younger and healthier…HA. I believe it’s done more damage than good. Of course, in my 20’s, 30’s and 40’s…I absolutely thought that working out was the greatest discovery on earth. But once you hit that half century mark…you’re screwed. The body may still look okay on the outside, but that inner working mechanism is saying uh uh…no way am I running that fast or that far. Running 3 miles every day…yeah…right. Now…speed walking. That’s the way to go. You may look like a dork, but at least your hips aren’t screaming at you to slow the hell down. Of course they are so damaged now that they don’t have the strength to scream anymore. And my knees…I believe I left them behind somewhere in my 40’s. I now have two knobs that attempt to hold up the rest of my body. And not so well. The creaks that emanate from them are mind boggling. People look around and ask me “What was that sound?” “Oh, just my knees settling into their comfort zone. Please excuse them while they find their rocking chair.”

The other day I decided I was going to speed walk to my doctor’s appointment. It’s only about two and a half miles, so I thought…piece of cake.  I walk around 2 miles at least 5-6 days a week anyway, so why not. I gave myself just over a half hour to get there since I didn’t have to really worry about hitting traffic. Well…that was stupid. The flow of traffic has more than one definition. It’s not only about cars. It could have to do with the flow of blood through your veins. There just could be a minor traffic jam going through your body, too. Just ask my brain. I believe my brain was telling my blood flow to push harder on the accelerator. Forge ahead!

So there I was, boppin’ to the music on my ipod, wind blowing in my face, sun shining down, enjoying the spring air. Had my new walking shoes on, which are incredible, by the way. I was going to see a new doctor, since my previous one decided, after 14 years, to not take my insurance anymore. [So what else is new?]

I was walking at a pretty good pace, just short of shin splints, when I realized I was going to be late.  I didn’t want to make a bad first impression on my new doctor because, as we all know, doctors are always right on time. And oh yeah…they are also god. Why is it that their time seems to be more valuable than our time? It’s ok for them to keep us waiting, but if we are late, we either miss our appointment, or have to wait until they can then slide us in between other patients.

Anyway…as I realized I was going to be late to meet god, I sped up my pace even more. I guess you could call it a slow sprint. Which then turned into a fast sprint, which then turned into a high speed car chase, had I been a car. What was I nuts? Who runs like that unless you’re in the Olympics competing for a gold medal for all the world to see. Maybe 20 people saw me as they zipped by in their cars. I was like lightning. Ok…maybe not lightning…but my body felt like that. Well…maybe it felt more like it was STRUCK by lightning. And every blood vessel in my entire being felt like it was ready to burst. With my head throbbing and my heart pounding out of my chest, I almost ran right into the reception desk because I couldn’t slow down in time.

So there I was, huffing and puffing. I could barely talk. I had to sign in but my hand was shaking so badly she couldn’t read my writing.

“Hi……..I’m…..Jaime………I’m…here…to...see…Dr….God.”  I then had to fill out enough forms to fill the Annals of Internal Medicine. I must’ve looked like hell because all the nurses asked if I was ok, and one brought out water to me, while I sat ‘Waiting for Godot’.  I was sweaty and beet red, still struggling to breathe when they brought me into the examining room. Good thing I had to wait another 10 minutes. It gave me time to get my composure and my heart rate and blood pressure down, until HE walked in. Of course the most gorgeous man on earth had to be my doctor. There went my ‘resting’ heart rate. I hate having great looking doctors because who wants to have Dr. Gorgeous God examine you and see what’s really under those clothes? I’d rather have him examine me at home, in the dark…with mood lighting, and music playing and…oh, sorry. I tend to get carried away at times with my fantasies.  Anyway…looking my best, we had our meeting of the mind and body and all was good. At least I thought all was good.

And then………..I realized………………I still had to get back home.

Stretcher please!!

HAPPY 20th TAYLOR BAYLOR

Tail was my little girl

She was born with so many curls

20 years ago today

She popped out and lay

In my arms and cried for two frickin’ years!

Non-stop

Day in and day out

And there was nothing cute about her

Til she turned 6 months old

Then she was the cutest thing ever

Never learning how to crawl she used her enormous little butt to bounce around the house.

Her butt…a source of conversation even to this day. Would she ever grow into her butt?

That question still lingers

She was a funny little person even back then, with a smile as infectious as her laugh and her one never-ending  dimple .

While in the high chair, she would take her plate of chicken and rice and lift it high above her and turn it over right on the top of her head. Have you ever tried cleaning up an entire plate of rice from the floor, let alone from a mop of curls? And she would laugh and giggle while I cleaned it up. 

She had a determination that never gave out. She taught herself to ride a two wheeler, to tie her own shoes, to swing on a swing. Independent from day one. No one could match her…bar none.

She sucked her thumb until age…hmmm…I’m not sure what age, but I know she was too old to be sucking.  She could still be a closet sucker for all we know. But I do believe it was somewhere around 8. After her front teeth were parted like the red sea from sucking, she decided it was time to give it up. (Thank god for orthodontists!)

As she grew, she just got smarter and funnier, but never lost that innocence and naivete. To this day she still takes things literally. When she came back from the doctor’s office one day, I wanted to know what he said was wrong with her so I asked, “Tail…what did the doctor say?” Her answer was “He said ‘I’m going to push on your stomach now’.”

One day at school she was sitting in on a mock trial. I didn’t know what the trial was about so I said “Tail….what did you sit in on”…her answer, “the floor”. Gotta love this kid!

A temper like no other, but compassion and love that is never ending.  She always cares for the less fortunate and makes sure they are taken care of.

An athlete, a comedian, a student, a friend, a loving sister and daughter, and a do-gooder.

Tail…you are the light of my life. We know what each other is thinking, and laugh before the punch line.  

I love you every second of every minute of every hour of every day, with all of my heart.

HAPPY 20^TH Taylor Brynn. I adore you!

Listless?

I make lists. I have a list for every single part of my life. If I didn’t have lists, I don’t know what I would do with myself. My lists are what plan out my life. I have my weekend list of things to get done,  I have my grocery list, I have my errand list; which consists of sub-lists,  my blog list; which consists of subjects I want to write about, a pharmacy list…and so on and so on. I don’t understand people who don’t have lists. How do they stay organized and on top of things? I have my ‘pop-up’ reminder on my Outlook calendar. That helps me enormously. But…if I am not on the computer for a day…ok, who am I kidding. I am never NOT on my computer for a day. But just say for argument’s sake I wasn’t…then my pop-up wouldn’t help me at that point. So I keep lists. I try to keep them all in the same place, but that doesn’t work out too well. I have lists by my bed, a list on the side of the fridge for the market; lists on my desk; because when I get bored working…I make a list, and lists on the coffee table in the family room.

Many times I am overwhelmed by my lists. I try to condense them so as not to psych myself out about how much I actually have to do on those lists, but sometimes that’s just not possible. Some of them do overlap. That kind of bugs me. For instance…if I need toothpaste…I can put it on my market list and I can also put it on my CVS list. That makes each list longer but I figure it depends on which store I am going to get to first. But the great thing is…once I buy the toothpaste, I can cross it off TWO lists. Ahhhh…[sigh of satisfaction].

Unfortunately, lists can cause stress…especially those that have deadlines attached; for instance, when you’re having a party and have to get everything done by a certain date. Yikes! And if that includes manual labor, forget it…double stress and panic mode. I am not a fan of manual labor. I have become a manual laborer since the economy has taken a turn for the worse. So I do my own cleaning, my own gardening, and my own everything, basically (except for cooking…Mrs. Stouffer still does that part). Therefore, ‘The Manual Labor list’: clean the house, clean the patio, pull the weeds, set up for the party, pick up the food, etc, etc. I wish I could have a ‘Hired Help’ list. I would thoroughly enjoy crossing items off of that one; housekeeper – check, gardener – check, caterer – check. The only check I can do is check myself in at the door. I’m an all-in-one multi-tasking personal laborer.

As my daughter’s graduation party day closes in, I realize the difference in the ‘To Do’ lists I have now, as opposed to lists I’ve had in the past, when money was no object.

Then: Call Beverly Hills caterer, call bartender, call housekeeper/servers, order wine and champagne, call rental place for chairs and tables, have gardener clean up backyard, call pool man to clean pool, confirm DJ, buy party dress and shoes

Now: Call Subway to place 6 foot sandwich order, go to Costco for cheapest wine and beer, get ice for coolers, spray Round Up and pull weeds, clean bathrooms, set up table and plastic chairs, set up ipod and speakers, check to be sure outfit is clean with no holes

In spite of the discrepancies between then and now…I do know the party will be a success no matter what. The players haven’t changed, just the venue [and my attire].

My bucket list was a fun list but I had crossed most things off it quite a long time ago: graduate college, have a great career, get married (I got to cross that one off twice), have kids, sky dive, travel, plus various other accomplishments. I haven’t traversed the Himalayas yet…but who am I kidding. That was never on there.

The main thing left on my list is to write a book. I have yet to accomplish that but it’s in the works.

I find it almost orgasmic when I am able to cross something off my list. And having multiple lists... there are many times…I’m having multiple orgasms. Ahhhh…[sigh of satisfaction].

Mommy Dearest

We, as moms, are always praising our kids for something: being smart, being beautiful, being driven, being athletic, and on and on. We are so proud of our children and let them know as often as we can. That's why they grow up to be healthy, confident and successful adults. But how often do we children praise our moms? Probably not very. And as kids, we think they are not very praiseworthy. They are annoying, they are intrusive; butting into our business way too much, they have too many rules, and they are definitely not cool. I can't remember ever telling my mom one positive thing about herself. And now that I think of it, I don't think my own kids give me kudos for too much, either. Hmmmmmm. Pay back’s a bitch.

But as we age, we grow to appreciate just who our moms are and how they have helped mold us into who we are today. Granted...they have molded both negatives and positives...but since Mother's day is just around the corner, let's just concentrate on everything good our moms have done for us.

I know as a child I was pretty remarkable! Or so I like to believe. Ok...maybe not. But I do know I was quite the annoying little girl. I would bug my mom to play cards or jacks when I didn't have a friend over to play with. And many times she did. But when she decided she wanted to get a little snooze in before starting dinner...I didn't really like that. Once she had fallen asleep, I would sneak into her room, crawl up to her bed, and while on my knees, with my face practically touching hers, I would slowly pry one of her eyelids open with my thumb and index fingers. "Mom...are you up? Mom...mom...mommy…get up. Mom". She would then open her eyes, give me one of her looks, and out the door I went. "But mommmmmmm."  I haven't really grown out of that stage...just ask my kids. I tend to do the same annoying things to them. I just can't seem to help myself.

Who other than your mom would sing your praises when you show her your dance steps of 'Shuffle off to Buffalo' even though they look more like you're having a seizure than tap dancing? And who would tell you what a beautiful voice you have even though the dog is covering her ears? We could be going through that awkward pre-teen stage of gaps in our front teeth, 20 lbs overweight, pimples starting to pop out, but to our moms, we are still beautiful.

No one gave better hugs than my mom. Every morning, as soon as I got out of bed, I went to my mom in the kitchen for my wake up hug. There was nothing more comforting than that. I was ready to start my day. But little did I know that my morning breakfast drink she made for me every day for the first 17 years of my life could have killed me. Chocolate milk in the blender with a raw egg. She was either trying to kill me or make me into the next Rocky.

She would brush my hair and put it into a ponytail to get me ready for school. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my skin was pulled back so tight, almost looking like Joan Rivers, that it caused my head to throb the rest of the day. I figured since I was only in elementary school, she must know what she’s doing and that’s the way it’s supposed to be. As I’ve aged, I have tried to replicate that look, to no avail.

Some of my favorite memories ever were when my mom would play the piano and the whole family would gather around and sing. We were the Von Trapp family without the melodious voices. But we still had so much fun. I probably know every show tune ever written. It was a sad day when I found out they sold the grand piano before moving to L.A., but I guess finding space for it in their new home would’ve been like fitting an elephant into an elevator. How I miss that piano.

I miss the days of lying on the couch while she waited on me when I was home from school sick. She was so attentive and comforting, making sure I had everything I needed to recuperate. She always was so concerned about how I was feeling no matter how big or small the ailment. If it hurt me, it hurt her ten times worse and still does to this day. I have done and felt the same with my kids. And when they’re sick, they sure have taken advantage of that. I’m surprised they haven’t gone out to buy a bell to summons me in case I don’t hear them right away.

There is no other relationship like a mother and child. She’s our doctor, our confidant, our personal chef, our laundress, our playmate, our taxi driver, and our security blanket. She’s beautiful inside and out. And although we may not always see eye to eye, it’s what’s in our heart that matters most.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom…I love you with all my heart.