Blog Dare Writing Prompt – The Last Straw Part II

Later on that year, after bringing my 15 lbs gain back down a few notches to around 162 lbs, I began to search for a new primary care physician because I had not been to see one as my last appointment was my 6 week checkup with my obstetrician.

I had flat-out refused to even see another doctor until I had at least taken some of my regained weight off, plus the PCP that I had gone to for years (male) did not want to honor my requests for checking my hormones for the menopausal symptoms that I’d been experiencing (this took place a couple of years before my mom passed).

He proceeded to tell me that I was too young to be having those symptoms and that I was simply depressed about my mother’s illness. Then came the offer for Lexapro.

Okay, I admit that I was extremely worried about my mother and yes, it was very saddening. I’m sure that I was depressed, but that was pretty much the norm for me from the first day that I entered junior high school where I endured endless teasing.

I was teased for being skinny, short, not putting out, and anything else that those who taunted me daily could force their severely compromised brains to scrounge up. – (at least until I began to practice the art of cussing so well that I created new levels in the craft and the teasing stopped.)

Those same teasers suddenly became quite friendly.

So I was already well acquainted with what I call ‘the black hole’ at an early age and if I didn’t let that kill me, there was no way I would go off the deep end and not be able to help my parents.

Anyway, when I told the doctor about the hot flashes and mood swings, etc., I asked, “Well, why is this happening if it’s not menopause?” He replied that he did not know and wrote me a prescription for the Lexapro.

There was no further discussion with him and it was also the last day that I visited his office.

Back to the new doc…

I had been to see her for my very first 6-weeks check-up ever. She was a nurse practitioner at that time and was great, though I found it a bit uncanny that she was working under my former doctor’s father’s practice.

When I found her again several years later, she had her own office so I decided to switch over to her for my belated and somewhat dreaded annual. I was okay with this because I figured if she was good while working under someone else, my next experience with her had to be even better since she had her own practice.

The inside of the office up front was nice, neat, and the lady at the front desk was friendly. After all the preliminaries (weight, BP check, etc.), I was then led back to an examining room.

I think that I should explain that when I go into any medical facility, family practice, dentist, or anything else, my radar always goes off and I end up looking around the room to check for cleanliness.

I have always been this way for some weird fear that I will end up receiving an exam with unwanted germs to go along with it.

It’s just a strange little ‘ism’ of mine that I can’t seem to get rid of, but I could see dust on the tables where medical tools are placed and dust on the floor set off my internal alarm.

I thought to myself, “There will be no pap-smear here!” as the nurse walked in. Despite seeing evidence of one of my most despised pet peeves (dust), I was still eager to go ahead with the blood tests that I had requested.

Hormones, a re-check of my vitamin D to see if my levels had improved, thyroid levels, and anything else that I could think of. That process went over with no problem and soon after the doctor came in for a brief exam and our consultation.

Hello, doctor…

After going over my family history and discussing my exercise routine, my stress, insomnia, and all of my other annoyingly ever-present symptoms, she told me that my results would explain everything and not to worry.

Then, she asked if I would like to start on some type of birth control. I politely refused as after over 15 years of marriage and not having at least 15 children, controlling births must have been one of my strong points.

So after about three more polite refusals, she finally relented and said that I would receive a call when all of my test results were in.

At this point, I was annoyed, but still willing to move forward. It was time for my exam.

The exam consisted of nothing but the normal check of eyes, ears, glands, etc., and then it was time for me to lie back so the doctor could check my belly… you know – when they press all over and ask if you feel pain or pressure.

As soon as I raised my top she goes, “Whoooo! You told me you were sure you weren’t pregnant, but are you really sure? You look like you’ve got a bun in the oven right now!”

At that very moment, I conjured up an extremely clear mental picture of me raising up and slapping all freckles from her left cheek while being witness to said freckles gracefully flying into the air before falling like fresh snowflakes, travelling down diagonally by a light winter’s breeze on the way to their silently awaiting bed of dust on the floor.

Curiosity may kill the cat, but pure satisfaction brings it back.

So despite my ‘eating habits’ and the scarlet letter ‘O’ that was symbolically stitched into my forehead, I felt a sense of comfort in knowing that I actually did have some semblance of self-control, though my mental picture remained just as it was.

I calmly replied that I was not pregnant, but was having a problem losing weight and needed to know what was going on with me internally as I had tried to stress before. She assured me that I was in good health – maybe a little too healthy, but that I would be fine once I cut out eating all of my favorite greasy foods.

(The slap vision immediately came back, only this time involving freckles from right cheek.)

Just for the record, I bake and boil damn near everything and fry not even on every blue moon! But I explained this to her nicely. Determined, she suggested that since my belly was already out there, I may as well ‘go for another one’.

I reminded myself of how well I’d kept my composure earlier and informed her that I did not want to have more babies and had been successful at accomplishing ‘no more babies’ for a good while on my own.

I distinctly remember stating, “I believe I’ve reached an age where I’m old enough and have enough experience to not need a planned parenthood oriented consultation…I’m way past sixteen, but thanks.”

My attitude may have been present in my voice or facial expressions, or maybe by some miracle, she could see the mental pictures of patient to doctor freckle killing slaps…I don’t know. But somehow, she finally came to her senses and said I was free to go.

Lesson learned…

The last straw for me must have been due to my negligence in missing the breaking news report on the fall of professionalism in the medical field before I made my appointment.

At that point, my next move was to get my results and fire this lady who had apparently changed for the worst immediately after her move up the ladder, but I would still move on with my life. I knew that I didn’t need any pats on the back from anyone, and if I had no support from paid supporters, I simply didn’t need it because it was my life.

This realization led me to find yet another PCP (so much better) who actually has all the quality characteristics that one who resides in the medical field should.

I have since been ‘working on myself’ but this time, it is not in desperation or because I don’t love myself as I am now…it is because I do.

I don’t know if the doctor meant harm or not as she was the joking type. What I do know is that a person with a vulnerable complex could be crushed by what others say about them when ‘others’ speak before they think.

The results from feeling crushed will show up sooner or later – even if not realized until later.

With all disappointments thrown out of the window, I now embrace my downs as well as my ups and keep it moving.

Though I still deal with being self-conscious about buying new clothes or going out in public, I am still determined to make my way through this battle victoriously and that particular straw will surely be the one that breaks the camel’s back in my behalf!

Just for the record, I think freckles are darned cute, but in this case and at that time, they were mere minions used to install a new flight to the ongoing spiral staircase of the fortress that surrounds my empire of retaliatory fantasies dwelling within the dungeon of my mind’s angry eye. My advice… keep the naturally conjured mental picture of choice, but don’t act on it. Be you and love all of you!

Thanks for reading.

Aside

Blog Dare Prompt – The Last Straw – Part I

The Last Straw – Part 1

I had always been rail thin during my teen years and early twenties. Eighty-eight was the year of my high school graduation and this number also matched my body weight at that time.

Now that I think about it, that number sounds rather low as I recall not being a happy camper in school with the bad habit of not being able to eat (or just not wanting to) when I felt depressed which was quite often.

This habit  lasted on into my first and only year in college – experiencing even more depression and not eating enough, but faithfully participating in band camp and practice which was at times much like a military boot camp.

By some miracle (must have been the never-ending rice dishes served for lunch almost daily) I went home with a three digit weight of nothing more than lean muscle mass that just happened to stick around despite my deciding not to go back the next year.

Not being the typical 18 year old, I did not cope well with supposedly normal life changes such as adapting the mentality of my peers, being away from my home and family, and hating sharing a room with two other people when I was used to having my own room at home.

I clearly was not ready for the extra course in ‘One of Your Room Mates is a Freaking Kleptomaniac-101’… I didn’t sign up for it, but it did turn out to be an intriguing study.

Anyway, I kept up with much of my exercise routine once back home where I decided to go to cosmetology school in my hometown. It was definitely a better experience.

My twenty pound gain remained in tact until I got married and began to enjoy take-out on weekends (my mom always cooked – take-out was a rare treat) while also relishing in the beauty of frequent alcohol consumption.

I had begun to put on a small amount of weight but it actually looked good on me as I was still working out and still had a functioning metabolism. I was finally beginning to reach the ‘normal’ weight of an adult female.

At the seven year marriage mark, there was no itch, but there was finally a baby…long awaited by my family who frequently volunteered and enjoyed feeding my ravenous appetite during my first pregnancy.

Despite my gorging on mom’s famous butter roll (yes – with cinnamon) and a two foot long Hershey Bar from one of my sisters (Christmas gift), I was still able to drop the baby weight with no problem. I worked out religiously.

Five years later, my next baby came and I had read about how breastfeeding would help to take off baby weight and I found this to be true.

During that time, my appetite dwindled even more because my parents’ health problems had begun to deteriorate, so I was taking care of my kids while helping them also. I noticed that whenever one or both of my parents were in the hospital, I would go into ‘help mode’ which killed my appetite. This went on for several years – emergency runs and stays in the hospital, cleaning and cooking for two houses, taking care of young kids – who had time to eat?

I had totally forgotten about working out as much as I had eating, so my weight stayed down for unhealthy reasons, but this all changed after my last baby and soon after the death of my parents.

I began to eat everything that wasn’t nailed down and found myself at a weight that I had only seen during my pregnancies.  The emotional eating continued as a coping mechanism until about one year later, I took a good look and noticed that I could hardly recognize myself.

Upon this realization, I began to change my habits and started working out faithfully.  I was no longer in a marching band where working out was the norm, but I was as die hard as if I were back in band camp.

This time I was actually concerned about my weight, not comfortable in my own skin, and very self-conscious. I counted and logged my calories, burns and losses on a website that I had found and kept up with my workouts like a pro until my lean muscles began to show themselves again.

At that time, I could look in the mirror and know that I was winning the battle. Proud of myself for all of my hard work and determination, the battle continued on until…

My husband’s job offered a health workshop in which employees and their spouses could visit a facility that would run a battery of tests and give a thorough health report.

I had become a bit of a health nut, so I was all for it. Everything went fine with my husband who eats pretty much whatever he wants and can do fifty push-ups once a week and poof – the mere three-pound gain is gone. But my appointment was just a tad different.

I walked in with a confidence that I’d never experienced before. By my own volition, I had gone down from 171 lbs to 156 and feeling stronger than ever! I was proud of my results. But my pride was short-lived when I found out that my so-called BMI placed me in the ‘obese’ category. Obese?

What the hell was I before? Determined to not allow one tear to fall, I kept my composure as the nurse gave me all types of documentation on how, what, and when to eat, and how often I needed to work out.

I was expected to return the following year having lost 15 lbs which would only be the beginning of working towards ‘becoming a fit individual‘.

Don’t get me wrong, I was glad that everything else came out well with the exception of a severe vitamin D deficiency, but these people acted as if I had done absolutely nothing to help myself despite my calmly given explanations. (I don’t usually explain myself due to my ‘like it or lump it’ attitude) But with each explanation, I received a lecture on how I could either change or improve my ‘behavior’. Really?

Although I knew they were just doing their jobs, I still wondered if they were telling the same mess to every female who didn’t fall under the same weight bracket as I was as a teen which is completely ridiculous.

But for some reason, I still walked out of there feeling like a lazy, non-caring, gluttonous slob. The preceding words are a total taboo for me, but the attitudes of the nurses made me feel like they saw me that way.

Despite all that I had accomplished, it apparently meant nothing according to their standards.

The idea of goals reached went clean out of the window, and all I could hear was that I was obese and needed to start working on myself. Without even bothering again to tell these people that I had already been ‘working on it’, I spent the following months desperately trying to follow their instructions which produced a 15 lbs gain instead of a loss.

My spirit had been broken and I was angry. I was angry at them, for telling me that I was not good enough.

I was angry at myself for giving what they said an ounce of merit. I was angry at my body for not doing what I (they) wanted it to do, not realizing that I never should have changed in the first place.

So my life of fitness was a serious struggle until I finally went back to doing what worked for me before, and I never went back to that facility.

As I finally began to come out of my rut, I realized that the last straw for me was trying to conform to a standard that was not my own.

For the first time I could remember, I let myself be thrown for a loop and couldn’t believe how easily I fell for it. But once again, by my volition, I recovered successfully and was on my way back to myself…or so I thought.

Aside

May 17, 2013 Blog Dare Prompt – I felt so dizzy

Dizzy. My thoughts turned to hot flashes as well as several other symptoms of menopause that I now deal with at a somewhat early age. My symptoms made themselves known around seven to ten years ago, so while I am ‘used’ to it, I’m still not used to it. I truly believe that this feat may be quite the impossibility, but somehow you learn to live with it I guess because you actually have no choice as it is a part of life…which can be cruel at times…but like many other life changes that are much worse than what is natural, we still deal with it.

This poem can be read in several different ways ie., reading the entire poem at once, or reading only the first lines, or reading only the second lines. I used hot flashes as my muse, but the words as you’ll see will take on their own meaning for each reader such as any type of disorder that causes dizziness (as in my easily triggered but slight vertigo attacks), but also along the lines of emotions. Anyway, I hope you like it!

I felt so dizzy

 that night

The burning heat inside

was just too much

Incontinent

this time

I tried

  my best

Apparently

to no avail

Struggling

to call for help

But forced silence prevented

the words

Sadly, helplessly

they never escaped

Parched lips slightly apart

nothing being said

With only shallow labored breath

darkness as an envelopment

Like the waves of the sea

began to rise up

Before my very eyes

despite the cup of coolness

Beholden by another

through all attempts to quench

My flame

it blazed on

Continually

as if there were no aid

Calling a cease-fire

nevertheless

It went unheard

I was felled

By the black sword of darkness

into nowhere

This was the aftermath

in the midst of true fear

For all

that I

Would be no more but

suddenly, softly

Comes the light

returning to life

Again; I am

graciously…

Thankfully…

Conscious

Aside

May 4, 2013 Blog Dare Post – Sounds of My Childhood

This will be a nice trip down Memory Lane…interesting how you can think back to some things and realize that you were just a tad too young to actually remember but still; you do. I find myself often talking to my older siblings about the past and they usually ask me how I could possibly remember these things because oftentimes the things that I distinctly remember took place well before I reached the age of four. That is why I liked this prompt because my best memories really are associated with sound – mostly music along with some common sounds that don’t really seem significant until you actually take yourself back in time. I’m not sure if this will rhyme or not but we’ll see when it’s done. Isn’t if funny how the five senses can literally bring the past smack dab into your present? Try to remember some common sounds from your childhood and post them comments. Here are the ‘sounds of my childhood…

I loved when Daddy said that we were going for a ride.

Everybody hopped in and waited for him to strap my big brother in

and fold his wheelchair to place it in the back as usual.

Our white utility van with the hunter green metal interior was

My playground…feigning a Sammy Davis Jr. inspired tap-dancing routine

just to hear my daily polished hard bottoms clang against the van floor.

But that was never enough.

Each impromptu dance medley was sure to include

a little Otis Redding stomp followed by that famous

James Brown side-slide as the beat and bass-line to “I’m Black and I’m Proud”

resonated mentally. No one could hear it but me.

Momma and my sisters cheered me on and Daddy would say,

“Go ahead and dance, baby!” At least until it was time for

Me to be seated and strapped in also.

The ride was fun as always, but much too short this time.

The van’s doors opened and slammed shut as I thought, “Whose house is this and why did Daddy say that

we were ‘here’ now?”  Momma walked through the doorway

Me on her hip, my distraught voice echoed through empty rooms,

This is not my house! “Yes it is, Punkin…it’s our new house now.” Momma

re-tied the bow in back of my white and yellow-flowered dress as she tried

To calm me despite my loud shouts that we were not at home and

We needed to go back!

The dance was over…I walked through each room

shouting that none of the rooms were mine…the spacious living room

reiterated  my exclamations by echo

I wanted

to go home! But later, I got over it.

The music played once more, and dancing began again.

Every Saturday, Little Stevie Wonder‘s ‘Fingertips’ and

The Supremes’ ‘You Can’t Hurry Love‘ among many

other Motown sounds turned sock-buffing hardwood floors

into a party. At night while holding on to the side of my crib,

I would dance even more as the Stylistics‘ “Rock and Roll Baby” made

its way to my ears from our transistor radio. I love my new home now.

We had brought our window unit from ‘home’…I loved to hear it run as it cooled the room. We also brought

our vacuum cleaner…its inflatable hose and loud roar frightened me. I ran from it.

But I grew more comfortable and much happier as I grew.

Especially on the Fourth of July as rock salt filled  the ice cream machine.

It hums to its own beat just before my favorite flavors cool my lips in the

Summer heat. Our own rendition of The Star Spangled Banner is the prelude

to pops and blasts from Fireworks City while the grill sizzles a mouth-watering meal.

Brook Benton, Sam Cooke, and The Platters lull me to sleep afterwards.

We could leave our windows opened back then.

Through the screen and with the night breeze blew in a nocturnally syncopated

Cicada composed chorus.

I awake to the sound of songs of praise while dishwater runs and the smell of breakfast wafting…

Momma loved to sing and speak.  The church choir could not compare…especially when she

was on program to do ‘The Creation’. No one spoke or even whispered – just listened – enthralled –

Her voice; a dynamic vessel traveling from the podium directly into the psyche of all.

I couldn’t wait for school the next day. Music was my favorite course. Orff music to be exact.

A through G are the most important letters in the alphabet; the source of my melodic moods and

Harmonically charged energy with each new song learned while my mallets hit the

Xylophone’s lower notes for a well-rounded sound. Piano lessons in the music lab after school prepared me

for my first recital where our group won second place…a hearing mind keeps three/four-time

During ‘The Waltz’. I was elated when my school added ballet class to our arts program.

This was my chance to dance even more…the chance to delicately plie – tondu – degage in time with Lully and Tchaikovsky.

What a wonderful time that was for me…as well as all of my other memories.

My baby sister’s newborn cries, “Happy Birthday Jesus” by Burl Ives, the shake of

my hoola-hoop under blue skies…seen and heard alike;

The sounds of my childhood bring the past into the present

in a brand new light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 5, 2013 Blog Dare Prompt – Before you even begin…

I am skipping over May 4th for now until I finish it on paper. I am still jotting my thoughts on paper for this one while also searching for a particular image to put with it, so the fourth  entry will be out-of-order. I think that it’s a little weird how some poems come to me in ‘freestyle’ mode, but others have to be dealt with in the most absolute opposite way. These are of course more difficult to publish because of all the work, research, and heart that truly creates the essence of the finished work. With that being said, please excuse my skip-over for now.

The prompt for May 5th immediately caught my eye, and I knew that this post would be in the form of a rap-like lyrics. Though I’m definitely not a rapper I still enjoy writing like this from time to time, so here goes!

Before you even begin…

Let me stop you right there

Whatever it is that you’re gonna say

I don’t even care

I don’t mind shootin’ the breeze

with a little small talk

But when it turns into that other sh*t

I’m gettin’ up and I’m gonna walk

Away from the he said she said

Little girl middle school crap

Who cares what they said about me

I sure don’t – so it’s a wrap

I don’t sit around all day

Worryin’ about what somebody else thinks

Only my opinion of myself counts

So this stuff you’re bringin’ me stinks

My momma always told me this…

I know for sure she was not wrong

“Baby, beware of the dog

that always brings you a bone.”

Trans-la-tion

I’ll make it plainly clear for you

The fact that you always know what was said

Means that you had to be talkin’ too

Or maybe not

Makes absolutely no difference to me

I just happen to find it strange that

With them is where you often seem to be

For somebody who claims to be offended

By what was said behind my back

As if you have done me a favor

Thinkin’ I’ll cut you some slack

Not

Believe me, I’m hip to this game

I’m supposed to listen to you and get pissed at them

No change, it’s always been the same

That’s why I never fall for it

Say what you wanna – I won’t stress

Who said either one of you were important enough

To get me caught up in some mess

This is what I have learned

When folks talk – you must be doin’ somethin’ right

You apparently have nothing better to do

Than speak on me all day and night

Don’t get me wrong – I do appreciate

This bone that you once again bring me

It only proves the mere fact

That the important one must be me

So when you go back to give your report

On my reaction, feelings or lack thereof

Make mention that I asked who cares

I only have feelings for the people I love

I can tell that you’re  anxious to leave now

Go on back and tell them what I said

I’m sure the conversation will be interesting

But know that you have been read

This should help you in the future

The very next time that we meet

Before you even begin

Watch your mouth, cause talk is cheap

 

 

Aside

May 3, 2013 – Blog Dare Prompt – My Neighborhood…

My neighborhood is nothing like the one that I moved out of

Twelve years ago

Back then, there was never a dull moment

It’s not that way now – good? I guess so

I was so much younger then, newly married

Oh, what a time it was – didn’t get much sleep

No kids, partying, staying out late

The only young married couple on our street

He went to work, I stayed home

Cooking and cleaning our little love nest

I tried working for awhile

But we decided that my staying home would be best

There were a bunch of little kids always hanging  around

They were so much fun to watch out for

While playing right in front of my apartment

Occasionally knocking on my door

I would read stories to them and sometimes break up their little spars

They always came to me for band-aids

To cover their scrapes, cuts, and scars

When they wanted candy, they knew that they could come to me

I always kept a stash for when they showed up

It wasn’t that they couldn’t buy their own

I guess they just needed some time with a grown-up

I would check their homework and help them with their math

Telling them to always do better than a C

They hung on to my every word

Even called me Auntie

I wonder where those kids are now

What did they do with their lives

Why would someone have all those kids

But not help them to thrive

Where I live now is quite different

I now have my own children to raise

They will never need a play auntie

To show them love in their young days

I will watch them grow, learn and play

In my own back yard

I am their teacher

When their homework is hard

They have their mama to rely on

At any given time

My neighborhood is nothing like the old one

The kids I love now are mine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 2, 2013 Blog Dare Prompt – I Will Never Lose…

my faith in God. There have been so many instances and incidents where I could have easily given  up and said screw it all, but why would I do that?  If my mind and heart has been staid all of these years up until now, I figure that there is no reason for me to change unless something so drastic happens that I have no choice. I am here to tell you now that the beginning of my very life was so drastic once I learned about it as well as one other situation during my childhood that I am convinced and that there is not much left that can  change what I believe now…it just wouldn’t make much sense to say that what has occurred over my lifetime was merely a compiled set of incidents that can only be attributed to coincidence.

Let’s begin at my entrance into this world. I know that I was there, but the fact that I was being born at the time should make clear the point that I actually had no idea what was actually going on in a realistically conscious sense. However, spiritually I must say that I very well may have known what was happening at the time, because all things work together for the good – right?

Okay. Long story short, I was not even supposed to be born because as my mother (R.I.P. Momma!) stated years ago that despite being under somewhat heavy sedation due to pre-natal distress, she could hear the doctor saying what a shame it was to have to ‘let the baby go’ in order to save the mother who had four other children to raise and that it was the best decision that he could make given the situation. He had decided that it would make more sense to save the mother of this unborn child who just happened to far exceed the birth weight that mother was able to accommodate (as never having had a baby over five pounds due to some other issue) instead of saving the baby and leaving the father with four children to raise by himself while having to work to take care of them at the same time.

This was not a common deal back in November of 1970, so the doctor stated that the child would have to be aborted immediately as a result of being too large to even attempt the journey through my mother’s severely and insufficiently capacious birth canal. For some reason, there was no time for an emergency C-section which has become the savior of today’s distressed births. I am not sure if there were no epidurals back then or what – I just remember Momma saying that time had run out and there was no other choice but to inevitably abort.

Keeping in mind that I was a rather sneaky kid who did not always follow the golden rule of actually leaving the room when ‘grown folks’ were talking, I could overhear the discussion one night as Momma and whoever company was (probably her sisters who were all in agreement that this was one of the most frightening times of their own lives) reminisced over the situation some odd years later. I will never forget how badly I regretted being a master eavesdropper that night which in turn caused me to obey that golden rule from then on…mostly anyway.

She then began to describe what she was thinking (while under) about how her precious baby would die and how devastated she would be afterwards. The next statements really threw me for a loop as she spoke about how she heard a ‘voice’ telling her to push regardless of the fact that she had already heard her OBGYN say that she would die upon giving birth.  The story went on to describe how my mom felt herself tearing as I came out while the doctor and his crew frantically rushed to prepare themselves for this shocking change in plans while also readying themselves to inform my dad of the deaths that were definitely in store. She said that she knew that I was here when she realized that she had totally ‘come apart’ while the staff took care of a perfectly healthy baby just before performing  a very intricate re-constructive surgery in order to try to get her back to somewhat normal. As a result, the next baby that was born into our family, Mom ended up having a scheduled C-section five years later because a regular birth was completely out of the question.

Anyway, Momma went on to describe an incident where she mentioned ‘hemorrhaging’ which could not have been good due to the fact that she said that she collapsed and was rushed back to the hospital for however long – me at the age of a few days, she had to depend on sisters to take care of the baby and the other kids while Dad worked. Apparently someone stayed at the house with us while Mom was in the hospital – I don’t remember who, but I did have some siblings who were old enough to help out.

Somehow, Momma came back home, healed, and went back to her normal mothering, cooking, taking care of home, and being the best mother that anyone could ever ask for. She attributes us making it through that ordeal strictly to God because of that voice along with the rest of the miraculous events such as her very survival. She told everyone that I was her ‘miracle child’. Though I had no idea of how to live up to that name, I tried my best although I’m sure that I didn’t do so well along the way years after, but that is my first reason for my undying faith.

The next comes from a regular doctor’s visit to my pediatrician at around the age of seven. They found a problem with my heart. Irregular beat, murmur, and after several abnormal EKGs and ultrasounds, I would need open heart surgery to correct the problem. Now, the final decision was made around the age of eleven because I was still going to my original pediatrician for some years before the problem was officially diagnosed. I cannot remember the actual name of the problem, but it was there – found by the new doctor and the specialist that he referred us to. Something about a blocked valve is all that I can really remember.

I find it strange how I can remember some things just a little bit while others as if it were yesterday, but I do remember my mom on the phone with church members and relatives speaking about them all planning to pray at certain times of the day. One day in particular, she was on the phone while ironing everyone’s clothes for the week. We were in hers and Dad’s bedroom, when I suddenly stopped paying attention to what was on TV. I saw a  little lady (that is how I remember it) appear right in front of me, bathed in white and light. Mom was talking about how they were keeping up with their prayers and how she would NOT lose me after all that it took to bring me into this world when the little lady smiled at me. We did not speak, but I knew what she was saying as she and I- apparently (as I know now), communicating telepathically. My mom had no idea of what was going on with me while this was happening and I didn’t mention it until much later.

I can distinctly remember having no fear of dying which I knew would surely happen if I had the surgery. The little lady told me that there was nothing to fear and I told her that I didn’t want to die because it would hurt my whole family and they would be crying. First of all, I could never stand the thought of either of my parents crying, but after all – I was the ‘miracle child’.  All of this was happening with no one talking except my mom and whoever she was on the phone with. The lady bathed in white and light said that great was my faith and love, so all that I needed to do was to pray for my friend. I would live and not die (she shook her head – no), but I would have some sadness in my life although I would get through that also. Little sparks of light went from her and landed on me as I accepted what she said, somehow knowing the ‘friend’ that she implied. It is still funny now how I felt that day, seeing the peace, joy, and unconditional love that I would experience, but choosing to stay put because I pretty much had it already.  The little lady thanked me and disappeared. I felt a calm as my mom hung up the phone.

She had been talking to the Avon lady who had a daughter that had become quite close to me over time. She had been scheduled to go in for the exact same surgery  that I was, but my mom and our church were praying for her too!

I said my prayer for my friend. A couple of years later in our pre-teens Taska (my friend) had gone through the same surgery that I was supposed to have had, but didn’t after the doctors could NOT find the problem that they had seen before, (believe me, they looked for it) but miraculously, it was no longer there. I could now join the marching band with no worries, and the day that Taska and her mother came to visit, I was ecstatic! She showed me her zipper just before we discovered that she also had become a flute player in her high school’s band. (There was no middle school back then) – We watched our mothers cry in relief while praising that same God that had seen fit to bring me into this world, I guess for the very purpose of being living proof that faith in Him does pay off.

I have seen many other miracles happen to others in my life…things that you would probably say are a coincidence or maybe you would even say that it didn’t even happen, but I would not be writing this if it hadn’t. I don’t knock what anyone believes and I don’t accept being knocked either, so what  happened – happened, and I am proud to say that it did. Life was different then, and today as a real-life non-church going yet full-fledged believing Christian, (I have changed my views on some things over time and I do not attribute my outcome to ‘church’ but faith), I can honestly say that… with all of this being said and much more to come…

I will never lose my faith in God.

By the way, my birth weight was 8’11!

Thanks for reading!

Aside

May 1, 2013 Blog Dare Prompt – Each Time That I am About to Accomplish Something…

education

education (Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

I seem to get sidetracked by something else – totally!  I mean, seriously…I can be dead set on starting one type of project or another when something happens to stop me. Usually it is something  at home that needs to be dealt with immediately, and there goes my little project. It is not that I don’t plan well or that I simply do not possess the quality characteristic of being consistent, (though there is much room for improvement), things just happen this way for me. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t even have to be a an actual ‘project’ such as writing a new poem or post for my blog, nor does it have to be an actual home emergency – just regular stuff…whatever that is –  although this is the case a lot of the time. To put it plainly, it could be something as simple as planning dinner for the day, so I will use this common task as my ‘for instance’ in order to ultimately reach the main point of the actual gist of this post. For example, let’s just say that my plan for the day is to have dinner done before three o’clock so it will be ready by the time my husband gets home and I can be doing something else (like being here on the blog), get the laundry done, and maybe use my ‘break time’ between these chores to at least begin a new blog post. While separating the colors from the whites, my youngest will begin his daily campaign for snacks. All of this usually takes place after he has finished his mom-given daily educational online exercises followed by a nice session of Roblox gaming, and it is time for him to turn the desktop over to his big brother (6-yrs old). Herein lies the catch to feigned hunger.

This is a logo for Roblox.

This is a logo for Roblox. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I always give them breakfast first thing in the morning  and I make sure to give them a small snack a couple of hours later, so this young man is asking for snacks over what he has already been given. I can’t help but wonder if he is going through a growth spurt or something, because his appetite has been quite ravenous lately. It is as if I haven’t given him anything to eat since the day began, and when he gets this way, it can be just a tad annoying. I apparently am not able to sufficiently feed my rambunctious little lad of four years , because he is always sneaking into the fridge and upon being caught, he will continue to act as if I have given him the thumbs up as he pulls out turkey slices and cheese to make wraps or either a sandwich for himself. To give credit where it is due, he does have the common courtesy to also offer to whip up a snack for his siblings. He waits patiently for me to either give in or go off the deep end before attempting to continue on with his adorably manipulative ploy.

Now, I have always taught my children to speak their minds and to be clear on the points that they are trying to make…I guess maybe he took in this teaching a little too well. Persistent is an understatement when it comes to this kid with his constant questions of why it is not time for the snack, when he can have the snack and of course what time will it be when I make the snack. This array of questions will undoubtedly go on until I am finally able to make it stop. I consider it a plus that he usually knows when he has hit that last nerve and will sometimes cease the onslaught all on his own, but depending on the time, I will either leave the laundry and make snacks for all three of the kids, or give the youngest some age appropriate  educational tasks until snack/lunch time finally comes.

Needless to say, I have now been put back on the laundry, so as I am frantically trying to get that done, the day has practically gone by and guess what – I haven’t even thawed out the meat for dinner! I have completely forgotten that I was even supposed to me making dinner…at least until I hear the low growl coming from my own empty belly. Sooo, I end up moving backwards to get everything done while pecking away periodically at the keyboard for a quick post, much like I am doing now.

With clothes in the washer and a family pack of wings or thighs in the microwave on compu-defrost, I manage to get a paragraph or two in before it is time to transfer the clothes from the washer to the dryer before starting another load. (I am very seldom granted enough mercy to have only one load a day)…The chicken is still not thawed, so I take care of that while simultaneously fussing about the kids cleaning up various messes that have been made while I was trapped in the washroom with the clothes. Soon after, the cycle of snack propositions, a variety of ‘no’ answers, more 4-year-old geared educational occupying tactics, and keyboard pecking takes place before I am finally able to put dinner on well after three.

An attractive dinner setting

An attractive dinner setting (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My husband walks through the front door to receive his daily greeting of jumps, hugs and kisses (I call it a physical attack) from the kids who are extremely happy to see him as if he has been gone for weeks before he asks what smells so good and when will it be ready. Just for the record, he is asking about the chicken baking in the oven and not me. My reply as usual, “When it’s done dude.” We both smile as he walks out the back door to feed the dogs and scoop poop while I try to remember to make sure that the house doesn’t burn down in the unfortunate case that I forget that I am cooking.

The day always (for the most part) ends with us all having a nicely non-burnt dinner, last clean-up and baths before bedtime, and even more typing before sleep overtakes us all. It was a good day. We have leftovers for the next day which will give me a little time to work on my post, yay! I made it once again despite being sidetracked into that abysmal pool of distracting forgetfulness due to well – you know.

My goal is to one day have myself as well as the kids on a ‘schedule’, but in the meantime what I have just described is an actual typical day in my household. I purposefully left out cleaning the house, making sure that the kids are getting their schoolwork done, answering a phone that never stops ringing, along with repeatedly changing my clothes to accommodate my daily dose of hot and cold flash turbulence…basically in order to explain my situation using a single set of scenarios. I had to do it this way because otherwise I would surely have found myself once again – sidetracked!

Despite all of the above, I have been used to things working this way for me for so long that while I am aware that this is not what most would call ‘normal’, it happens to be the norm for me until one day by some miracle, things change. If not, well…I am pretty much conditioned to having my last nerved jumped on, dealing with several worrisome situations at one time, and pretty much forgetting the rest until I finally remember it –  which on occasion is the next day or so. This no longer bothers me to a point where I want to pull my hair out, however it is still a bit annoying especially when I have veered so far off from my initial plan of whatever it was that I intended to do in the first place. Though I really could benefit from ‘having it another way’, I must accept it for what it is, embrace it, and move on because it is what it is and we are what we are. Just in case ‘we are’ as crazy as I think, I embrace that also – it is ‘our crazy’, and despite the unending annoyances, I love it!

housekeeping

housekeeping (Photo credit: pucci.it)

The one thing that I would never trade in or change is my group of three overly energetic yet exceptionally bright children. Oh yeah, I wouldn’t change the hub either, hahahahaha!! They all are my reason for living and my inspiration for wanting to do things that I have never done or thought that I would be able to do.

Just think of how this story would have turned out if I had actually added details concerning my six and twelve-year-old! I will have to save them for future posts, because I would never finish this one otherwise.

In a nutshell, each time that I am about to accomplish something… life happens.

Aside

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