From Mourning to Comfort

One of the many things I love about Wings Like Eagles is that the writers of this blog aren't sitting in a corner, wallowing in the despondency of our situations.  Instead, we come from a healthy place.  A place that is on the other side of their Crisis.  We reflect back on our own days of darkness, and we share our stories.  The story of what led us to darkness, the story of what life looked like in darkness, and the story of how we climbed out.

If we were sitting in a pit of mud, crying about how bad life is, we wouldn't be getting anywhere.  We wouldn't be reaching out to the people who are receiving our words and coming back to us with feedback that at times stops us in our tracks, leaving us shocked that there are so many who can relate.  Rather, we would be sharing our pity party, and we would quickly chase our readers away.  Because let's be real here--nobody has the time or energy to invest in a pity party.

Yet each of us has had periods of intense darkness.  Crisis infiltrating every fiber of our beings, leaving us battered and exhausted.  That horrible time when we saw how our life had turned out, and we wished so desperately that this life we were seeing wasn't ours.  We grieved what we had, and we grieved what we didn't have.

So, how do we go from a healthy and natural mourning period, without allowing ourselves to turn into a pathetic, and depressed soul stuck in a pool of self pity?

When we stop, and allow ourselves to say out loud that we are heartbroken, that our lives have gone every way but the way we would have wanted, when we seek people we can trust, and we tell them our disappointments, then we will get somewhere in our grief recovery.

When we say it out loud, we find ourselves naturally taking that critical step that leads us to a healthy place...we step out of denial.  We say out loud that we were hurt by our spouse.  Or that we were the one who hurt our family.  Or that our life is unmanageable.  Or that our kids' lives are on a fast track toward destruction.  Or that we don't see ourselves getting better.  That we want out.  That we need help.

Sometimes, just saying it out loud to a trusted friend or group of friends is enough.  It shocks us into a state of action, when we hear our own voice say the things we had kept hidden deeply within our spirits.  We see clearly the action we need to take to change, and we boldly take the steps needed to climb on out, from muck to freedom.

Sometimes, it isn't that easy, and we realize that we may need more.  Maybe we need to talk things out with a trained professional with an assortment of tools and plans to lead us to a better life.  

Sometimes we find that our situation accompanies the need for medical intervention.  So often, even if we aren't predisposed to clinical depression, Crisis affects us so aggressively that it prevents the ability of our brain to function properly, and it needs a little jump start by an antidepressant to get things moving again.  Sometimes Crisis was violent, and we suffer from PTSD so severely that we need medication to help us heal from the scars that were engraved in our brains. 

Sometimes our situation was so encompassing that we need help from many sources.  Our kids need tutoring, we need career counseling, we need financial counseling, we need a place to stay.  We know we are in a bad place, we have the desire to get out, but we just don't know how.

But by saying out loud that our life has spiraled out of control, and that we want our life to have meaning, it is then and only then that we can do what we need to do to move on and out, to a better life.

Mourning allows this.  Seriously mourning the losses that have devastated us.  And not mourning alone, but with others.  So that we can allow God to do His thing through other people, and give us the comfort He is longing to give.

Wasn't it Senator Hillary Clinton who said it takes a village?  What wisdom.  She was talking about simply raising a family, but it also applies to our life when we are in Crisis.  But to add to that wisdom, I'd have to say that it is critical that the village we seek be a group of people who are healthy, who are themselves seeking productive lives, and who encourage us to take steps to a better place.

This is what we are offering at Wings Like Eagles.  Our goal and purpose is to offer Hope that there is Life on the other side of Crisis.

I personally remember all too well that feeling of evaluating my life, feeling completely overwhelmed by it, and wishing with everything in me that I could trade places with people in my world who seemed to be in a far better place than my kids and me.  But, looking at my life now, I see how far we have come, and I can honestly say that I wouldn't want any other life than the one we have.  Even the lives I used to envy pale in comparison.  We have come through so much, yes, but we gained so much more along the way.

To me, this defines the possibility of mourning being a blessed time.  Because the comfort we receive is incredible, when we look from the other side, and see the good work made beautiful along the way.

Finding Soul Rest

Lately, I have found myself reminiscing my darkest days in Crisis.  Well, not just my darkest days in general, but a specific memory.

I remember back to 2007, driving home from work every day.  I would drive past a special hospital with a soothing and peaceful name for people needing rest.

Frequently, as I would drive past this hospital, I would fantasize pulling on in, and staying for a few days.  The idea of a bed of my own, in a quiet room, with meals brought to me on a tray was so attractive, that I even got a little rest just dreaming about it.

My life at that time was spiraling out of control.  I had kids with problems at school, who were acting out in their pain.  I had financial stresses that completely overwhelmed me, and no idea how I would be able to support my children and myself in a lifestyle that would be stable.  The needs list would grow longer each week, yet my answers list seemed short of solutions, and my energy was spent.

Whenever I would try and get myself to a point of being able to get centered, there would be another obstacle thrown into our course that would throw me off balance.  Again.  I just needed everything to stop, already, so I could get my life figured out.

In Crisis Recovery, I see many women who identify with my memory of wanting to get away for a while.  And when we think about it, are there not a lot of women who would love nothing more than a break or rest from Life once in a while, even if they aren't in Crisis?  Retreats, girls' days/nights out, even a staycation, if it doesn't involve the normal stresses of life.

I remember a fantasy I used to have when we lived in the country in Nebraska. This was before our family fell apart, and when we lived in a farmhouse with no air conditioning, no satellite TV, and only one bathroom, with just a bathtub and no shower.  When it was the middle of summer, hot, and life seemed more overwhelming, I would fantasize going down to Gothenburg for a day or two, and staying at the Super 8 Motel.  I'd have my own bed, my own TV, air conditioning, and a quiet, hot shower.  Never once did I come through for myself on that fantasy, and as I look back I wonder if I would have been more healthy as a woman, if I had.

But, we can't always get away, and checking ourselves into a hospital might not be practical, and it would probably be overkill.  But, what if we find ways to simply practice moments of rest each and every day?

Last night I was with a group of women and I challenged them all to try and take 10-15 minutes out of their morning each day this week to sit by a window with a pretty view, and just stare outside.  Relax your mind, allow your body to loosen its tension, and just fix your eyes on something pretty and peaceful.   That time of daily solitude could be a great way to start the day.  When I practice this discipline, my day goes better.  I feel more centered.

If we're feeling particularly saucy, we could even schedule a solitude/relaxation destination.  My Nebraska peeps know this all too well, except that they wrap their work around beauty and solitude.  I might add that the pace and lifestyle there is far less tense than it is in the Los Angeles area.  But those of us in So Cal can sure take their example and find a place to find soul rest.  Maybe a walk on the beach?  Maybe a stroll through a downtown Village?  Maybe a trip up to the mountains?

What do you do to find peace and solitude?

So, About This Sugar Dealio

About a week ago, Rossy Mosqueda shared with our readers the havoc sugar can wreck on our bodies, and she even shared about how it can affect our mental and emotional state.  It was eye-opening, informative, and engaging.

And I was agitated.  I think it struck a nerve with me.

When I became pregnant with my first child nearly 22 years ago, I weighed 112 pounds.  Six weeks after I had that first baby, I weighed 112 pounds.

Throughout my 20s and 30s I would go on to have a total of 6 more pregnancies.  Three were carried to term, and 3 were miscarried.  But with each additional pregnancy, I would add a few more pounds.  And when I wasn't pregnant, I'd still tack on a few more pounds for good measure.  On my 40th birthday I weighed in at 165 pounds.  And I'm 5'3".  I went from a size 3 in my early 20s, to a size 14.  I wore sweat pants a lot.

My mom, one of my sisters, and I took a class offered at the church my mom and I went to.  We went on a strict 1,200 calorie per day diet, and we eliminated all forms of sugar, potatoes, and bread for 6 full weeks.  The idea being that many of us comfort eat, and when we comfort eat we tend to run toward the starches.

In that first week I identified for the first time that I was not only emotionally addicted to sugar, but that I was also physically addicted.  I went through withdrawals.  Headache.  Body aches.  Irritability.  Similar to withdrawals from a chemical addiction, but not nearly as severe.  But withdrawals, all the same.

I started to lose weight.  On my forty-first birthday, I weighed 125 pounds.

We would eventually reintroduce sugar back to our bodies, after we learned how to enjoy it in moderation.  But since that experience, I have caught myself going back to my old habits.  Stress eating M&Ms like they're going out of style.  Baking chocolate chip cookies, and and then eating the chocolate chip cookies.  Like, most of them.

Thankfully, I haven't put all the weight back on, though I have gained a solid 10 pounds.  I have been exercising more than I ever have my entire life.  Bicycling and walking just about every day.  I carefully choose the foods I eat.  Search restaurant menus for the most reasonably caloried entrees.  Prepare meals at home that are wholesome, and healthy.

Still, those 10 pounds won't budge.  So, I sit completely stumped, and I wonder what the deal is, as I sip my coffee, and reach for my second gluten-free chocolate-frosted cupcake.

OK, so I know I have a problem.  And then Rossy goes and writes her article.

This last week I attended a meeting at Lee's school, and the guest speaker was the head of the Nutrition Department of our school district.  She had a student from Cal State Los Angeles with her as well, and they proceeded to tell us why our district is so dedicated to offering our children carefully planned, low-sugar meals.  Something I had been critical of, since I've found the whole anti-sugar thing to be extreme.  We've always had sugar in this country!  Why put the brakes on it now?

They explained that the rise of Type 1 Diabetes has become a serious issue amongst even our own students.  That in our district alone, there are 22 children with Type 1 Diabetes.

They explained that Type 1 Diabetes is the form people are born with--they have a genetic predisposition toward developing it at some point in their life.  Type 2 Diabetes is brought on by lifestyle.

I asked whether the 22 children with Type 1 was a high number compared to years past, and I was told that it is very high.  That years ago, there would only be a small handful of children with this.

They went on to further explain that it has been conclusively proven that the rise of Type 1 Diabetes in children is a direct result of the way our generation--the generation giving birth to these children--has eaten.  Like, our chemistry has mutated, so to speak, causing us to bring children into this world who will develop Type 1 Diabetes because of our over-consumption of sugar.

Yes, we have always had sugar in this country, but sugar used to be limited to desserts.  Now, with the availability of processed, prepared foods we find sugar in many entrees and side dishes, as well as in the many juices and beverages we consume daily with reckless abandon.

Add to that the fact that our children are far more sedentary than we ever were.  We would go outside and play, knowing we had to come back in when the street lights came on.  Baseball games.  Hide and seek.  Red light, green light.  Tag.  We didn't have cartoons available to us 24 hours a day, or video game screens to dull our minds, and atrophy our muscles.

So what do we do?  I'm still unsure.  I mean, duh, just cut out the sugar, right?  But, live a life without chocolate chips because we may or may not develop diabetes if we don't?  I'm not so sure.  But, I do know that this topic keeps rearing its ugly, bland, not so sweet head all over the place, and I have an obligation to investigate how I can help my family change.

And I also have to figure out how to get myself to a more manageable place, because where I sit now, I'm not in a good place at all.  It's time for change.

Lessons from a Beach Cruiser

You can learn a lot while riding a bike.

Never ride while wearing slippery sandals.  Although I have on occasion ridden in heels, and I frequently ride while wearing a dress, I've found that the slippery sandals don't work so well.  Especially if I'm wearing a dress.  You just can't look cool when your feet slip off the pedal mid-stride.

I've learned that riding on sidewalks on trash day can be a challenge.

That there are a lot of suicidal lizards in California.  I'm convinced that they time their run in front of me with precision, determined to have my front tire be the last thing they see in this life.

I've learned that if I brace myself with my leg muscles as I come upon a dip or hill, I will not only ride more gracefully, but I will give my thighs a little impromptu work-out.

But, there are deeper lessons to be learned while riding a bike, and I find that they are really good object lessons for life.

Like, when I am approaching an obstacle in my path like a telephone pole, mail box, broken glass, or apple core, it is really important that I fight my desire to look at it straight on.  Because if I do, I will inevitably lose my balance, I'll be more likely to steer into it, and things could be messy.  Especially if I'm wearing a dress.

What I need to do is keep my eye on the road before me, toward my destination, while looking ahead  for obstacles that could cause me to crash.  And when such a thing approaches, I need to keep my eyes up and beyond it, rather than at it as I try to pass.  My brain locks into my destination, and it somehow knows to steer away, and I never lose my balance.

It makes me think about life.  When there is something in front of me that could present itself as a potential problem, or even if there is a problem, if all I do is focus on the issue, I'll lose my balance and crash.  If I keep my focus on things like a health scare, financial loss, or insecurity at work, the crash will be inevitable.  It will look like depression, fear, or anxiety.  It will keep me from moving forward, and it will surely send me to the ground, and into a pit.

Rather than letting the issue(s) sideline me, if I look ahead, beyond the obstacle, I will see my destination in the distance.  I'll have my balance.  Hope.  The happy ending.  Proper perspective.  I'll be able to pass by the obstacle, leaving it in the path behind me as I pedal forward, so to speak.

Now, if while riding my bike I come upon, say, fish line, I would want to stop and carefully ride through it.  Maybe even get off my bike and walk through it.  Something like that can't be ignored, and if I try to ignore it, or just project my eyes forward, the line will get tangled up in my tires and I will end up losing my balance and falling later, down the road.

This would be like all those times that I've not wanted to deal with unavoidable things that ended up on my path. Sometimes the objects were placed in my path by someone else.  Sometimes I got off the right path and rode right into it.  Either way, when an entangling issue is before me, I absolutely have to give it some time and either meticulously work myself around it, or I have to stop and do the work of cleaning the issue up.  Because if I try and ignore it, the chances of a fall will be pretty likely.

The feeling of riding freely, as I speed past things that could be scary if I let them be, is exhilarating.  Passing them by as I ride toward my destination is liberating, and free.

And doing this with my bike is cool, too.

We're Bringing in the Big Guns

Coming soon to a Family Crisis Recovery blog near you:

A Health and Fitness contributor will be joining our team of writers, tying in the very real link between eating right, staying fit, and getting physically, emotionally, and mentally healthy.

To say that I am excited, is an understatement.

Details to Follow...:)

Silence! is all I Ask.

When we lived in the country in Nebraska, the night sky was brilliant with stars.  I used to look up, and see faintly blinking lights as jets and airliners traveled overhead, and wish I could have seen the sky before it was polluted with modern day travel.

When flights were grounded following the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, the sky was void of airplane for days.  I looked up into the night sky and only saw stars.  The view I had always dreamed of seeing.  It wasn't how I wanted it to be.  I missed our planes, and I mourned those who had been traveling on them, but were lost.

When I Learned How to be Quiet.

For the longest time, I believed that my shower had magical powers.  No matter what I had going on in my day, no matter how busy I was, and no matter how tightly wound I might be, once I'd get into the shower, my body relaxed, my mind settled, and suddenly I'd have solution to problems I had been stressing about all morning, or visions and plans would unfold that would make my day run more smoothly.

A few weeks ago, Hugo and I went with some friends to our local mountains for a day of silent reflexion.  I have never done anything like that before.  Neither had Hugo.  We knew that the company would be good, and that the location would be good, so we went with high expectations of a good time, but with no clue as to how good that time would actually be.

We met up as a group--there were about 9 or 10 of us.  Then, we split up to hike out into the woods to take in the beauty, relax, and see what God would do with us.

Wow.

It was like I was in the shower, except that I wasn't wet.  My mind opened up, my stress flew out of my body, and my mind started to flow with creativity, and ideas.

Then, a car alarm went off.  It could have been a stealer of my moment, but to my amazement, it wasn't.  It was evidence of people.  And as I sat in the woods with no view of power lines, or litter, or anything remotely human, I knew that humans were just through the trees, and I was happy.  I didn't feel like I needed to imagine life without people, like I used to with the night sky, or like I always have when I've been out in the country, or mountains.  I want it all.  The country.  The mountains.  The beach.  And bustling city life, with all her people.

VISION

When I'm quiet and still, I commune with woodland creatures unafraid of me because of my stillness.

I hear so many birds.  So many insects.  The wind moving through the trees.

The human sounds bring surprising comfort.  For my whole life, I was driven away from people, in spite of my natural need to be around them.  Was fascinated (distracted) by land untouched by man so intensely, I lived within it.

Always drawn away.  I (first) married a recluse.

People.

My destiny lies with people.  

Retreat.

My soul is rejuvenated, but my restlessness calls me away.  Dissatisfied with sleep, it awakens.

We had lots of buzzing critters swarming around our faces at times.  And then Hugo, after sitting for a while, noticed spider webs strung from tree to tree.  We hadn't noticed them before, when we were hiking.  I was inspired to write this silly little poem:

THE GNAT'S SONG

Sun catches silk not otherwise seen.

A snare for the tiny, not seeking a fiend.

But a flight through the air, on its way to and fro,

Unsuspecting.

Unsuspecting.

Sit.  Be still.  The wind bends the branch.

The silk.  Secret silk, the sun reveals in the dance.

The fiend is found out.  No feasting on me!

Thank God for the wind, and the bendable tree.

Hugo and I sat apart, but within eye shot of each other, so that we could watch each others' back.  I first planted myself in front of a tree that obstructed my view of the mountain a little.  

This is a picture.  The tree stands toward the left.  It was from this, that I wrote the next poem.

BEAUTY BEFORE ME

Always looking out.

Beyond.

Craning my neck for a better view.

Beyond.

Look to the side.

See what's there.

Pretty.  Green.  Golden.

To the other side.

Density.  Thick.  Deep.

Try to look through the patches of blue.

Broken outline of the ridge line.

Stop.  Adjust.

The tree stands.

Tall.  Strong.  Straight.

An obstruction.

No.

Right here.

My focus.

Beauty before me.

Beauty Before Me happened when I noticed how pretty the tree was, that was standing in my way.  It is about how easy it is to have things in our lives that bother us, or distract us.  We might think we're too busy to visit with the neighbor when we pull into our driveways at the same time.  We might be stressed about something in the house that needs to get done, and the demands of the kids can be irritating, and never-ending.  But yet, when we stop for a minute, and take in what's before us, we often times realize that what we have before us is precious, and would be horrible to be missed.

Slowing down.  Stopping, even.  It's a discipline I have never exercised before in my life, but it's a discipline I'm working hard to better develop from this point, on.

I challenge you.  In your commute to or from work.  Stay off the phone.  Turn the stereo off.

At home, try not to turn the TV on.  I think I was just shaking a little when I typed that.  I'm a white noise needer, and I love my TV on, even when I'm writing.

In line at the bank.  Keep your phone in your pocket, or purse.

I realized I was in over my head when I caught myself checking Facebook or Twitter on my phone, while I'd sit at the laptop, looking at Facebook or Twitter.  Always on, always reading, always receiving information, always doing, but at times, not even realizing that I was on, reading, receiving information, or doing.  But, my spirit within me knew, and it's begging for a break.

I wake up a little earlier now.  I sit in my living room, with the blinds open, I look up into the mountains, and I breathe.  And as I sit in silence, I am washed with peace, and an ability to hear the voice of God deep within my spirit, giving me direction, and encouragement.

Today, we remember the horror of September 11, 2001.  We're quiet, as we remember.  It's a good day to launch the discipline of silence.  You'll never otherwise know all the good that will come from it, unless you give it a try.  C'mon.  I double dog dare you.

Lee's Mysterious Head Pain

It's been a while since I've posted anything about some of the medical challenges Lee faces.

He had seizures before he was born. Toward the end of my pregnancy, there were times when the slow, rolling movement of a baby growing too big for his Mama's tummy were interrupted by rapid periods of shaking. It felt like Bambi's friend Thumper was in there, thumpin'. I told my doctor, but it never happened when I was hooked up to a monitor.

He had his first recorded seizure in the presence of the RN assigned to us during his second night after being born. We were due to go home the next morning. Instead, we were flown by helicopter to a bigger hospital with a NICU, where he stayed for 6 days.  Nothing significant was found to cause the seizure.

He didn't have another seizure until he was 5.  He was sitting up in bed watching Phineas and Ferb, and then suddenly grabbed the side of his head and started crying.  Then he fell unconscious.  When he came to, he was clammy, his pulse was rapid, he was dazed, and very disoriented.  He was taken by ambulance to the ER.

For about 4 hours he was emotionally flat, still, and lethargic.  Sleepy.

The hospital ordered an MRI and CT Scan.  They discovered that Lee has a Chiari Malformation.  His Neurologist explained that we would need to limit his activity from anything that might jar his neck.  Roller coaster rides.  Flips on the trampoline.  This has brought no small amount of angst to Hugo and me.  Lee is a typical 7 year-old boy.  Active.

I have written about all of this before.

The Chiari Malformation, and the seizure activity are completely separate, according to most of the Neurologists Lee has seen.  But, the pain he has had in his head has been explained as being caused by the Chiari, and some of the painful episodes have brought on seizure activity.  So, though they're not related, they do play against each other.  They're both affecting his brain.

Last winter, Lee had a new barrage of tests, and the results came back saying that no Chiari Malformation was seen.  You don't grow out of these.  So either Test #1 was wrong, or Test #2 was wrong.  So, I asked for a Test #3.  The Neurologist didn't want to do it.  So we switched Neurologists.

Now, this is where is gets, well, we'll call it funny.  Please note that I'm not in a good mood right now, so I'm not laughing.  But, on a different day, I can see that there might be some humor here.

Lee's last name happens to be a popular girls' first name, and the name "Lee," is more commonly a last name.  The result is that he is always mistaken as being a girl with the last name Lee.

I always.  Always.  Have to correct this.

We have an HMO.  We're assigned the doctors we see by the insurance company.  When I requested a switch of doctors, some clerk saw Lee's name and since they naturally assumed his last name was Lee, they further assumed he is Asian, and is an immigrant from another country.

We walked into the new Neurologist's office, and were the only Caucasians in the building.  Their sign-in forms weren't even in English.

Dr. Kim entered the room, took one look at us, and you could see the look of surprise.  He does speak English, kind of, but we have to use our hands a lot, and I have to speak slowly.  Very slowly.  And I have to repeat myself a lot.  A lot.  And I have to ask him to repeat himself.  He doesn't hesitate to show his frustration.

So, we pushed forward, and I explained my concerns.  That there was a Chiari Malformation.  With lots of physical restrictions.  Then, there wasn't a Chiari Malformation.  And as badly as we want Test #2 to be the correct test, we can't be sure that it is.  What if it is the wrong one?  What if we lift all of Lee's restrictions, only to discover tragically that we shouldn't have?

So, he told me that Lee needs to go to a specialist.  Ummm.  But, isn't a Neurologist a specialist?  He said he'd rather a Neurosurgeon look at the case and decide whether another CT Scan or MRI needs to be ordered.  That he didn't feel qualified.  Oh.  OK.

My faith in modern medicine lies somewhere between total awe at all that we have accomplished and can do, and a belief that far too many doctors are kin to the Banana Brothers Outfit.  That day, I was leaning toward the Banana Brothers theory.

Lee has been quiet.  No seizure activity, no strange pain episodes, and nothing abnormal at all for months.

Last night at 11:30 he woke up crying.  His teeth hurt.

His last dentist visit was about 4 months ago.  No cavities.  I looked inside his mouth.  No redness in the gums, no visible problems with his tooth.  I gave him Motrin and put Anbesol on his tooth.  A half hour later, he awoke again.  And again a half hour after that.  I brought him to my room to sleep the rest of the night.  He woke up whimpering, or crying every 30-40 minutes.

At around 4:15, he woke up again, crying a little more.  I got up and held him.  He was in intense pain, and there was nothing I could do to make it better.  I needed to go to the bathroom excuse myself, and while I stepped away, he grabbed his head, crying even harder, saying his head hurt.  I looked at Hugo and we decided he needed to go to the ER.

As I dressed, Hugo helped Lee get dressed, and Lee noticed that I had laid out soft basketball shorts, and a home t-shirt.  He said, "These aren't the clothes I'm supposed to wear."  It encouraged me that he caught that.  We told him that we wanted him to wear comfortable clothes.

Unfortunately, our local ER doctor also belongs to the Banana Brother Family.  He did what so many ER doctors do.  He processed the patient through.  I decided that at this point in my life, I need to just realize that the ER doctor isn't there to diagnose, or really treat a condition.   They're there to assess whether there is an emergency that needs emergency attention.  In this case, all Lee needed was pain medication, and a recommendation to follow up with his own doctor.

The doctor did see a pink left ear, but without a fever, was reluctant to prescribe an antibiotic.  I'm fine with that, actually.

The moral of this story here is that Mom can't take any time off.  I was tired from pushing for answers on Lee's condition, and since he's been quiet for all these months, I didn't continue to push to get him in to see the Neuro-Surgeon sooner.  And as a result, when this happened today, I assumed the worst.

It's looking more and more like it's a simple ear issue.  Six hours after his pain medicine dose in the ER, the pain returned.  Tessa, Adam, and I were able to get him to describe the location of his pain.  It hurts in his upper molars.  His lower molars.  His jaw.  His cheek.  And his ear.  Since the ER doctor saw a pink ear, I'm leaning on that as being the culprit.

In the meantime, I've contacted the Neurosurgeon's office to schedule an appointment.  They don't have Lee's Authorization Approval Letter, in spite of the fact that the new Neurologist's office faxed it to them 6 weeks ago.

And the former Neurologist hasn't sent Lee's records over to the new Neurologist.  So I called.  The receptionist told me that they need a new signed release from me.  That I can't fax it to them.  Or send it to them. That I have to physically take it to them.  I challenged this.

They asked for my son's name.  I told them.  First name, Lee, and then I gave them his last name.  They said his name back to me, with his first and last names switched.  I said, "No, his first name is Lee."  She put me on hold.  A new lady got on the phone.  She said his name backwards.  I said, "No, his first name is Lee."

She asked for his date of birth.  I gave it.  She put me on hold.  Came back.  Said she found his file.  And then asked for the fax number.  They're faxing it to the new Neurologist.  Without my signed release.  Whatevs.  If it gets the job done, right?  I can only hope that the doctor's assessment of me as being "INTENSE," was written on his chart, and that was what made them decide to get both Lee, and his intense Mom, the heck out of there.  Give us over to the new guy.

I'm remembering now why I needed a break from all of this.

But, then I see my little one in pain, and I remember why it is that a Mom's job is never done.  That there is never any clocking out, so to speak.  It's time to get busy.  And unleash my intensity on a new batch of medical professionals.

Living With Hyperthyroidism, A.K.A., Grave's Disease.

Tracey Anne Hallberg is my Monday Guest Contributor.  She is a survivor of Family Crisis, and proof positive that there is light on the other side.  She shares from her heart, leaving very little to the imagination.  

Her story is valid, important, and needs to be shared.  My personal journey is very different from hers, but on my journey, I have come upon many...many...who have had to live through horrors similar to the upbringing Tracey was forced to endure.  

Tracey is one of the most courageous women I have had the privilege to know, and I am honored to share Wings Like Eagles with her every Monday.

Tracey's account is graphic and raw, and is not suitable for young or sensitive readers.  I give her posts a strong PG-13 rating.

When my daughter Trinity was born, I had been going back and forth to the doctor with a list of symptoms:

• Heart Palpitations
• Sweats
• Diarrhea
• Shakes
• Hair Loss
• Insomnia
• Severe Itching
• Anxiety
• OCD, Worse Than Ever
• Fatigue
• Severe Migraines
• Rapid Weight Loss

It was like living a nightmare, and burning in hell.

I gave this list of symptoms to my doctor.  So he gave me sleeping pills, blood thinners, and migraine headache medicine.

Not ONCE did he order a blood test.  He was too busy getting kickbacks from the FDA for administering me these meds.  They often treat the symptoms, but not the problem.  

For for 6 years, I suffered.  One night, while Jason was at work, I woke up in a sweaty, nightmarish panic.  My body was shaking.  My head was pounding. My heart was on fire.

I was going to die.  Seriously.  I was also hallucinating.  As I sat up at the edge of my bed, with the room pitch black, I saw visions of melting, distorted faces.  They looked like demons.  I cried out to the Lord.  Please, God...Help me! I don't want to die!  

I looked down at my hands and legs.  They were shaking, and sweating.  My feet felt like they were detached from my body.  It was horrifying.  I remembered the prayer I loved most.  "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me...I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."  I asked the Lord,  "Please don't take me yet. I cannot leave my babies. They need me." 

That is when the Lord spoke to me, as He did when I was a child.  He said, "Seek Knowledge."  It was His same comforting, peaceful voice I remembered.

Seek knowledge?  What?  

OK.  I would have to move.  Fear nearly crippled me, as I shook my body down the hallway into Trinity's room where we kept our home computer.  I tried to slow my breathing.  It felt like my heart would EXPLODE.  I Googled all my symptoms. 


Hyperthyroidism.  Also known as Grave's Disease.  Common after childbirth.  Hormonal disease.  Made soooo much sense.  I prayed to make it through the night.  I sat up in my bed.  Took a blood thinner and finally drifted off to sleep.

The next day, I sped to my doctor's office.  I even got a speeding ticket!  Everything moved faster in my world. 

My doctor looked at this discovery and said, "Let's run a blood test."  Uhhh, yah.  You think?  

He said the results would come in a couple of weeks.  He called me the VERY next day.  He said, "You need to get in here right away.  Have your husband come get you.  Don't drive."

So Jason came home and rushed me to the doctor.  He said, "Your T3 levels are sky rocketed!"  I have never seen it this high in all my practice.  They are 3 times what they should be.  You have Grave's Disease.  For sure.  We are going to perform surgery to take out your thyroid.  You should not be here.  You should have had a heart attack!"

He asked me if my heart hurt. "YES," I replied.  A lot."  Then I told him, "Look.  You did not even issue a blood test, or find out what was wrong with me, for 5 years!  I could have died!  I don't trust you to cut me open.  You have lost your mind.  I am going to seek knowledge to find alternatives.   I can do this."  

He asked me, "How did you know to check your thyroid?"  I said, "Jesus told me." 

The look on his face was priceless.

I have discovered that sugar, breads, caffeine, preservatives, and added hormones are all bad for my condition, so I have eliminated what I can.  Added more fruit, vegetables, green leafy ones to be precise.  

I have found a new doctor.  One I could trust.

My last blood test was last week.  The results came in.  My doctor said that whatever I am doing is working.  My Grave's Disease in in remission.

So with THAT, I say to you, Jesus is REAL and He is alive.  Against the odds.  And so am I.

Living with Chronic Pain

When Adam was a baby, I began noticing an achiness in my back that wouldn't go away.  And a stiffness that couldn't be stretched out.  And sore arms.  And sore legs.  And a lot of headaches.

My grandmother suffered from severe arthritis, so associating my pain to what I always observed in her, it made me wonder.  I was still in my 20s, but could I have it too?  I went to a doctor of internal medicine, and he did a series of tests, including the blood test that could possibly detect whether I had Rheumatoid Arthritis.

When that test came back clear, he revealed his suspicion from the start, and his ultimate diagnosis.  He told me that I have Fibromyalgia.

I knew very little about it.  He explained that where arthritis is an auto-immune disorder that deteriorates the cartilage in our joints causing pain due to bone rubbing against bone, Fibromyalgia is an inflammation of our connective tissue in the space between one joint, to the next.

As I age, my Fibromyalgia has gotten worse, rather than better.  So, as I ache, and as I pain, and as I groan, and as I moan, I naturally come into contact with others who hurt, and we compare notes and solidarity, and prove the old saying true.  Misery really does love company.

Like the conversation I had with my friend Stephanie this morning.  It was our conversation, in fact, that inspired this post in the first place.  After we talked about hurting bodies, we did something  that might seem unusual to some people who have chronic pain.  We walked.

If there is anything of value that my experience has allowed me to learn about Fibromyalgia that I might want to share with anyone else who suffers, it would be this:  Move.  Your.  Body.

It is so tempting to curl up in a ball and stay in bed, or on the sofa when you hurt but for me, that plan would be the kiss of death.  In fact, if I want to guarantee a higher degree of pain, I can be sure to get it if I stay in bed, or laze around.  The stiffness increases.  The headache worsens.  And the depression, which most times goes hand-in-hand with Fibromyalgia, is harder to fight off.

The depression part of it really is interesting.  It is hard to know what came first.  Did the depression bring on the pain?  Or did the pain bring on the depression?

But, rather than sit about wondering, I have to move.  Get out.  Stay active.

This is challenging for me, because for whatever reason, I absolutely hate to exercise.  I was raised to enjoy the outdoors, and prefer being outside to being inside, I love going places, seeing things, and getting out.  But to go out for the purpose of exercise isn't so much fun, and I will put it off like the champion of procrastination that I am.  Even knowing what I know about my need to move my body.  I am my own worst enemy.

So, when I got wind that the PTA moms were walking every morning, I shamelessly crashed the party before I could talk myself out of it.  It's been awesome, too, I must say.

I love the way I feel the rest of the day.  Yes, my nearly-atrophied muscles have been a little sore, but it's a different sore from the familiar soreness of Fibromyalgia.  And I know that the muscle soreness will subside, and that as a result of the exercise, the Fibromyalgia pain will, too.

And as a side-benefit, maybe my jeans will be less uncomfortable when it's cold enough to get back into them again.

Sometimes the best therapists for all of us is a good group of friends.  And sometimes the best therapy is  getting out and doing something active with a good group of friends.  I can attest to these truths, because the exhilaration I've received from walking with these ladies has bolstered me, helping with stress, and helping to keep my anxiety at bay.  It's like a win-win-win-win on more levels than I have the desire to type the word win.

So watch out, PTA Mamas...the walking shoes will be laced onto my feet come Monday.  I'm looking forward to another great week!

The Kids Rock! Event

Last weekend Hugo and I took Lee, and my Life Friend Amy who was visiting from North Carolina, to Hancock Park in Downtown LA for the Kids Rock! Music and Eco Fest.  I was on assignment with Life in LA, so I naturally had a blast interviewing the organizers and some vendors, gaining a whole lot more understanding and respect for the organizations involved.

What was going to be a single article has morphed into four, as I will revisit the Children's Nature Institute, the Natural History Museum, and LA City Planner James Rojas' work in future articles, for a more in depth look at the things these guys are up to, in the name of education and community enhancement.

For now, I would like to share my Kids Rock! article, to give a teaser into some of the things these organizations offer.

YOU CAN READ MY LIFE IN LA ARTICLE HERE

The Harm Done to Tessa by Artificial Additives

When Tessa was a toddler, she'd throw up from time to time, and we were puzzled.  She wouldn't be sick when it would happen.  Sometimes it was after she'd eat macaroni and cheese.  Or after drinking the orange drink they used to give kids in the Happy Meals at McDonald's.  She had ear infections a lot, and would lose her antibiotic about 10 minutes after being given a dose.  We couldn't figure out what it was that was making our little girl toss her cookies, shortly after eating them.  This went on into her years as a pre-schooler.

My dear friend Jane attended a class for her son who had issues such as ADHD and Asperger's Syndrome, and at this class, she learned of the Feingold Association, an organization that educates people about the ill-effects of petroleum-based additives such as Red Dye #40, Yellow #5, and BHT, to name a few.  She learned that these artificial food colorings, flavors, and preservatives have been proven to cause the symptoms found in ADD and ADHD, and other developmental and learning delays.  I found this to be fascinating, and enjoyed hearing about her findings as she eliminated these additives from her son's diet.

One day, Tessa wanted a treat, so I opened a pouch of red princess-shaped fruit snacks, and poured them into a little snack cup.  She ate her snack, and afterward, she went into the living room to watch a video.  While sitting on our cream-colored sofa, I heard that sound that makes the the stomach of every parent sink.  The contents of her tummy soaked into our sofa.  Remember, she had just eaten red fruit snacks.  I removed her from the scene, got her cleaned up, and then went after the task of scrubbing my sofa, and removing the red dye.  I remember thinking, "Why does it always have to be red?"  My thought stunned me, and I froze.   Red.  As in dye.  I think I blinked a few times, then I got up and started checking the pantry.  The first thing I grabbed was a box of macaroni and cheese.  Yellow #5.  Then the red fruit snacks.  Red #40 (duh).  I thought about children's antibiotics.  Almost always pink...obtained by using dye.  I called Jane, told her what I figured out, I joined the Feingold Association, and we began a life change that would impact our lives forever.

Tessa has Asperger's Syndrome, and I learned through the Feingold Association, and the many doctors they hooked me up with, that for reasons that continue to baffle them, there seems to be a high level of people with disorders within the Autistic Spectrum, who can't properly metabolize these petroleum-based additives.  Hence, the vomit.

Tessa had been experiencing significant delays at that point, and within 6 months of having these additives removed from her diet, she began to blossom.  Where she had previously scribbled with black, purple, or dark blue crayons, she began coloring appropriately, and even showing evidence of artistic talent when she drew pictures.  Many of her Autistic-like symptoms disappeared, and her teachers and therapists were able to make progress they hadn't been able to achieve prior to her dietary changes. She even began to develop at an accelerated rate, reading at a 4th grade level in Kindergarten. And the throwing up ended.

Making Tessa's transition less stressful for her was easy, since I just decided to make the changes as a family, learning how to make her favorite foods from scratch, using pure ingredients.  I traded my inexpensive imitation vanilla flavoring for pure vanilla, I tossed out margarine in exchange for butter, and I found with all of our changes that our more natural ingredients made everything I cooked taste hundreds of times better.  There was not one thing we eliminated that we couldn't reproduce, and even improve upon, by using all-natural products.  And, it made me a better cook, as I began really cooking at that point, discovering that I had a passion for it.

As an adult, she's able to articulate how she feels when she eats foods that contain artificial ingredients.  She is able to veer a little, if she wants to, but she has found that if she strays too far, she can really feel it.  So much so, that she is committed to maintaining an all-natural diet.

Last year, she discovered that she has an intolerance for gluten, something the doctors with whom I consulted through the Feingold Association, told me she may need to avoid.  They told me years ago that there has been a connection with gastro-intestinal problems and gluten intolerance, and Autism, for some reason.  She had been having stomach problems, and linking her stomach upset with breads, she decided to take a stab at the gluten issue the doctors had warned against all those years ago.  She experienced such dramatic improvement, that she has certified herself a gluten-free person with only an occasional slip.  

Who would have thought, huh?  All this continues to baffle me, but the thing that shocks me the most, is how she experiences such improvement by the elimination of these things.  Whatever it takes to keep her healthy and happy, right?

If you know of anyone with ADD, ADHD, bronchial problems, chronic ear infections, or any of the disorders within the Autistic Spectrum, including Asperger's Syndrome, give the Feingold Association a look.  They have soooooo much information, and they go out of their way to hold your hand, as you seek the dietary changes they recommend.  Like, they gave me a book of foods we could eat, rather than a list of the things we couldn't.  Brilliant.  It was my grocery shopping bible.  It made our transition bearable.

http://www.feingold.org/

Joining the Fight Against Breast Cancer

In my days as a single mother, I did whatever I could to bring in as much money as I could, in order to support my children.  It was necessary, as I couldn't land a single highly paying job that was enough to support a large family.

Although I was in college when I met my ex-husband so many years ago, it was his strong conviction that I quit college once we got engaged.  His thinking was that since he didn't have a college education, it made no sense for me to have one.  I followed his line of reasoning--at the time it made perfect sense.  I now scratch my head.  Not because of the craziness of his rationale, but because of my own naivete that allowed me to jump right into that sort of thinking with both feet.

The years as a single mom were difficult on so many levels.  The worst part being my need to work as much as I did, leaving nobody to raise the children but the children themselves.  I worked at a restaurant during the week and on weekend nights, and on the weekends during the day, I worked as a promotional model.

As a promotional model, I worked for an agency that offered assignments from various companies in need of live advertising.  I would receive a packet of information about the company, and specific information about the product being highlighted.  I had to learn company slogans, marketing pitches, and catch phrases, and on assignment, I was a representative of the company--their face, if you will.

Sometimes I represented Lever, or Dove, or Activia Yogurt.  It varied, but it seemed that since I have a typical look of a trusted housewife, I got a lot of body wash or laundry detergent assignments.  The Activia assignment must have been given to me because I looked constipated.

The company I worked for contracted regularly with Costco, so I'd be one of the many people handing out information as you shop.  Except I didn't hand out samples, and I didn't wear a net over my hair.  It was the most boring, meaningless work.  Like, mind blowing boring, but the rate of pay was very good, and it got us over many financial humps.  

I'm still on the company mailing list, so I get emails every now and then offering me events to cover.  A couple of weeks ago, I thought I'd put in for an event, and after 2 years of Promotional Modeling retirement, I was given an assignment.

It was in San Juan Capistrano, and I represented Proctor and Gamble.  The assignment was to hand out breast cancer awareness lapel pins, self exam guides, and to educate the public on Proctor and Gamble's partnership with the National Breast Cancer Foundation.  And with an assignment like this, I was to find that the work wouldn't be meaningless at all.

I was amazed at the numbers of women who told me that they were breast cancer survivors, and I was saddened by the numbers of people who shared with me that they lost a loved one to this terrible disease.  So many people.  More than once, I stood with tears in my eyes as people shared with me their loss.  It was sobering to see just how many people have been directly touched by this particular form of cancer.

In the information Proctor and Gamble sent me, there was a FAQ that stated that when breast cancer is detected early, the chances of surviving to see your 5 year anniversary post treatment rises to 95%.  Ninety-five percent!  That is amazing to me.  So much so, in fact, that I about hunted down every female, whether she was a teenager, or senior citizen.  Especially the teenagers.  They think they're so invincible when they're young, but if they get into the habit of doing monthly self exams now, they'll be more likely to stay in the habit, and it could save their life.

It was a cause I was happy to support, and it was a company I was happy to represent.  In fact, I felt like giving them a plug, on the house, on my own blog.  Every time you purchase a Proctor and Gamble product, you can rest assured that your dollars are going to a company who will use a portion of their profit in this fight against breast cancer.

Buy Proctor and Gamble.  Do your self exams.  Get your mammograms.  Stay healthy.

Binge-Eating My Way Through Grief

Confession:  I just caught myself comfort eating healthy crackers.  Not that it's bad that I'm eating them.  Just that it's a lifelong battle of mine to drown my stress, sorrow, anxiety, grief, confusion, and disappointments in something yummy.  Not that anyone would consider gluten-free whole grain crackers with flax seed all that yummy.  But it doesn't have to be M&Ms, or Oreos to feed my food addiction.

I am a comfort eater.  But, rather than attack the food I'm eating, I've learned to attack whatever it is going on in the inside of me that seems to draw me to food just like Jerry floating through the air toward cheese in the old Tom and Jerry cartoons.

When I woke up this morning, I felt off.  The sun in the eastern sky was nice yesterday morning.  This morning, we were back to the thick marine layer.  Plus, I had a headache.  And an upset stomach.  And I was listless, unmotivated, pessimistic, weepy, frustrated, anxious, and hungry.  I ate a healthy breakfast before exercising so that I could take some ibuprofen, I took Lee to school, paid a bill, took Danielle to an appointment and then to school, wrote, and then blew off exercising altogether.  I didn't even shower until I absolutely had to before picking Lee back up from school.  This afternoon.

Since I've been home, I've been very snacky.  I'd practically kill for some chocolate chip cookies.   Even the bag of chocolate chips would do.

Yes, I came to the computer with a healthy alternative to the sugar, but as my lips began to puff up from the salt in these crackers, I realized that an addictive habit is an addictive habit, no matter the "drug," and the crispiness of these crackers, no matter how comforting they may be, is no way to self-medicate.

So I do what I do when I need to get it out?  I write.  And I imagine you reading what I write, with a stronger-than-ever urge to pray for me.

I need it.  I'm really anxious about the memorial service Sunday, and the graveside service Monday.

The kids will be spending the weekend with their dad, and for him, I am happy.  This is good for him to have his kids around him, and to have them accompany him to his mother's funeral.  I can't imagine what he's going through.

Death is tough.  There's no easy path here, but I don't suppose there ought to be.  Mary is worth every tear, and every bit of grief.

I feel sick over my cracker binge.  Physically.  Maybe a walk around the block will do.  A couple of times.

Thank you for listening.  I mean, thank you for reading.

Getting High...My Sensationalistic Way of Getting Your Attention

If you have been keeping up with updates on my Mary-Mom's battle with cancer, please click here for an update.
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So I get a high by being efficient.

Whether it's planning a shopping route with Mapquest, or timing the events of my day, or coming up with a menu plan, I see myself on the top of my game, and I smoke a figurative cigar in celebration.

My latest victory?  Making ten Smoothie Kits with Danielle with fruit I found on the 'Bout to Turn aisle at Fresh and Easy.  Anyone who knows Fresh and Easy, knows the 'Bout to Turn aisle.  It's where they stock and sell, at a discounted rate, the meats, fruits, vegetables, and dairy products that will be past its expiration date tomorrow, or the next day.  It's food that is, mas o menos, good still.  It's just uber-cheap.  It makes me giddy.

Some people (my sister Misti) can tell you the time their Fresh and Easy stocks this area.  I'm not that organized, but the love for surprises part of my duel-sided self thrives in the not knowing whether it will be a moment of surplus, or a moment of nothing more than a couple rusty heads of lettuce.  A few weeks ago, I came upon steaks (can't remember the cut) for 50% off!  That was a happy BBQ night.

I can't help it.  I watch the Ross commercials, where they compare the two shoppers--the one who shopped at the "other store," and only bought the one outfit, and then the smart Ross patron, who bought the same outfit, plus another complete outfit, a purse, two pairs of shoes, and a candy bar for the same price. I get goosebumps and fist-pump the Ross lady, while sneering a whispered sucka! to the other one.

Maybe it really is the little things that keep me going. It doesn't seem to take much. Things like Mapquesting my day, with all of my drop-offs and pick-ups, and making sure I don't double back more than I have to.  These types of things put me to bed with a smile on my face.

So, not only did Danielle and I streamline our smoothie operation by pre-making our Smoothie Kits, but we also brought the cost per smoothie in at just over $1 each.  That's crazy-cheap.  And each $1 Smoothie Kit makes enough smoothies for 4-6 people per day for 10 days.  It's a great start to the day, and a great meal after a (sigh) workout.

Hugo and I run a tight ship.  That's really a nice way of saying that we're cheap.  Tight.  But, we like to spend money, and we want it to spend it on other things.  With a family of 7, we have to think on our feet, if we want to stay out of the Poor House.  These kids can bleed us dry, and what they don't suck out of the bank account, Hugo and I are more than capable of finishing off with nary a bead of sweat.

So, I make it stretch.  I plan it out.  I think it through.  And I get a high.  And it feeds my slightly higher than normal OCD tendencies.  But hey, if it helps the bottom line...right?  I'll just run with it.  And as I run, I'll Mapquest the route.

Working Out Because My Buttocks is So Big

This daily exercise thing is kicking my butt.  But, that's the goal, right?

I just twisted in my chair to see Lee, when he ran into my room.  On the wall, behind my desk, is a floor-length mirror.  One I've had since my dad brought it home from the furniture store he managed when I was a little girl.  As I caught my reflection,  my eyes immediately traveled south.  I always notice my caboose.  Probably because it's the biggest object in the mirror.  Warning:  Objects in the mirror just appear to be bigger than they really are.  If only.

I'm not one for exercise.  Well, not deliberate exercise, at least.  I like exercise that sneaks up on me, like when I'm riding a horse (you do have to mount and dismount, after all), or painting a wall, or paddle-boarding.  But, let's face it.  I haven't been on the back of a horse since I left Nebraska 5 years ago, my bedrooms walls are just as pink as they were when we bought the house a year ago, and the only time I've gone paddle boarding was in Maui last February, in spite of the fact that the Pacific Ocean reaches California too.

I'm freaking lazy.  I hate to sweat.  I hate it that when I exercise, I have to choose between talking and breathing.  But do you know what I hate the absolute most?  The feeling of my fat jiggling when I move.  It's exactly why I need to be exercising, I know.  But, still.

Somewhere after my last birthday, I started developing some seriously disturbing pains.  Aches and pains, to be precise, and although a woman my age is no spring chicken, I'm not an old woman yet, and nowhere near needing to cut holes in tennis balls, so that I can put them on my walker wheels.  Besides, I don't even have any tennis balls.  I hate tennis.

So, I got back into yoga.  I've been doing it for a while now, and recently added a nice walk every morning to my routine as well.  My dog Luke loves it.  He thinks he is going to die after our second lap around the neighborhood, but he still gets excited every time I come home from taking Lee to school.  It's walk time.

A friend of mine shared on her blog that Dr. Oz recommends exercising right away in the morning, before we eat breakfast.  Something about butter melting on a hot pan, or something like that.  I don't know, I just thought I'd give it a try.  Mostly, because my habit of getting into my exercise clothes in the morning, getting going with my day, showering, and getting dressed, without ever exercising was a habit I needed to break.  So it's potty, brush the teeth, and then Downward-Facing Dog.  And then, walk the dog later.

This is so a new me.  In my entire thirties, I completely let myself go.  Extreme control and constant belittling from my now ex-husband had taken me to such a low, that I sought comfort in food, swallowing with every calorie-filled bite, the broken pieces of my self-esteem.  I'm 5'3", and I weighed 105 pounds when I married him.  I let myself go to 165 pounds, and I wore a size 14.

I joined a class that deals with the whys of our poor eating habits, and then teaches how to view food, and eat it so that it helps our body, mind, and spirit.  That was the first of many big steps, and I lost 40 pounds.  This was in 2007.  I've put about 10 of those pounds back on, so I'm thinking that through exercise, I'd like to see myself get back to a more comfortable size, and rid myself of those premature aches and pains.

I'd have to say, though, that this new way of living has been working well for me.  The thing I hate the most about exercising, though, is that slowly but surely, I'm seeing results.  Dang it.  That means I can't stop in exasperation, because it isn't working.  But what I like the most about it, is the high I get afterward, that seems to follow me throughout the day.  It's like caffeine, without the shakes, and I'm digging it.

Hugo called me this afternoon, and I found out that he hadn't eaten lunch yet, but that he thought he might go downstairs to see if he could get a danish to hold him over.  I freaked out all over him, and told him that he needed to get a sandwich, or something more healthy.  I even made him promise.

I suppose the down side on this transformation of mine is that I'm pretty sure I've gone over into the Dark Side, and have become a Health Nazi.  It's OK.  I know I'll settle down with time.  But as I have commissioned myself as the Manager of Nutrition Services in my house, I take my job very seriously.  Just don't look for me to become the Manager of P.E. anytime soon.  I do good to get myself on the Stupid Elliptical.  I won't be strong-arming anyone else to do it too.  But I do find that I talk to the kids a lot about how much better I feel after I exercise...

However, this I know about myself, or at least about my booty.  No matter how many laps I walk, or bicycle, or no matter how many yoga postures I master, when I look in the mirror, my eyes will still travel down south, and the object in the mirror will still be big.  But, rather than let that make me lose my focus and cause me to give up, I choose to thank GOD for making Jennifer Lopez, Beyonce, and Kim Kardashian just as juicy as He did.

And my now in vogue posterior and I will feel better, in spite of it.

Mary Mom Update and My Love-Hate Relationship With Fruit

I get mad at fruit sometimes.  It's deceptive.  It looks sweet, and happy, but then I take a bite.  So many times, I've been disappointed by the lack of sweet.  If given the choice between a bowl of vegetables or a bowl of fruit, I'd take the veggies, hands down.  No contest.  Unless the fruit was dipped in chocolate.  Even then, I sometimes suck the chocolate off and leave the fruit.

Unless it's pineapple in Maui.  I'd take that stuff over candy.

One of our favorite summer treats is the fruit smoothie.  It's one way I can guarantee to get my fruit intake in.  I don't add sugar, either.  I suppose it's a psychological thing.  I don't expect the smoothie to be sweet like a milkshake, so I accept that it's kind of tart.  It's the real deal, raw fruit, and all of the nutritional benefits.

Yesterday Hugo and I took the kids to see my ex-mother-in-law.  She was released to go home from the one hospital, only to have to go back to a better hospital within the next week or so.  Her brother is friends with the former head of Neurosurgery at Loma Linda University Hospital, and he is helping to direct the family toward the best options for Mary.

She looked great.  We sat outside in the back yard while Hugo swam in the pool with Lee, Abi, and Adam.  She enjoyed seeing the kids play.  She talked a lot about her ordeal in the hospital.  She is aware that she was extremely disoriented while she was there, but she still doesn't have everything sorted in her mind.  She is trying so hard to hold onto the ability to keep everything straight, but her brain is a stubborn adversary.  I listened to her, and simply walked along her memories with her, doing my best to keep it all sorted, and to help her make sense of everything.  Things like talking it through with her when she says she was in a trailer...when she was in the hospital.  It was a smaller hospital, yes, but it wasn't in a trailer.  So we sort through the logic, working on the parts that seem to stress or confuse her the most.  And then we do it again.  Her short-term memory is challenged.

None of her disorientation has been caused by medication.  One hundred percent of this is the tumor and swelling around the tumor on her brain stem.  As the tumor and swelling subsides, the confusion should go away.  It will be interesting to see what the doctors at her new hospital say.  As of right now, they are deciding between Cedar Sinai and City of Hope...both very good hospitals.

I got to harvest and bring home peaches and strawberries from their yard before we left.  Six pounds of peaches, and two pints of strawberries, to be exact.

So as I blanched and put up those peaches last night, I learned something about myself.  California Kristi is far more picky than Nebraska Kristi.  There were 2 peaches that each had a worm residing within.  Nebraska Kristi would have salvaged the part of the peach the worm hadn't visited--no waste.  California Kristi threw the whole thing away.  California Hugo thanked me.

They were otherwise great, as far as fruit go, and yes, as I nibbled the peaches and strawberries, testing for sweetness, I was my usual mad-at-fruit self.  But once I add all that sugar to the peaches when I make the cobblers, it'll be fabulous.  The rest will undoubtedly be turned into smoothies.