just a second....

This video is amazing.  First, it's just adorable, with these cute little girls giggling about clean underwear and repeating all the things they (and we) have heard as women.

Second, it's a project that has such an amazing message: GET A SECOND OPINION!  I will always be grateful that my former gynecologist was opposed to doing hysterectomies unless they were truly necessary.  She gave me many things to think about and pointed out that a uterus does so much more than grow babies.  Having this to think about for two years prepared me to to ask questions and learn what was best for me when my gynecological problems resumed.  I was opposed to a hysterectomy, but knowing what options were available helped me determine that it was the best option for me.

This video is part of a website that promotes the importance of women getting second opinions and being their own health advocates.  You can find the site at www.givemeasecond.com.

Aren't you worth a second?

where have all my marbles gone?

This year is the Year of Getting My Shit Together, or, the Year of Finding My Lost Marbles.

I remember one time when the kids were little, and I made one of my regular pilgrimages to the grocery store.  One of the bags had developed a rip when I put it in the trunk of the car.  When I got home, I was trying to carry in all of the bags at once.  (Yes, Mom, you're right.  Sometimes it IS best to take two or three trips.)  As I walked into the house, the bag spilled little jars of expensive baby food.  In my panic about the loss of the food and money and time it would take to replace them, I lost my grip on another bag and ended up with a big pile of flour in the driveway, mixed in with the baby food.  And by the time I finally got to the door, I was so upset that I dropped the bags and dented every can I had bought.  I sat down right in the middle of the living room and bawled for a while.

I've been thinking about that day a lot this past year.  It seems that we've had a series of unfortunate events, with each one overlapping on or two others.  I will still be recuperating from dealing with one issue when another one jumps in full-force, only to be followed by another.  Boom boom boom.  No time for breathing.  This is the case in every area of my life.  It's particularly upsetting with the professional aspect of my life, as that has always been my safe haven for when things are rough in my personal life.  It has been my stability, my place where I feel accomplished and in control.  Lately, not so much.

I've decided to do what I did with my groceries.  First, try not to get as much stuff in the first place.  Instead of buying expensive glass jars of baby food, I began making my own baby food.  It actually was easier, and I felt better about myself for doing the healthier thing for my babies.  Second, I determined that if it would take me a bit longer to accomplish a task (as in, take two or three trips), I should.  Seriously--how much time did I really think I was saving?  It was maybe one or two minutes.  Third, accept the fact that sometimes life just bites and you have to do the best you can.  Finally, if you get to the end of a rough patch and need to cry, that's okay--as long as when you're done you carry on.

1. Have less stuff to deal with.  I'm returning to teaching--no more administrative work for me.  As much as I loved pieces of it, I did not do well with juggling two totally different sets of rhythms.  I never had down time.  During the times I had always refreshed myself from the semester's work, I would have an increase of administrative work to do.  I had non-stop work, and no time to prepare for or recover from the busy times.  Although my return to teaching will have some financial implications for my family, I feel so much at peace about it.  I find that I am getting excited about teaching writing again, and I'm already regaining my focus.  I'm a teacher again, with no split professional identity.  The energy for that is slowly starting to recharge.
2. Take the time to do the job right.  I am learning to discipline myself to sit in front of the pile of papers or the computer when necessary, even when I don't feel like it.  I constantly remind myself that it's always the first couple of papers that take the longest, as I get into the swing of the assignment.  I told my students I would have feedback on drafts posted today, and while I had wanted to have it done earlier today, I am plugging away, making a genuine effort.  In fact, writing this blog entry was one of my rewards for getting through a certain number of drafts.  Putting the time in will pay off.
3. Suck it up, buttercup.  Okay, I admit that teaching in the summer would not be my preference.  If it weren't for the fact that we so desperately needed the money, I would be lounging around in the pool or napping right now.  But this is what it is, and I'll be okay.  I'm remembering to be grateful that I am able to have some income during the summer at all.  And I'm also very grateful that teaching one course in the summer will allow me to practice doing a better job now, so I'm prepared for it in the fall.
4. If I need to cry, I will do so.  It also means that if I need support, I will ask for it.  In fact, in anticipation of this, I have already requested regular meetings with a couple of my colleagues to help me develop a different sense of accountability and on-going professional development/re-energization.

So here I am, halfway through an electronic pile of drafts to read, actually making some progress.

we are angels in each other's lives

I often wonder about all the ways we make a difference in the lives of others, even though we may not know we have done so.  God may use us in many ways without our knowledge.

There have been some times, though, when I have sensed that I was a tool.  Yesterday was one of those days.  I have been following the blog of a woman whose husband is dealing with a urinary tract cancer.  Her husband is a now-retired former colleague, one with whom I did not work closely, but he always struck me as a good and wise human being, and I was sad to hear he had cancer.  I've never even met his wife.

As I have followed her blog, I have been struck by her honesty and engaging writing style as she has tried to make sense of this journey they are now on.

After many times of feeling a desire to write her an encouraging email, yesterday I felt a strong call to do so.  She had written about her mother telling her to "get over" the cancer and that cancer was no excuse for feeling depressed and wanting sympathy.
Here's part of the email I wrote:

You have a right to feel however you feel, and don’t let anyone make you question that.  You do what you need to do in order to get through each day, each night, and each week.  It would be a shock if you didn’t experience some depression or post-traumatic stress.  In fact, I have a friend who was diagnosed with early-stage endometrial cancer a year and a half ago.  The cancer was treated completely by a hysterectomy, and she has no gynecological cancer risk remaining.  And still, she has been in treatment for PTSD for over a year and just now is starting to feel whole again.

Cancer doesn’t just eat away at the body, piece by piece.  It also eats away at the minds and souls and lives of everyone close to it.  It consumes your life and takes it over.  For those not living with it and sleeping with it and laying it all open for the doctors to figure out, life goes on as usual and cancer is just a blip.  Those people can’t understand why you act like life is so different now; they don’t understand that your life truly is different.  The time between appointments and treatments is, to them, what “normal” is.  For you, it isn’t even an oasis.  Although you may have more time to take care of some daily tasks, your mind is still on what came before and what comes next.  Everything else is just going through the motions.  To others, a doctor’s appointment is just an appointment.  To you, a doctor’s appointment is fraught with fear, anxiety, caretaking, preparation, and the unknown.  Each appointment is a distillation of all of life’s biggest challenges.  Add days and months of appointments to each other, and it’s a miracle that you’re still here, still thinking and feeling, still managing to get to those appointments.  And there are daily miracles in the midst of all of this, when you manage to shower, accomplish laundry, and see to the feeding and care of your own body—not to mention that of your husband’s.

Right now, your own daily survival is a monumental accomplishment.  You have no obligation to put on a happy face for the benefit of anyone else.  Right now should be about you and your husband.  And if you find the energy to speak up and talk back, well, you are not at your best right now, and no one should expect you to be.  And anyone who can't handle that is welcome to go make hotel arrangements or take over the cooking and cleaning for you.

No matter the outcome of anyone’s cancer diagnosis, there is a period of time when you must simultaneously prepare for the worst while hoping for the best.  How can one mind, one heart, contain those two contradictory tasks without being bruised?

I sent it, along with a request that she not even reply because she has enough on her to-do list and I just wanted her to know she was in my prayers.  I had a strong feeling that it was the right thing for me to do, sending the email, and when I clicked on Send I figured that was that.  I felt a sense of peace at having sent the email, and that was how I knew it was a God-thing.  Or so I thought.

Two hours later, I received an email--from her husband.  It said this:

I'm filled with gratitude; words fail.  Thank you for being a quite literal angel for my beloved [wife] during a particularly rough patch for her.  Your wise, humane, and loving words constitute an inexpressible comfort.

I was (actually, I still am) touched.  There have been many times when I have followed through with something I have felt called to do.  Most of the time, I am filled with a sense of peace and rightness.  Every so often, though, I am given a reminder of what my purpose is in this life and that in small ways, every now and then, I am fulfilling that purpose.  Despite all the roughness of the past year for myself, this man has now served as an angel in return, to let me know that I still have something to offer, that I can still make a difference.

EMG update

Well, that test pretty much sucked.  I told the doctor that I hoped he got lots of useful information, because I'm never doing that test again unless margaritas are involved.

Electrified Porcupine

I am having an electromyogram this (EMG) morning.  Until last week, I had never even heard of this test.  Basically, the doctor will stick a bunch of needles into me and then send electricity into me through the needles.  I'm such a baby when it comes to pain, and people I respect have said it was horrible.  One person said it was okay and just a bit tingly.  I'm really, really hoping that's the experience I have--but I'm not counting on it.

Since the beginning of March, I've been experiencing some numbness in my feet and lower legs--not all the time, but it's something I'd never experienced before.  A few weeks ago, I realized that while I was shaving my legs, I couldn't even feel the razor.  Also, I was experiencing occasional mild tremors in my left hand.  So, early last week, I dragged myself to the doctor, convinced I must have multiple sclerosis.

The doctor was not particularly concerned about the hand tremor, since that happened after I had started a new medication with that as a side effect.  She did some initial neurological screening, and I was relieved that she was pretty sure I didn't have a central nervous system disorder.  Still, she referred me to a neurologist, and that's where I'm headed today.

I would have put off making the appointment indefinitely, but Thursday afternoon I began experiencing sudden and overwhelming weakness in my legs.  And then I started feeling the numbness (is that even possible, to feel numbness?) up to my hips.  Two days ago, I was scratching my right calf (I have to watch myself scratch, just to be sure I don't draw blood) and I discovered that I was feeling the sensation after all--in my ankle, of all places.

The hubster will have the car today for a job interview--which means that I not only can't drive myself, he won't be with me at all.  Fortunately, his BFF is available and will be driving me and waiting for me.  It's a good thing I like this BFF, because I may come out feeling fairly traumatized.

He's coming to get me in about half an hour.  Ugh ugh ugh.

American Dream

I was at the US Federal Courthouse in Milwaukee last week.  My first impression (while standing in the security line with my shoes in hand) was of great detail and beauty.  The building reminded me of a state capitol buildling, albeit with skylights instead of a dome.

As I walked through the atrium and found my way to my destination, I was struck my the old-ness of the building.  Modern buildings are all metal and fabric and simplicity, with restrooms in places that are easy to find and designs that are based on cost-savings.  The Federal Courthous is clearly not modern.  It is all marble and wood and detail, with restrooms that are behind wooden doors that look no different from all the other doors in the hallway.  The building was built for beauty and permanence.

At the time I was there, two main activities were taking place: third floor, Naturalization Ceremony, 4th floor, bankruptcy hearings.  Two faces of the American dream, one floor apart.  Standing in the security line, I could see the faces--the exuberant faces of families and children tehre to celebrate a decision, an accomplishment, an opportunity.  And I saw the subdued faces and bowed shoulders of those there with the burdens of financial failure.  It was a stark contrast, to be sure.

As my business concluded, I was able to take my time in meandering my way out of the building.  I saw many other pieces of the American dream--a senator's office, people working  to earn money for their families and contribute to the grandness of the building, and even a display on crime in Wisconsin.  As I looked through the display materials on identify theft and rape, it occurred to me that part of the American dream was about many opportunities--the opportunity to succeed financially, the opportunity to publicly and legally acknowledge one's self as an American, the opportunity to pursue justice, and the opportunity to try again.

Going into the US Federal Courthouse, I saw two faces of the American dream.  Leaving, I saw the beautiful old building as a symbol of endurance and strength.   Just one American dream after all, as strong and enduring and beautiful as ever.

what women do

For some time, I have been thinking about the way women connect with each other.  Several episodes come to mind, and I wish I could find a perfect metaphor for these connections.

becoming a woman

When my daughter was in fifth or sixth grade, her friend's dad died after a painful battle against cancer.  This wasn't a particularly close friend at the time, but my daughter had lost an aunt to cancer and felt a connection of support.  All the girls in the girl scout troop went to the funeral, girls in one row and most of the moms together in the row behind them.  We watched our daughters be women that day.  During the service, the girls cried at the appropriate times while their mothers cried behind them and patted their shoulders.

After the service, when it was time for everyone to walk by and hug the family members, I watched an amazing thing happen.  The girls would surround Friend BT, giving individual hugs to her and to each other and then engaging in a group hug and crying together.  Then, the girls would all wander off to the ladies' room, talking about why they cried while hugging and crying again, and then they'd head back to Friend BT to do it all over again.


They were all caught up in this shared experience, but these pre-teen girls were doing what women do--supporting, hugging, crying, and sharing each other's sorrow.


women supporting women

My time on www.hystersisters.com has shown me a great deal of what women do so well--share their experiences to provide support and encouragement for each other.  In my time as a hostess, I've seen this work even more deeply.  I am often logged into AIM in order to be able to stay in touch with my sister hostesses.  The conversations I've had with these wonderful women have taught me so much about relationships.  There are several women I chat with on a regular basis.  Most of the time, we are conducting some business--Could you check out this thread? Did I explain myself clearly?  How should we promote this feature?  How should I handle this situation?  Yet, as women do, in the midst of the "getting things done" is the "getting to know you better."  I have chatted about faith, religion, abortion, husbands, sex toys, lubricants, children, and more--and while we are chatting about these very personal things, we are circling back to the work of the website.  We know each other because we have a shared work-"place," and our work becomes more enjoyable and more meaningful because we know each other as sisters, not just as colleagues.


When I moved offices this year, I found that the most difficult change was not that I was losing my window or having to change my patterns (such as having to park in a different lot and using a different bathroom).  It was that I ceased to be part of the daily lives of my colleagues.  It used to be that every day included brief moments of sharing the joys and frustrations of our lives--the kids, the spouses, the commute, the price of milk or gas, or the student who came late to class every day.  Now, instead of the rich texture that this daily sharing wove together, when I see these colleagues and friends, we have time only for the highlights, and our relationships seem much more tenuous somehow.  Whereas I used to see one woman three mornings a week and could find out quickly which kid had been sick the night before, now I see her once a month, and not in the comfortable way of stopping in each other's offices on the way to the bathroom or the way back from class.


When I left the school where I began my career, my heart ached that I wouldn't be able to see what became of my colleagues' lives and families.  What did Sean (or Shawn--I can't even remember) end up doing after high school?  Did Tina become a grandmother?  Is Jan still alive?  Did Barb and Wayne get married?  To this day, that is still what I treasure hearing about.  The women who supported me as I finished my master's thesis, got married, had children, earned tenure, spent 3 1/2 months on bedrest, and juggled three little ones under the age of three are still part of my heart even though not part of my life.


drop and run

On Christmas Day, my daughter received a phone call shortly before we were about to sit down to Christmas dinner.  It was her friend, ET, who was having a difficult day with her relatives, who were teasing her about her piercing choices.  My daughter dropped everything to run--literally, to ET's grandma's house a block away.  She stayed long enough to listen, give hugs, get ET to laugh, and then she headed back home.


Several weeks ago, I got a message from one of my life-long friends that she was worried about her marriage.  So, I met her on Facebook chat to "listen" to her concerns about her husband, her job, her marriage, and her life.  We were online together for well over an hour.  It reminded me of the way we used to talk on the phone for more than an hour in high school.  We could have just seen each other an hour before, but we had to connect--to make sure the other one was completely up-to-the-minute on our other conversations, our mean parents who made us do an unpleasant chore, our feelings about something.  It wasn't so much that we set aside what was going on in life as much as that we recognized how much this relationship WAS our life (or at least an important part of it).


To see my daughter drop everything and run to her friend's side was heart-warming.  It reminded me that this is what women do, and the fact that she was the one who was called said so much about the depth of the young woman she is.  Just last week, she was texting after midnight with BT, on the anniversary of her father's death.  Together, they marked the anniversary of a sad, sad time in BT's life.  To me, it was the anniversary of the moment my daughter became a woman.