Refresh

I painted my bathroom over Labor Day weekend. Yes, I painted this room when we first moved into this house ten years ago. No, I have not yet painted the bedroom to which this bathroom is attached.

I have to take these refreshes slowly. The bathroom is much smaller than the bedroom and I just didn’t have it in me to attack the big paint job just yet.

But I’m getting there.

The bathroom looks so much better now. The old paint, which was great when it first went on, was a soft white, maybe what you might call a warm white. I think it was called Soap Bubble White.

The new paint is also white, but it’s a cooler white. It has a blue undertone and it had really brightened the room. The finish this time is also glossier, which should make wiping down the walls so much easier.

I started this project about at 11 on Sunday morning. And by ‘start’ I mean, I took everything out of the bathroom, cleaned off the countertop, wiped everything down, dusted the light fixture, took the covers off the electrical fixtures, took the pictures off the walls, taped off the trim, took the towel rack down from the wall and laid plastic across the counter where I planned to put the paint can and the tray into which I was going to pour the paint.

That took me over two hours.

I started painting at 1:30.

Can I interject here and say that I actually hate painting? It’s tedious, it’s boring, it’s messy. I’m not good at doing the edging. I’m not nearly neat enough to pull this off.

But! That first swipe of new paint going on the old dingy paint is so satisfying.

I finished painting at 4pm, so…two and a half hours isn’t bad.

After the new paint was on the walls, I hated to put all the crap clutter that was in that room before.

So…I didn’t. I went through the little organizer I’ve kept my makeup in for years and purged. I was ruthless. I didn’t think to myself, “Well, maybe someday.” Nope, if I hadn’t used it in the past six months, out it went.

And it felt so good! Some of that stuff was YEARS old. Makeup has a shelf life, you know. I should have tossed most of it years ago.

I moved some pictures around, I rehung the curtains (I should have washed them first…maybe next weekend?) and I started purging the crap in the medicine cabinet. That stuff is years old too. Yuck.

I love going into that bathroom now. It’s just so clean and bright.

All I need now is to put up a shelf above the toilet and put a plant on it. That well behind the toilet gets afternoon light and putting a little green in there will just be lovely.

OMG. Is this turning into a decorating/design blog? Hahahaha, no. I’m not nearly confident enough in my own choices for something like that.

No, tomorrow we’ll likely return to our regularly scheduled rant about homework...or not.

An Essay

Alyssa recently had to write an essay for school. The theme was to write about an event that made you change your mind about someone or something.

She chose to write about her sister.

She shared her essay with me and it brought me to tears.

The lines that resonated the most with me were: “And that was the day I learned that my younger sister was never a bad child. I always knew that she struggled with things, but at times I felt lie maybe she just needed to try harder, but it turns out she was already trying her hardest.”

I’ve mentioned a time or twelve that over the years Alyssa has voiced her opinion that we (Tom and I and even my mom) coddle Olivia. She believed that if we just expected more from Olivia, then Olivia would be able to do more.

I’ve replied to these sentiments that I hope, should Alyssa choose to have children someday, that she was a perfect mother and that her children were perfect too. And I’m not even being sarcastic. I really do hope that for her.

But I’m absolutely not perfect and Olivia isn’t either.

But you know what? Like Alyssa, I need to remember more often, especially when we’re at the height of frustration, that Olivia is trying her hardest. She’s doing all she can to please me and yes, even her teachers.

She doesn’t have 5p- syndrome AT us. Her inability to work on her own is not misbehavior on her part. She wants to be normal. She WANTS to be able to answer the questions posed to her at school and at home.

Hell, she WANTS to be able to use a reasonable amount of toilet paper, but sometimes, she just can’t help but pull seventy squares off at a time.

She’d love to able to shave her own legs like a typical thirteen year old. But she can’t.

And I need to be okay with that.

I’ve always thought I accepted Olivia for exactly who she is. I love her so much.

But I need to be more patient with her. I need to accept that she simply can’t do some things and find peace in that.

I had to fill out a questionnaire for her IEP at the beginning of the school year. This is a new teacher, a new aide, a new schedule. O is struggling and so am I. But my struggle is with my own expectations of her. Who knew that thirteen years into this special needs parenting gig I’d have to adjust my expectations yet again?

The questionnaire asked what we wanted for Olivia educationally. I wrote that I want her to be able to count her own change and know if someone is cheating her. I want her to be able to tell time so she can get places on time. I want her to be able to read, both for navigation and for pleasure.

Another question asked what I considered Olivia’s greatest weaknesses. Her concentration, her inability to work on her own.

What did I think Olivia needed from her educational team? Patience. The understanding that she’s not doing things AT any of us. She’s trying.

She’s trying…I am the one who needs to remember that the most. She’s trying and I need to give her credit for that. She’s trying and so I need to try too.

Schooled

Gotta go back, back, back to school again...Ahem, sorry for the little Grease 2 flashback.

We’ve been talking about school for months now, right?

The girls’ last day of school was Friday, March 13. Sure, sure, they did online school until the end of May but please. That hardly counts.

It’s as if they’re currently on week 20 of spring break.

I’ve been waiting for the school to get their ‘reopening plan’ together and posted.

It’s happened. They posted it on July 30th.

The gist is the school will do their best to clean, clean, clean common surfaces. Kids will be encouraged to social distance as much as possible. Masks will be encouraged throughout the day, obviously during lunch masks will be impossible but the school will attempt to keep kids in the same groups at all times.

So…we’ll see.

About five days after the school dropped their reopening plan, Tom asked, “So, when does the online schooling start back up for the girls?”

*aside: He asked me this at 6:48am on a Tuesday (fucking Tuesdays). I’d just put my phone in my purse and was getting ready to walk out the door.*

I paused, put my purse down and went to the kitchen table where I’d laid the letter we’d received the day before addressed to “The Parents of Olivia Ordinary”. It was informing us of a parent/student meeting on August 17 for students transitioning into seventh grade. Alongside this letter were copies of both girls’ immunizations from our family doctor’s office. I am taking those to the school to have the nurse confirm that both girls are up to date on their vaccinations.

Look at me, all on top of shit these days.

I also mentioned the text we’d received the day before informing us of the day and time we were to drop off O’s Chromebook.

At this point, it occurred to him that there was, apparently, not going to be online school this year, that the girls are going to be IN school.

He mused, “Yeah, Olivia probably would do better if she were in school.”

You think?

I blinked at him. Where has he been these last twenty weeks?

I mean, seriously?

Was he not there during the tearful days that I was at home trying to keep her on task, both of us at our wit’s end, slowly losing our minds?

Can he not see the state of her cuticles, as she picks them bloody from the anxiety she’s feeling these days?

She needs the routine of school. She needs to be around her peers, even if through masks. She needs the patience of those teachers who know her, who care about her, who are trained to help her. She needs to be away from the news and the murder and the crime shows that are constantly blaring from the television in our family room day in and day out.

Yeah, she’s going to school. I hope and pray it’s the best decision. Obviously, remaining home and waiting out this virus would be best for all but…that just doesn’t feel possible right now, not for any of us. And it’s a shame that we’re having to choose between our physical health and our mental health.

Sigh…it feels very much like we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t.

One Headlight

We keep a running list of items needed. You empty the box of Cheezits? Put it on the list that’s always on the microwave with seven pens, six of which don’t write. If you’re me, you will always have to try all seven pens to fine the ONE the works. But you won’t bother to throw away the six that don’t work. I mean, who do you think you are?

One recent Saturday, I went to get the grocery list and found Tom’s debit card on top of it with an item (or two?) listed. A stop at Auto Zone was going to be necessary to pick up this particular item.

He’d written “headlight bulbs, set of two, for 2012 Chevy Equinox.”

I was immediately disgruntled.

Wait. I know. Let me acknowledge right here that I KNOW I’m a brat. I also know that I’m spoiled.

But seriously, what the hell is the point of having a HUSBAND if said husband won’t go and fetch these sorts of things himself? So what if these particular bulbs were for MY car? Also so what if I didn’t even know I had a headlight out. I rarely drive after dark, so I had no idea how long I’d been driving with one headlight. Sue me.

So yes, since Tom was at the post office (as he is often on Saturday mornings) I had a mini tantrum over having to stop at Auto Zone and get bulbs for my car.

By the time he got home, which was right before the girls and I were leaving to go buy groceries…and stop at Auto Zone, I thought I’d gotten my little snit out of the way. I blandly said I’d seen the addition to the list and he joked that at least he wasn’t expecting me to go to Walmart and try and find the right bulbs myself, that at Auto Zone you just tell them what you need and they go get them for you. I may have rolled my eyes like a big old baby. I can’t be sure, I wasn’t looking in a mirror.

Apparently my ambivalence toward purchasing those bulbs came through, though, because we’d been on the road for maybe three miles (not long enough to cross the state line into Indiana) when Tom called.

Alyssa answered my phone because, hello, I was driving. She spoke briefly with her father.

When she hung up she said, “Dad said you don’t have to go to Auto Zone. He’s going to go to an antique store later today or tomorrow so he can stop and get the bulbs himself.”

Huh.

Well.

Never let it be said that I’m not contrary as hell.

Now that he’d said I didn’t need to stop at Auto Zone, guess who was going to Auto Zone.

My mom laughed at my bratty behavior and said that I was lucky to have Tom.

Yes, Mother, I know.

I really do know that. But I also STILL wish he’d just gotten the stupid bulbs, changed them and told me about it after. Sure, the trip into Auto Zone took less than five minutes but now I have to spend about five more minutes feeling bad for being a spoiled brat.

AND! And I had to go home and apologize to my husband for it. That’s just annoying.

Debunked

For the better part of 2020, Alyssa has been asking that we take down the bunkbeds in her room.

They stood in a corner of her room, taking up space and just being used as storage for her plethora of stuffed animals.

She’d had a full-sized bed in there for three years, so the room was pretty cramped.

Each time she’d mentioned taking the bunkbeds down, Tom would tell her that he needed to take pictures of the beds put together so he could list them for sale. He also listed not having anywhere to store the frame and mattresses once we took them down.

She recently asked again, saying that I’d said she could store everything in my room for the time being. He told her that once she got the bed cleaned off, he’d take pictures and we’d go from there.

When she got home from work on a Sunday, I told her to go take everything off the beds and let her dad take the pictures.

He went up, took the pictures, came back down and said something snippy about having to move crap from under the bed.

Sigh.

Then he said he’d go find an Allen wrench so we could start dissembling the bed frame.

Well.

Guess who else in this house has Allen wrenches!?!

I scurried up those stairs and fetched tool box. No, it’s not pink.

Alyssa and I were well on our way to finding the correct wrench when Sir Thomas made his way back up the stairs with his own Allen wrench set.

As he and Lyss worked to loosen the bolts I asked if I should get a baggie for the hardware.

The response I got was a VERY short, “Are you asking her?”

Alyssa and I shared a look. That response was so out of proportion to the question I’d just asked that I simply said, “Okay then. I’ll go get a baggie.”

I returned shortly with a baggie in which we put the bolts as they came out of the bed.

Sir Snips-a-lot was all giggles by this time. Apparently, the mood had passed.

I mildly mentioned that maybe he hadn’t needed to be quite so irritable with me. He apologized and we moved on.

The bed came down and the room has been rearranged to the teenager’s liking.

The next morning, I received another apology for the biting remark said during the takedown of the bunkbeds.

I knew we were pushing him to do something he didn’t really want to do but in the end, it took about a half hour of his time. So…I accepted his apology and all’s well in the Ordinary household.

Back Story

So the other day, before all my angst of needing just an hour of alone time came along, Olivia and I were leaving the house for a rare trip to the grocery store. We needed AAA batteries for O's book light. She uses it to light the way to the bathroom at night and let me just tell you, AAA batteries are cheaper than Pull Ups.

Yeah.

As we were leaving, I said to Tom, only half joking, "Don't enjoy the quiet too much."

See, he's either alone in the house or alone in his trips to wherever he needs to go.

Ahem, sorry, that's already been lamented.

When O and I got back from the grocery store, Tom was acting odd.

Apparently, my comment got to him.

I said I shouldn't have said anything.

He said he wants to know how I feel.

I said well, I was telling him in that moment and yet...he was upset about how I feel.

Whatever. We're all tense around here. We're tired and yet not getting out enough. We're eating too much and not exercising enough. We're going crazy around here.

Tom tells me I shouldn't feel guilty for wanting a little time to myself. But when he says that, it makes me feel awful.

It's all a stupid circle and I cry and he feels bad and everyone's unhappy.

I need to remember that self care is not selfish and if being alone for a little while each day is what I need to not lose my mind and end up sobbing over the dryer at 1:30 on a Friday afternoon, well, then, I need to make time for that.

I will be back to work soon...I hope.

not because I hope to be away from my family but because I want this world to get back to some semblance of normal. I know that the normal we knew back before March 2020 will probably never be regained but some kind of normal is necessary for everyone's sanity.

On-line school assignments only go through next week. They're due May 15. After that, it's Right to Read Week and then...summer break, such as it may be. By the end of next week, I won't be needed at home the way I am now.

I'll head back to work, however that looks and we'll figure out our next new normal.

Let's just hope it with fewer tears than these last couple of weeks have seen.

Flooded

Hey, remember back when I didn’t post for weeks at a time?

Yeah, I didn’t have much to say or, rather, I was saying stuff but not posting it. And one day of not posting would stretch into a week and suddenly, I’d feel paralyzed by my lack of posting and blah blah blah.

I’d wonder if I should acknowledge my lack of posting or if I should just jump right back in there with posts, pretending I never paused in my posts.

What to do? What to do?

This last time, I just sat down at the computer, opened my email and started scheduling posts using things I’d written over the past few weeks.

Since you’re here reading, you can see that I didn’t bother to say anything about the pause in posts. I just jumped right in and it felt good.

It still feels good. Even if no one reads here much anymore, I still want to write.

I want to bitch about being tired, record my angst about cancer coming back, talk about how amazing (and sometimes, amazingly frustrating) my kids are.

Even if no one cares but me, I’m putting it out there, polluting cyber space, if you will.

Notes to Self

You don’t have to tell every single person you come into contact with that you’ve had cancer and been through chemo.

You don’t have to bring up the lymphedema every chance you get.

No one really cares.

So yes, they make all the right noises when you bring it up but you could just…not.

Practice a little introspection and figure out why you feel the need to share that stuff with everyone.

Do you want them to feel sorry for you?

Is it because you want them to appreciate all your glorious post-chemo hair?

Is it because you feel like a freaking hero for all that you’ve been through?

Well, guess what? Everyone has been through their own hell. They don’t necessarily need to know about yours.

Maybe you’re hoping to make yourself approachable. Is it working?

Are you looking for a common bond among your fellow humans?

I’ll be honest, that’s annoying as hell. So maybe just stop. Stop telling people about the dry mouth that comes from chemo. Stop making a circle around your face and saying something along the lines of, “This is nineteen months of growth.”

Stop mentioning the lymphedema, stop drawing attention to the compression sleeve. Stop talking about cancer altogether.

If people want to talk to you about it, they’ll bring it up.



Is it obvious that I’m annoying the shit out of myself these days? Time to breathe and stop being so hard on myself I guess.

A Few Thanks

Since I bitch and moan pretty much non-stop these days, let me tell you something that isn’t a complaint.

My feet don’t hurt.

Will they hurt tomorrow? Maybe. Will they hurt sometimes next week? Probably.

But they don’t hurt right now and that’s awesome.

I can go up the stairs at work and not get winded. Will I get winded next week? Maybe but right this second, I could trot right up those stairs and still have a conversation at the top of the stairs. I feel pretty darned good about that one.

I just wanted to share some non-complaints for a change. You’re welcome

Forgiveness

I forgive myself for some of the stupid shit I did in my late teens and early twenties.

I forgive myself for making bad choices that, at the time, seemed like the only choice.

I forgive myself for being harder on myself than I am on anyone else.

I’m letting go of grudges I’ve held for decades.

They hurt no one but me.

I forgive myself, though, for holding those grudges.

I am going to stop hating myself for every little thing. The fact that the bananas I bought last week were a little green? Not a big enough deal to beat myself up over.

I didn’t vacuum yesterday? I’m not letting it weigh on me.

Was my family fed? Was the laundry done? Did they all have clean sheets to sleep on and clean towels to use after their warm baths/showers. Did they go to sleep knowing they are loved?

Yes to all of the above. And because of those yeses, I know I’m a good wife and mother.

I’m a good daughter and sister. I’m a good niece and cousin. I’m a good aunt. I could be a better friend but I forgive myself for that too because I’ve got a lot on my plate and my real friends do too. We understand that somethings have to slip in order for us to do the most important things.

I forgive myself for getting cancer. It wasn’t my fault.

Even though it might have been caused by my fatness, it still wasn’t my fault. Thin, athlete women get cancer too. And we all fight it the same way, with all we’ve got.

I forgive myself for saying I was an idiot the other day but I’m also going to try and stop doing that. I wouldn’t say that to a friend, why do I say it to myself?

Let’s all try this. Let’s be kinder, more loving to ourselves. Let’s be more forgiving. Let’s live our best lives, knowing we’re doing the best we can to be there for our loved ones.

We’re all important. We all matter. Words can hurt. Let’s start using kinder words, even about ourselves.

Hearing Bells

Olivia will often announced, “I have a new Jingle Bell song.”

I try hard to stifle the groan when she says this.

You’ve all heard the Jingle Bells, Batman smells song right?

Well, she just inserts random characters from her favorite books and shows into the song and then expects praise, like she’s done something brilliant.

I know.

I am proud of her. She’s amazing.

But these songs are so stupid. The ‘original’ one is stupid. They’re all inane and annoying and I would like to never hear another.

Except, Liv loves them. They crack her up.

She’ll belt out, “Jingle bells, Weston smells, Gage laid an egg. The aide’s car lost a wheel and the teacher ran away.”

And then she’ll laugh like it’s the funniest thing ever.

So okay, that one was kind of clever but then she’ll insert Marinette, Adrian, Adam F. Goldberg and Barry. It’s usually Murray that smells and Beverly always lays the egg but sometimes the roles of the three kids will be rotated.

It’s just…parenting can be so boring, even with all the joys and beauty.

Over here in the Ordinary household, we celebrate all the little things. She’s tying her shoes! We got rid of the cushy tushy. Sure, she’s twelve but these things were/are big things to us.

But jingle bell songs? Sometimes, silence is golden.

Two Years

Around this time two years ago, the employees in the plant where I worked were assembled and informed that Corporate was closing our facility. We were told that by December 31, we would all be out of a job. They told us that we’d receive a ‘stay bonus’ if we continued to work until December 31. We’d get a severance package whether we stayed or not. That would include a week’s worth of pay for every year of service we had with the company.

I’d sensed the coming of this announcement. There were just too many meetings taking place behind closed doors, super stealth whispering going on, weird phone called with doors being closed.

I was also a little preoccupied by the pain in my left breast. I’d seen my regular doctor by this point two years ago and he was all about waiting and seeing.

I was also seeing a doctor about my stupid left foot. I’d been diagnosed with tendonitis and plantar fasciitis. Whee, my left side is a real disaster zone.

I’d just recently decided that waiting and seeing about that weird pain was a bad idea. I hadn’t actually seen my gynecologist yet but I was psyching myself up to make the call. Each night, I’d promise myself that if the pain was still there the next morning, I’d call.

We all know that I did finally call.

I’m edging in on my one year anniversary at my new/current job. It’s fine. I’ve had a couple of good reviews with my immediate supervisor as well as the lady with whom I work the most closely. So…that’s good, right? I don’t want to be stupid and say something like, “Yeah, it’s going great!” because yeah, we all know the universe is just waiting to slap people who say things like that right the hell down.

I just…keep waiting for the next thing to happen.

I mean, right? Isn’t that the way things have been for a while?

Every time management closes a door, I think, “Here it comes.”

Each time I have an appointment with a doctor, I wonder, “Will this be the time the give me bad news again?”

I know, logically, that the odds of that happening are slim. But…the odds of getting triple negative breast cancer at 46 years old were slim too. So forgive me for feeling a little stressed sometimes.

For anyone googling post-cancer life, I’d like to mention that the side effects of chemo and radiation are mostly gone. Last summer I could feel the rays of the sun on my skin, like little pin pricks all over any exposed skin. This summer, nothing. It’s all good. I don’t seem to burn any more easily than I did before radiation.

At my most recent dental cleaning, my hygienist said that my dry mouth is abating. It’s still there, but getting better. I’d noticed that too. My skin has bounced back.

Hair still doesn’t grow under my left arm, but I’m most certainly not complaining about that one.

Heck, even the lymphedema is responding well to the exercise and self-massage prescribed by the physical therapist. So really life is going well.

Hey, universe? Please don’t see that last sentence as an invitation to punch me in the face, kay? I know how lucky I am. I say thanks every single day for everything that I have, everything that I am. I know it could all be snatched from me in an instant. And maybe that’s what I’m so tentative to believe that all’s well.

Because what if tomorrow it’s not?

Sad

Who the hell knows?

Maybe it’s because of the dentist.

Maybe it’s because school starts in less than two weeks and it feels like summer has flown by.

Maybe I wish I were independently wealthy so that I could not have to go to work every day.

Maybe making dinner every night makes me sad. Yes, that’s definitely true. I hate making dinner so, so much.

I do know that I’m sick and tired of all the last effects of cancer and the things I had to go through to get rid of the cancer: lymphedema, dry mouth, cavities; curly hair, etc.

I’m so tired.

Tired of thinking about cancer and chemotherapy and radiation. I’m tired of lymphedema and bad teeth. I’m tired of the fact that my stupid mouth still sometimes is dry and at other times, it feels like I’ve just eaten a hot pepper. It’s so unpleasant.

But hey, I’m alive to be bitchy about it all, right? So why the frowny face?

Because I can acknowledge my luckiness and still be annoyed by the suckiness, that’s why.

Just saying.

Huh...

Olivia had an orthodontist appointment recently.

Because Tom hates (HATES!!!) appointments that are not near the end of the day, I specifically asked for a later appointment, even though it’s summer.

To be fair to him, he’s less loathing of early appointments in the summer but when school is in session, he can be kind of a jerk about having to go to the school, pick up either (both?) child(ren?) and then bring her/them to her/heir appointments.

He acts like I’ve committed one of the seven deadly sins if this happens. Which sin would that be? Probably sloth, I feel like I'm all over that one.

But anyway, this time her appointment was for 3:10 (pm, obviously, why on earth would I set up an appointment for 3:10am? I don't even know.) And since she (and he…for what it’s worth) are both home all day, bringing her to town for the appointment is not really a hardship.

And what’s more, I get leave work EARLY so that I can meet them at whatever appointment is happening so he doesn’t even have to STAY for the appointment.

Yeah, he’s got a really hard life.

So the morning of the appointment, as I was leaving for work at 6:30 so I could get my full 8 hours of work in and still leave at 3:00 for the appointment, he followed me around the kitchen (for the record, our kitchen is not that big) asking me to remind him of what needed to be done before he and Liv left for her appointment.

I ended up writing him a note with the time of the appointment and all the things I’d like him to do for Livie, such as brush her teeth (it WAS an orthodontist appointment, duh) and brush her hair because, well, she needs her hair brushed before going out in public lest she look like she lives in a van with her delinquent parents.

I’d already laid out her clothes for the day. I’d washed her hair the night before. I’d started even started a load of sheets in the washer that I will put in the drier when I get home.

I mentioned to him the things Liv and I were going to do after the appointment and that was when he said, “So you’re not going back to work?”

Wait, what? Why in the world would I go back to work? First of all, her appointment wouldn’t be done until at least 4:00, and hello, I’ll have the child with me, should I take her to work with me and let her watch me work for twenty minutes? The whole freaking point of making the late appointments (for ME) is that I get to leave work and NOT GO BACK.

He shrugged and said, “Well, they’d probably let you work until 5:00, which would give you almost another hour.”

Yes…he was sort of joking; but not completely.

And see, here's the thing, I wouldn’t have to leave work early to begin with if HE would stick around with her for the appointment, then schedule the next appointment and after that run to the bank and deposit Alyssa’s most recent paycheck and then go to Walmart and buy me a data card for my phone and then take Olivia to dinner because, hello, she ALWAYS gets to eat out after an orthodontist/dentist/eye doctor/regular doctor appointment. That’s just the way it is.

But that doesn’t happen and so…I go to work early to get my hours in so I can leave early.

Then I run around taking care of LIFE things while he goes home and rests on the couch because driving Liv to town and then driving himself home is EXHAUSTING.

Which, okay, it probably was very tiring what with him being BROKEN and all. But still!

When he made the suggestion of me working until 5, I just blinked at him because, seriously? You want to talk about who is working what hours these days?

Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Radiologist

On the eve of seeing my radiologist for the first time in a year I’m a little pensive.

Am I worried he’ll find something?

Maybe.

Am I worried he’ll just give a quick exam that couldn’t find anything even if there was something to be found?

Possibly.

I like this doctor just fine but he’d the one of the many doctors I see who reminds me each time I see him that I’m a chunkalunk. He’s suggested I go on the Mediterranean diet.

He’s the one who made me think that, because of the above mentioned chunkalunkiness, I’m to blame for my cancer. I don’t think he meant to make me feel that but it happened all the same.

I want to be healthy. I want him to give me a thorough exam and declare me fit as a chubby fiddle.

I’ve been walking for a half hour each night for almost three weeks. That’s something ,right?

I guess, after all the excellent care I got while going through treatments over a year ago, I’ve felt a bit adrift over the past year. Sure, I’ve seen my surgeon, my chemo oncologist and my gynecologist each twice in the past year, that doesn’t compare to the weekly appointments I was having back in the thick of treatment.

I’m grateful for the reprieve but also feel lost knowing we’re not currently actively fighting cancer.

Sure, there’s probably not any cancer in my body to fight but…what if there is? What if we’re just sitting around, going about our days and cancer, that insidious bastard, is just there, in my body, throwing a party and inviting all its cousins to come over and start colonies in my liver and my lungs?

What if?

That’s the big unknown, right? And we all know that the sooner we know the better but as long as I’m ignorant of any problems, I can pretend that I’m fine.

And honestly, I’m probably fine. The odds are that I’m fine.

Of course, when I think that, my stupid mind goes to the fact that the odds of Olivia having 5p- syndrome were 1 in 50,000.

The odds of me having breast cancer were 1 in 8.

So…yeah.

I Need to Shut Up

Sometimes (most of the time?) I talk to much.

Sometimes I just wish I could shut up.

But there is so much going on in my head, so many conversations, so many recriminations, so much internal dialogue that I can’t stop it from spewing from my mouth like verbal vomit.

It’s annoying, even to me. I can’t imagine how irritating it must be to those around me.

I used to say things like, “I’ll shut up now.” I’d say this to boyfriends and friends alike. I was so desperately hoping they’d reply with something lovely like, “No, I like listening to you.”

Alas, no one ever actually said that.

But to be honest, I don’t blame them. I mean, how annoying is it that I said that? I’m annoyed at my younger (like, I was younger yesterday, right?) self for saying it.

Was I really so desperate for validation that I said something like that?

Yes. Yes, I was.

I still am.

I’m not proud of that, but there you go.

TMI

Okay, if you don’t want to know WAY too much about me, go ahead and skip this post. These days, I’m writing more for myself than anything which is probably why my posts have been so whiny and annoying.

And this is for me too. But I don’t think it’s going to be whiny so there’s that.

Again, TMI is heading your way so avert your eyes if you don’t want to know about my IUD or lack of periods for the past twelve years or anything else concerning my hooha.

Ahhh, now that I’ve got a little privacy…

I had my IUD removed last Thursday. Valentine’s Day, yes.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, my gynecologist told me the IUD would need to be removed.

But then they (my group of doctors, I have so many these days) decided that since my cancer was triple negative, the IUD wasn’t doing any harm and so it was decided we’d leave it in just to prevent pregnancy during chemotherapy and radiation.

Ha.

Hahahahahahahahaha.

I want to know who the hell is doing the thing that causes pregnancy while on chemotherapy. Because, no. No, no, no, no, no. No to the sex when one has a port inserted just under one’s skin on the right side of her chest and a five inch incision along one’s left breast, just under the armpit. No when one’s spouse is using a q-tip and shoving gauze into said incision for several months. It’s just not a romantic thing. It’s a loving thing, yes. Romantic? No.

All the above aside, we did decide to just leave the IUD alone.

I got my first IUD when Olivia was six weeks old. At that time, I was 36 years old and my doctor suggested I get on placed because ‘you never know, you might want to try for a boy.’

Uhh, okay. Whatever. I knew I didn’t want to get my tubes tied even though I was pretty sure I was done having babies so I went with the IUD. It was a semi-permanent solution to something I simply wasn’t ready to make permanent.

IUD, Mirena IUDs specifically, last for five years. So when Olivia was five, I had the first one removed and the second one inserted.

When she was ten, I had the second one removed and the third one inserted.

I never had any of the issues I’ve read about concerning IUDs. I never had any break-through bleeding. I don’t think I had mood swings or depression. Maybe some of my weight gain is due to the IUD? Or maybe it’s because I like to eat the crème out of Mega Stuf Oreos, like, a lot.

Anyway, about those side effects. They are as follows, as per the Internet:
•missed periods (amenorrhea), - YES!!! Which was one of the selling points of getting an IUD placed.
•bleeding and spotting between periods, - NOPE
•heavier bleeding during the first few weeks after device insertion,
•abdominal/pelvic pain, - NOPE, well, wait. I did have some cramping after the insertion of IUD 2 and 3.
•ovarian cysts, - NOPE
•back pain, - Duh, I’m fat and old, of course my back hurts, like all the time.
•headache/migraine, - I’ve always had headaches, so…maybe?
•nervousness, - NO
•dizziness, - NO
•nausea, - NO
•vomiting, - NO
•bloating, - Well, I’m fat, so…who knows if I’m bloated, I tend to always look like this.
•breast tenderness or pain, - Huh…breast cancer…
•weight gain, - I’m a fatty
•changes in hair growth, - NO
•acne, - NO
•depression, - Well…
•changes in mood, - I can be quite bitchy and also weepy, sometimes as the same time but I think this might be a me problem more so than an IUD problem
•loss of interest in sex, - See: CHEMO
•itching or skin rash, and - NO
•puffiness in the face, hands, ankles, or feet. – See: FATNESS

I decided a couple of weeks ago, before my annual exam with my gynecologist, Dr. S, that maybe it was time to have this last IUD (number 3, remember) removed. I kind of feel like it’s time to let my body just be.

I’ve been through so much. My body has been through so much. How about we just let it be for a while? How about I start practicing a little kindness toward myself and my body?

I don’t know if having the IUD out will make a difference but I want to find out.

I am 48 years old. I will not be having any more children but I want to let my body get back to its own natural rhythms. And hey, guess what? Four days after an IUD removal, a body (my body, at least) will have a period.

And I’m okay with that. I haven’t had a period in over twelve years. Almost thirteen, actually, since Olivia was probably conceived (ha, what did I tell you about TMI?) thirteen years ago this month.

It’s time for my body to rest, to just be.

Will this help me lose weight? Probably not. Will it make me like myself more? Probably not. Will it make me less bitchy and weepy? Probably not.

But it’s something. It’s a start of something.

What? I don’t know. But something and I’m holding on to that for now until I figure out the rest.