I Think I Like You

I'm having a good hair day today. So much so, that I was surprised that any and everyone that I connected with today, didn't notice or better yet, say something.

Where does this need for being 'liked' come from? Why is it so important? (to me, to us.....)

In 1985, Sally Fields accepted her 2nd Oscar and tearfully proclaimed: you like me . . . right now . . . you like me.

When we like someone, shouldn't we let them know? Shouldn't everyone need/want a little confirmation every now and then? I know that I try to say something nice (and it must be heartfelt and sincere)to those I care about (and even to those I don't, because maybe they need it even more), yet it seems that some people are reluctant to. Why?

Are they worried that it will 'go' to the recipient's head (or hair?). So what? Everyone has their insecurities and can be bolstered by a few kind words, and those words can be impacting. It's sad that we can't always be satisfied with 'patting' ourselves on the back, though I think it's wonderful and 'ok' to be comfortable enough to 'ask' every now and then.

What makes us like each other? I think a large part is in how they make us 'feel'. There is a generousity in letting someone know that you like them. It is a huge compliment. We are different and should bask in our differences, and also appreciate and respect each others, as opposed to being threatened by them.

Don't be afraid to tell someone that you care, or like their hair, or miss them. Wouldn't that make YOU feel great?

A few years ago while at the market, I decided to push myself out of my comfort zone and approach someone that I would normally be intimidated by and find something nice to say, and say it. A very sophisticated woman was walking towards me. She was extremely well dressed and oozed self confidence. I was terrified of her and all she projected and yet, approached her. I stopped in front of her, smiled, and said, "that's a lovely blue sweater you're wearing!" She stared at me and then completely softened and smiled and said, "Thank you". I felt fantastic. I then approached another woman and complimented her on her hairstyle. She almost burst into tears and proceeded to tell me that she had just cut it that morning and wasn't sure if she liked it or not, and assumed her husband wouldn't even notice.

Why not try that yourself? Everyday make a conscious decision to say something nice, to someone, and mean it. Go outside your comfort zone. Approach the unapproachable. Smile at the sullen (and compliment him/her on their shoes/scarf/whatever).

And if you run into me and you agree that I'm having a good hair day, please let me know. I promise you, it'll mean something!

Knee High in Trouser Socks

Remember pantyhose? They basically came in one color - nude (and black and 'almost or barely' black). We wore them with dresses and gowns and all things that exposed the leg. 'Dress pants' required something different - knee highs! Those stretchy (and again, nude colored) nylons that were only 'knee high' (mind you, mine seemed to stop halfway, or bag around my ankles)and came in either sandalfoot (for, duh, sandals) or regular (with that stretchy heavier band across the toes).

So what ARE trouser socks? According to www.wisegeek.com, my new favorite 'how to find out about things' site,

Trouser socks are socks made for women that generally reach to the upper calf or just below the knee depending upon one’s height. They are often constructed of light materials like nylon so they can be easily worn with more narrow shoes like pumps. They tend to replace the now less popular nylon knee-highs that were worn in the past

So there you have it. You would think that trouser socks would make life easier, but for me, the confusion continues.

I wear and own a lot of flats because:

a) I don't walk well in barefeet, let alone shoes with heels
b) my first husband told me I looked like a hooker when I wore heels and it kind of stuck with me
c) my husband is a Canadian Jewish guy, which translates into: he's not 6 feet tall

If it wasn't difficult enough picking out something to wear for work everyday that looks good (I'm still losing the war on this one), keeps me cool (I wear a lot of 'light' tops or tee shirts with pseudo cardigans and 'shrugs') and is comfortable enough to sit in all day, now I have to match my trouser socks to my shoes/pants/tops - what?

I have black flats that I wear when I wear grey and or black pants. If I am wearing all black or grey, does this mean I can 'have fun' with my trouser socks and go for the pattern, or should I be wearing 'nude' or 'almost black'? And what do I wear when I wear my two tone patent brown and gold flats? Nude? How 'bout my silver and black ballet slippers? Gold and black Tory Burch copies?

I keep buying trouser socks in every color, pattern and material, and every day I end up wearing the wrong 'shade' of nude knee high.

Me thinks I should switch to boots. I hear they are made for walkin'. So that's just what I'll do!

A Book by any other name

So after returning home from an adventurous 'road trip', what's one of the first things I look forward to doing? Getting away again - by getting lost in a book. It's truly the quickest, most inexpensive way to 'travel' and escape.

I live in the 'now' and have the 'future' to look forward to, so most of the time I choose to travel back. Back in history, into the courts of King Henry VIII (and I've learnt it's much easier on the neck to be a 'lady in waiting', than a wife or mistress), or perhaps a 'Little House on the Prairie' type setting (working the land and all that stuff), or 'turn of the century' Victorian London, awash with prostitutes,thieves and surgeons. Even though it's 'old', it's aways new to me. Simpler times perhaps, that survived without the internet, fast food and air conditioning.

Escaping into the page, I fancy myself dining on delicacies such as roast goose and partridge, dressed in layers of petticoats, bustles and hoods, and churning butter and stitching feather beds.

My earliest favorites were Heidi (how I wanted to climb that mountain and drink goat's milk!), the Little House on the Prairie books (how important it was to use all parts of the slaughtered pig and to make maple 'candy' in the snow, and don't even get me started about Pa!), Little Women (Marmee and her girls, and acting out Pilgrim's Progress), and of course, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith.

Francie Nolan and her brother Neely (Cornelius)manage to survive in pre WW1 Brooklyn with their parents, Katie, who scrubs floors with lye soap and favors Neely, and Johnny, the singing waiter, alcoholic father.

I have reread this story so many times, the experiences that Francie and Neely endure, feel as if they were my own. Making a pickle last all day, the star bank, 'wasting' coffee (everyone needs a luxury and something to throw away) penny candy, visiting the library and asking the 'library lady' to 'recommend a book for a girl, she is 12', first vaccinations on a dirty arm (my brother's arm is just as dirty as mine, Francie sobbed)and school! The love of learning that is instilled in Francie from her parents, and the anguish she feels when her mother chooses Neely to continue his education and pulls Francie out. Neely begs to leave school and work, and Francie wants to stay in school, so Katie states: "That's why he has to stay and you have to leave, because you will do everything in your power to find your way back".

Francie said and felt it best. Once she learned how to read, she knew:

From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood."

I'm glad that today I have more friends than I did when I first became a reader, and also glad that I have more books always waiting (patiently) for me to escape into.

Happy reading!

Thelma and Louise, with a happier ending

I'm not a spontaneous person. I like to make lists (duh), plans, and know in advance where I'm going, when I'll arrive and what I'll do once I'm 'there'. That's why I love my girlfriends. Doesn't (or shouldn't) everyone have one of 'those' friends that can 'make' you do just about anything, or push your limits just a little bit.

My friend 'Thelma' (names changed to protect the innocent, plus she's taller -especially in her YSL shoes and I (henceforth known as Louise) challenged me to a 'road trip'. I had finally gotten my passport, didn't work Fridays, and had no excuses. So what would we do? Initially we would drive, meaning SHE would drive, and I would simply follow the written instructions (I am directionally challenged as the nice guy at the gas station will attest to)to a place called MacKenzie Childs located in Aurora, New York (approx. a 4 hour 'jaunt'), take the tour, watch the 'how's it made' video, and then take it from there. I let myself be putty in her hands and didn't balk.

Thankfully, unlike the movie Thelma and Louise, which I have never seen, by the way, we did not drive off a cliff. We did meet up with Brad Pitt (just testing to see if you're paying attention).

It rained, it poured, I didn't snore (in fact, I didn't sleep that night - though that was my fault - the train outside the room didn't help, nor did the unclosed drapes which I couldn't figure out how to close, unfamiliar yet comfortable bed, etc. etc.).

We went shopping, visited many a bookstore (did you KNOW that Barnes and Noble has a huge selection of USED books for sale at 50% off?), had our hair 'done', wined and dined ourselves, and laughed and shared and listened to some good music and learnt a lot about each other (all good!).

Can't wait for the next time, as long as she arranges it!

Somewhere Over the Rainbow, does it really matter?

How important is it to you what other people think of the things you like? I'll rephrase that.
Does it matter if you are the only one who likes: green popsicles and jelly beans, Four Seasons Kernels popcorn (since discontinued, but possibly staging a comeback) and Judy Garland. Yes, I like all of the above, though I find myself reluctant to share that information. Why?

Ever invent a new phrase or word that just totally embodies how you feel about something? I do it all the time. One of my more frequent expressions is, "Please don't JudyGarland it for me!" What does that mean exactly?

Being the young, impressionable (and newly in love) girl, that I was when I started dating Howie, I quickly adapted to all things important to him. I scoured garage sales in search of old records (and copies of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn), climbed stairs without looking back (because of my fear of heights)in order to get to our seats at a baseball game (getting back down was slightly more difficult, I had to be carried - I kid you not), and spent countless hours in audiophile soundrooms listening to John Coltrane, Miles Davis and Jennifer Warnes Famous Blue Raincoat. I humored him. So did he return the favor?

It was my turn now to share my favorites with him. He accepted Springsteen easily enough, balked slightly at Blue Rodeo, abhorred a black leather fringed cowboy leather jacket (that went the wayside) and then the moment came. I had been a fan of Judy Garland since The Wizard of Oz. I read all the books I could, envisioned myself as another daughter (and best friends to Liza and Lorna and Joey too!). I had seen all her television appearances and movies and owned Live at Carnegie Hall, a TWO record set, featuring my favorite, The Man Who Got Away.

I sat him down and put the record on (this was obviously in the days before iTunes, et al.) and watched his face. He didn't hold back. He scowled and winced and finally announced that she couldn't sing, period. I was mortified. I begged him to elaborate and he did. Sadly, from that moment on, the wind was let out of my sails. What he heard (and described), I heard. I stopped listening. He had ruined it for me.

Years later we differed over something else and I immediately fired back with, "You might not like it, but don't you dare JudyGarland it for me!" It's a phrase, but not a phase, that has stuck.

So now I don't always share that I like to watch Intervention, or eat ice cream straight out of the container (even though I'm lactose intolerant) or listen to E Street Radio (all Bruce, all the time), because I don't (and won't) want it to be JudyGarlanded, though I have since gone back to being a fan!

Oh, Grow up!

Joan Rivers used to say it, Bruce Springsteen sang about it (Growin' Up from Greetings from Asbury Park - track 2) and no matter what age we were, we always wanted to be older. I've mentioned previously that inside this middle aged, chubby woman with uncontrollable hair, lives a 16 year old skinny girl, with uncontrollable hair. For years I acted like that 16 year old as well. Insecure, sometimes flighty, a little bit of a 'mean girl' and of course, had all those 'girlfriend' issues. This one was friends with that one, and that one liked this one better, etc.

As the years went by and I got married, I found myself having less and less girlfriends and really not missing 'that scene' so much. Fast forward into my 40s and the 'need' for them returned, and much to my surprise, I realized that I had choices and didn't need to do the 'group' thingie and started forming and tightening friendships, one on one. Months could (and would) go by, and yet, the excitement of a 'catch up' lunch/dinner/coffee would prove to be fruitful, stimulating and enriching. I have such a diverse group of cool, funky, intelligent women that surround me, and that applies as well to the 2 or 3 'close' friends that I have been corresponding with online for more than 10 years, spoken to on the phone, AND HAVE NEVER MET!!!!!

Then there are the girls that really 'knew me when' and still love me (as I love them - these women are in a class of their own!). The infamous Rockford Rebels! We started with 7, though one lives far away and doesn't get to see us as much. Growing up around the corner, playing hide and seek, having sleepovers, sharing! We've danced at each other's weddings (and held hands or celebrated when the divorce took place), visited hospital beds, attended each other's children's plays and 'rock concerts', celebrated milestone birthdays, and 'scrubbed up' at cottage get-aways (an Arbonne moment!). We've shared, cried, confided, and always laughed. The other day I called one such special lady - she answered the phone almost convulsed with laughter. I started to giggle as well, and asked her, "Why are you laughing?" Her response, "I saw your name and knew you would make me laugh!".

Memory is a magical thing and a shared memory even moreso. I can't stop thinking today about the memory that was shared with me last night. I was reminded that I had similar reading tastes as this one friend, and that we would 'playfully' fight over who would take out the library book on John F. Kennedy or Florence Nightingale. What a thrill to not only relive this memory, (which I had long forgotten) but to know that it meant something special to someone else as well. For too long I thought that my love of reading and books was a solitary passion.

The book bitches (possible name change is in the works to the book babes, though personally, I like being a bitch!) came into my life also in my 40's, and the intimacy, intelligence and warmth that is shared on a monthly basis, is truly outstanding. Respective of each other's 'tastes' and 'likes and dislikes', we have managed to expand our reading horizions, improved our vocabulary (we end each meeting by describing the selected choice in ONE WORD, as well as rating it too!) and come to truly value and appreciate each and every individual.

Then there are those that knew you when that still make you feel like 'the bully', the bad guy. This is when the 'growing up' part kicks in. It's EASY to sink back into old routines and attack and tease, and be that 16 year old again. GROW UP! Last night I had the pleasure of reconnecting and seeing in a new light, an old friend. My other friend and I kept musing, "She's so 'real', so nice, so HAPPY - she's changed" and yeah, maybe she has, but maybe I have too. It's not always about US and how we feel. Everyone hurts, not everyone shares. Everyone has stuff! Grow up people. I think I aged a little bit last night, hopefully.

Gratitude

I used to dread Mondays, but now I look forward to them. Why? Because since January 7 of this year, I have been doing a daily gratitude exchange with a girlfriend I reconnected with after TOO many years of not connecting (we simply lost touch, moved away, had separate lives, etc.). We each list 5 things that we are grateful for. Every Monday, as soon as I arrive at work, I open my email and then stop to think, "Ok, what am I truly grateful for today". Stopping to think AND writing it down AND sharing it with a close friend is an incredible experience. There IS so much to be grateful for that we take for granted, and more than that, on the days when I'm just NOT feeling it, I am pushed onward by the faith and belief that my friend has in me, to come up with 'something'.

Some days are filled with 'quickies' such as:
1. morning coffee
2. good hair day
3. no traffic
4. great sleep
5. roof over my head

That's ok! They are ALL wonderful things to be grateful for.

Other days are filled with more in-depth details and on those really rough days, we've both been known to write stuff like: I'm really sorry but I can't think of anything. THOSE are the times when being on the receiving end really counts. We remind each other of what IS working or we commiserate together and then realize that we are thankful and grateful for our friendship, our correspondence, our mutual admiration, our honesty, our good hair days.....see how much easier it is when you don't go it alone?

Anyway, give it a try. Instead of dreading Mondays, look forward to them. Perspective is everything and instead of bemoaning the fact that you're stuck in traffic, be thankful that you have a job, and that you are driving in a car instead of walking, of if you are walking, that you have two healthy legs to take you there, dressed in warm clothes and shoes, with food in your belly and a roof waiting for you when you return home, hopefully to someone that loves you and values you.

I will close by sharing two of my 5 gratitude statements today:

Today I am grateful for so much:

1. my blog as a writing outlet, and all the incredible feedback and response I've received.

2. friends - the older (and hopefully wiser) I get, the more I come to appreciate the incredible people I'm surrounded by and that means YOU, bigtime!!!!

One Day at a Time

I'm going on a diet (again)! This morning I watched Valerie Bertinelli on CBS Sunday Morning and got inspired(again). I love Valerie. I've read her book and grew up watching her as Barbara Cooper on One Day at A Time. I really don't want to diet (or exercise) but I do want to be healthy. I was skinny as a kid, even had the nickname 'toothpick', could and did eat whatever I wanted and then suddenly I couldn't. Well, couldn't without it 'sticking'. I decided to become zafig( zaf·tig or zof·tig (zäftk, -tg)
adj.
1. Full-bosomed.
2. Having a full, shapely figure.

Now understand that my hubby never did (and never has - he's much too smart to do so) complain, though one of my first 'aha moments' came years ago when my daughters were flipping through our photo albums (if you've been to my house for dinner, you've flipped through them too - it's what we do) and came across a picture of me in a Norma Kamali bathing suit (I'd post the picture here, but I think I'll save it for the 'before and after' shots, after I lose the weight)and said, "Wow, is that you? You USED to be soooooo hot!"

You know how they say a fat person always feels fat, even when they lose the weight? Well, I always feel thin (and 16 years old!). I'm shocked when I see pictures or look in the mirror (by mistake)or try and squeeze into a pair of favorite old jeans that I 'find' in my closet that somehow "must" have shrunk. Who IS that chubby woman and why is her hair such a mess (hair issues to be addressed in another blogpost).

Anyway, it's time to make a change (maybe). Over a delicious breakfast of hashed brown potatoes, topped with bacon and 2 over easy eggs (but NO bread!), hubby and I made a plan. We'll eventually convert our extra bedroom into a 'work out room' and even hire a personal trainer to work us both into an exercising frenzy once a week or so. Ok, so that probably won't happen til the new year, I mean, it's almost November and then December we go to Florida for a few weeks, etc., but seriously, I am going to change my diet slightly. No more noshing after dinner, just tea and fat free popsicles. I'll pack a lunch for work (stocked up today on veggies and fat free turkey, etc.) and maybe start to walk around the block once or twice (or thrice) a week. Enough putting it off.

If Valerie can do it, so can I. One Day at a Time.

Texting, texting, 1 2 3

My best friend's daughter is getting married next summer! Today they drove up north to check out a venue. How do I know this? Communication, baby! I received a picture on facebook taken with her Blackberry. How else?

So if a picture paints a thousand words, can a thousand words condensed into a roughly 7 x 10 inch 'box' be accepted in place of a BOOK? I think not.

I can't tell how many times I've been told that I would just LOVE a 'Kindle', Sony reader, and/or the newest kid on the block, the Barnes and Noble Nook. All sell for between $200 and $400. That buys me a lot of books!

I'm sorry, but I just can't get past the fact that IT'S NOT A BOOK! Yes, I know you can store infinite numbers of books on it, book prices are great, easy to transport, blah blah blah.

I need to turn the pages, admire the front cover, read the inside (and back) flaps, reread a few pages, FOLD over the corners (library copies only - apologies in advance to those that reserve books at The Toronto Public Library and have the same taste as me - and those salsa stains, well......). Don't even get me started on bookmarks and booklights and all the cute (and necessary) enhancements I have discovered over the years and had to have. For those that need to know, the VERY best bookmark is one made by Levengers, called the book bungee. I own MANY of these stretchy little gems and either order them online or visit the store when I'm in Florida and need to surround myself with a little book heaven (even their website calls them 'tools for serious readers'). Post-it makes a great flag highlighter (imagine, you can highlight AND mark your page!)

Last year I discovered the thrill of author readings and signings. Meeting James Frey, Wilbur Smith, Carlos Ruiz Zafon, Joseph Boyden, Wally Lamb.....to name just a few, AND listen to them speak AND HAVE THEM SIGN MY BOOK - PRICELESS. Can't do that with a Kindle, can you?

My hubby swears by his ereader on his Blackberry,and I know many 'converts' that are happy as well, but after a day spent clearing clutter in my bedroom, I was proud to move my A-Z bookends (which encase my 10 copies of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn) to the newly added coffee table and small reading couch. Just can't see a piece of metal having quite the same effect.

Let's start at the very beginning....

Do re mi fa so la tea do! We've all seen the The Sound of Music (one of my hubby's favorites and supposedly his Aunt Shirley's as well) and sang the song. Maria and I had something in common (both of us sported a really bad short haircut at one time - picture NOT to be included here), as well as raise and love another man's children. Climbing mountains was NOT a shared love, as I am fearful of heights (and birds, and ....oh, that's another blogpost).

It's hard to write about the now, without sharing the before, so in a nutshell (don't even get me started), here is the (hopefully, for your sake) condensed version.

I guess with blogging you have to choose your words carefully and not slander anyone or perhaps you can rename them or just flat out pretend. Feel free to read between the lines when I don't supply them.

Who Am I Anyway? (am I my resume? - gotta love A Chorus Line and I do, as well as most musicals (which is so sad considering I am tone deaf and knowing all the words to all the songs, does NOT help!). Anyway.......

You will notice (how could you not?) that I write in what is called a 'freefall' fashion. It works for me - I like that 'stream of consciousness' feel. Apologies in advance for ramblings and veering off whatever provocative topic I am musing about. It happens and will continue to.

Back to me and the other cast of characters in my life!
I'm a Daddy's girl and my Mother's daughter - meaning, my dad is put on a pedestal (deservedly so) and my mom takes me shopping, keeps my secrets, notices and corrects my typos and wishes my hair was more 'controlled' - I love them both dearly and hate this whole 'getting older' business (for me and for them).

I have one older and one younger brother. In my immediate family, we refer to Steven as 'Uncle the Brother' because my younger brother Richard (forever known as Uncle Richie, even to our deceased dog Coltrane) and I started calling Steve 'the brother' and when he became an uncle, well, you do the math. I'm not sure he knows that we refer to him as Uncle the Brother, but now he does, and we say it with love.

I can't change the names and details enough here, so let's sum up in a few sentences, my first marriage (lasting less than 4 years). It was a beautiful wedding, and then it went downhill. Suffice said. While I was still tending my wounds I became reaquainted with a guy I had known from my teens, who had married young and had 3 daughters and then divorced. We became best friends, and then more. Twenty years later, admidst much drama, chaos and laughter, we are still together, and have added our son Sam, to the family clan. My family is my home, my salvation, my sanity, my life.

I mentioned my colon cancer in another post, so I won't bore you with the details (do you really want to hear about blood in the stool? I think not, but hey, if you find it, get it checked out!).

I've always loved to read, thanks to my cousin Gloria showering me at an early age (grade 6) with books by authors as diverse and wonderful as Betty Smith, James Michener, Sidney Sheldon, Leon Uris and Harold Robbins. I didn't always understand the stories or how they were 'told', but I always wanted, needed, more. I wrote in journals, kept diaries and made lists of 'top tens'. I never thought I was a writer, but loved to write.

I belong to a few online book groups and participate very actively in my own f2f (that means face to face) group, called the Book Bitches (though just today someone wrote that they would prefer to be called the Book Babes - what's so wrong with being a bitch?). We take our group seriously (some months more than others) and read and discuss openly and honestly and share so much. Shout out to my Bitches/Babes!!!!

What else do you need to know? I guess you can just ask me. I'm pretty open and feel that my life IS more or less an open book. Bottom line, I love to converse - with you, with myself, with whoever is listening. I'm not sure if I have something to say, but I'm going to say it anyway. I'm just not going to sing it!

In the beginning.....

And so it begins........
Not really sure how to go about this blog type thingie, but I'm going to attempt to contribute, 'in my own way', because I love to write, respond, react, correspond, communicate, you name it. I do tend to do 'this' alot, so expect 'quotes' around things. It's not that I think you don't necessarily 'get it’; it's more that I feel the need to emphasize my point. Get 'it'????? If not, feel free to google something far more interesting (to YOU!).

Speaking of google, they call me the 'google queen' at work (it should come as no surprise to you, dear reader, that I work in written communications at a private golf and country club (if you’ve been following along, you will understand that the emphasize here is placed on communications, NOT the fact that my employer is a GOLF country club, as I don’t ‘do’ sports!), creating, managing and keeping ‘current’, their website, monthly newsletter, posters, menus, etc . Whenever someone questions 'something', I must find the solution, and so boldly and fearlessly and trusting I go, fingers happily ‘googling’ away. The key is knowing exactly ‘what’ to search for. Yes I take great pride in my abilities to 'surf the net', as my talents in general, are far and few between (a list of my talents will surface eventually – I am a great list maker and keeper!)

So besides flitting back and forth from one fascinating subject to the next, I tend to ramble on passionately when I feel, uh, passionate about something, and then lose interest just as easily. You’ll have to try keep up with me as I segue way (my new favorite word) from one topic to the next. It makes perfect sense to me, but not always to others. For examples, after mentioning my new favorite word, segue way, I immediately googled it to try and get the spelling correct, only to be directed to website after website about segways, those funky cool vehicles that you can ride around in upright on two wheels.

I think I’ll try and write daily (or every other day) and pick a topic of interest or a highlight about my life and expand upon it. I’ve already been forwarned by my son Sam (who is my almost constant background ‘noise’ – exposing me to new and old music (currently listening to Wilco, Death Cab for Cutie, and John Frusciante, whom I despise, but find myself humming) NOT to embarrass or ridicule him. You will have to be the judge of that.

Today I am musing over the past 24 hours (I usually muse over the past 20 years, but that’s another blog, for another day). I will spare you the details, but I had a colonoscopy yesterday. It wasn’t my first, in fact it was my 10th. Nine years ago while I was busy obsessing about losing 10 (20) lbs, my on-going battle with hair, and turning 40, I somehow wound up being diagnosed with colon cancer! Fortunately it was in the earliest of stages and I required a colon resection and the only follow up treatment being yearly colonoscopies (though I am now only going to have them every two or three years). I also became a volunteer for Colon Cancer Canada and take great pride in being able to 'give back' what I can, which is usually my time, and my voice(people GET your asses checked out!). I am quite the expert on ‘prepping for a colonoscopy’, and being the avid and voracious reader that I am, as well as the owner of an iPhone loaded with music (‘borrowed’ mainly from the library of Sam), I am prepared. The uncomfortable part has always been in the ‘drink’ needed to be consumed (drinking clear fluids for 24 hours is manageable for me, as long as I sneak in a small snack when I’m beyond starving of 6 Triscuits, which tides me over nicely and seems to be undetected in the ‘scope’ procedure), as guzzling too many ounces of ‘pleasant orange tasting oil’ twice or more, is repellent to me. This year the prep was new. One dulcolax tablet two nights before, followed by 5 oz of water added to a Pico Salex sachet (isn’t a sachet a sweet smelling packet of flowers/herbs?) once at noon, and again at 6pm. Worked like a charm, aided I’m sure, by the McDonalds meal of 2 filet 'O fish and large fries, that I had consumed (and then quickly expelled) earlier that day.
The prep itself was more than fine, and easy too, but once we arrived at the hospital, I was told they were short staffed with nurses, which caused a little anxiety on my end (no pun intended). My regular doctor wasn't going to perform the colonoscopy (I knew that) but I was again, a little anxious, when the 'lady doctor' (picture a female Doogie Howser - and by the way, I am a huge Neil Patrick Harris fan, and love How I Met Your Mother, but I digress.....) said to me, "Hmmm....according to your chart, the latter half of your colon is all twisted and I'll need to tred carefully." TWISTED???? I NEVER KNEW THIS. Of course I went into 'good girl' mode and just smiled weakly and put all my faith and trust into her. Mistake! I told her I really need to be 'put out' and she scowled and said, "Well, we give you something to relax you, but certainly not put you out - let me know if you need more medicine". I was then asked to turn on my side and felt something enter my rectum. I said, "Ummm...I feel that", and was ignored. Then she continues pushing as well as leaning over and pushing on my stomach. I said, "that really hurts" and she says, "Oh, ok, I'll up your medicine". This continued for the next 15 minutes or so. I silently cried and just prayed that all was well. I was so happy to come home. Fell asleep at home for 2 hours (mental exhaustion, I'm sure) and then woke up and ate something (toasted flat pumpernickel bagel smeared with chopped whitefish salad from BagelWorld). I'm living and have no polyps. Could be worse.
As Scarlett O'Hara said, 'Tomorrow is another day!", and frankly, I'm happy to have one and I DO give a damn!