Things I Don't Like

I don't like crooked hats....do you? If Nick wears his baseball hat in a crooked fashion, I immediately tell him to change it. Right now, I am watching a movie and Anne Hathaway has on a very stylish hat, but it's crooked - oh my! What to do? The thing is, I've been realizing lately that it's not just crooked hats I don't like. There are actually several things I don't like. Such as:

-mash potatoes with lumps (I was once forced to eat them, and I gagged)

-early morning

-cooked cabbage

-waitresses who forget if it was me or Richard who had iced tea

-a bad movie I paid to see

-people who bitch about all the crap they don't like

-elderly people who smoke while wearing oxygen

-the fringy things that hang on the car wash spinner thingies.

Before I continue to reveal my obvious freakishness, I will stop there. Unfortunately, there are many other things that bug me. Why do so many things bug me? This has been a topic with my therapist and also a quite vivid argument in my own mind. I have come to a few conclusions (now, these may seem obvious to you, but this has been quite revealing for me):

-I am judgmental - more judgmental than I would like to be and definitely more judgmental than my christian faith would have me be.

-Easy-goingness is part personality trait and part choice. I don't have it going for me in the personality department on this one, so I'll have to focus on choices.

-A good frame of reference: in the big scheme of things, does this really matter? and even more importantly, can I do anything about it? If the answer to these is no - time to move on.

This all looks fine and dandy on paper, but actually adjusting to this frame of reference is another thing entirely. Just like eating an entire bag of doritos, complaining, whining, and judging may feel oh so good at the time, but just as soon as you are finished, regret inevitably follows.

I am not writing this, so that people will write back and say, "It's okay," or "Really, you aren't THAT much of a bitch," but rather to share with you what I am personally working on and towards. If you see me snapping a rubber band on my wrist, it is probably because I have just been snarky to someone or at the very least about someone. But hey, I'm working on it! : )

I'm Back!!!

I'm sorry for my serious delinquency in writing. I have been having some real ups and downs this past week, and I honestly thought about chucking the idea of the blog altogether. I have started wondering: is all of this blogging, twittering, facebooking "stuff" a vehicle for one to be self-absorbed and obsessive? I'm starting to think maybe. It's good therapy for me, though, so for now, I'm sticking with it.

There are so many things I could write about tonight....I have a gazillion thoughts running around in my already crowded head. Such as:

-self-doubt

-being judgmental

-swinging from one extreme emotion to the next

-photography, photography, photography

-Nick

-family

-trip to Iowa for 4th of July

-family

-the effects of the oppressive heat

-worrying about my health

-not wanting to go to the doctor to stop myself from worrying

-this blog

-family

-the book I'm reading, Handle With Care by Jodi Picoult

-the movie My Sister's Keeper - based on book by Jodi P. - out tomorrow

-family

Do you notice a repetitive theme going on here? Yes, I continue to be focused on thinking about my family - even though it is among a long list of other thoughts, concerns, wonderings. Still, it all seems to go back to family. And that's a good thing. A challenging thing but a good thing, none-the-less.

Have I told the story of my birth? Excuse me, our birth? It's a great story, and I've heard it many, many times. I've heard it so many times that the images I associate with it have been burned on my brain, and I think I actually remember it. 

Amy and I, as I have mentioned, are the youngest of seven children. My parents were average, middle class citizens who were struggling through and yet enjoying life as parents of five children/young adults, ages 19-7. Why then, you might ask, would they embark on another pregnancy? Fate? Fate or blind luck or God's plan? Hmmmm....I'll go with God's plan. 

Our conception and arrival were definitely a shocker for the family. When my mom announced at the dinner table that she was pregnant, our brother Jamie (nine at the time - I think), laid his head down on the table and cried.  This is not my favorite part of the story, as I am sure Jamie must have been thinking: another kid around here? However, Jamie is a bit of a sentimental guy, so I like to think of his tears that night as tears of joy! : ) Yeah, right!

My mom tells the story most vividly of how she came to be pregnant for the sixth time. My oldest sister, Vicki up and moved to Florida with her steady boyfriend, Dean. Dean was a bit of a wild child/hippie/free spirit - you get the idea. Mom and Dad absolutely adore him today - all of these years later when his presence in our family seems an absolute perfect fit - but back then they say they were, well...worried. 

My mom was so worried, in fact, that her "cycle was completely out of whack!" She describes herself as practically crazed - out of her mind, in fact - that Vicki had moved to what seemed like a world away. I know you see where this is headed. In her grief and despair, she was given a distraction by God: a baby! 

Let me interject her that I cannot imagine being in my parents' situation. I think of how the world has changed since then, and how young and middle aged couples are so deliberate in their actions these days. 2.5 kids are planned out carefully as not to leave out proper time and resources for ballet and karate lessons and of course, the biggie, college tuition. Expectations revolve so heavily on creating the well-rounded, fulfilled child. I envy the "it will all work out" philosophy that couples with large families must have had back then. I am sad that so few people will have the experience of a large family as I have. 

Anyway - back to the story. Mom's pregnancy was fairly normal, I guess. She was 35, almost 36 at the time she was pregnant. That is my age now - like I said, I cannot imagine it! She did say she was unusually large, and she could not eat enough to keep up her own body weight. She said she could see her ribs - sticking out behind her largely protruding belly. She said she was so large, in fact, that she could rest a plate on her belly and eat off of it! She wondered if she was having twins, but the doctor assured her that she was only having one, as he heard only one heartbeat....no ultrasounds back then, of course.

We were born on the 3oth of July, so I can only begin to imagine her misery in the heat of the summer. I'm not sure what she was doing that day. I need to ask her that - I really have only heard the delivery and post-delivery stories. After Amy was born, her stomach did not flatten out, and it was then, and only then, did she and the doctor realize there was another baby! ME! I know it will be a shock, but my delivery was complicated! I was a medical hassle from the very beginning! I was breach, and to make matters worse, my mom had completely stopped having contractions.

At this point, Dad says he was standing directly outside the delivery room smoking cigarettes as fast and furiously as he could. In the thirty one minutes between Amy's birth and mine, he claims to have smoked a pack - or at least he felt like he did. In a moment my mom describes as pure desperation on the part of the doctor, he put his hands on my moms stomach and literally pushed me out.

I may be overanalyzing things - as you know I am prone to doing - but I find it so amazing that in many ways Nick and I came into the world in such similar fashion. Nick was pulled out of me, while I was able to do nothing but pray, and my mom must have been feeling equally helpless as the doctor forced me into the world. I thought about my entrance to the world a lot when I was in the asylum, as well. The journey of our lives seems to be sprinkled throughout with consistent themes....is that by choice or chance? From the beginning and throughout my life has been filled with surprise, concern, one-in-a-million (or at least one in a few hundred thousand) moments and events that forever altered my journey and the journey of our family.

The next part of the story is also an interesting detail that seems to have been a beginning to a life-long pattern. Since I was a complete shock, when my siblings came to the hospital to see their new brother or sister, they were blown away to realize they had two new sisters. When my dad showed us to them through the nursery window, he said, "That's Amy and that's the other one." They had not picked out a name for me yet. Amy and I have discussed many times how our whole lives have been the same line over and over, "You know Amy, and this, of course is Angie," said with a tone implying, "the one with cancer." 

Recently, Amy attended a New Year's Eve party in our hometown in Iowa. She said it was great to see people she hadn't seen in years. She did say she spent a good amount of the evening, though, answering the question, "and how is your sister?" She claims that even relatives in our family remember me long before they recognize her. When we were younger and up into college, this was a source of contention for both of us. Amy felted slighted by being my shadow. I felt awkward and angry about being in the spotlight. And one night, sitting in the car in a rainy parking lot on the campus of MU, we got it all out. We discussed it until we couldn't cry or discuss it anymore.

Someday I will write more about that night and about that discussion. It's a moment in time I don't want to remember and I don't want to forget. It's a moment in time that reminds me of the miracle of life and family and relationships and communication. Most importantly, it is a moment in time that reminds me of one oh so important and undeniable fact: we are in this together.

Ho Hum

We are in Kansas City (Blue Springs, really), and we are already two games into the state championship tournament. We have won two games! We have had a sort of up and down season, so we are all really excited to be doing so well in the state tournament. It is Friday morning. We left our friends' house at 6:00 am to get to the ballpark in time to warm up for an 8:00 game. Now I'm tired, but I don't want to sleep and waste good girlfriend time with my friend, Angela. She has three little ones, ages 7, 4, and 2. Even though they are younger than Nick, he is still having a great time. I am sitting by the window, and Ican see them all in the backyard, running, jumping and laughing. How great!

I'm having too good of a time to write anything too serious here today.

I will say to all moms out there - isn't it wonderful to see your child do something he loves and even more, succeed at it! Nick has had two really great games, and I'm so happy for him to have success.

Until tomorrow.

Hot Summer Day

Well, it was a hot, sticky day in Missouri, and I despise hot, sticky days! : )

I remember coming home from the Hampton swimming pool when we were young and being sun burned and tired - worn out from a day jumping in and out of the refreshing water and making regular trips to the concession stand for lemon heads and jolly rancher suckers. We were usually at the pool with friends or with our nephews, Jess and Ty. We rode our bikes to the pool most times. It was definitely a different time. Good memories, for sure. The one amazing thing about my memories of the Hampton swimming pool - and there are MANY, for sure - is that I don't ever remember feeling self-conscious or strange about being there with my scars, bald head, and eventually one leg. I think that's a very good thing.

We are off tomorrow to a ball tournament in Kansas City. We are staying with my best friend from my years at MU. I'm excited to reconnect...less excited about sitting in 110 degree heat! YIKES!

One thing I learned while doing my photo shoot today, is that good can come even when things seem rather hectic and disheveled! Miss Sophie was a character, and every time I looked her way, she would crinkle her nose up in a frown! So all pictures of her were taken on the sly! : ) I think the pictures and the kids are precious. Here is one of each of them - could have posted so many more! J. if you see this, send me a text to let me know what you think...If you remember how! : )

The Future

I keep reminding myself of the saying my sister Vicki gave to me: the best thing about the future is that it happens one day at a time.

I think it is hard to develop a business and to embark on reinventing yourself without thinking about the future. I spent all day today thinking about my photography business and all of the tasks I need to complete to make it a successful, enjoyable venture. Inevitably, I find myself swimming as hard as I can against a sea of self-doubt. In the next moment I am feeling like, "yeah, I can do this." There are just so many darn what-ifs in life, and I think when you've been through a lot, like I have, you are always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's hard not to think this way when the other shoe has dropped so many times. And it is exhausting fighting against the natural thoughts that come into my mind. As soon as I think something negative, I go into battle mode, fighting against that thought because if I don't, it just might consume me.

When I look back on my life, I am well aware that I never had my present situation in mind for myself. When I was just out of high school, I remember sitting with a friend, on her dock, late into the night, discussing where I saw myself heading. I told her then that I never really saw myself being a mom. I told her it just seemed so impossible. There were too many questions: Had the chemo left me sterile? How would I be pregnant and get around with one leg? How would I carry a baby? What would I do if I fell with the baby in my arms? How would I live with knowing my child was embarrassed of his mom with one leg? She encouraged me and told me that where there's a will there's a way. Still though, I doubted the possibility.

I try and think of my motherhood as an example of achieving more than I ever thought possible for myself. Very quickly behind that thought, comes memories of all of the trips to the ER over the past few years, with either Richard's or my health hanging in the balance. I certainly never expected those events either. Why does our mind focus so easily on the events that scare us and cause us to surrender our dreams?

The truth is, I have always wanted to be a photographer. A part of me thinks that the getting around part might be difficult. In my head, I choreograph how I would get around different settings where I might be taking pictures. I have no doubts that I am talented enough or smart enough. My doubt lies mostly in my physical abilities and in all the what-ifs that might get in the way. Will I have the will power to fight through those? I just don't know. I can feel myself gaining my strength and fight back, but having to fight through another difficult situation seems extremely daunting to me at this point. Richard keeps encouraging me and asking me, "Why are you so hard on yourself?"

Fear. I guess that's it. Fear of what might happen if I'm not hard on myself. Fear of what is up ahead...and harboring the idea that maybe if I think about all of the crap that could happen, then at least I'll be prepared and not be blind-sided. Logically, I know that it does no good to worry. Life happens. My heart won't let it go, though.

Tomorrow I am photographing my first baby and his toddler sister. I am so excited for this opportunity. I am way less nervous than I thought I would be, which is a good thing. Mostly, I am looking forward to being around people and for sharing my passion with them. After my session, I have a counseling appointment. I have lots to say this week, as it has been full of ups and downs. There are so many questions I wish my therapist could just answer for me. I know that's not how it works, though. I know the answers have to come from within.

I will post some pics tomorrow.

Crying

Before I start officially writing today, I want to stop and say a word about my spelling and grammar. Considering I used to be an English teacher, one might expect my grammar and spelling to be meticulous. Not so, obviously. So to my English teacher friends who are reading, or to any of you closet grammarians out there, I am sorry. I cannot spill my guts and worry about punctuation. It is just too much. The burden is too heavy! : )

I wrote last time about not crying when they told me about amputating my leg. This has been an issue my counselor and I have talked quite a bit about. I feel awkward at times because I have a hard time crying in front of other people. There have been times when I have, but it is usually out of anger, not sadness or sentimentality. The only three things that consistently make me cry are seeing/hearing children sing, the movie Stepmom, and the ending of Rocky IV.

I know, I'm a freak! : )

I know if Richard read this, he would have a hard time believing it, so let me say that I do cry in front of Richard. He has never said, "don't cry," and I really appreciate that about him. Unfortunately, he bears the brunt of most of my crying - I guess all husbands have that pleasure to some extent. The past three years, with all of the trials and tribulations we have encountered, have brought on even more tears than usual.

When it comes to crying around other people, I just feel very, very uncomfortable. I do not feel uncomfortable if someone else is crying. In fact, I think I'm pretty good at listening, talking them through it, etc....(I guess I should be if I'm a counselor, for goodness sake!) Even when I was younger, other girls would be crying at movies, at 8th grade graduation, at the cards in Hallmark. Me - nothing. 

Tonight I had dinner with some dear girlfriends from my teaching "family." One of our special group is moving out of state. Tonight's dinner was to celebrate her and to have a good gossip session before she leaves. We gave her a touching poem that one of our friends wrote about our group, and everyone was shedding tears. Not me. I did, however, cry on the way home, listening to music in the privacy of my car. 

Because I am usually wondering what others are thinking about me, I wonder if others see this as a sign that I don't feel as much or care as much. This is certainly not the case at all. I think, though, that I do have a hard time expressing how I feel in words and "in person." I am great with writing. I have expressed myself many times in letters to friends and family and, of course, in this blog. But when it comes to speaking how I feel, it is much harder for me.

I have no problem speaking how I feel when I am angry. In fact, I have no problem crying out of anger, either. In fact, that is usually what happens when I become very hurt or angry. I cry. This makes arguments/confrontation very frustrating for me, because I am often a blubbering idiot. I wonder if so much anger comes out because I hold other things back....or maybe I am just plain overanalyzing the situation. Either way, I do know I feel awkward and inadequate at times because I cannot adequately explain how I feel. Often I give gifts to show how I feel but am often left wondering if the person got the point.

I have been thinking about this quite a bit lately - obviously. I have a counseling appointment on Wednesday, and I plan to share this with her. I have not cried when I am there. I almost always cry after I leave. Why can I not let myself go? Why is it so hard for me to shed tears of joy and sorrow at appropriate times?

After a bit of an up and down week, I feel content tonight. While I am still very much in a state of flux and self-exploration, I am feeling more and more a part of the real world every day, which is to say I feel like I am escaping the "funk" that has consumed me for months. If I was a crier, I might even be crying tears of joy! But alas, I am off to sleep, completely dry eyed and wondering if ever those tears might come. 

Grieving

I have broken my writing streak - I apologize. I decided in rather last minute fashion, that I would come to Iowa with my parents this weekend to see my niece's dance recital. You might wonder why I would travel four and a half hours for a dance recital. Laura is no ordinary dancer. She began in kindergarten and is now going to enter the eighth grade. We have seen her grow up in her dancing, although one fact has always remained constant: she is the best dancer at the recital. I know you think I'm just biased, but this is not the case. She really is the best! : ) No joke. For years I have been seeing her recitals on DVD, but last year Richard and I came to our first recital. And I was hooked. This year I had the special added enjoyment of spending time taking pictures of Laura. Not only is she a wonderful dancer, she is also an all around wonderful person. As her aunt Peggy put it this evening, "She's pretty special, isn't she?" That she is. I think her pictures reflect that. Here are a few of my favorites:

(That's her in the front, and she had to hold that pose for a long time...she was awesome!)

The music at the recitals is usually amazing, and today was no exception. I get so emotional when listening to music, don't you? Today, as I watched the girls dance - moving their bodies gracefully (at least most of them), I long to have two legs. I let myself go down the "what if" path for just a moment: what if I had two legs...I would ice skate and dance and run up and down the stairs and not be tired or sore or so hot all of the time. There are not many moments when I feel this way, but watching ice skating, dancing, and gymnastics always gives me this intense feeling of longing. 

Many times in the last few months, I find myself looking in the mirror and not exactly recognizing who I see. I wonder if I look different to those around me. I know I am heavier, but it is deeper than that. Jane (aka, therapist) says I am a mode of self exploration, and this is why I feel so odd, even to myself. 

The thing is that since I lost my leg at the age of ten, I don't really remember having a leg. I don't long to be the person I was...to me I am who I am. The longing is more of a longing to be someone else - to change who I am into someone who is more self-confident, assured, and comfortable. To me, I think having a leg would provide all of that. In my mind I think, "Surely if I had two legs I would feel so good about myself." I quickly remind myself of the many two-legged self-conscious people I know, but I'm just sure that wouldn't be me.

In order to know what they were seeing on x-rays, the doctors at the Mayo Clinic did a biopsy of my left femur to see what was inside. I already knew in my heart what was inside my leg. It was cancer. I was sick - again. I woke up from a nap, still in the hospital recovering from the biopsy, and my parents were there, along with a few doctors, one being my surgeon. My parents were crying. My mom was sitting to the left of me, on my bed. My dad was on the right side of the bed, standing back a ways, looking away, trying to protect me from the pain in his eyes. Amy was out at the nurses station, and I could see her through the glass. 

"We are going to amputate your leg," the surgeon said. I remember these words but none of the words before those or even those immediately following. I remember an intense desire to escape the room, to run away from the news and especially from the pain my parents were experiencing. I wanted nothing more than to grab Amy and run. Run. Run. As much as I wanted to escape the situation, it was one I had myself prepared for. I knew before the biopsy was performed that the cancer had returned. I just felt it in my gut. And so the news, while devastating, was not a surprise to me.

I did not cry - not one bit - upon hearing the news. I just sat there making myself go away somewhere in my mind. My mom supported me, "It's okay to cry."

"I don't feel like crying," I said matter-of-factly. And I didn't. I did not hold back tears to protect them from my pain. The tears were not there. Had this come from years and years of training myself to hide my emotions? Was I in shock? Was this my coping mechanism? 

I do know that as the years have gone on, I miss having my leg more and more each year. I guess I expected it to get easier instead of harder, but as I get older, I am more and more aware of my physical limitations, and I feel more and more trapped inside a body that won't do what I want it to.

Still, I refuse to give into the pain or to the thoughts I feel when I watch Laura dance. Am I torturing myself? No, I don't think so. I want to see her dance. I want to celebrate her ability to do so. I want her to know how much I love and support her - nothing, no feeling - is ever going to stop me from doing something as important as that.