Happy Birthday To Me

Being a hypochondriac, I tend to avoid the doctor.  Because if I went to the doctor every time I thought something was wrong, I would be there every other day.  It amazes me that that, with all the things that could go wrong, more often than not our bodies are well oiled machines. 

However, in the spring I kept getting bacterial infections - Strep throat, UTI's.  My period, which was always consistent, knocking on my door every 28 days was becoming a very unexpected visitor, coming whenever it wanted and staying for longer than I would like.  And being a total B**** while it was here.

So I went to the doctor.  We did the whole 9 yards of testing and were relieved to find that the only thing out of whack was my blood sugars.  Low enough that I was not diabetic (yet) but high enough to warrant some radical lifestyle changes in order to ensure I would not be diabetic within the next few years. 

I started by cutting out sugar.  This, for me, was almost as hard as quitting smoking.  I love sugar.  In everything.  I have sweet teeth, not a sweet tooth.  Once that was done, I cut out gluten, dairy and red meat.  Within weeks, I had lost 8lbs and 2 inches from my stomach (probably from bloating...).  I was feeling great.  People were noticing a difference.  Clothes were fitting looser. 

Then I felt it.

I wasn't quite sure what "it" was.  It was hard and it was in my abdomen.  I knew I had been eating better, so the thought crossed my mind that under the layers of fat that had been shed I had rock hard abs and wouldn't have to worry about doing 100 sit ups every night and every morning.  I was also hoping the same phenomena would show itself in my behind and thighs. 

I was in the doc's office getting results for something else and this voice in my head kept saying, "Tell her about it.  Tell her about it.  Tell her about it."  So I did.  Prefacing it with my, "I know I'm a hypochondriac, but..."

This led to a very awkward moment whereby I had to tell my doctor 3 times I was sure I was not pregnant because I have not had sex in a very long time and I was certain that was a necessary link in the pregnancy chain.  My doctor should not play poker because her poker face sucks.  She went white and very serious and had me in for a CT scan within days.  The next day the result:

I do not have rock hard abs.

I have a rock hard tumor.

In my uterus.

The size of a melon.

Days after that, I had appointments with specialists and biopsies were booked.

Ten days later I was sitting in the specialist's office when she told me it has grown even more and is now sitting just under my rib cage.  I look...pregnant...  Two minutes into our visit, we had booked a total hysterectomy for the following week.  That's this coming Monday.

Monday I will join the hundreds of thousands of women who have gone before me with reproductive "issues" and total hysterectomies.  Two of which are my paternal grandmother and aunt. 

Monday I will no longer be able to have any more biological children.

I've been trying to figure out how I feel about that.  My whole life, I thought for sure I'd have oodles of children running around with my blood running through their veins.  When Q's dad and I split, I thought for sure someone else would come along to make that dream happen.  And now, here we are...he (whomever *he* is) hasn't shown up yet, and now my uterus is exiting stage left (or abdomen, lower right).

Here's the thing, I think I'm totally okay with it.  Like, I've forced myself to try and get really sad over it - but I just can't.  Maybe I'm in shock, because from finding the mass to surgery date has been just under a month.  But maybe, I'm just okay with it.  I would rather choose life, than hope for something that might not ever happen.  My life has taken many twists and turns that I certainly have not planned, but every twist has turned out better than I could have ever planned.  The truth is, I'm relieved.

I'm relieved I found it.

I'm relieved I listened to that little voice in my head.

I'm relieved the doctors have moved on it so fast.

I'm relieved soon my organs won't be so squished and my lower back won't hurt and my tummy won't feel so bloated and it won't feel like I have to pee every 5 minutes. 

I'm relieved technology has come so far that this is considered a *low-risk* operation and that my gynecologist is totally hip and wears Fluvogs.  I feel like I can trust some one's judgement in the operating room if I can approve of their fashion choices. 

And then let's talk about the blessings:

No more periods.  NO more cramps.  4-6 weeks of spa (I mean, recovery...) time.  And like 10lbs instant weight loss.

Also, I have been reminded over and over again just how am blessed that I have so many wonderful friends and family around me who have listened while I've processed things out loud, who have been praying for me, and who have been gifting me with awesome things to do with the next six weeks of free time that I have on my hands (adult colouring books and the newly released Humans of New York book).  Any my mother, who has dropped everything to nurse me back to health.  What would I do without my momma?

I wasn't going to blog about this, because it's my uterus.  And that's kind of private and uncomfortable and taboo and gross.  But here's the thing...women everywhere are suffering from similar things.  A mom on Q's hockey team is going through the same, and a colleague at work, and a dear friend, and so I thought it's a shame for us all to be suffering in silence.  Let's talk about it and not be shamed. 

Let's talk about it.

Because it's not going away. 

Fibroids, tumours, endometriosis, cysts.

They're not going away.

So tell your story.  I bet there will be at least 10 women around you, suffering from the same, and wishing there was someone to talk to about it.

Women have to be there for other women.  We *get* each other.  Every experience should unite us in our womanhood. 

I don't know if mine is cancerous.  Once it's out, they'll send it to the cancer agency and they'll run tests and also go over the two biopsies I've already had.  Chances are very low that it is...so I'm remaining optimistic.  But I'll be sure to tell you all about what they find, because I want to know all about it.  How much it weighs, what it looks like, does it have teeth (ala steven king....)?!?!?!  Right???  Who wouldn't want to know??

This whole event has actually strengthened my faith in God, my faith in the knowledge that whatever happens, I'm in His hands.  It's been so comforting, and I am filled with peace.  In fact, for the past month, I've had this song in my head that I used to sing as a little girl in church:

I'm in His hands
I'm in His hands
Whatever the future holds
I'm in His hands
The things I cannot see
Have all been planned for me
His way is best, you see
I'm in His hands

So funny I haven't though about that song in probably 20 years and lately I've been humming it every day.  I know this isn't something I was expecting and it certainly wouldn't be on my list of life plans, but it's happening and I know that how ever it turns out, I will be okay.

And....

I'll never have another period again.

Which leads me to this thought:

Maybe PMS isn't a thing, and I'm just this way...

I guess we'll find out.

On Monday morning, at about 11:15 if you're not doing anything please say a little prayer for me.  Pray that God will guide the hands of the surgeon (and that she picks super cute scrubs for the operation), that He will assist my body with pain management and healing, and that everything will turn out the way He has planned.

A-men.

And the hospital better throw a rocking party, because it will be the third anniversary of my 35th birthday on Tuesday.

Grey Hairs Suck ~ and Other Revelations

I found another grey hair last night.

I think part of what is so shocking when I find a grey hair is that I'm not actually looking for it.  I'm usually doing my makeup and I'll see a glisten in the mirror out of the corner of my eye.  A wiry glisten and I'll just know.  "Oh no," I think.  Not again.

And of course I'll pull it out but that doesn't mean it wasn't there in the first place. 

Now I feel bad for all those times I told my mother I thought grey hair on a woman looked *distinguished*.  What a load of BS.  It looks old.  That's what it looks like.  Old.  Dye those mo-fos...that's my new motto.  Or the times I thought, "Wrinkles are just memories of laughter."  Again, BULL.  Wrinkles are signs that you squinted too much in the sun, or frowned.  Your skin is not so forgiving because it is old and so now your skin remembers every little thing. I will most definitely consider Botox (when I can afford it).

It's another reminder that 35 is waiting for me right around the corner.  It's another mid-life sign.

Despite that whole rant, I've had a little change of heart when it comes to my most recent *blah* phase.  Yes I am older than I've ever been. But that's not going to change.  Because now, I'm older than I was when I wrote that first sentence (geez, now I'm just freaking myself out).

I've had to remind myself of something very important that I happened to forget while in the midst of all this *old* turmoil.

Happiness is a Choice.  

Just as whether I want to be a blonde or brunette is a choice, I have to choose my point of view.  There are so many things in this life that can get you down...debt woes, self image problems, global warming, poverty, death...the list goes on and on.  You (or I) can choose to focus on those things, or you (I) can choose to focus on the blessings.  So there's a nasty rumour going around work about me (I know it's not true), so I'm a little bored at work (I can find challenges).  I am right where I'm meant to be right now.

And so I choose to be happy.  I choose to turn my frown upside down.  I choose to be the change I wish to see in the world.  

It's true that I've never been on a mission to Africa (like this book I'm reading right now, Kisses from Katie...I have permanent goosebumps from reading this woman's story.  I highly, highly, highly recommend it.  Like if you only read one book this year, read Kisses from Katie).  It's true I've not pulled a drowning man from the ocean.  It's true I've even witnessed a car accident and then driven away instead of giving my name as a witness (eeps, I still feel guilty about that one...)  I can choose to be kind to everyone, giving to those who seem to deserve it the least, and willing to make a difference.

It's the small things that matter.  Small things done with great love. 

I don't want to justify doing NOTHING.  Doing nothing is poor form when we're given this awesome experience called life.  But I do want to remind myself, mostly, that not everyone can be a brain surgeon.  Not everyone can run into a burning building and save a mother pregnant with triplets.  Not everyone can thwart terrorist attacks or make decisions for a country. 

Everyone can be kind.  Everyone can be thoughtful.  Everyone can be a listening ear.

I was getting so depressed because here I am working in mail.  For as far as my eye can see, there are parcels.  Boxes and boxes and boxes.  None of the boxes are filled with hearts for transplant.  Most of them are filled with purchases people bought on-line.  Whatever.  The point was I couldn't imagine anyone feeling called to work in a post office.  How could I make a difference in the world in a post office?  I started to think that no one really feels called to work in a gas station, either.  No one feels the need to haul garbage for a living.  Someone working in Tim Horton's probably didn't dream of serving coffee to people since they were little.  There are jobs that need to be done in this world that don't necessarily seem important.  It's not the job that matters, it is the attitude and care with which we do said job.  

So I can do a mundane job.  I can do a mundane job with a crappy attitude.  Or I can do a so-so job with a crazy, out of this world happy attitude that immediately disarms people and tears down walls they've built up over the years.  

I think the real tragedy would be missing out on those experiences. 

And finding another grey hair. 

That would also be a tragedy.

Confessions

You know when you're afraid to admit something because it might jinx things?  Like when you say, "Wow, the boys haven't had one soccer game in the rain this season!!"  and then it rains for the next four Saturdays in a row?  Ya.  Or when you say, "I haven't had a zit in like forever," and then you wake up the next morning with a massive mo fo right in the middle of your forehead?

Co-incidences like that make us want to "knock on wood"  or not even utter such words to begin with.  I should admit that I'm a little hesitant to write this post at all, knowing that if it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.  However, I really truly believe that this blog is all about putting myself out there and being honest with myself and you, my faithful followers.  I've thought an awful lot about it.  So, here goes....

I'm...

...happy.

I know.  You totally weren't expecting this at all, were you?

Everything in my life is really, really nice right now - with the exception of this bumper crop of acne my skin is harvesting right now.  I mean, seriously?  I'm 33, zits.  Let me be.  Let me settle in with the crows feet, laugh lines and growing wrinkles.  I don't need acne too.  I feel like I'm 13 again. Ooooohhhh, maybe it's all my *happiness* oozing from my pores...but I digress...

I'm happy.

Not in an annoying way, though. 

In a content way.

I'm super duper content.

This is what scares me the most to admit...

I like my job.  For the first time since I began working with mail, I actually like my job.  It's the perfect combination of stress (I thrive on work stress...time crunches, deadlines, quotas, etc), employee dynamics and company involvement.  I always fall in love with my employees, some more than others.  It's always so interesting getting to know a whole new group of people when you have no pretenses or expectations.  The influence of the company isn't as evident now that I no longer work in the mail plant.  Being away takes you away from the politics that tend to bog you down.  And we have a new CEO.  His name is Deepak Chopra, and I was totally stoked because I thought it was the meditation guru and we were going to start our mornings with the downward facing dog, but alas...there is more than one Deepak Chopra.  I guess it's a popular name in India.

I like the work/life balance that day shift allows.  It is so nice that I have evenings free, that I'm not exhausted all the time, that I have time to myself, and that I have oodles of time to spend with my little man.  It's so nice to have balance.  I've seen my one girlfriend three times in three weeks instead of once in three months.  It's so nice to have some girl time.  And at the end of the day, I come home to a wonderful home.  It's home. 

I still haven't figured out the whole sleep thing yet.  God gave me the gift of sleep.  Little known fact, I was a month late when I was born.  My poor momma says my due date was October 15 and I was born on November 17.  Isn't that horrible?  But, it just goes to show that I come by sleep honestly.  I was born with the gift of sleep.  I was sleeping through the night at one month old.  Unheard of, right?  I like to sleep.  Having a free evening is nice.  Spending it sleeping is silly.  I gotta get some balance. 

My life is complete and I am content.  I couldn't ask for more. 

Well, I could...but let's not get greedy!

The Rules

So, I watched "He's Just Not That Into You" the other night. I might have read the book a few years back...but didn't pay it much attention. The core theme through out the book is that if a man wants to be with you, he will move mountains in order to do so, if a man wants to talk to you, he will call you. In theory, it totally makes sense. We've been conditioned as women to think that if a man treats us like shit, it's because he likes us and doesn't know how to deal with his emotions...ie: the pulling of pig tails in elementary school. But if a man isn't talking to you, most likely it is because he doesn't want to. I get this. It has taken awhile, but I can now confidently say, I understand this concept...totally... Guys have been given mixed signals. Like the "woman's lib 'movement' girl" aka - do not approach me. If I want to talk to you, I am woman enough, I am confident enough, I will come to you. Then there's the "Rules Girl" aka - If a man wants to call me, he'll make the first move. Which, of course, is not to be confused with the "Games Girl" aka - If you can't tell I'm interested by the way I'm twirling my hair around my finger, then I am not going to even consider talking to you. Then there's the shy girl, the bold girl, the loud girl...the list goes on and on and on. And the really crappy thing is that any of the above girls could quite possibly be the SAME girl depending on the evening, mood, and alcohol consumed. What happened to the good old days where you passed a note across the class that said "I like you. Do you like me?" and then there were 2 choices...yes or no. It should be that easy. That would make things so much more convenient for me. And yes, in my world, it's all about me. I don't have time to wait around anymore for some guy to try and figure out which type of 'girl' I am, and then make his move. I mean, I don't have time figuratively and literally. I'm getting older. Soon I'm afraid I will be an old crazy woman with 15 cats...you know the stereotype...yelling at kids from my front door in my housecoat. I mean, I do that now on occasion, but I'm yelling at MY kid, so I think it's okay. The movie ends by every single love story (I think there are at least 4 or 5) ending in exceptions to the rule. I'm not sure if they did this on purpose or tongue in cheek or just because reality is too depressing and we all gravitate to the feel good rom-com's. The truth is you can't put rules on feelings. You can't control how you feel, how you fall in love, nor even with whom you fall in love sometimes. Love happens. It happens online, it happens in person, it happens when you're least expecting it. The only 'rule' I attest to is this, "be open to love." Be open to the possibilities. Be open to the beauty, be open to the happiness, be open to the experience. Let down your guard and know that it is a gift to love someone and have them love you in return. I'll suffer a hundred broken hearts for the one who will heal. Yes, many times happy endings only happen in the movies, but I've heard it said, "if it's not happy, it's not the end." Oddly enough, I've never been more content to be single as I am as I write this. I am not looking for "the one." I am not feeling lonely or alone or like there is a void that needs to be filled. I am content. I have been blessed beyond belief. Taking happiness from that is an awesome experience. I can throw away the "Dating makes you want to die, but you have to do it anyway", I can ditch the POF account for good, I can stop reading the "dating guide, 40 ways to know he's into you' (booooooooring). If it happens, it happens. If not, I'll go out and buy a couple kittens and call it a day :)