If I were a truly brave person, I would live a life full of travels and adventures to wild and exotic lands. I would jump out of airplanes and ride a raft through the Colorado River. Climbing mountains would be just another afternoon for me. I would not let anything stop me.
However, I am not a courageous person. I am terrified of heights, and not entirely certain I would enjoy an adrenaline soaked trip through the rapids. Nope. I am a chicken with a serious fondness for private bathroom facilities.
If I were not afraid of how it would all turn out, I would be a brave writer, pushing the boundaries of polite narrative, and I would set the world on fire with my keen insights and challenge societies to make a change. I would challenge the status quo, and I would surprise my readers with a gripping tale of redemption.
If I were not secretly painfully shy, I would sing at karaoke bars, shocking the audience with my fearless performance. I would be forgiven for my untrained warbling voice just because I was having enough fun for every one.
I would audition for leading roles on stage and film. I would fearlessly embody my characters, and tell stories that need to be told. I would inspire the masses and my Oscar acceptance speech would be remembered for years.
This would be a grand time, and it would be completely out of character for me. I wonder how close I can get, while remaining authentic to my true self.
Of course I am not going to do most of these things. I do not sing or act. I am certainly not going to jump out of a plane. Climb a mountain? Yeah, right.
Are fears a manifestation of self? A protective mechanism of sorts?
Are all fears meant to be conquered?
Well, for now I will take it a little slower, and master the tasks immediately before me. I do not have to compete with others for personal achievement. I just have to do the best I can.
I was eighteen years old. There was so much wrong with me, and I knew that I had no business to be in this position. I was having a baby. I was single, a high school dropout, slightly crazy, unemployed, and an all around mess. I had even dropped out of childbirth classes.
It was April 12, 1999.
My mother drove me to the hospital for my scheduled induction. I was nervous and so ready to get this over with. To be honest, I was expecting this to be the day that some magical transformation would happen, and I would finally know how to be a mother. It was impossible for me to continue to be the same person I was, I was about to be a mom. The instincts would kick in, Right?
It was insanely early and the sun had not even started to brighten the sky. We rode up the elevator to the Labor and Delivery Unit at Covenant Hospital. I was already registered and they were expecting me. Check in, and start the chores of the morning.
ID bracelet? Check. IV start? Check. Enema? Excuse me? What was that? You are going to do what to my what? Sigh. Check.
What had I gotten myself into? Okay, now for the fun part. Starting the Pitocin. Let me tell you a little about this drug. It’s whole purpose is to cause your uterus to have the most intense contractions imaginable. If you are not feeling too bad, then they have to turn it up. Are you kidding me? Turn that shit down! This hurts. Oh, here is the doctor to break my water, and attach a little probe to the little guy’s head. Did you know they basically use a contraption that looks like a crochet hook to rupture that amniotic sac? It sounds so high-tech, and it is actually the equivalent a breaking a water balloon.
Side note: I think most people imagine their physician being right there with them throughout labor. Nope. He just drops by for the crucial moments. The most important health care personnel are your nurses. I had a great one. Her name was Marla, and I will never forget her. I have a lot of friends who are L&D nurses, and I even briefly considered it. Until I saw a real baby coming out of a real vagina- ummm. No. I’ll stick to MICU, thank you very much. The Horror of Childbirth is too much for me.
Contractions are an interesting feeling. It is like someone is reaching up into your soul, and wringing you out to dry. They start out a little uncomfortable, and then crescendo to a plateau of intense pain before they slowly subside. It is difficult to explain exactly where the pain is. Is it in your back? Your gut? Oh, there is some pain medicine. Demerol does not get rid of the pain, but it makes you not care about it at all. I felt like I was swimming. It could have been the pool of amniotic fluid I was drowning in. Turning every which way, bed up, bed down, flopping from one side to the other, there must be a position which will relieve this discomfort.
Oh, my family has come. Mamaw and Papaw, Grandaddy and Granny, and my friend Josette join my mom and stepdad at the bedside. I may be a little grumpy. This is decidedly less fun than I imagined it would be. Besides, it is nothing like the movies. For one thing, in the movies there is always an adoring husband who is just so damned grateful that this woman is bringing his child into the world. Oops. I forgot that part. Next time, make sure there is an adoring husband, That will make this experience a walk in park. I just know it. Note to self: find adoring husband.
Ahhh. Time for an epidural. Some people say they are horrible, and they complain about the pain of getting the catheter shoved into the space around their spine. I don’t know why they are complaining. Seriously? This was sweet heaven and relief. Ummm. Why can’t I move? OMG. I am paralyzed. Ugh. What on earth is going on? Okay. Maybe I should take a nap. Yes, a nap sounds wonderful.
Remember those childbirth classes I dropped out of? Well, I must have missed the one where they teach women how to make their cervix dilate on command. Mine was doing nothing. Nope. Nothing. My nurse began mumbling about a possible C-section. What? Cut me open? No… I don’t want to do that. Can we please stop talking about that? Here, I will think happy labor advancing thoughts.
This was obviously going to be a long day. We sent everyone for lunch. Just because I am not allowed to eat does not mean my family should suffer right? So, it is just my mother and I and my nurse has left explicit instructions to notify her if I feel any pressure. She was going to come and check me in about an hour. Remember, I was paralyzed. I could not feel anything at all. Except about two minutes after she went to lunch, I felt different. I could not be certain it was pressure, and I was about to ignore it. I was curious about what the new feeling was though. So, I tell my mom I am feeling something.
We called the nurse, and she came in and “checked” me. Checking a cervix must be an interesting skill. You feel around blindly in a vagina, and you have to determine what you are feeling, how big in diameter it is, and whether or not that is a baby. Are you kidding me? Why would anyone sane want this job? You are shoving your entire arm into a wet slimy pit, hoping to determine the current state of affairs in an actively breaking vagina. Yuck.
When she checked me, her eyes got wide and she pronounced me “Ready.” What? No, I am not ready for anything except a nap. We just sent everyone away. I am not ready. That mom instinct has still not set in. I still feel like a kid. I am not ready for this. I am tired. Maybe I can just go home, and we can do this tomorrow. What in the hell do you mean I am ready? Who says?
My mother started making phone calls to get everyone back to the hospital, and Marla was a flurry of activity. She was wheeling in equipment and pulling the stirrups out of the bed. Once she got me draped and my most personal business in the proper position, another nurse came in to see if she needs help. There was a discussion about shaving. I’m sorry. Do what? You need to shave my what? Why? There is entirely too much activity around my hoohaw at this point.
They had me start pushing. Once again, I was reminded I should not have dropped out of the childbirth classes. I am paralyzed. What do you mean push? Push what? Good grief. I have no idea what they are talking about. These people are insane.
Finally, I must have done something right. Marla says she can see the head. Of course everyone in the room wanted to look. Sure, why not? What’s a little vagina peering between family and friends?
The doctor came blustering into the room. Dr Burkholder is a larger than life man with a booming voice and an air of confidence. He had already done so much for me throughout my nightmare pregnancy, and I trusted him completely. My only complaint? His hands are huge. Other than that, he is great. He donned his blue gown and sterile gloves, and started running the show.
At one point there was something concerning, I never knew what tipped them off to Ty’s distress, but they no longer had time for my uneducated pushing skills. There was this magical suction cup device that would help guide this baby out in a hurry. Once the head was out he wanted me to look down and see him. I refused. He called me a brat and told me to mind. I closed my eyes and turned my head. I never did like to do what I was told. Looking back, this seems a stupid place to exert my independence.
Swoosh, out came Ty Garrett. His umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck several times, and he was an unnatural shade of blueberry. The doctor held him up proudly, my mother cut the cord, and they hurried him over to a crib. Seven pounds, four ounces. A NICU nurse was ushered in, and they proceeded to give him oxygen. The mood in the room was tense for a few minutes. Thankfully, he was fine after a short while.
Now, the doctor was still preoccupied with my lady bits, and I think he may have been slightly gleeful when he held up my placenta. Ewww. What the hell is that? Get it away from me.
Several minutes go by, and he was still down there. Finally I ask him what on earth he is doing. Oh. I “tore?” Ummm. Can you fix that? Am I broken? Can you put a couple extra stitches in there to make it like it used to be? Oh. It will never be like it used to be. Got it. My vagina is permanently disfigured. Wait. Why do I still feel like a kid? Where is that mom feeling? Maybe I will get it when I hold him again.
Everyone passes him around. The moment he was delivered, Mamaw gleefully exclaimed “Oh, he has your nose!” Poor kid. Hope it works out better for you than me. (Turns out, the nose is quite handsome on him.) My mother was practically beside herself. She loved him so much. She apparently had the grandmother superpowers that day. She knew what to do immediately. I am so grateful for all her help. I may have been inept as a mother, but he always had Nana to make sure I did not screw up too bad.
They perfunctorily cleaned up the baby and handed him to me. I am looking at this little guy, and I know he is the best thing to ever happen to me. I am baffled by him though. I have no idea what he needs. We were supposed to do all the post birth stuff in the delivery room, however the L&D floor was apparently hopping that day. They needed the room. We would have to bond later. Sometimes I wonder how things would have been different if we could have had more time before we were separated.
Ty was whisked away to the nursery, and I was wheeled to my postpartum room. I was certain the next time I saw him, I would feel like a mom. I just knew it. I wanted it so bad.
Let me just say, there was no magic moment. I tried valiantly to breastfeed, and I gave it a good two or three minutes before I opted for a bottle. Ummm. Breastfeeding felt weird. The most natural thing in the world felt painfully unnatural to me. Yeah, I regret that, but I cannot turn back time. I knew that my life was never going to be the same, and I had to get my act together. This kid needed me. It took a while, and the road had some bumps and turns, but I believe it turned out pretty good. I had a reason to succeed. More importantly, my life had a new purpose. But, where is that magic mom feeling? That instinct all the Supermom’s claim to have. Where were my superpowers? What is wrong with me?
So, this is the day my life changed, forever. There was no magic moment where I magically knew how to be a mother, and I did not become a real live grown up that day.
I became a mother to a son. I love my son more than anything I can imagine. I am so blessed, and I am so lucky that he has had the patience to allow me to grow up. He was the greatest gift I can imagine, and there have been times I wondered if he got the short end of the stick with a mother like me. He has taught me so much about love and worry. He has taught me to laugh and to always try to be better. I want to be better for him.
I am not a typical mother, and some people may not understand our family dynamics, but they work for us. So, on this Mother’s Day, I want to wish all the Mom’s in my life a happy and special day. May you always be as blessed as you were The day your life changed, forever.
I like to think we turned out okay. Even if I did not get the supermom powers. We muddle through. I love him so much. Thanks for making me a mom. It is the best thing I am.
Kristen Wiig is my hero. She somehow managed to handle one of the darkest movies I have ever seen with a funny, off kilter charm, that assures me that she meant no harm.
There have been lots of movies made about mental illness, and some are funny. I am struggling to figure out if this was funny. I laughed and immediately felt guilty for laughing.
Brief synopsis: A mentally ill woman who has an unhealthy fascination with Oprah, wins the lottery and decides to start her own talk show. She manages to find some great guys (imagine me saying that without a snarl) who allow her to pay them millions of dollars, and produce this travesty.
It reminds me of the young celebrities who are exploited and allowed to ruin their lives without anyone setting any limits for them. Sad situation. Everyone needs limits.
Now my favorite part of the movie was Tim Robbins as her therapist. He was a cool cucumber. I seriously loved the way he played this role. He is so open about his concern for her. It seems that too many people let Alice make bad decisions, and no one stepped in to protect her.
I think it was a good movie. It is hard to call it a comedy, simply because it is so disturbing and sad, however the funny hides the horror of the whole thing. I am glad it is simply someone’s imagination.
I was disappointed to read reports this morning Blue Bell knew about the contamination at their plants.
Once again, this is another example of a broken system.
I consider the obligation to do your job well a critical part of being a member of society. It would be nice to find one nefarious villain to blame, however it will likely prove to be a system wide failure to ensure public safety.
So, is this going to prompt an overhaul of safety and sanitation procedures in all food preparation areas?
Some questions I would ask:
Is the process for sanitation too difficult to carry out?
Is there a better way to achieve sanitation?
Who is responsible for oversight?
Who failed to act on the report of contamination in 2013?
Will there be accountability?
What is the process in place for responding to reports of contamination?
What is the underlying issue here?
I am interested to see how this plays out, and I am hopeful that this will lead to changes in sanitation processes across the board. Food safety is something Americans take for granted. We are lucky, most of our food is considered safe. Maybe it is time for the public to start paying more attention, and to demand higher quality from our food manufacturers.
The FDA has information regarding this outbreak on their website. It appears to be kept up to date. The most recent update was 5/7/2015.
I hope this serves as a reminder, when people are at their job, they need to remain vigilant in protecting the public. We need to look into the system and policies in place, and make safety part of the culture.
When you have spent years telling yourself that you are a loser, and you cannot do anything right, it is difficult to move on, and chase your dreams. There is a real danger for me to indulge in negativity. I have made the decision to work on writing something substantial, and it is damn scary! I find myself wondering if my life, and the things I have learned are applicable for anyone else. I wonder if it is interesting.
Then, I get over it. It does not really matter what happens with the finished product. Even if it is just an exercise in self-awareness, it will have been worth it.
I am still struggling with self confidence, and I have to make a decision every day. I have to decide to chase my dreams, and if it turns out that my first attempt is not good enough, I will have to regroup and try again.
There comes a time where you have to tell yourself to shut up and just do it. It’s like the nickname my FB friends gave me, Swoosh. That is enough evidence for me to put aside my insecurities, and do the damn work.
After all, I have nothing to lose. I just happen to have every thing to gain.
What is the worst thing that can happen? Worst case scenario? I will have something written which I worked hard on, and I will have remembered the lessons I have learned.
So, what is the lesson? Get a grip. Grow a pair. Get on with it already.
I am on page 62. (Double spaced pages.) It is rough, and there is a lot of editing and revising that must be done, not to mention more to write. I am pleased with the progress I have made, and I am excited to keep working. This is my dream. Who am I to ignore my dreams?
If the losses I have seen this year serve any purpose for me at all, I need to remember this:
Life is short.
You have no guarantees for tomorrow.
If you wait until you are ready, you will never do anything worth while.
Do what you love.
Love what you do.
Tell the people you love how much they mean to you.
Easy come, easy go.
Just do it already.
Photo credit: Me- May, 2015- University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN
This year I have lost four friends to cancer. If I am being honest, it sucks. I suppose that is just what happens when you work in a large hospital.
All of these people were in caring professions, and I think there is a little less love in the world now.
It’s funny, you can say all day long that you know life is not fair, but you are still shocked every time something unfair happens.
There are no words that bring comfort. I am sure I will have to settle down and have a good cry. I know that I will miss Mike forever. He was a truly special guy, and I can think of a bunch of people who would deserve this more than he did.
He lived his life to be of service- he wanted to give back to others. I am glad his pain is over. It makes me feel a little guilty to be relieved that he is not suffering anymore.
To acknowledge that I do not know what to do in these situations is rather embarrassing. There should be a protocol or rulebook that explains exactly what to feel and say at each step of the process. Grief is interesting, while there has been research in this area, I do not believe that anyone truly understands the individual response each person will have. For now, I’m going to be sad, and at the exact same time I am going to be grateful that he has been in my life the past 19 years. There will be a time to celebrate the memory.
Vacations do not have to be long, adventure-filled, money- sucking events. I left my house Wednesday night, and just got home a few minutes ago. I got to meet TWO of my friends, and I realized you can make meaningful connections with people who are many miles away. All it takes is a mutual commitment to be honest about who you are.
I also learned that I have extremely tall friends. I rarely feel short, tonight I feel short.
Writing about myself is going to be a mind opening experience. I have finally realized the moment that my life changed. I was sincerely shocked when I was writing about it. I had no idea. I am interested in seeing what else I learn about myself.
I am getting better at knowing how to behave in social situations, turns out all you have to do is be more social.
Most important, I learned that it is good to take time for yourself, and to go out of your comfort zone. I saw some interesting sights, and I had a fantastic time- all while not doing anything particularly exciting.
I am looking forward to the next time I get to hang out with these new friends, and until then I am grateful for text messaging, cell phones, and the internet. It is truly making the world a little smaller.
Oh, and one last thing- Podcasts are a great way to pass the time on a road trip. I listened to all of Serial, and several Nerdist Podcasts. I had a great time.
Her husband warned me. Do not let her have your room key. She always loses the room key. I left the room key on the dresser. Guess who stole my room key?
Sigh. I lose stuff all the time. Maybe I lost it. No, I remember leaving it on the dresser. Where is her room key? Nope- not there. Maybe the bathroom? Nope. On that little table? Nope.
Sigh. I probably do not need it anyway.
I do not have a room key.
This is why her husband told me not to let her find my room key.
I need a room key.
I have had a blast this weekend. Lots of writing, and basically just relaxing. I needed that. I think I am going to make it a point to take a few days here and there for relaxing every now and then. It is so easy to forget that you need time that you are not worried about the every day stuff.
Choosing to take care of myself is hard to do. I seem to think that burning the candle at both ends is a perfectly acceptable way to live life. I am wrong. So very wrong. I may thrive on being overextended and stressed out for awhile, but then I have to allow myself a chance to refocus, and relax. To sleep without an alarm.
Then, I can return to hectic every day stress of my life. The problem is that I am beginning to have less tolerance for the stress. I do not see the benefit of it anymore. Why do we have to kill ourselves every day? What is that going to accomplish? At what point do you choose to focus on what you love, and to make the money part less of a priority? How do you change your mindset?
Turns out, I think it requires money.
😦
Back at it Monday. At least for now. Maybe someday this whole writing thing will work out. That is really my main goal. Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.
Somehow sitting in a coffee shop in a foreign land is making me feel all creative and stuff. Perhaps foreign is not the correct word… I am still in the U.S. after all. I am just used to the southern part, and now I am up near Canada.
I am certainly not well traveled. I do not enjoy flying, and tend to get overwhelmed in new places. I can never figure out where I am supposed to be, and how to get around. It really all comes down to my lack of confidence- again! This is the recurring theme of my life.
I find myself feeling like I am not enough so often. I am not funny enough to be the funny one. I am not thin enough to be the pretty one. I am not smart enough to be the smart one. Everything boils down to the question of enough. What does that even mean? I have always struggled with this. Maybe it is my insistence in categorizing everything in my life. Especially people. Everyone has to have a label and a role. It gets so confusing, especially when most people are so much more than their label.
I am part of the problem. Our society insists on giving people titles, and then placing expectations on them to conform to their role. It is all so limiting. How do you project an air of professionalism, while still maintaining your quirky sense of style? How far can you push the boundaries? Why do you have to stick to the normal shades of hair color? Can I sneak a bright blue or red stripe in there somewhere?
The problem for me is that it is imperative that my patients trust me. Otherwise, they will not be satisfied with my diagnosis and prescription for care. As much as I like tattoos and piercings, I do not necessarily want a doctor with a huge neck tat. I am not sure I would trust him. This helps me justify ignoring my desire for brightly hued tresses. I have to be professional.
I am part of the problem. I find myself wanting to hide my imperfections, and joining the masses in celebrating the airbrushed ideal of beauty. I can tell you that you are beautiful all day long, and yet I cannot feel it for myself.
The problem for me is that I own a magnifying mirror- with lights. Not only can I blow up my imperfections, I can shine a spot light on them. No one is staring at my face through a magnifying glass (and if they tried, I would like to think I would punch them squarely in the throat.) Why do I insist on judging myself through such a harsh lens? Maybe I should use a filter, like the one I judge the other people I love through.
So, as I sit here in a foreign land, after I was relegated to my morning routine without a magnifying mirror, I realize that I was not feeling ugly when I walked out of the hotel this morning. I felt excited. I was looking forward to my adventures. I wonder if I can start having this experience even when I am at home. Maybe I need to chuck the magnifying mirror out the window. Give myself a chance to see me- like others see me.
If I were a truly brave person, I would live a life full of travels and adventures to wild and exotic lands. I would jump out of airplanes and ride a raft through the Colorado River. Climbing mountains would be just another afternoon for me. I would not let anything stop me.
The Accidental Boxer 
