Take Me Somewhere Where I Can Breathe

If you know me very well, you know that my favorite place on earth is the state of Washington. My family tried to move there, but it just didn't happen. I'm not complaining. I'm very thankful for our family, friends, church and house right here where we do live...and the state of Washington is still in existence; it just takes some effort, time and money in order to get there.


Well that is precisely what I had the pleasure of doing this last weekend. Shari (aka See Mom Run) and I hopped on a plane and were hospitably received by the wonderful Jay, Mimi, Diana and Rylee.
 

After disembarking, Di immediately drove us to one of the many, many beauty spots to soak up some nature where pretty much everything is gorgeous.

Even stumps.



Isn't it magnificent?

Here I am in front of said glorious stump:



Don't I look happy? I almost didn't include this pic, because apparently when I'm happy my eyeballs disappear behind my ultra-fleshy lids. It's not the best look for me. However, I think joy should trump beauty, so...ta da!

On Saturday, Diana took us on an adventure. It was called: Hiking 8 Miles in the Rain When it's 44 Degrees on the Mountain.

It was fabulous.

See this?

In some places, this is called a brook, but in Washington it's called a hiking trail. At some points, this hiking trail was up to our ankles. Honestly.

Check out these mushrooms:



Shari said she was tempted to jump up and down on them to see if any gold coins would pop out.

These are some of the glorious views we had as we trod along:

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, places like this do exist. I regarded that as a miracle when I discovered it firsthand.

When we returned to the car, we were soaked (some of my clothes could NOT have been wetter) and quite cold, especially our hands. Diana struggled to press the button on the remote to unlock the trunk whilst I was in the outhouse attempting again and again and again to undo the buttons on my shorts.

Yes, we were cold and dripping, but we were oh-so-happy. See?

Here we are awhile later when our thumbs were working again:

 

(I had to get a shot in where we look reasonably presentable.)

Thank you, ladies, for being two of the best friends I could ever hope for. I love you both more than text can express.


Thank you, Jesus, for good, good gifts.

From the Formerly Prognosticating Laundress

I used to think God’s will

Was an interminable laundry day

With all of us scrubbing

At dripping and twisted white linens

Until our knuckles bled

As we squinted at the towering blue sky

And the sun’s ferocious beams

Swallowed most of our vision,

As we wondered how to throw

Those cloths up over the stratospheric drying line.

Used to.

Now I’m not sure what it is

But my hands bleed for reasons other than frantic scouring,

My neck no longer aching with the strain of divination,

And I trust that whatever it is

Will be eye-level when He wills it there

As the cloths ripple in a light breeze or rip in a gale

And music paints each of my days.

Super Short But Possibly Still "Too Much Information"

It's been eight days since I was opened up and had chunks of me removed.

I wanted to write a long account detailing various aspects of my surgery and recovery in hopes of helping others who may someday face the same fate, but frankly, I feel like crap so just a few lines of text feels like an accomplishment. Here's to hoping they make sense!

Oh, look! I managed to include a photo:

No, the above picture isn't me; it's Gillian Anderson in "Great Expectations", but hers is a fair representation of me right about now.

I'm convinced that the neighborhood children are going to start rumors about the creepy, hunched-up, disheveled lady who can be seen on dark, dreary nights stumbling up or down the staircase, the mere glance of whom can turn you into stone...

I hope no one has any expectations of me right about now, 'cause it ain't happenin'. Sorry, but pain, healing and a medication haze are making sure of that.

Anyway, the surgery itself  took over twice as long as the surgeon expected since the masses were FIVE times what he expected and he ended up removing THREE POUNDS of tumors and tissues from my poor little overwrought abdomen. THREE POUNDS!!!

Yeah, that was hard for me to believe, especially since I'd had an ultrasound done just a few weeks ago. I mean, fibroids can't grow by 500% in a little over a month, can they???

He explained it to me (and I'm sure it made sense to him), but what I think he said is that there were a bunch of previously undetected fibroids woven into the actual walls of my uterus which turned a run of the mill abdominal hysterectomy into something on par with the evacuation of a small nation like Luxembourg.

He gave me a photo per my request. It's rather shocking. I'm confident that for the rest of my life, purchasing three pounds of anything from the butcher will have a whole new meaning to me.

Okay, before I once again retire to the couch where I will watch an episode of Mythbusters (which I may or may not have already watched at some point in the past week. Who knows...) I must give a whole-hearted (though physically pathetic) shout-out to all the dear people who clearly love me.Thank you so much to everyone who has helped me and my family out. I'm so thankful for each and every one of you.

Now, time to rest...some more...

With Toes Tightly Curled

Last week I had the pleasure of enduring an endometrial biopsy. If you aren't familiar with that term, I'll simply tell you that it involves a speculum, a cervical dilation, sharp tools to cut off chunks of your living flesh and a complete lack of propriety and modesty. If you aren't familiar with any of those then consider yourself fortunate.

It actually wasn't as painful as I feared. Still, I was not able to relax. My feet were like arthritic claws propped up in the stirrups. I'll bet that doctor and nurse see a lot of curled toes.

Next week holds more fun with the removal of my uterus and its multiple tumors. Then the following six weeks are going to be spent recuperating from the whole ordeal. Yeah, my summer's pretty much shot. (Any suggestions on how to spend time lying in bed, toked up on pain-killers while your severed abdomen knits itself back together?)

Lots of hysterectomies aren't too big of a deal because they're performed laproscopically which involves a few little incisions in the abdomen. Unfortunately, this isn't an option for me due to the size of my fibroids. See?

 the artist's interpretation of her uterus 

Though the tumors are being represented by an orange, two pluots and a lemon in the above photo, their dimensions are similar to the real beasts as proven by the ultrasound I had.

You know how when an extremely overweight person needs to go to the hospital but they can't fit through their front door so a wall has to be busted out and heavy duty ramparts need to be constructed over which to convey said morbidly obese patient?

Well, just call my womb "Large Marge" and my doctor the wrecking crew.

Yeah, I'm basically having a c-section but without the cute little bundle of joy at the end. (Doc did say he'd take photos of his findings for me, though, since I asked.)

After the doctor described in detail what the surgery and recovery would be like, I asked if he really thought this was all necessary. I mean, yes, I'm having symptoms, but I'm not miserable and this solution is quite a big deal. He reminded me that the final decision was mine to make, but his educated opinion is that the fibroids will just continue to grow and cause more and worse problems.

*sigh*

So, let's look on the bright side, shall we? I have access to excellent medical care. That's something for which to be extremely grateful. Yep, my summer may be shot, but my autumn (and the next couple of decades, hopefully) will likely be free of sciatica, pressure on my bladder and a whole host of other unpleasantries.

Oh, let's not forget no more menstrual cycles! Yes! This Independence Day I declare myself independent from that annoyingly loyal ball and chain!

Happy Fourth of July, everyone.

The (Most Recent) Fruit of my Womb

My uterus has done some great things in its time.

After all, it played an indispensable role in the production of these two beauties:

(one of my all-time favorite pics of my kids)

Well, perhaps because it's dissatisfied with its negligible existence as of late, my womb has taken up a new hobby.

It's called: growing fibroids.

Apparently it has quite a knack for this new pastime as it has produced four of them, the largest of which is the size of this 8 cm orange:

That's huge!

To say I'm bursting with pride over my uterus's talent would be a grossly inaccurate statement. I am, however, bursting with something as I'm starting to look a wee bit pregnant.

I think I'll take a sharpie to one of these shirts...

 

 ...cross out "BABY" and write in "QUINTUPLET FIBROIDS", just to clarify.

I won't give details about my symptoms (although I probably lost the guy-readers at the second word of this post already), but let's just say I'm glad that something can be done to halt them.

What is that something, you may wonder...

A hysterectomy, most likely.

It's my understanding that if fibroids are removed, wily and determined uteri like mine have a tendency to start cultivating a new crop, sometimes even more bountiful than the first. 

No thanks.

That's alright. I'm done with my uterus. I'm pushing 40, which doesn't feel that old, but in baby-producing terms it's practically ancient. My womb is a relic, really.There's probably an inch-thick layer of dust enveloping the detested-in-utero-masses at this very moment.

So I'm wondering if my doc will let me take it home. My growth-filled uterus, that is. Maybe I could dry it out, fully intact and then hang it up in a tree as a pinata to festively celebrate my looming 40th birthday. Swing, batter!

Okay, sorry. That was possibly the most disgusting thing I've ever included in this blog o' mine which dates back to 2008, but at least I didn't post any photos of actual fibroids. The internet is rife with them (if you know where to look), and let me tell you: they are FOUL.

FOUL!

Therefore, I would like mine out, please, along with the dastardly womb that has nurtured and grown them for who knows how long within its dark, inner sanctum. 

Geez, an organ gets bored and this is what happens? I mean, I know it's been out of the spotlight since it evicted Delaney 15 years ago, but seriously, couldn't it do something more beneficial than sprout massive blobs of useless and cumbersome tissue?

Sneaky, unprincipled womb! What's next on your "Secret Garden" list? Cannabis???

Anyway, I've got a doctor's appointment tomorrow so hopefully I'll get some answers to all of my fibroidal queries...

That Glorious Chagrin

Some of you know the sensation of which I speak.

It's that unmistakable slurry of joy, awe, embarrassment and thankfulness you are overwhelmed by when you see God has granted you something beyond what you dared pray.

We are presently reveling in it, our souls singing beneath our ducked heads.

It's difficult to speak of such things because I don't want to sound as if I'm bragging. Yet, the goodness we find ourselves saddled with is not the result of our own actions so telling of it isn't boasting.

We have been blessed (such a trite word, but there's no suitable substitute) with a fantastic house in an area in which I never dreamed of living.

It's like back when I was in high school and I just knew I'd never be elected Homecoming Queen.

I was right.

It never happened.

But this thing that I knew would never happen, did happen.

Last January, we sold our house within four days of putting it on the market. We promptly moved in with my gracious mom and lived several weeks with her in her 55+ community while looking for another house to buy. It was a very frustrating process, putting in good offers just to be told that we'd been outbid. That happened about 13 times!

But when we got this house, it was all worth the wait and the wondering, the frustration, even worth the weeks of driving 10 miles an hour through the retirement community.

Here we are, "playing croquet" on our extensive front lawn which Jeff has dubbed "The Mustache" for obvious reasons.

(Yes, we wanted a little, itty-bitty yard! It was with great joy that we sold our mower and weed eater. Oh, and by the way, these photos are supposed to be silly even though we look rather serious in them.)

So now we bask in that glorious chagrin, thankful that God knows our needs and meets them beautifully, in spite of our frailties and doubts.

Thank You, Jesus!

On Speaking to God Honestly and Expectantly

Crude Communication

Decades of prayers

Have risen to endless blue

Like ill-formed smoke signals

From this fire of me

They have not

Cooled and unclamped my fists,

Have not spent my soul 

To tranquil piety

Rather,

I breathe out acrid, clinging words,

Tasting blood and bile

Wondering fitfully

How beauty will be woven this time

'Tis the Season to Learn Stuff

For Christmas this year, I got some bits o' knowledge.

Sure, I'll share them with you:

#1--If three things you ordered online for your daughter don't arrive before the big day, simply wrap up some things for her that she's already seen a thousand times. As she opens each present, tell her, "This is not your gift." (Also, next year, order things online a bit earlier.)

#2--Don't assume that just because kids are in fifth grade that they no longer believe in Santa Claus. If you do assume this and begin to speak about the jolly old elf who flies through the air in a sled delivering toys to every single child on earth as a mythical being then you may get a few dirty looks from parents and a few confused looks from the children themselves. 'Twill not be the highlight of your holiday season.

And, finally, the pearl of greatest price in this season's oyster of wisdom--

#3--It's not a good idea to wrap gifts on your bedroom floor. When you do this, it's quite possible that hairs of ill-repute may somehow get stuck to the tape which you are using to fasten your wrapping paper, consequently horrifying anyone who comes into contact with the gift. Remember, Christmas presents aren't meant to unnerve and dismay their recipients, nor to shame and scandalize their givers.

Don't forget these vital lessons over the next eleven months, but do enjoy your recovery time.

Happy New Year!

Soooo Easy and Good

Lentils are pretty much the perfect food.

I mean, look at these stats:

Can you believe how much fiber, protein, vitamin B9 and iron are in just one serving?

I experimented with a few recipes utilizing dried lentils and they were okay, but then I caught sight of something delightful in the refrigerated veggie section at Fresh and Easy. It was a vacuum packed "brick" of steamed lentils. Trader Joe's sells a similar product. The steamed lentils are a bit more expensive than the dried ones, but soooo worth it, and besides, they're not too costly. While dried lentils can end up sort of chalky or gummy when you serve your dish, the steamed lentils are tender but hold their shape. They're already cooked when they are steamed so you really only need to heat them through before serving.

So here's the recipe you can whip up in about ten minutes:

Lentil Curry

1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon onion powder
2 tablespoons curry paste
4 teaspoons white sugar
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1 8 ounce can tomato sauce
1- 15 oz can fire roasted tomatoes
1 15 ounce can of coconut milk
1 17 ounce package of steamed lentils

(I didn't photograph the butter, sugar or salt because I figured you all knew what those look like.)

Melt the butter in a big frying pan over medium heat. To it, add the next eight ingredients. Stir well and continue to cook over medium heat for about five minutes to meld the flavors:
 

Watch it to make sure it doesn't burn. That would be a very sad waste of deliciousness.

Next, stir in the tomato sauce, tomatoes, the coconut milk and the beloved lentils:

You may have to mash at the lentils to separate them since they've been clumped up in a vacuum packed bag for who knows how long. Cook it all just long enough to heat everything through, about four or five minutes.

Finally, ladle the tasty stuff over basmati or jasmine rice and enjoy:



I realize that this is quite a bit like the Curried Coconut Chicken recipe I posted last July, but this is even easier since there's no chicken or chopping of onions involved. Jeff didn't complain about the lack of flesh in his bowl, either.

Make this sometime soon when you don't have much time but want to really enjoy dinner.

Bon appetit!

Something Deeply Personal?

Sure.

I mean, why stop now?

I've been doing something lately that might sound a little strange when you first read what it is, but it's been very helpful to me in this, my time of great fragility.

When my alarm goes off in the morning, I hit the snooze button. Okay, so that's not too unusual, but what I do next might surprise you: I begin to pray, but don't necessarily try to stay awake while doing so.

What? Sacrilege!

No, not really. Let me explain...

A few weeks ago, during his message, our pastor set a scene for us and then he asked a question that hit me like a ton of bricks. It went something like this:

"Imagine your four year old child approaches you and puts her arms around your leg. You, lovingly look down at your cherished child, thinking about how much you love her and begin to stroke her head. In that moment, as she's gazing, trustingly up into your eyes, she opens her mouth and says, 'Mommy, I just want you to use me.' How would that make you feel?"

(Sorry if I butchered that in the retelling, Jon.)

His point was that God is our father and the purpose of our existence is to relate to Him in that loving way. If being used by God is a Christian's main goal then something is askew.

This impacted me so profoundly because "God, please use me today" has been the first thing I've thought/prayed each morning for the last 20+ years.

Please don't misunderstand, desiring to be used by God to do good in His name is an extremely noble desire, but if that is primary, before simply relating to God as a caring father, then it is a problem.

Recognizing that my view of life was askance has alleviated a lot of pressure on my heart and mind. God didn't create me to be His little workhorse who has to run around every day trying to justify her existence.  He created me to know and enjoy Him like the father that He is.

So that is why I pray/doze each morning now. As I first awaken, I thank God for the new day and His promise to be with me throughout its duration. Then I begin to talk to Him about all sorts of things, and if I fall back asleep while doing so, that's okay.

Imagine your little child falling asleep as they talk to you as you hold them in your arms. That would be alright with you, right? In fact, I think a good parent would find it precious. And as a child, wouldn't you feel so at ease in the arms of your adoring dad, so safe, that you would likely fall asleep talking to him?

Of course there are other times during the day that I practice a more disciplined kind of prayer, but the fact that I don't always have to pray studiously and precisely helps me remember that I'm God's kid, not His employee.

That's a much better position to be in, don't you agree?

The Idiot's Guide to Depression

Okay, so I don't think I'm technically depressed although I have started crying at random times and places a lot lately.

Last week at the bank, the teller brightly asked me, "How are you today?" My eyes promptly began to leak as I mumbled some pathetic reply. Poor her. She probably hasn't asked anyone that seemingly innocuous question since.

Anyway, the fact is that all of us are going to experience some very sorrowful times in our lives, and I'm sure some of you reading this are presently right there with me. If sadness isn't something you're very familiar with then suddenly finding yourself neck-deep in it can be quite bewildering, thus this post.

(If you're wondering what's up with me, read my last post.)

The following are some things I've found helpful lately. I hope they can help others, if not now then at some point in the future.

Don't isolate yourself.

Whatever problems we face, our human tendency can be to hide from others out of a sense of pride. Let's face it: It's embarrassing to admit that you are hurting and frail, especially when it involves your face contorting into ugliness and snot dripping down your upper lip.

However, problems seem even bigger than they truly are when we're alone with them. Lots of people might have gone through what you are facing and they can probably tell you some truths to encourage you through it all.

That doesn't mean you have to share everything with everybody. The world isn't owed an explanation of your issues, but a handful of genuinely good people can help immensely.

I'm incredibly grateful for all the love I've felt from many quarters in the past few weeks. Church people often get a bad rap, but I have to say that the many dear friends we've met through the three fellowships we've been involved with over the past 25 years are absolutely wonderful. So are a bunch of people we didn't meet through church. Thank you, sweet friends.

Try to keep things in perspective.

For me this means reminding myself that although our son isn't living here, we are all still spending some time together each week. We still sit through church together, eat meals together, share youtube clips with each other and when I tell him I love him, he still tells me he loves me, too. That's light years better than what they could be.

Our relationship isn't what I thought it would be nor what I desperately want it to be, but we aren't calling each other names, yelling at each other or slamming doors in each others' faces. Those are every day occurrences for some unfortunate souls.

Know your limitations.

Life isn't normal for me right now and some of the things I normally do just aren't happening. 

For example, I haven't been wearing much make-up lately, so I probably don't look like my usual self. (I've learned that looking a bit washed out is a better look for me than is this look, modeled by Laura Dern:

 ...and since I can't accurately predict my eyes' sprinkler system, I find that going bare-faced is a safer option.)

Other things that don't normally happen need to happen.

The normal me is content to stay at home most of the time but lately I've needed to get out, sometimes just to be in a crowd or feel a breeze on my face.

I don't like that I'm so abnormal as of late, but it is what it is and things might get even wackier if I try to just carry on as usual  and my brain and/or body suddenly refuse. Who knows what regrettable happenings would result? I don't want to find out.

Yes, I have limitations and that is okay.

Don't underestimate the power of exercise. 

Stress building up inside the human body can be a very destructive force. Expending some energy goes a long way in alleviating the pressure and safeguarding us from physical and even mental problems.

I definitely can tell a difference between when I'm getting enough exercise and when I'm not. Exercise won't fix the problems, but it can help us be better equipped to deal with them.

Learn what you can from what's happening to you.

I've learned that a lot of the things I thought were definite in life aren't.

When I gave birth to my son at the age of 20, I thought that we'd never face some of the troubles that others did. Of course there was no guaranteeing against illness or accidents, but relationally we were going to be perfectly fine.

We were bringing him into a two parent home. We had (still do have) a strong faith in Christ and would raise our son to know that he was deeply valued by God. I was going to be a great mom, kind but firm, encouraging but not overly demanding, allowing him to pursue his own interests, instructive but fun, etc.

It didn't take me too long to figure out that I couldn't control everything, especially him.

Still, we were never going to be a family broken up prematurely. We couldn't be; I mean...we love genuinely...we listen to our kids and talk things through with them...we don't live hypocritically, saying one thing to our children yet doing another.

While all those things are true and good, they don't hog-tie a kid from making his own decisions. So this is what I've learned: I shouldn't assume that other parents did something wrong just because their kid is taking certain actions or not taking certain actions.

Yes, I have grown considerably less judgmental in the past several weeks. That's what a humbling sorrow will do to you, make you realize that a lot of the crap you've thought about other people over the years was unfounded and unfair.

To all the people who I thought were crummy parents in the past, I'm sorry. You were probably just doing the best you knew how...like me.

Don't sacrifice the good in your life to the emptiness you feel over your grief.

There are still a lot of profoundly wonderful things in my life, even if one of my primary desires (a healthy, happy, meaningful relationship with my son) isn't exactly panning out.

For example, a lot of people have been asking about how Jeff and I are doing as a couple. Often, when there is trouble with one of the kids, a husband and wife will grow cold towards each other, blaming the other for the problems or simply forgetting about the other valuable things in their life.

That isn't happening with us. In fact, although I've loved my husband for years and years, I have an even deeper appreciation for him now. I cherish the good relationship I have with him, knowing how vital it is.

If we were so focused on the upset in our lives that we didn't take the time to invest in each other then we could suffer even more loss, needlessly. That, my friends, is what you call a lose-lose situation.

Don't feel guilty about your sorrow.

God created us to go through a grieving process during traumatic times. If we are feeling guilty about the fact that we're sad then we aren't able to focus on just going through the necessary stages of dealing with the sorrow.

Sure, there comes a time when grief turns to needless wallowing but sometimes that's a long ways off, especially if your situation is particularly upsetting.

When you need to cry, just cry. Let it out.

Don't add to your trouble with unnecessary guilt over the fact that you're a fragile mortal. God knows what you are, so just admit it to yourself. It's easy. Watch:

Hey. My name is Aimee and I am a frail human who weeps while filling out bank slips and needs to be reminded of important truths by my loving friends. 

See? That was a piece of (crappy tasting, yet helpful) cake.

Actively seek out sources of amusement and joy.

Pet a puppy.

Go out to dinner with friends, even if you think you might start blubbing over the lettuce wraps. (Which I somehow managed not to do, right Andrea???)

Laugh.

A much anticipated part of our nightly routine lately has been an episode or two of King of the Hill on Netflix. As ridiculous as it might sound, listening to Boomhauer yammer unintelligibly  genuinely helps me.

 
That didn't bring a smile to your face? Well, what about this?

That little video didn't make you laugh either?

Well, maybe my family and I are just sick, but certainly there are things you find amusing. Find them and laugh until it hurts...

...hurts less, that is.