October 25, 2005
I Used To Be Something Else
I keep a notepad by the computer upstairs, as from time to time a reminder of some kind of work or chore I'm supposed to do leaks out of my head, and I need a place to anchor it. The notepad was previously a David and Goliath notepad with a cartoon drawing of a boy with Charlie Brown hair surrounded by the words 'Boys Are Smelly'Â. My smelly boy was used up in due time, its pages used and wrinkled and covered in doodles from a bored Melissa, and it was time for a replacement, as I couldn't continue to write things on my hand forever, as inevitably I would write it on my hand and then absentmindedly wash my hands, my germ phobia over-running my need to remember what the hell task it was I was going to do.
So while racing around Sainsbury's one day, I strode through the stationary section, my mind conscious of the fact that I had things to do, and I looked at the notepads. There were bright shiny pink ones, plastic covered ones, average brown ones. On the bottom shelf I noticed a distinct black rubber covered notepad, and it was revealed that the notebook cover had been made out of a recycled tire, its pages recycled paper. Next to it was a plain gray notebook, also made out of recycled paper and far less glamorous compared to its cat suited neighbor. Since I felt a little strange with the idea of a tire on my desk, visions of them not quite managing to get all of the roadkill out of the treads haunting my germ phobic dreams, I bought the recycled gray paper one.
And it sits upstairs next to the computer. It sat there for a few days before I had to start taking notes on it, inevitably last-minute to do lists, blog topics, people who I am supposed to call, errands I dread. But I kept thinking about it, mostly because it sat there on the desk emboldened in plain script across the front with the words: 'I used to be something else.'Â
I used to be something else.
As though, through the simple process of being pulped and watered, everything has the chance to become a new incarnation of something good, something useful. All it takes is a recycling man named Johnny Boy to chip the paper into the vat, erasing all the words off of you that someone once took the time to write, and poof! You have a whole new chance.
I looked at the front page of the paper and wondered what it used to be. Was it someone's grocery list? Was it a middle chapter in a term paper? Was it the constant scribbling and project planning of a long day at work? Was it a love letter of the old fashioned kind, the kind you get in the mail and can hold and sniff and treasure?
And how is it that all it takes to get the absolute definition of tabula rasa, the very epitome of the clean slate, is to go through the wringer? Is it possible that with a little vinegar and a soupy machine, we too could be scrubbed of our previous content and be allowed to emerge as something with the world ahead of them?
I spend far too much time thinking about that notebook.
But how great it is to think that you'd have a chance to become something new, all in the same lifetime.
I guess it's what I have done, pretty consistently, since that April morning in 1974 (every time I write that, I feel old. 1974. 1974. Seriously, that's old. And every time I think of the 1970's, for some reason I think of Snoopy, which makes no sense at all except for the fact that perhaps I am also thinking of Woodstock and everyone knows Woodstock is Snoopy's best little yellow buddy. However Woodstock took place in 1969, not 1974. Screw it. The word association is doing my head in.)
Since the beginning, I have been taking the time to explode into something else, pushed into another life perhaps due to some kind of life demon I managed to pick up in my life and the only way to shake it is to morph into something else, camouflaging myself among the living. Sometimes, a new life has occurred beyond my control, I hadn't wanted to move on maybe, but I had to and the best way to try to acclimate to the change is to pretend that space had always been reserved for me.
I am on Life #6. Who knows how many lives this notebook has had, maybe it's just the second and thus the onus is on me to make sure that what I contribute is meaningful. The first page doesn't want a grocery list, a hastily scribbled phone number that I don't want to call, or a blog idea. Maybe its dream is to be covered with the first re-draft of the Magna Carta or the reiteration on the EU's doctrine on the import of bananas, one that's clearer and makes more sense (my reiteration would be very simple and clear-as I hate bananas, I would ban their imports. I may be re-writing EU doctrines, but I can do it as a totalitarian, if I want. It's my doctrine, after all).
Maybe the notebook is not as career driven as that. Perhaps it's happy enough to sit there and take whatever mental detritus that comes out of my head gracefully and kindly (Awww'¦isn't that sweet, it will say. She actually thinks she can make a blog post out of a drinking fountain experience. Poor little chippie, bless her.) Maybe it doesn't care what it is I have to say, it's so happy to be around again.
Or else it's very tired and terribly annoyed. It thought when it went to that recycling vat it had made it's way to the great timber yard in the sky. It sits there, grumpy, angry, or bewildered (What the hell? What? Wasn't I just a leaflet on breast pumps a minute ago? What? Where am I, and why does this cat keep sitting on me?) It was tired and ready for a rest (my God, little notebook, I totally understand. I too am exhausted and ready for a nap. A long one. But keep the paper pulping to yourself, ok?)
Who needs animism when you can amuse yourself with paperism?
In the end, I can't help but be glad I bought recycled paper. And even though I fill the notebook with little notes and things I need to do and blog topics that may or may not ever see the light of an LCD flat screen, I am comforted by its little gray company. I will buy this kind of notebook again and again, and when it is full it will wind up in the recycling bin again, thereby either making me a savior (I'm recycled again! I'm back again! And this time, I don't have a reminder to call and get colonoscopy approval from an insurance company, yippee!) or making me its own incarnation of Judge Doom (God, I'm back again. I'm so tired. I hate that bloody fir tree I was a part of. I hate my life. I hate everything.)
But in the meantime, I take a small comfort in the front of the book.
I used to be something else.
I know the feeling.
-H.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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1
LOL, I so want to be in your mind for 15 minutes sometime!
I wish I could throw myself in a vat and be born again lol.
Posted by: justme at October 25, 2005 03:08 PM (M0T3J)
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If there is one thing I can honestly say I've figured out about life it's that it is constantly changing. We all used to be something else, and we were all different things to different people.
PS--Unlike JustMe, it's not your MIND I want to spend 15 minutes in ;-)
Posted by: ~Easy at October 25, 2005 03:24 PM (LN5gS)
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I used to be something else too, A NON-Blogger, those were the days, plenty of time to do----?? sleep at reasonable hours, and no constant searching for material WORTHY of blogging.
Posted by: Peter at October 25, 2005 03:32 PM (Fi2Bk)
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This is one of my very favorite of your posts. I can't even tell you exactly why, only that it is.
Posted by: Tif at October 25, 2005 03:51 PM (jCFyL)
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Isn't it interesting how we can learn something from the simplest of things? When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.
Posted by: kenju at October 25, 2005 06:36 PM (+AT7Y)
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I wouldn't be able to use the pad either.
I'm just surprised it hasn't been a catalyst for you to chuck the whole stress thing and go back to being the happier Helen you were before Dream Job became Nightmare Job.....
Posted by: caltechgirl at October 25, 2005 06:54 PM (/vgMZ)
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Should have gotten a Moleskine... Hemingway used one!
Miguel.
Posted by: miguel at October 25, 2005 06:55 PM (RCbs5)
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I agree with Tif. This is one of my favorite posts too. Hang in there.
Posted by: kirsten at October 25, 2005 07:59 PM (uT4r1)
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You are such a deep thinker - and talented writer. You get it out there and make even the smallest thing entertaining. I love this post. We all were something else at one time... it's a constant process. Love it. Thank you.
Posted by: sue at October 25, 2005 09:42 PM (WbfZD)
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October 24, 2005
So...Is He a Wonder Bread Kind of Guy?
Yesterday Angus and I had to go to Tesco for that weekly ritual known as "Oh my God, there is absolutely nothing to eat in the house, we must take thee to the vendor of comestibles." About 20 minutes drive away is what feels like England's biggest Tesco's, the Queen Mother of all grocery shops. Just across the roundabout from it is what feels like England's nicest Sainsbury's, home to the Knickers That Make My Ass Look Good, but yesterday we needed to stop at Marks and Spencers as well, which is attached at the hip to that particular Tesco.
Marks and Spencers is already well kitted out for Christmas.
It's not even Halloween yet, and I am surprised there isn't already a queue to line up and soil Santa' knee. The place was floor to ceiling with Christmas decorations, Christmas wrapping paper, Christmas novelty gifts, Christmas party clothes (in England Christmas parties are assumed to be a dressing up affair. This doesn't really compute with me as Christmas parties here are also infamous for being places where people get completely sozzled, photocopy their asses under those expensive party dresses, and inevitably have that other kind of affair which leads to an entire year after that of uncomfortable silence when you bump into the coffee machine together. So yeah. Good call on the dressing up at Christmas parties.)
And of course, there were boxes and boxes of Christmas Crackers. Now Christmas Crackers are something that I can really get into. A large wrapped cardboard tube, looking for all the world like the world's largest Tootsie Roll, is lined on the inside with a small firecracker-like thingy (don't ask me what it is, I only know it makes a loud popping sound and they are thus banned as in-flight entertainment). When you pull the two ends of the enormous sweet-looking package, it goes off with a bang and releases a paper crown that, for reasons best known to the English, you have to wear throughout the remainder of the meal (psst...just because you are wearing a crown doesn't make you royalty. It just fucks up your hair). In addition, there's always some kind of little gift inside, and if you're willing to pay the good currency, there are good gifts in there.
So speaking of crowns-at Tesco we had finished our vending and I waited outside with the trolley full of food, drink, and of course the 16-roll package of toilet paper that one must have while Angus went back into Tesco for one last purchase. Since Guy Fawkes Day is nigh, fireworks are available everywhere. And, fireworks being as cool as they are, we had to buy some. Tesco being what it is, they sell fireworks but insist you leave the store once you've bought them as, really, would you trust a grown-up with a feverish look in his eyes with fireworks in your store?
As I waited outside swigging fresh squeezed orange juice while Angus made his most favorite purchase of the year, I got a text from him.
It read: Prince Harry is in the store.
Cool.
And me waiting outside with a 16-roll economy pack of Charmin.
We live about ten miles away from Sandhurst, which is the Royal Military Academy, now temporary home to both Prince William and Prince Harry as they do their bit for God, England, mankind and the inevitable service record. This Tesco, our largest local grocery shop, is in Sandhurst. So it isn't too surprising that if Prince Harry is in the mood for a packaged BLT and a six-pack of Budweiser (the Czech stuff, not the nasty American stuff), he'd nip out to Tesco.
Apparently the place was abuzz. People were running around telling where they'd seen him. He's in the bread aisle! whispers alerted. I thought about that. I pictured him as a Wonder Bread eater (similar to a brand here called Hovis). I wondered-Did he eat his Brussell Sprouts? Was he a Honey Nut Crunch kind of chap, or a Count Chocula? Since he's the second heir to the throne after Billy, does that mean he splurges on Charmin or use the cheap recycled stuff that feels like you're wiping with tree bark, or does he get his bum wrap specially flown in from Flemish weavers?
I don't mind the boy, but I wouldn't mind giving him a piece of my mind on his hunting activities. I'd also like to give him a smack on the backside of the head for that whole Nazi uniform thing, as I'm pretty sure Prince Charles is not a smack on the back of the head kind of father and a stunt like that deserves a smack. I don't think the guy's a Nazi, I just think he has incredibly poor taste. As in-really incredibly poor taste. I'd also remind Harry that Chav is so over, could he please find a new girlfriend, one that can hold her drink?
When Angus came out my period was letting my crotch know that in no way, shape or form would I be making it home without leaking, so while he waited with the groceries I went in to the ladies. Once in there, I replaced said soaked tampon and finished up. Only...the toilet wouldn't flush. It just wouldn't. And there was an enormous blood clot in there (thank you, Period Fairy, come again.)
And I didn't know what to do.
In general I have a public three flush rule. If I try to flush the toilet three times and it no work, I give up (this does not apply if I have had a major private moment. I will keep trying. And if there is a queue for the toilet and I've had a private moment in an apparently non-flushable toilet? Oh yeah. I can so outwait you, man.)
But in the ladies', I suddenly thought: I can't walk away and leave this. There's a period clot in the bottom of the toilet. What if Prince Harry sees this? What if he knows that one of his family's potential subjects lays blood clots? Will I be quarantined? Will they suspect me of bird flu? Will there be a new Magna Carta, one more along the lines of Maxi Flower?
To which I spent the next few minutes desperately trying to flush the toilet.
When it succeeded and removed mine offensive blood clot from mine eyes, I sighed in relief. No bird flu for me, then.
And so it was I left, and never saw His Royal Whatever You Call Him.
But at least it's nice to know that he mingles with the little people, even if it is to check and see if the melons are fresh.
-H.
PS-many thanks for the Flax Seed recommendations. I have bought them and am happily back to being fish-free.
PPS-colonoscopy scheduled for November 9 now. So...something to look forward to, then.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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1
Sorry you can't sleep - hope things get better soon.
Posted by: kenju at October 24, 2005 05:25 AM (+AT7Y)
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PPPS-colonoscopy scheduled for November 9 now. So...something to look forward to, then.
GROAN! Was hoping it was all over with and completely negative.
Posted by: ilyka at October 24, 2005 09:39 AM (YtWXH)
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Sorry Helen know how these things wiegh on your mind
Posted by: Mike Thees at October 24, 2005 11:56 AM (2oVHZ)
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"colonoscopy scheduled for November 9 now. So...something to look forward to, then"
Would "bottom's up" work here?
Posted by: drew at October 24, 2005 01:10 PM (IR4lS)
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I'm sorry that you can't sleep... I'm hoping that things get better.
In regards to the Christmas crackers, I require them every Christmas, even if I have to order them online. Since I live in SE Georgia now, it's a common online purchase lately, because I usually get the odd looks when I ask for them.
Posted by: amber at October 24, 2005 03:41 PM (VZEhb)
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I can so relate to your Period Problems. LOL! Very funny, Helen.
Too bad the job thing can't be solved by blogging! You could charge us to read you!
It's a thought! :-)
Posted by: Amber at October 24, 2005 05:58 PM (zQE5D)
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I see you removed that last rant about dream job...
Posted by: pylorns at October 24, 2005 09:42 PM (FTYER)
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Excuse me?
My last...rant?
Are you serious?
1) I have said again and again that I talk about work then remove the posts. It's for venting purposes only.
2) If you want to lower my work stress to the kind of tone reserved for "hysterical women" or "that kind of lecture your woman gives you when you really just want to watch the game with a beer", then be prepared to piss me off.
So yes, I removed the post.
Ass.
Posted by: Helen at October 24, 2005 09:53 PM (xXftC)
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Removed a rant, eh? This is why I usually try to check you out every day...wait, that came out wrong...
Posted by: ~Easy at October 24, 2005 10:00 PM (LN5gS)
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LOL! As if Harry would go into the ladies.... but then again, given his family, who knows??
Ok, you've done it. I must scour LA for real Christmas Crackers. I usually make due with pathetic American ones, but I think this year I'll be on the lookout for the real deal.
Good luck with the colon scope. Especially the drinking of the goo.
Posted by: caltechgirl at October 24, 2005 10:08 PM (/vgMZ)
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Yay for flax seed. Now if I could only find non-leather cute shoes that don't tear my feet up.
Hope the colonoscopy goes ok!
Posted by: Lee at October 24, 2005 10:30 PM (PYZOC)
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I'm sorry you aren't sleeping...and having those horried work problems. Hoping it all gets better for you soon. You're too nice of a person to have all this misery.
Posted by: sue at October 25, 2005 12:45 AM (eo55L)
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Forget about siting Prince Harry in Tesco, I would rather see you and Angus. Oh, and for the record: Ladies, when I know you are having a private moment in the bathroom, I am the one that you mutter "Thank you" to because I leave very quickly because I so understand. I don't fix my hair and I don't put on lipstick...I leave before you explode.
Posted by: Marie at October 25, 2005 12:47 AM (B6wqx)
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Get better, Helen. I suffered through one of the inflate-your-colon-so-that-you-fart-for-ten-hours-straight exams about 10 years ago, so I sympathize and empathize with you. You'll get through and be laughing about it later. At least, that's what people told me. I'm still waiting for the chuckles to hit me. Any. Minute. Now.
After that exam, I seriously considered getting a tatoo for my ass: EXIT ONLY.
Posted by: physics geek at October 25, 2005 02:32 AM (auFn9)
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Ha! Your reply to "pylorns" was so cool...you go girl!!!
Posted by: Gill at October 25, 2005 12:56 PM (TsRom)
Posted by: pylorns at October 25, 2005 02:08 PM (lXbab)
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"Period Fairy!" That's hilarious! I love it.
Posted by: Karla at October 26, 2005 03:08 AM (Rfqkp)
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And just when I think I couldn't love you any more, I read the comments you leave in your comments section.....fabulous. Love it.
Posted by: kitty at October 26, 2005 06:26 PM (cyfSY)
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October 20, 2005
D-I-V-O-R-C-E!
Last night I got home, threw on my pajamas, and cracked open a bottle of wine. I wish I could say I delicately sampled the liquid from fine fluted crystal, however I was much less refined. I was in desperate need. As in, desperately wrenched the cork off, willing to lose teeth in the process, if I could just have a drink.
I'd had yet another bad day in the history of my suck job, but at least I have an action plan for today, to try to find a way out of it.
I walk into the living room where Angus was curled up on the couch, setting the remote control down in a way indicative of Why yes. I have chosen the tv programming, and it is good. I walk in and see...it's Trinny and Susannah.
"Oh my God!" I shout. "It's those bitches!"
I look at the TV, at the woman that they are preparing to "help out". "Oh my God!" I shout again. "She's wearing a purple cadigan and a red turtleneck! That woman needs clothing police like Tony Blair needs an orthodontist!"
And, due to the wine in my hand and the complete lack of a will to live, I sat down and joined Angus for the TV show.
What struck me right off the bat was what the show was about. Trinny and Susannah, looking too skinny in clothing worth thousands of pounds, were draped on a couch. Trinny, the far too skinny one that has lips so full of collagen it makes me wonder if she has pictures of Melanie Griffith in her wallet to carry as her inspiration, was really letting loose on the point of today's program.
It was about women that had gotten a divorce.
But to hear the two of them, it was about women that had been touched by leprosy and now had to find clothes that would help the world ignore the fact that they'd lost a nose.
"It's so important that we help these two women." Trinny said, tears welling up at the side of her eyes.
"I know." Susannah said, tugging at her too severe hairstyle. "They have little happiness and hope now."
A tear heads for Trinny's trout pout. "It's so tragic. They're divorcees."
Oh, right. So these women have so little hope and happiness right now because they lost their men, right? Their lives are so tragic as someone said they didn't want them anymore, and now no one will, is that what you're saying?
The two scary chicks continued to moan about how tragic and awful it was that the women they were helping were divorced. Trinny and Susannah were wearing more metal on their left ring fingers than comes on the shielding of a tank. Tiffany's jewelers were standing by at the ready with their notepads, so utterly full of sparkly jewels were these rings. Here were two high profile TV "personalities" whose very presence so screamed "I am married and I am rich and when I have my babies I hire someone else's boobies to feed them" looking all weepy and feeling sorry for two women who had been divorced. It was clear that they felt some kind of revulsion to the word "divorce", as though they should cross themselves and knock on wood and shudder anytime the word was said.
And this is what pissed me off.
That these two women should be the object of such...such pity. By all accounts, the divorces the women had been through had been hard and their self-esteem had taken hits. Whose self-esteem doesn't? No one-not even Nicole Kidman fake punching the air-comes through a divorce and doesn't have a hit on the inside. When you get a divorce, it's admitting that one or both of you screwed up. At some point, the happy loving dreams you had after racing away from that alter have been proven to be cracked. Divorces are not fun things, they do not feel good, they are not nice.
But because a woman is divorced, it does not mean she should be the object of pity. Yes, anyone who's had their heart broken should be given a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. Anyone who has lost a piece of themselves-either to the marriage in the first instance or the divorce in the second-should be given support.
However a divorce is not a sign to the world that no one will want them, ever. It is only a sign that the partner that they had chosen was not the final choice. You don't go on the scrapheap because you are divorced, you are not worth nothing just because you are seperated. Yes, these women had bad dress sense and had a hit on their self-esteem, but when you find out that what you thought was for the rest of your life was only for 10 years then anyone will feel bad.
These women are to be helped and felt sorry for as they had terrible clothes.
They should not be pitied for the mere fact that they are divorced.
It was the theme for the whole show-Trinny and Susannah constantly referred to these women as being so tragically divorced (when what was equally tragic was the fact that one of them still wore shoulder pads), even when it turns out the women were viciously unhappy in their marriages. All signs pointed to getting them attractive again so that they could go out there and get them some new men! This was important! You had to pull a new guy who loves you for your new look! Rub your wedding ring fngers three times, girls, and say the words "There's no place like the Vegas Wedding Chapel! There's no place like the Vegas Wedding Chapel There's no place like the Vegas Wedding Chapel!"
Of course, the two dragons decided to help these poor, low-confidence women by stripping them to their underwear, pointing out their bobbly bits, and making fun of their knickers. Cause that's certainly going to help build self-esteem. Who needs Winter Colors when one can have the piss taken out of them about their old granny panties?
The constant theme was of the "tragedy that these women were divorced". They even made one of the women wear turquoise and told her that "in her case, as she was divorced, she shouldn't be afraid to wear color." So...what? Divorcees generally only wear brown, is that it? As she's a divorcee she should cross that great divide and attempt to brave the color spectrum?
I guess these two dragons go home and get down on their knees and blow their husbands every day in gratitude then. No one is worth less just because they are divorced. No one's life is less valuable because they are alone. Marriage with the right person is great, but if you are so miserable and unhappy with your relationship, then punching out of that marriage clock can be a viable option. I'm not saying that we should go around busting up relationships at the slightest provocation, what I am saying is that there is no special charity case in being a divorcee-it's just a fact of life, something that hurts and is personal and represents a broken dream, but it does not mean that pity should come in great doses.
It just pissed me off that two women that choose modern fashions on a modern TV show can have such antiquated ideas. That divorce was the end of the world, that a woman needs a man to such an extent. Divorce does suck, having a partner to be a part of your life is great, but you know, these women that didn't have that? They have full and beautiful and enjoyable lives, too-they had beautiful children and lovely homes and big dreams and beautiful eyes. They had years of letting go ahead of them, to put away the bad remnants of a married life gone wrong.
Their clothes just sucked, that's all.
-H.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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1
You have to admit that a good couple is a formidable duo. . .but that "I'm nobody without a husband" is so. . .70s.
Besides, if I felt that way, I wouldn't have had the energy to get up and leave a loveless marriage -- only to find my Piper and this new little bundle of miracle. Knowhutimean?
Posted by: Margi at October 20, 2005 10:23 AM (nwEQH)
2
Helen, you are funniest when you are "up in arms" about something. I do agree with you about divorce not being the end of the world, and if I should ever get divorced, I will remember to wear brown (unless you'll lend me your orange skirt!)
Posted by: kenju at October 20, 2005 12:57 PM (+AT7Y)
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From my ex-wife:
A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.
Posted by: Foggy at October 20, 2005 12:59 PM (e8Uwf)
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Darnit, I knew I shouldn't have bought that brown sweater at the gap last night! Now I'm marked!
Posted by: Erin at October 20, 2005 01:17 PM (BuifH)
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What the hell? Who gave these bitches a show? That is one of the most absurd "topics" I have ever heard of. It sucks to be reminded of how far society has not come sometimes. Makes it worse that it was women who perpetrated this stupid idea.
Jeesh.
Posted by: Teresa at October 20, 2005 01:30 PM (zf0DB)
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I looked up "pity" on dictionary.com: 1) Sympathy and sorrow aroused by the misfortune or suffering of another. 2) A matter of regret. Sounds like we should pity anyone divorced, because (as you pointed out) divorce is hard and unpleasant.
Antiquated ideas aren't bad; honesty, kindness, and slapstick comedy are all antiquated ideas
A man and a woman getting married and staying married is best! Men and women complement each other wonderfully and SHOULD be together.
A fish without a bike. That's funny...but inaccurate. It's more like a car with one of those teeny tiny spare tires. The car will go, but it can't go as fast or far; it doesn't perform as well and can't realize it's full potential. A family with just a mom or just a dad is like that and is worthy of pity (according to dictionary.com).
Posted by: Solomon at October 20, 2005 01:40 PM (k1sTy)
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When I got divorced, one of the officers in my company said "Ugh...I'm sure this isn't what you want to hear right now, but I would NEVER date a woman who'd been divorced."
How convenient, I thought...because I can't think of a single soul on the planet who would want to date the SOB. What a bastard!
The attitude that some in our society have about divorcees is really...well, not even old fashioned...just plain old f*cking stupid.
Bottom line, divorce is personal, and even if you absolutely can no longer stand the person you're divorcing, it still sucks. (just ask my pocketbook.) People need to not pity, but not be *ssholes about the subject, either. Considerate. Consideration is good...
Peace,
Serena
Posted by: Serena at October 20, 2005 01:58 PM (ToHm9)
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"There's no place like the Vegas Wedding Chapel! There's no place like the Vegas Wedding Chapel There's no place like the Vegas Wedding Chapel!"
Heh!? Was that a dig? :-) j/k
Posted by: Clancy at October 20, 2005 02:46 PM (JxYJc)
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You crack me up! I think divorced woman are better, they have been through all the petty bullshit already and know what is worth the effort of a fight or not. They know what and what not they can actually change in a man etc.... Same with divorced men.
Posted by: justme at October 20, 2005 04:02 PM (M0T3J)
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" A family with just a mom or just a dad is like that and is worthy of pity (according to dictionary.com)."
That is the single biggest piece of mother fucking horseshit I have ever heard in my whole fucking life.
For real. What a fucking waste of space the very idea of that sentence is. Like all rubbish hateful marriages should stay together just for the kids because, you know, kids can't sense when their parents hate each other or anything.
A single parent family can be just fine, if the parent is loving and kind.
Fucking stupid senseless argument. I'm furious.
Posted by: Helen at October 20, 2005 04:31 PM (AbPto)
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Stop. letting. Angus. pick. the. programming.
Other than that, I completely agree with you.
Posted by: Dana at October 20, 2005 07:54 PM (VQW8j)
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Kinda wished my parents had stayed together. It was very hard on my mom to raise two kids on her own.
It was also hard on us not having a full time father role model. My mom did her best but I cant imagine the strain trying to fill both sets of shoes at the same time can do.
Perhaps divorce works better when no kids are involved. That way both people can go on and never see each other.
Posted by: drew at October 20, 2005 09:08 PM (IR4lS)
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::shaking head:: that's just so WRONG in so many ways. Thanks for pointing it out in your usual elequent way... I won't be watching that program anytime soon. Glad I put away all my brown clothes when I got remarried.
Posted by: sue at October 20, 2005 09:48 PM (WbfZD)
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Seriously so sick of Solomon's sanctimony. I'm not trying to be alliterative, either--it just works out that way.
You have more patience than I do, Helen. I'd have told him to step long ago.
This was a great post about a very stupid show. Thank you for proving that a gifted writer can ALWAYS make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.
Posted by: ilyka at October 20, 2005 10:21 PM (YtWXH)
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Oh! And:
kids can't sense when their parents hate each other or anything.
As I surely don't have to tell Helen but apparently have to tell Saint Solomon, that is the gospel truth. My brother and I used to WISH our parents would divorce.
My mother, on her own, is a quiet, thoughtful person, very pleasant to be with.
My father, on his own, is a happy-go-lucky, fun-loving person, very pleasant to be with.
Together, though, they're poison. And what watching them tear each other apart daily, for years, did to my own ability to enjoy a normal, healthy relationship, I can't even begin to tell you.
Dysfunction breeds dysfunction. And don't you dare try to tell me it pleases
God for two people who hate each other to stay together for the sake of the children. There is no place for two people screaming at each other, taking the most vile, below-the-belt shots at each other, over the most trivial, banal issues, in heaven. Nor should there be one on earth.
So go fuck yourself, Solomon. Go read something that will
reinforce that safe little coccoon you inhabit.
Assclown.
Posted by: ilyka at October 20, 2005 10:28 PM (YtWXH)
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Oh Peter - I wish we didn't get that show in Oz but we do (at least in melbourne) it's called "What not to wear" and we've had two series already on free to air without even considering the persistent re-runs on Foxtel.
(
In terms of divorce, I'm happily married but the biggest advocate of dicorce I know. Life is not a dress rehearsal and the only thing worse than being in a five year bad marriage is being in a five year and one day bad marriage. No-one wins. The trick is working out how to break up and be adult about it and to not bad mouth each other to the kids.
My two cents.
Flik x
PS In terms of Solomons comments I secocond Ilyka's comments (you tell him girl!)
Posted by: flikka at October 21, 2005 12:52 AM (puvdD)
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Question... the address on your wishlist - can a postman actually find you with it? I was just looking, curious... and got curious about the address.
Posted by: Hannah at October 23, 2005 06:08 PM (ImQx2)
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Oh my-I just went back and was reading some of the comments-sometimes commenting early you miss all the good ones. Right on Helen, and right on Ilyka. When my dad was in the worst of his drinking, the only thing I wanted was my parents to divorce. They stayed together, but the "working it out" years were some of the most painful and horrible of my life, and I will always wonder if they should have at least seperated while they both got their shit together. Children sense
everything-and if the marriage is unhappy, there is no way to hide it from them. Kids deserve happiness too, and that may be with just a mom, dad, grandparent, two moms or two dads. Marriage and divorce are personal decisions, not open for other's discussions and critiques. Ain't nobody's business except those involved. End of story.
Posted by: Teresa at October 24, 2005 03:25 AM (zf0DB)
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Hannah-things do find their way to me, yes
Posted by: Helen at October 24, 2005 04:53 AM (xXftC)
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One of the rare time that the US version of a show is done better. Not that it's that great either...
Posted by: ~Easy at October 24, 2005 09:57 PM (LN5gS)
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October 19, 2005
Well...You Asked.
Since I am exhausted (not sleeping still) and stressed (as I am still employed), I have nothing today. I am off to a full day's meeting which will undoubtedly do my head in.
So I leave you with a few pictures, the skirted ones of which I asked Angus to take when I got home yesterday and this morning before I left the house.
First, Pumpkin #2 has been carved in our household. This seems to be a Sunday pasttime of mine, along with watching recorded episodes of Lost and Grey's Anatomy that I have.
It's a simple life.
This time, I made a witch.
I am very proud. Angus has said it's the most professional jack-o-lantern he's ever seen, although I am still awaiting payment.
And I wore the purple striped skirt yesterday for a meeting in London, complete with my electric bugaloo wrap (what you can't see are my striped woolly gloves. It is freezing here. Yes, really.)
And today I have a meeting with my team for the entire day, and since my team are low-key and lovely, I can wear my orange incadescence.
Oh yes.
I bought them, and I am wearing them.
The reason you should be amazed at those pics is this is me in my everyday lounging at home clothes.
Proving I have absolutely no style whatsoever, I am in pajamas two sizes too big, no makeup and glasses. And an old sweater. And, for reasons not even known to myself, a scarf.
Observe the (clearly matching) socks.
I wonder when Vogue will come calling.
-H.
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1
Love the orange color skirt!
Posted by: cubic at October 19, 2005 07:56 AM (zXIN2)
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you have got boho down perfect. Shopping with Helen... a must
soon to be added to the wardrobe sweater and a surprise
Posted by: stinkerbell at October 19, 2005 10:17 AM (ZznPv)
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Ah! Neither skirt is what I had imagined, although the orange is close! Beautiful! Even in lounging clothes, you clearly have a style all your own!
Posted by: scorpy at October 19, 2005 12:55 PM (t0XZ+)
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I love those socks and skirts! I also don't think you need an excuse for the scarf! As soon as it cools down enough I have one on me practically all the time. Like my "comfort" item
Posted by: Erin at October 19, 2005 01:12 PM (BuifH)
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Excuse me, but I adore that orange skirt! would you mind emailing me and letting me know where you got it from? I know that's a bit of an odd request as I am usually a lurker here but I really would like one of my own and as I live in Louisiana I think we are both safe from ending up at the same party wearing it at the same time.
Thanks much.
Posted by: Casey at October 19, 2005 01:17 PM (0M9ku)
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Love those skirts, they are amazing. You look fantastic- just beautiful.
And Helen? Vogue is at my house right now. I will send them your way when they are finished here. ;-)
Posted by: Teresa at October 19, 2005 01:31 PM (zf0DB)
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Yeaaa, good to see you are wearing the new clobber!!
Posted by: Peter at October 19, 2005 01:45 PM (Hr7pf)
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Impressive pumpkin. It IS quite professional looking; Angus is right. Nice outfits too.
Posted by: Solomon at October 19, 2005 01:50 PM (k1sTy)
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The skirts are absolutely gorgeous. Love the style. I'm going to have to echo Casey and ask where you got them. Monsoon? Although little chance of me being able to order anything from a UK store over here.
Posted by: karmajenn at October 19, 2005 02:01 PM (fx1A8)
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I love love love the orange skirt. And you look great in it. Here's hoping it gives you a little bit of extra skip in your step even on gloomy days (weather or work wise).
Posted by: martha at October 19, 2005 03:01 PM (NjnSO)
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LOVE the orange skirt and the pumpkin, Helen. If you decide to quit the rocket riding gerbil co, you can hire out as a pumpkin carver! I have socks very like yours and most of the time, I am just as stylish around the house.
Posted by: kenju at October 19, 2005 03:14 PM (+AT7Y)
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I agree with Stinkerbell. I love your style, love the skirts!
Teach me, Obi Wan. You're my only hope!
Posted by: Elizabeth at October 19, 2005 03:19 PM (Xb+jS)
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yeah, i look like that last pic everyday. :-)
i love the orange skirt!!!!
Posted by: kat at October 19, 2005 03:31 PM (xJGrF)
Posted by: drew at October 19, 2005 03:56 PM (IR4lS)
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Too cute! All of 'em! ...and, yes, I too look like your last pic - all the time I'm at home. You better call before you come over to my house or you get what you get. (The orange skirt looks very fall-ish and festive!)
Posted by: sue at October 19, 2005 04:14 PM (WbfZD)
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I want that orange skirt!! And I don't even like orange that much (on me). Damn, it's cute. Vogue should be calling you. You've got some wicked style! And you know that all the Vogue people wear pj's and toe socks at home.
Posted by: Ms. Q at October 19, 2005 05:09 PM (WUM14)
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Love the orange skirt.
And the socks
Posted by: caltechgirl at October 19, 2005 05:46 PM (/vgMZ)
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Dude, how can you deal with the toe socks? They drive me nuts!! My toes need to be one with eachother.
And I love the skirts. LOVE!!
Posted by: sporty at October 19, 2005 05:52 PM (NsnoE)
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Wow, I'd only be like the 20th person to rave about the orange skirt. But it really is beautiful, unexpectedly so.
What's really going to interest Vogue is the PJ/sweater/scarf combo. I expect that trend to hit Milan and Paris any minute.
(Like I would even know; hell, I wear old lady housedresses all the time.)
Posted by: ilyka at October 19, 2005 06:53 PM (YtWXH)
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Great skirts. Love the "electric bugaloo" wrap. Tres chic!!!
Posted by: Azalea at October 19, 2005 07:38 PM (hRxUm)
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Love the pics! LOVE TOESOCKS! GOOO TOESOCKS!
Posted by: Amber at October 19, 2005 08:04 PM (zQE5D)
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You have such style, girl.
I love all of the pictures -- even the one which you think says you ahve no style.
Pish posh. You've got more style in your pinky than most do in their entire body. It's YOU, baby. And you look so lovely.
Posted by: Margi at October 20, 2005 10:19 AM (nwEQH)
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You are wearing your woobies! (comfy clothes) Not a damn thing wrong with that. It is better that your sweater be a bit thread bare. But, I also love that orange skirt...
Posted by: Marie at October 20, 2005 05:06 PM (ILGLO)
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AHHH! toe socks! NO! *twitches*
Posted by: girl at October 20, 2005 05:40 PM (MqAGl)
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You are SO absolutely adorable. And beautiful. Really, you just have this amazing beauty within you that radiates from your eyes and smile.
I completely LOVE your orange skirt. I truly admire your boldness...
Posted by: Dana at October 20, 2005 07:57 PM (VQW8j)
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You have style, girl, no matter what you're wearing. You do, seriously. Style and class.
Maybe this is going to sound really weird... but no matter what you write, you always sound so together. I'm not going to go as far as "I wish I could be like you" - because then I wouldn't be me! - but how you deal with what's on your plate? That's what's to be admired.
No, I'm not a stalker.
Though I wish your cold weather would cross the Channel so I can wear my nice snuggly winter jacket!
Posted by: Hannah at October 23, 2005 06:00 PM (ImQx2)
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October 18, 2005
People Never Cease to Amaze Me
Yesterday when the surgery rang up to tell me they had an appointment for me, I was amazed. Why? Because most doctors just send a letter to a specialist. Once the specialist's admin has read the letter and left it in the in-tray, the specialist may get to it at some point. When they do, I hear from them that they can meet me, how about October 22, 2030, from 9:10-9:12?
But Dr. Henry actually called the specialist and got me that appointment, and for that, Dr. Henry will be my doctor forever. If he retires, I will become stalker patient, camping out on his porch. "Dr. Henry! Dr. Henry! I am bleeding out of my eyes! Stop watching old Eastenders reruns and diagnose me! Dr. Heeeeeeeeenry!"
He amazed me.
I had to call my private health insurance company to get clearance to see the specialist. I rang up and was put through to Amanda.
"What's the nature of your problem?" Amanda asked.
"I need to see a gastroenterologist." I reply, sitting on the floor of the study.
"Why?"
I wonder about this one. "Because I am sick." I explain, as though she is six and doesn't understand that when Mommy is sick Mommy goes to the doctor.
"Yes but what's the problem?" she asks brusquely.
"Why, are you a doctor?" I want to ask. But I am not that brave, as Amanda has control of my insurance and is key to hopefully getting the good drugs when a big hosepipe is pulled up my ass, so I just stammer until she says: "What is it? Bleeding from the rectum?"
What? That's option number 1? Seriously? When someone calls and says they need to see a gastroenterologist, option 1 is to ask them if they have anal bleeding? That's top of the list, let's just rip out the "bleeding from the butt" idea? Am I living in a nation of people, all of them with hemoglobin secretly leaking out of their anus? I mean, I know the English have a stereotype that they are repressed, but does their repression mean that they are all quietly running around with maxi pads in their shorts to soak up?
I confirm that it is the problem. I can hear her nodding on the phone to herself, priding herself for getting it right. Maybe she can actually hear me bleeding. Maybe she has bat ears and can detect the sound of dripping rectal blood from 2 counties away.
Amazing.
I bunk off work to buy groceries and a few winter clothes. I peruse the new winter section and am drawn to colors for once-bright, happy, enigmatic colors. I come home with a purple and black striped skirt and a skirt that is so orange that immolated Buddhist monks would be jealous. It's so orange it's nearly fluorescent. It's completely uncharacteristic of anything I would buy but once I saw it I had to have it. I then go to the grocery store, where the checkout woman takes notice of every single thing I am buying, including stopping the process to read the back of the book I picked up.
Then she flipped through it.
Me and my orange incandescent skirt? We were amazed.
Angus makes me dinner, as he made me lunch, too. We are having bland food (but good food), mushroom soup for lunch and pasta for dinner. He is being very sweet, and I am reminded that sometimes, simple nice gestures like calling a specialist and making dinner can make one's day.
-H.
PS-I realized that I had been lax about pulling down work-related posts after 24 hours. As I am keen to vent but not keen to be found by any colleagues, if you ever stopped by and wondered why posts sometimes disappear, this is why. This was further driven home when our mail server went mad and a mail Angus sent his ex on their house selling details was accidentally sent from the default account, which is my everydaystranger account. I was so terrified she would find this site that I was pulling work-related posts as maniacally as a Barry Manilow fan without her knickers. Luckily, his ex thought my email was a virus and permanently deleted it without further ado. Speaks volumes, really.
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1
Hi Helen, I read you blog and thought, nah this isn't one I'm going to comment on, TMI,but when i found your Purple & black striped skirt and one sooo Orange etc.
OK you've bought 'em now don't forget to wear 'em!!!!
Posted by: Peter at October 18, 2005 11:24 AM (Hr7pf)
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Hooray for bright colors! I have these visuals in my head of the styles of each skirt, and I must say, you'll look fabulous in them! (Of course, my internal visuals are probably all wrong! Still, I'm sure you'll look like a million bucks!)
And
WHEW! for the ex thinking everydaystranger was viral! Close call, that one!
Posted by: scorpy at October 18, 2005 12:52 PM (t0XZ+)
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I'm still thinking about Dr. Henry and what a one-of-a-kind doc he is!! wow! He is a keeper... wish he were here. I hate my doc... grrrr...
Posted by: sue at October 18, 2005 02:46 PM (WbfZD)
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The purple & black striped/orange skirt purchases coincide nicely with the nearing of Halloween. Me thinks it is a part of you longing for a good old fashioned American Halloween that purchased those skirts. They sound fabulous-I would love to see how you put it all together with your other great pieces/accesories-you have such a fantastic style!
Posted by: Teresa at October 18, 2005 04:05 PM (zf0DB)
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Today was my third experience with colooscopy. And was alomost enjoyable- I think. My sedation consisted of Versed(marvelous drug) and the coup d' grace "Milk of Amnesia" AKA diprvan (Propofol)http://www.diprivan.com/sedation/science.asp?shownav=sedation.
One hopes the specialist will treat youa little MOA
Wearing your new outfit will start the day off right.
My best.
Posted by: foggy at October 18, 2005 08:50 PM (e8Uwf)
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Helen - Hope your ass stops bleeding soon.
Posted by: SaraJane at October 18, 2005 09:25 PM (lvhnO)
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Helen, I think I would wear that orange skirt with pride! Looks as if viruses are worth something after all, thank whomever for that. And gie your doc a big hug (or maybe a virtual one), he is definitely a keeper.
Posted by: kenju at October 18, 2005 09:34 PM (+AT7Y)
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Whew, close call! One of the reasons I started a gmail account. This way I can control when I'm signing in and out of the mail. No mail can accidentally get in there!
So glad your doctor is human and on top of things. I really hope it's something that's just nothing! You must be going nuts. I hear your frustration with work and it definitely manifests itself in your body and your health.
Hugs to Angus for taking care of you, and hugs to you for taking care of yourself! My thoughts are with you.
Posted by: Kathy at October 18, 2005 11:54 PM (flb/n)
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I sometimes pull posts as well. But I ALWAYS keep a copy on my hard drive---just in case I die suddenly and someone wants to really know how I feel about them. My husband has instructions to pass out these deleted posts at my funeral. I know, I'm am not kind. But, oh well.
Posted by: Marie at October 19, 2005 01:12 AM (6QiLy)
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I have had similar problems. Surgery is easy part. Had to soak that part of my body four times a day and after each bodily function. Also put me on Citrical (sp) (fiber). Told me to take the fiber daily and I would never see him again. Suggest u start taking the daily soaks and maybe avoid the surgery. There is a great lose of dignity in the whole affair. This becomes a public affair if you need to sit on a donut throughout the day.
Posted by: iowaslovak at October 19, 2005 01:53 AM (i/5Q1)
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Marie, I agree-I keep copies
Posted by: Helen at October 19, 2005 07:27 AM (AbPto)
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October 17, 2005
I Have A Prollum
So this morning I manage to get an appointment with Dr. Henry. Because I love Dr. Henry, and because I can't entrust my ass with anyone else. Because I will wait three days with a blod-clotting bum just to see Dr. Henry.
I walk into the waiting room which, to my astonishment, is packed. And it's not just packed, it's packed with the elderly, old age pensioners of various sizes and shapes, all of them nicely dressed (the elderly in England are always well dressed, really. The older gentlemen are almost never without a tie and a sweater vest, and the women are always in a long skirt and with a nice brooch on the label of their lapel. With me in my chunky sweater, jeans and Skechers sneakers, I really felt I was letting them down, one of those young punks with no respect for civility or the desire to eat bacon fat spread on my toast in the morning). I was the youngest person there by at least two generations. The variety of ailments was amazing-one woman had what appeard to be her entire leg swathed in an ace bandage, and the others had any number of band-aids on various locations.
They talked about their injuries to each other. I read my book, deciding that even though I was hating the book it sure beat a ten year old Country Life and Garden magazine. I was hoping none of them asked me what was wrong with me as, if they had, I would've said something like impetago as opposed to any form of rectal bleeding element I've been experiencing.
Dr. Henry called me in shortly, and I walked into his new (and much larger) office. He smiled and shook my hand, and I sat down.
"OK, so I saw you about my hand herpes and-" I started.
"That's right!" he exclaimed, a big grin splitting his wide brown face. "How is the hand?" It comes out like: "How ees the chan?" but I will spare you from the entire conversation being written in the phoenetic as, well, it's a bit patronizing and anyway it'll do my head in. Just read his bits with a strong Spanish accent and it'll be just like you were there.
I showed him. "There's still remnants," I admonish.
"Where? I don't see it!" He retorts.
"You don't understand what it's like being a girl, do you?" I reply firmly.
"No. I know nothing," he counters, still grinning. "So what's the problem today?" And even though I said I wouldn't write in the phoenetic, I will on this one since I love it so-it comes out "What's the prollum?", and becomes the basis for the rest of my day.
"Dr. Henry, I have Ass Bleed. And not just that. I've had Ass Bleed for a while now and now it's morphing into Blood Clots." It's important that I am straight with him. "It got worse over the weekend-I'm at the point now where I am just leaking blood. I'm leaking. I don't even know where the faucet is to turn it off."
He is now serious, and we go over a list of questions relating to my health. He takes my blood pressure and my pulse, and then asks me if I've ever had investigations into my anterior.
I nod. "I was diagnosed with IBS years ago. I had a barium enema, and I got to drink the nasty shit, too. I've had a colonoscopy. And a sigmoidoscopy."
"Well my friend, you're going to have another colonoscopy and sigmoidoscopy," he says sincerely.
Oh good. Since my life isn't stressed out enough.
"And I need to do a rectal exam today. If you can take your clothes off and lie on the bed, wearing this sheet, I'll be right back with a chaperon," he announces, and goes to get the nurse chaperone.
Wait! Fuck! What? Wait! My bikini line is in bad shape. I don't want a rectal exam today. I am not emotionally prepared for a rectal exam. I hate people anywhere near my ass, I would've taken one of my tranquilizers had I known this was coming.
Dr. Henry comes back. I have undressed and am lying huddled in the sheet. I am so stressed that digits are going to be making their way up my rectum I am sweating like a maniac. So not only is Dr. Henry going to be exploring the intimate side of my nether regions, he gets to think I am a big sweaty hog while he does it, my adrenaline signalling to "throw more coal on! Max power! We have an incoming!".
He snaps on his gloves-I swear to god he actually snapped them on-and turns to the nurse. "Mrs. Adelaide has a prollum. She has severe rectal bleeding and needs a rectal exam."
I also need a house on the French Riviera, doc, but I don't see you delivering on that one.
"Do you have the lubricant?" Dr. Henry asks the nurse.
"Do we need lubricant?" the nurse asks him.
"WE NEED LUBRICANT!" I scream hysterically from the bed. "We need lubricant! For the love of God, my sphincter will slam shut on your finger! We need lubricant!"
Dr. Henry laughs and gets the lubricant. He spreads it on his finger. "The lubricant is cold, I'm afraid."
This is ok with me. I think the feeling of something warm going the wrong way up my fudge passage is likely going to be too much for me.
He comes up to me, shifts me on my side, has me raise a leg and with one smooth movement there is...yes...indeed there is a finger right up my ass. He has a good feel around-because, you know, a long crooked finger up your rectum is real comfortable-and then pulls his finger out of my ass.
He removes his glove. "That wasn't too bad, was it?" he asks.
"Oh no," I say, wiping my well-oiled bum off with some paper towels. "Just a typical date night, I guess."
I dress and sit back down.
"Well," Dr. Henry says, looking at me. "This is serious, Helen. There is a prollum. It is not related to the IBS. You do not have anal fissures, hemorrhoids, or any polyps."
Oh good. So the good easy three options have been removed from the list. This leaves the three bad ones-Crohn's Disease (which I know nothing about), diverticulitis (which I know nothing about), and colon cancer (which I pretend to know nothing about).
I am being rushed through the NHS system now with my sparkly private medical insurance to see a gastroenterologist. I have been told to eat no spicy foods and to take it easy, as he's worried that continued blood loss will start to impact me soon. He also said it's serious, this prollum of mine.
I tell him that I hate-beyond hate-sigmoidoscopies and colonoscopies. He tells me that in England, they knock you out. Oh-unless, that is, they decide to fill your colon with air to do the colonoscopy. Then you're awake. And I know in an instant that's the one that's going to be done with me, because that's how bad my luck is. I'll be given a colonoscopy with much gas and no sedation, since despite my protests it's my body's constant hidden desire to be a fart bag. And I will be so swollen I'll be led out of the exam room by Oompa Loompas to be juiced. And the doctor will be Patrick Dempsey-hot. And they'll be out of KY.
I go home to Angus and announce: I have a prollum. He is very worried.
Because it looks like I do have a prollum.
The surgery rang after I got home and let me know that Dr. Henry managed to rush me an appointment with a gastroenterologist. Looks like the fiber optics will be working their way up my anal passage this Friday at 6:30 pm.
And yes. I am dreading it.
-H.
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1
How come I laughed during the description of such an ordeal?
Miguel
Posted by: Miguel at October 17, 2005 12:21 PM (pXqCs)
2
I'm with Miguel, a bit, in that I am amazed how you can make such an ordeal into a quirky tale. Good luck with all of it, and I'll be reading every day to hear the (hopefully bright, good, soothing) results.
Posted by: scorpy at October 17, 2005 12:42 PM (S4ds4)
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I know it's a horrible thing to have to wait all week for, but thank god you've taken the first step and that your doctor has taken it so seriously and moved things along ASAP (so to speak :-) )
Oh and Helen? I had a colonoscopy a couple of years ago... and wound up with a torn shoulder muscle.
Posted by: Jocelyn at October 17, 2005 01:17 PM (p6cmr)
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Isn't this fun? Fingers in the ass, getting to talk about your butt with what feels like everyone you come in contact with? Its a bitch, to say the least, yet I am glad you are seeking help. Take extra good care of yourself this week. I'll be keeping my fingers crossed for you!
Posted by: Teresa at October 17, 2005 01:27 PM (zf0DB)
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While I know you're not looking forward to this, you're doing the right thing. Be brave...
Posted by: Serena at October 17, 2005 01:50 PM (jU/ey)
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I'm so sorry. I hope all goes well. Sending lots of bearhugs your way.
Posted by: plumpernickel at October 17, 2005 01:58 PM (+Mn/s)
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I really shouldn't post when I haven't slept at all the night before. Sorry about the torn shoulder comment, it was meant to be funny, but when I thought it over later, I could see that you have enough to worry about.
Posted by: Jocelyn at October 17, 2005 02:12 PM (p6cmr)
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Ahhh, my morning coffee just isn't the same without reading about anal exams. I feel my day has been completed at such an early stage!!
I'm crossing my fingers for the knock-out on Friday and for the easiest fixable situation.
Sending much love to you and your bum.
Posted by: Ms. Pants at October 17, 2005 02:38 PM (PQfF5)
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Good luck with it. Crohns disease is managable. It's a bitch but it's not too bad. Hope all is well.
Posted by: Steph at October 17, 2005 02:41 PM (ghSU1)
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Thinking of you and sending hugs!
Posted by: That Girl at October 17, 2005 03:05 PM (gu1Ur)
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I know I shouldn't, call it schadenfrude or whatever, but this is cracking me up (pardon the pun).
I'm feeling for you, and thinking about how that air escapes after it's jammed up your posterior. No whoopy cushion there, folks.
Posted by: Simon at October 17, 2005 03:05 PM (pvjiI)
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I'll keep you in my thoughts, and I hope it's the one that they knock you out for.
Posted by: amber at October 17, 2005 03:55 PM (VZEhb)
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So sorry - but glad that you've got a good doctor who's getting you through the processes as fast as he can. Good luck.
Posted by: martha at October 17, 2005 03:58 PM (NjnSO)
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ODG you poor thing. I have to say I did chuckle a little but, just a little! I was in the hospital just a month ago from diverticulitis. It was not fun. My left side felt like it was going to explode. But dear gawd nobody did a rectal on me. (thanking the gods) Oh I hope I never get the ass bleeds! They confurmed mine with a body scan machine. I can't think of the name of it at the moment lol. I will be thinking of you on Friday, and having a strong shot of something for you!
Posted by: justme at October 17, 2005 04:45 PM (M0T3J)
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darlin, take the doc's advice and take it easy!! your body is demanding it!
(((hugs))))
Posted by: kat at October 17, 2005 05:21 PM (xB7GF)
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Best wishes for the tests, the diagnoses to come, and the waiting. Much good juju headed for you and the doctors--demand the drugs--it's only fair!
Posted by: sophie at October 17, 2005 05:34 PM (yZwDD)
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I TOTALLY understand about the anal fears! Oh god, do I understand. I do suffer with some of the problems mentioned too and...look, suffice to say that the anus is not my favorite body part either.
Not by a long shot.
You can do this on Friday, I know you can. It'll be cool, you'll see. You can do this, Helen. And everything is going to be okay.
{{{{{hugs}}}}}
Posted by: Amber at October 17, 2005 05:57 PM (zQE5D)
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I'm so so glad you saw someone and you're now onboard the meds bus, as it were. My dear ol dad has the Crohn's disease...has had it for some time. It's not so fun, but he's had it for about 15 years, still travels, does whatever...doesn't eat the roughage so much, but as his favorite food is pecan pie, it works out. Seriously, check it out online, but know that you can live with it like anything else, and live a long and happy life. take care of you.
Posted by: Miss K at October 17, 2005 06:28 PM (esyl2)
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Only you could write a humerous description of an anal examination.
God love you, little girl, you may not be all too happy about all of this right now, but I think you're brave and strong and wonderful to be following up on this.
Hang in there. I'm uploading hugs and love and healing light.
Much, much love,
Posted by: Margi at October 17, 2005 08:20 PM (nwEQH)
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Everyone's said it better. Good thoughts will be with you, Helen... {{hugs}}
Posted by: sue at October 17, 2005 08:27 PM (WbfZD)
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Thank God you are immune to depression...
Posted by: old horsetail snake at October 17, 2005 10:31 PM (Bwih6)
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You're in my prayers, Helen! {{{Hugs}}}
Posted by: pam at October 18, 2005 12:48 AM (l6NIn)
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Sorry for your prollums. On the bright side (lights in the rear so to speak) I am off to my very own colonsocopy first thing in the morning. Amazing how much mone learns about ones very own bathroom floor preparing for this little intrusion. And the wondeful Panati book you recommended. Thanx.
Good luck Helen, my best wishes will accompany you
Posted by: Foggy at October 18, 2005 02:10 AM (e8Uwf)
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Oh, oh, I do not like this prollum at all, no.
But I am an optimist. I look at it this way:
1) If it were colon cancer, you'd likely be having other symptoms along with it (including intolerable pain). Also, frankly, you're too young for it.
2) It could be Crohn's, which is similar to IBS, but Crohn's is strongly hereditary, and I've never heard of someone having both of them at once (although I guess it's possible, or Dr. Henry wouldn't mention it).
3) Thus I like diverticulitis, which is not so bad. A course of antibiotics and close follow up, and it's all good. All in all, it's the best prollum of the three.
Posted by: ilyka at October 18, 2005 03:52 AM (YtWXH)
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Helen, you can make anything sound funny. I know how scarifying a colonoscopy can be (I've had 2 of them). Do plan to treat yourself the next day; maybe a facial or a pedicure - to reward yourself for having gone through that. I do hope they knock you out and that the news will be tolerable. Hoping for the best, and very happy you saw the doc....
Posted by: kenju at October 18, 2005 04:10 AM (+AT7Y)
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Hi sweets, sorry to be so long, but I'm catching up on blogs since the wedding.
My dad has Crohn's and I've read lots about it, including foods, treatments, etc - so write if you want and I'll fill you in.
Smooch. Go easy.
Posted by: Kaetchen at October 18, 2005 08:44 PM (1nMRx)
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October 14, 2005
A Least Nothing Smells Fishy
So I called the local surgery to see if my favorite Doctor,
Dr. Henry, is available. There is no way I'm going to see anyone else but Dr. Henry, the man who named it the hand herpes, with "the" being an important characterization of the illness. If I can't see Dr. Henry, I will go on in my life exonerating blood clots from their mucus-bound prison interminably.
I am very sensitive about butt doctors.
I have history, after all.
When you live with IBS, you get a bit sensitive about your ass. Especially when your ass is often your greatest enemy (my dearest rump, why don't you ease up? I love cheese, just accept it for god's sake!) Even as a kid, IBS was whipping me. I remember being subjected to enemas at the tender age of 6, and if running to the toilet in absolute desperation doesn't make for a bad day, perhaps meeting with the business end of a pointy plastic bottle will do it. I have had more probes up my ass than a crop-circled Iowa corn farmer. It's not something I venture into with any sort of willingness.
So yeah. My insides are in bad shape, but dammit I like Dr. Henry and he's the only one I'm going to see about it. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like seeing my other doctor-he's they archetypal Englishman. I imagine I would slide into the patient's chair and have to inform him that "I am seeing hemoglobin emissions bordering on coagulations from my anterior repository". We would nervously talk about the indelicate subject of anal fissures and the need for high-fiber diets (which he would spell fibre and which would make me hate him for a long time) and how overcooked carrots really are the answer.
Instead, I want to walk into Dr. Henry's office and announce that I have the Ass Bleed, and that the Ass Bleed is morphing into the blood clot. I want to be straight with Dr. Henry as he laid the hand herpes on the line and was so cool about it he even wanted to take pictures of our hands, so I just know he can dig the Ass Bleed topic at face value.
Dr. Henry will undoubtedly have a go at me being a vegetarian, but then I have some news for him-while I will undoubtedly never eat meat again, I have been forced to accept my hypocrisy in a ritual I partake in every morning.
No I am not biting the heads off bats.
I like bats.
I have accepted defeat after a bit of research and am taking Omega-3 tablets, which are made out of fish.
This upsets me terribly.
We watched Horizon the other week (Horizon never, ever lies. Never. We love Horizon and it's entirely objective reporting, we love it and watch it and except for that really confusing episode about Stephen Hawking and some weird shit about physics that made me want to curl up in bed with my liberal arts diploma, we understand and enjoy the show). Horizon talked about the benefits of Omega-3, as explored by scientists over 30 years. It's been proven to help reduce the risk of heart attacks, to improve depression substantially, to improve brain function and reduce the chances of arthritis and joint damage, including that scary fucker called Hip Replacement Surgery.
Since Angus' blood pressure is so high, I put him on Omega 3.
Since arthritis runs in my family and I feel really stupid with all this work stress and I suffer from depressive tendencies, he's asked me to please, please be on it too.
So we're both on it-as well as other "good for you" things like drinking that probiotic yogurt every morning (it's not bad, actually) and eating organic food whenever possible (note: This does not make me Gwenyth Paltrow. Not only is my neck shorter, but unlike her, from time to time I like me some Cheetoes, and I know those aren't on an organic macrobiotic diet. Well, Cheetoes and alcohol. Have to have alcohol, although not with the Cheetoes. That's gauche).
But I feel distraught every morning taking that tablet, along with my folic acid and pregnancy vitamins (with the happy pregnant woman box face down, of course). Fish died for my vitamins. Fish wound up in a blender, a fish-shake, then their bodies were processed into these weird see-through yellow tablets straight out of Jurassic Park. I feel awful, the worst kind of hypocrite, I won't eat meat since I hate the idea of animals being sacrificed for my meal but here I am eating up pulpy fish as I can't get enough of this mineral in nature (it's found in a few vegetables, but I'd have to eat tons of it to get there, and the only thing I will eat tons of is cheese).
When I buy meat for Angus, it has to be what we call Happy Cow or Happy Chicken. I need to know that the chicken had a life running free outside, the wind in its feathers and grass beneath its feet (before it was pcked into a truck and shocked into a state of numbness before its throat is slit). If it wasn't a Happy Cow/Pig/Chicken/Lamb then I can't bear to buy it.
So I don't know that the fish pills are working, but I can say this-Angus has been suffering from what he calls "licking Grimsby pavement on a hot summer afternoon" burps ("Grimsby" being a fishing village in England, "pavemen" being a cute English way of saying "sidewalk"). As far as I'm concerned, he's lucky. Burping is all he's got? Yeah. He's lucky.
'Cause man, those pills are giving me The Farts. I mean house-clearing, run-for-the-hill farts. Earlier this week when we started the tablets I would feel The Great White Heat in my colon, signalling that something wicked this way comes. My intestines would shift and expand from the massive force of the neutron bomb it was about to expel. I would dash from the room and then nearly pass out from the smell, I couldn't believe something that nasty was coming out of me. The cats would look at me with disgust, to which I wanted to shout at them "Oh yeah! At least you don't see me licking my ass, do you? Huh?" I could be dropped over hostile nations and fed Omega-3 tablets and the enemy would come marching out, surrenduring at once.
The gas is gone now, I assume it was so bad in the first few days as I haven't had animal products for many years now, my stomach was like: Dude. What's up with the animal protein? Didn't we spend enough time making tie-dye clothes and singing kumbaya to know we don't have to have this stuff? Didn't we discuss this? The bad gas has subsided for the most part and I know that The Ass Bleed is not related as I've had that for ages anyway. My stomach is getting used to the tablets now, although it has sworn that if I think that this means it's ok to eat shrimp cocktail I've got another thing coming.
Luckily the gas subsided just before my yoga class yesterday, otherwise I can't imagine the issues there.
And in yoga class I was able to do a position I had never been able to do before, a position no one else could do. The look on Reena's face was one of abstract hatred and loathing. It was yet another yoga moment to go down in history.
Karmically, I'm going to burn for triumphing over Reena. I'm also going to burn for eating fish tablets.
The good news is, at least I'll be all bendy.
Doctor appointment on Monday.
-H.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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1
Glad to know you are going to have it looked at. I have had IBS since I was about 11 (when they told me I had chronic appendicitis) but never bleeding like that - which would freak me out. Try Metamucil for the fiber - it works for me.
Posted by: kenju at October 14, 2005 12:24 PM (+AT7Y)
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Those Grimsby-ites are going to be thrilled at having their substantial conurbation described as a "village"
Posted by: Gareth at October 14, 2005 01:28 PM (V56jW)
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Glad to hear you are going to the doctor. It is unpleasant, but remember that not much surprises a doctor. I remember the first time I went to the specialist, he had just moved offices in the same building. On the front door the sign read: 'Dr. Kahn's Office In Rear'. I told him what it said. A little man from Pakistan with a heavy accent, he turned to the nurse and said "Who in the hell did that? Who the hell is the joker?" Then we both had a laugh at it. Nevermind that at the time he was probing me with a giant microscope-the kind used in junior high to look at the peel of the onion-I am sure of it. IBS is just awful, and unless someone suffers from it, it is hard to understand how awful it is. I too have suffered since childhood, and it is no picnic. Don't feel too bad about the Omega-3. It is hard to feel like a hypocrite, but remember that fish have been feeding bears, penquins, seals, etc for centuries, so why not let them help you out?
And make sure you mention arthritis runs in your family. I know from my sister's struggle with her Crohn's and my IBS, my brothers ulcers, and my mom's lifelong battle with the runs, that they are finding out they are all connected. Just a thought-hopefully Dr. Henry will figure out some way for you to get some relief. And if you do need a colonoscopy or even a partial, ask to be put out. It is soooo much better then being aware of what is going on. And hey, free drugs.
Posted by: Teresa at October 14, 2005 02:17 PM (zf0DB)
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I've had my ass poked and prodded too. I suffer from Gluten intolerance, aka Coeliac disease. They thought i had IBS at one time till all the tests came back. Good luck with your bleeding ass.
Posted by: Steph at October 14, 2005 02:22 PM (wlDli)
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Mmmmm....free drugs.....
Posted by: Helen at October 14, 2005 02:31 PM (qcoRS)
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When I started the fish pills I had not only awful gas but also horrific burps; fishy burps that also stunk. Ewww.
After complaining on the most beautiful internet it was suggested that I take my pill at bedtime, and it has worked wonders. Even if I'm still farting and burping I don't know it because I am thankfully asleep.
Posted by: cursingmama at October 14, 2005 03:00 PM (PoQfr)
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oh H~ that made me laugh. You seem happier!
Posted by: Tiffani at October 14, 2005 03:48 PM (v7PTe)
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This made me laugh so hard my boss just looked out his office door and gave me crazy eye. Thank you!
I'm sorry you're having the ass bleed, but I'm glad you have a doctor you feel okay talking about it with. Happy Friday, H!
Posted by: amy t. at October 14, 2005 03:53 PM (zPssd)
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We've been doing the Happy animals stuff too; eggs from chickens that get to run around, beef and chicken meat from the same sources. Shopping almost strictly organic now...
The food is better tasting, we both think, and yes, it makes me feel better that at least they had somewhat of a normal life. Horrifying how chickens and cows are treated otherwise. If we're going to eat them, for god's sake, let them at least live a little before they die.
Anyway, I hear ya on the vegetarianism. I'm not thrilled at killing animals for my sake either. However, if your body needs fish oils, well...then it needs it. We can't help the way we're made. Animals eat each other too. It's not like we invented it.
Look at how your cats would suffer physically if you forced them to eat a veggie diet. I know people who have done that and it's just mean. Don't be mean to you either. :-)
As for Gasless Yoga...good LUCK! :-)
Posted by: Amber at October 14, 2005 04:40 PM (zQE5D)
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I have had more probes up my ass than a crop-circled Iowa corn farmer.
LOLOLOL! Oh, how I can relate...!
Glad you're going to the medicine man, lady...!
Posted by: sue at October 14, 2005 06:25 PM (WbfZD)
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I have IBS also, but I have never been subjected to the Ass Bleed.
So, I must ask, although I am a tad bit embarrassed...if you had Ass Bleed and bad gas, was the result...heinous? The visual nearly drowned me while I was reading.
I wish you the best of luck...
Posted by: Dana at October 14, 2005 06:37 PM (VQW8j)
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I don't have IBS, but someone I loved very much did.
I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
Very glad to hear you're seeing Dr. Henry. If there's anyone in the world that can make one feel better about The Ass Bleed, it's him.
Love love loooooovvvveee you,
Posted by: Margi at October 14, 2005 07:10 PM (nwEQH)
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Have to have alcohol, although not with the Cheetoes. That's gauche
Also turns on you SO violently the morning after.
I mean, that's what I've heard.
I'm going to rationalize the fish oil problem this way: Every tablet you take came from a fish that went on to be cat food. Because what's the point of being cat-owned if we can't blame everything on them?
Plus this way, less of the fish was wasted than otherwise, and I like to imagine somewhere a long-ago Native American is nodding approval at that. It is sad that animals die, but it's horrible when they die for absolutely no reason at all (i.e., those damn fox hunts).
Posted by: ilyka at October 14, 2005 08:19 PM (Gb8uy)
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As usual you crack me up. Sorry about the ass bleeds
Posted by: cheryl at October 15, 2005 02:11 AM (msF2q)
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I'm a veggie too and feel your pain. I always felt guilty for taking vitamins with gelatine in them. The UK seems to be a bit better than the US for offering vitamins not made with it though. I take flax seed oil pills for my omega 3s as an alternative to the fish oil. Supposedly they are not as good as fish oil though. Also you get flax seed burps with them. blech.
Posted by: Lee at October 15, 2005 02:31 PM (PYZOC)
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De-lurking for a minute...
When you're a vegetarian it's all about the greens. Kale, collards, mustard, arugula, beet greens, and chard. Lots of nutrients such as calcium, folic acid, and FIBER! I tend to get a little bound up on my veg diet but then it's my body telling me I need to get those greens in my diet and stop eating the cheese. Oh how I love the cheese too.
I don't know about in England but in the U.S. you can find tons of vegetarian vitamins. Mostly at health food stores...but they exist.
Good luck with the anal blood leakage.
Jane
Posted by: impossiblejane at October 15, 2005 04:14 PM (OIAfG)
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please refer to this united states gov. publication
http://familydoctor.org/861.xml
Posted by: iowaslovak at October 15, 2005 10:05 PM (i/5Q1)
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I much appreciate your hip-hip-hoorayness while you're suffering. Good luck with the Good Dr. Henry.
Posted by: old horsetail snakem at October 15, 2005 11:22 PM (Bwih6)
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... and now for something completely different: wheres your rss feed? You´re one of the last of my daily reads that hasn´t ben added to my news reader ;-). Like you don´t have enough work allready, I know.
Miguel.
Posted by: Miguel at October 16, 2005 01:20 PM (RCbs5)
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October 13, 2005
Seeking: Vampire to Share Household With. Can Keep You Well-Stocked With Blood, if O Neg Is Your Game
Yesterday didn't start off well-I woke up with a splitting migraine and a trip to the toilet showed my old friend Ass Bleed was back for a visit. Luckily I had canned my usual London meet to an audio only, so as I slogged around in my pajamas and a cup of coffee, bemoaning the fact that I have Ass Bleed and Mouth Ulcer (but Weepy Eye and Hand Herpes are gone, although Hand Herpes has left a strange scar on my hand. I'm going to tell people it's a burn scar I got putting out the fires of injustice. I like the sound of that, it makes me think of Superfriends.)
Two Nurofen for migraines later and I still have a migraine. I take two more. I figure-those two Nurofen in my stomach are lonely. They needed the company.
Some e-mails from Angus' ex wound me up no end, which I won't go in to now as I think it's best to take one stress at a time. No, really. It's a good policy.
I dial in to my team audio (after realizing that I forgot to tell one of my team members that the meeting was audio and they'd already hauled themself across the country to attend it in London) and thereupon my day went downhill. Fast.
A senior manager dialed in to my conference call and hijacked the whole fucking thing. He not only hijacked it, he threatened everyone's job on it as well. My team left the call running like scared rabbits.
It's all gotten worse.
I hung up the call, furious that he held my team member's jobs over their heads. We've been working 14-16 hours a day 6-7 days a week. We've done nothing wrong. I called Peter, my teammate, and for the first time in years, I burst into tears in front of someone at work.
We talked. We're both at the end of our tether. Peter is falling apart as well, his marriage in trouble and his health a mess. We vented a good long while, and then we vented to our manager.
And sometime in the afternoon, I just reached The Point. You know...The Point. The Point where you simply don't give a damn anymore. I went from whipping up documents and returning urgent mails to downloading ring tones. I got in the bathtub and took a bath with my new Mary Roach book, Mary Roach, the single greatest writer in the modern non-fiction world. I laid on the couch and ate crackers with fake ham and Emmenthal, then I watched a rerun of Ally McBeal while doing yoga moves on the couch. I browsed through the Dog's Trust Christmas catalog, which I not only sponsor monthly but from which I am hoping we can adopt a dog once (if) we get The Blackberries (my money sponsors the Old Dog home-they can't be rehomed but aren't put down, they live out the rest of their years in comfort and peace). I love the Dog's Trust catalog. Our Christmas cards will be coming from there, and I was pretty damn tempted to just buy everyone's Christmas gifts from there.
And then I sat down on the floor of the study and I just cried.
Later in the evening I watched Lost and tried to make myself quiet as Angus' mood dealing with the solicitors had gone really depressed. He was feeling so upset he even had a trip to the toilet to chuck his guts up, and I watched as a vein throbbed on the side of his head. I made us pumpkin soup and a baked potato, because really-who isn't going to be comforted by pumpkin soup? I got some bad news from one of the seniors and I texted my team, then turned my phone off. We went to bed, had sex, then I spent the night tossing and turning.
This morning I vowed to take it calmer. I started with a bath and watched an old episode of Friends, wishing it could all be that simple-a coffee shop, an orange jacket, ridiculous jokes and a nostalgia for the States, even if my life was tainted in shades of crazy.
I feel awful.
I look awful, too.
I had an egg salad sandwich and have a grocery list (I'm one of those people that likes grocery shopping. Yes really). My meetings are few today, but suddenly I've been hit with a request to do the world's largest Excel matrix comparing months and months of stats. From the study I can hear my anthropology degree quaking in fear from the box underneath the bed.
And this morning I not only had the Ass Bleed, I had Blood Clots.
I have blood clots coming out of my ass.
This kind of thing doesn't even happen in Carrie.
I put my head down and cried again.
-H.
PS-a year ago Paul recommended I buy a pumpkin carving kit. This year, I did.
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1
Love your pumpkin. My fiance also sponsors a dog through Dog Trust
Hope things calm down a little, I've reached the point myself this week too!
Posted by: Juls at October 13, 2005 12:39 PM (CCh+/)
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You sound like the wife in an abusive relationship. Get out! We will love you no matter what! He's not worth it! :::Hugs:::
Posted by: That Girl at October 13, 2005 02:26 PM (gu1Ur)
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I'm sorry you're dealing with all that. A certain amount of apathy (not TOO much
is a good thing.
You may need to rename Dream Job. I can only think of the obvious alternatives: Nightmare Job, Stress Job, Death Job, and "I gave (blood) at the office AND at home" Job. That last one might be a little long. Anyone else have any ideas?
And for the record, your coworker needs to get transferred to a position that isn't so stressful and time consuming or change jobs altogether. No company or job is worth one's marriage. Period. There may be other factors, but he can't let this job be a contributing factor to a divorce. He'll be happier with a solid marriage in the unemployment line than a broken marriage in a dream job (which doesn't really sound so dreamy).
Posted by: Solomon at October 13, 2005 02:31 PM (k1sTy)
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Darling...not to tell you what to do, and not to frighten you, but if you've gone from "ass bleed" to clots, you should go to the doctor immediately.
I ignored a change in symptoms (different ailment, but still...) and recently learned that I'll now pay for it with surgery. (Hopefully, its "just" going to require surgery.)
Please take care of you.
(And then quit that f*cking job!!!)
Peace,
Serena
Posted by: Serena at October 13, 2005 02:44 PM (OX+n1)
Posted by: Miss K at October 13, 2005 03:13 PM (NT4rE)
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Yikes. I'm not big on advice-giving, however, I'm wondering (as I'm sure you are) - what about a career change? You could transition into animal rights, for instance? Or something else? Sending good, meditative thoughts....
Posted by: gigi at October 13, 2005 03:16 PM (WxRql)
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The migraines have been a nightmare so far this autumn. I was at the Pain Clinic - again- yesterday, for a change in meds. Hope you feel better.
Get to the doctor about the AB right away!! That could be something a lot worse than stress related bleeding. Please. I'm sure he (she?) has missed you.
And then go and bitch slap Reena. :-)
Posted by: Jocelyn at October 13, 2005 03:32 PM (p6cmr)
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Oh, hon... you are on a major roller-coaster, aren't you? I wish I were in a position to just tell you to QUIT the fucking job...it's NOT worth your health. Honest!
I'm with gigi - maybe something in the animal field - you seem to really love them.
Hang in there... we're here...
Posted by: sue at October 13, 2005 04:02 PM (WbfZD)
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Sending you a great big hug Helen!
Posted by: justme at October 13, 2005 04:53 PM (irUos)
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oh hon.... I am with the new name for the job. and I can sympathise with you on the ass bleed (dude can both of ours just go the fuck away??).
what do you say to toasting vodka jellies. you do know vodka makes everything better
GROS BISOUS!!!
Posted by: stinkerbell at October 13, 2005 05:13 PM (ZznPv)
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Jesus.
For the love of all that is good and right, get thee to a doctor. Honey, clots out of your ass is ska-wee shit.
You're paying for your job with your health, love.
And with that, I'll ratchet down the Mom Face.
We just love you, gel.
xoxo
Posted by: Margi at October 13, 2005 05:16 PM (nwEQH)
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First off, please see a doctor about your "ass bleed". I certainly do not to wish any ill on you, but that could be serious and go downhill fast. With all of your irritable bowel problems, it is better to be safe than sorry. My sister suffers from Crohn's and let it go until she needed blood transplants and the whole shabang. It is in remission now, but the doc said she could have avoided a lot of her hospital stay if she would have gotten treatment earlier. I know you don't have much, if any, free time, but your health is worth it. Just as you are talking to a therapist to help you with your mental health, it is also important to take care of yourself physically. The mouth ulcer, hand herpes, weepy eye, and now the blood clots could all be linked-I hope all is well, but sounds like your immune system is taking a beating. Could be one underlying illness that is rearing its head in a lot of ugly ways.
I won't tell you to quit your job, I know it was difficult for you before when you were out of work, and so happy when you got Dream Job. I do think it is running you down, as demanding and rewarding work tends to do. I don't have an easy answer, just sending lots of good thoughts your way. My hope is that soon things will calm down at work and life will become a little more smooth and mellow.
Please take care (and in my best mom voice) "get your [bleeding] ass to the doctor ASAP!!"
Posted by: Teresa at October 13, 2005 06:30 PM (zf0DB)
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Must stop reading archives. Must go back to work.
Posted by: Kim at October 13, 2005 10:31 PM (IrBq5)
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Glad to hear I'm not the only one who leaps out of the stress and skives off wen it gets too much. I actually left work yesterday to "work from home" - cried all the way home in the car and then comforted myself with chocolate, liquorice and three hours on the couch watching pretaped Martha Stewart shows and Reba episodes..... and GOD it was good!!!
Hang in there - and if you can, get a copy of the Mountain Gorilla's song "Gonna make it through this year if it kills me". It's currently on repeat on my iPOD!!
Flik x
PS I don't need to echo everyone else but PLEASE at the very least promise you'll see a doctor about the AB BEFORE you start IVF treatment - once you're taking drugs or have embies on board treatment options for anything they may find are limited. x
Posted by: Flikka at October 13, 2005 10:47 PM (puvdD)
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what they said. Take care of yourself.
I wish I had something witty to add, but I'll just send big hugs and virtual chocolate in your direction!
Posted by: caltechgirl at October 14, 2005 01:16 AM (mJAMK)
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From a chinese medicine point of view, it sounds like your body is too "heaty". You should take more food from the "yin" category to counteract the "heat". Does this make any sense to you?
Posted by: cubic at October 14, 2005 03:10 AM (zXIN2)
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Sorry I am a day late. Unfortunately, my work life is not much different than yours at the moment. Your work of art is Awesome. You definitely brought a smile to my face today.
Posted by: Paul at October 14, 2005 05:18 PM (avr9E)
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Hugs and please take care of yourself!! Just know that you are loved and repeat to yourself a 150 times a day.
Posted by: Azalea at October 15, 2005 01:40 AM (hRxUm)
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October 11, 2005
Growing Down
I am 31 years old, but the older I get, the more I am growing down.
I am sitting here on yet another train to yet another London day, and amongst the business-suited men clutching their Blackberries and their sheaves of papers that have indelible red ink smattering the margins. Shiny black shoes reflect the light of the aisle and wedding-ringed hands run their way over many a thinning haired head. The shelf above the seats is a war zone of briefcases, all of them full of the things one needs-laptop, cables, Cross pens, copies of the classics (how many times have I seen Lord of the Flies and a dodgy-looking copy of Daphne Du Maurier?) and employee ID badges.
But I am here, and I am tired.
I'm tired of sitting on the end of a conference phone, tired of constant battles. I'm tired of action points, minutes of meeting, and 'ways of working'Â. I'm tired of trying to be so responsible all the time. I'm tired of 'disease of the month club'Â (my new one this week? I have a mouth ulcer inside my mouth. For real. And I get to rub this stuff on it that's for mouth ulcers and teething infants, so I have a real understaning of the pain of teething infants.) It hurts and it's the size of New Mexico. I know this as we have a map of New Mexico in the study, and I checked it, and yup-same size. Know what causes mouth ulcers? A few things, but the biggest one is stress. Soon all my flesh will simply go necrotic and fall off. That's clearly the next step on this project, which is ok I guess, as at least I will look thin.)
So here I am on the train, wearing jeans. Blue Sketcher sneakers are my footwear of choice, and I have a simple white button down shirt and a black Gap cardigan. I've thrown on a strand of vintage jet Flapper beads I bought over the weekend for £6.50. I'm dressed down and going into the Dream Job lions' den and I don't give a fuck.
I figure-sometimes it's about the clothes. Sometimes it's about the stockings, the high heels, the gloss of lip gloss shining off the lapel off a business suit. The perfect hair in the perfect bun and the perfectly amount of perfume.
And sometimes it's about being comfortable, wearing clothes that you feel you can move around in and an irreverent dash of Demeter's Crème Brulee perfume.
I wore jeans to the office last Friday as well. I was dressed similarly, in jeans and a smart button down shirt. I had worked my way through area after area of a project plan, and when I finished I went to the ladies' and pulled my hair into a high ponytail. I slicked on a bit of rose-colored lip gloss and felt relieved that the day was over.
As I left the office I tried to get around having to go through a crosswalk, and so stepped off the curb. A London black cab came up suddenly, so I jumped back onto the curb. And when I got onto the curb, I jumped up and down and laughed. I don't know why I did it, I just sprung like Tigger and giggled like a maniac. The cabbie slowed down by me, and I could see he was laughing.
'Don't worry, Love!'Â he said, grinning through his thick London accent. 'You're too cute, I wouldn't run you down!'Â I continued to laugh and hop around.
Made my day, mate, that one did.
I bought Halloween decorations over the weekend-we had two strands of what the English call 'fairy lights' delivered-fairy lights are basically what my people call 'Christmas lights'Â, only these are for Halloween so I reckon they're called..um'¦string Halloween lights. Or something. One strand had big smiling orange plastic pumpkins, and the other one has white mesh ghosts, with their mouths in a big surprised 'O'Â. I bought an enormous vampire to hang on our front door, a red monstrosity complete with bells attached to let you know the door has been opened.
And, of course, a Jack-o-lantern.
We'd gone into the shop on Sunday to get some goods for Angus' homemade Toad in the Hole (mine is veggie, and I love this meal so much I wonder if it makes me an honorary Englishman). As we wheeled the wonky cart in to the veggie section, there they were. Lining an entire shelf was a row of perfect orange pumpkins. I squealed and bounced around, and went running to them, looking at them closely. I reached for one and hugged it to me tightly. I walked to Angus.
'I talked to this one, and it wants to come home with us.'Â I said seriously. He grinned. I had asked the pumpkin, and it did want to come home with us-I look for wonky or different pumpkins, as I worry the wonky ones won't get adopted (you know that episode of Friends where Phoebe gets upset over the dead Christmas trees, and how they don't fulfill their Christmas destiny? Yeah. That's me.)
And now he sits on the front porch with his face lit up every night in an enormous smiley face.
My desk is littered with toys. A Magic 8 Ball, a frog that plays an annoyingly happy tune when you clap your hands. A stuffed turtle I bought in Egypt sits not far from a plastic Baba Papa. My Rosie the Riveter action figure is on my bookshelf and a Slinky rests near the keyboard. I'm desperate for a singing chicken alarm clock. Animated DVDs line the shelves and I am gearing up to watch Stewie-specific Family Guy (I just love you for it) and my Simpsons' Treehouse of Terror this week (I love the Halloween episodes). A stuffed G-Dog toy sits solemnly in our bedroom, wearing my pink French Connection hat.
The older I get, the more I like my toys.
And so I sit here on the train, my blue Sketcher sneakers taking up space on the crowded 7:17 to London.
It doesn't mean I am growing up. I am growing down, and maybe it just means I still want to have a laugh. Maybe I am so fucking stressed out and have too much work to do that any day now I will have reverted to thumb sucking and plaintive crying just to get someone to squeegee out my ear canals with that weird blue plastic bulb thing-y.
Although, as I was waiting to buy my ticket at the ticket counter the young dizzy thing in front of me was taking up way too much time trying to buy a simple ticket in London. I wanted to tell her that the businessmen? They lynch people that take up too much time in this line. It's a simple return to Waterloo, dearie, don't stress out. She took up five minutes asking questions about her transaction. The men behind me started to go into a killing rage. At the end of it, she grinned at the very nice ticket man we have at our station. 'Thanks! I was so worried I would miss my train, it's only my third day at college!'Â She flounced off, and I was left rolling my eyes and thinking: God. Young people. How aggravating.
I am, apparently, selectively growing down.
-H.
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1
I'm sorry about your mouth ulcer. Geez, you need a break from the 2-name funkies.
My Hubby's backwoods Granny swore by yellowroot tea for mouth ulcers. I don't know if you're into herbal remedies (or would even consider it.) From what I understand the taste is horrid, but it works, and it's not necessary to swallow the stuff, just swish it around in your mouth.
Posted by: selzach at October 11, 2005 01:41 PM (txJbT)
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I particularly enjoyed this one -- well written! I'm a good bit older than you, so my desk is even MORE cluttered with toys than your own. I think you're on the right track, too. You'll become one heck of a quirky old lady someday!
Keep up the good work -- and the fascinating blog!
And I understand about the pumpkin. I had one last fall here, too, and I was amazed when I cried when I had to give it up. I'd never felt so strongly about a pumpkin in all my years in the States.
Janet
(lordcelery.blogspot.com)
Posted by: Janet at October 11, 2005 02:08 PM (QDh4F)
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I love you for selecting the slightly funky pumpkins.
And because you wear flapper's beads with Sketchers (aren't they the BEST? I love my Sketchers).
And because you recognize the need to grow down a little when "real life" encroaches on your Happy Place.
May you always be so in tune with yourself.
xoxo
Posted by: Margi at October 11, 2005 03:16 PM (nwEQH)
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Consider me a brat. It's Treehouse of Horror, I think. I can't believe I just did that. I didn't want to, but I swear it's like a compulsion with me. Anyway, I love those too! Last year I bought Gordon the ToH dvd for Christmas.
Nothing wrong with toys, my dear. Toys remind us that life can be fun and wonderful. Why shouldn't your desk be covered in them?
Posted by: amy t. at October 11, 2005 03:51 PM (zPssd)
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Helen, you are the heroine of Halloween.
Funky pumpkins, indeed.
Posted by: Elizabeth at October 11, 2005 07:07 PM (Xb+jS)
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OK, that's enough thinking for the day. Go into your automaton mode. First thing you know, you will be home, drinking wine with Angus, no shoes. Being a grown-up.
Posted by: old horsetail snake at October 12, 2005 12:12 AM (Bwih6)
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I can so relate. When I graduated and cleaned out my desk, DH and I brought home 2 boxes of toys and I deleted the entire run of Invader Zim from my lab computer
good for you
Posted by: caltechgirl at October 12, 2005 01:42 AM (7gBzo)
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oh, i know what you mean. i've called it regressing or a delayed childhood. but i like the sound of growing down...and i don't think what you have is selective growing down. what you've got is growing more child-like instead of more immature.
Posted by: kat at October 12, 2005 04:20 PM (xB7GF)
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I love this post. This is me. I'm old enough to be a grandmother - in fact, I AM a grandmother, and I find things I think my grandson would like...but gee... somehow they never make it to his house. My bad!!
There is NOTHING WRONG with growing down. Love, love, love it!
Posted by: sue at October 12, 2005 07:43 PM (WbfZD)
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October 10, 2005
Three Rows Away
On Saturday we decided we needed a day off. Work could more or less stuff itself, we needed a time out. So I went online to find some tickets, and bought us some seats in London for a show.
Saturday dawned bright and Fall-like. I draped myself in my new French Connection shrug and a furry muppet-like scarf. Dressed down in jeans, I added an Edwardian necklace I'd gotten as a nice boho salute. I felt good, albeit a bit tense.
We got on the train to London, reading our newspapers and sipping bottled water. As we stopped at one of the stations closer to London, a group of four got on the train and sat next to us. As the train started up, I turned the page of my newspaper and then was hit by this sudden thought-Oh my God. The woman next to me has just had sex! She smells like sex! Like the naked-once-finished-she-will-need-to-drain kind of sex
And she did. She had that unmistakable smell of bodily fluids and bedsheet activitiy, that slighty musky, glue-y smell. She had bright red cheeks and kept holding her boyfriend's hand, which I guess if I'd just had a bit of rumpy bumpy I would too.
We made it to Waterloo, our usual London station.
Once in London we walked along the Waterloo Bridge and into Charing Cross, where we went to the World's Greatest Bookstore, a four-storey wonder called Foyle's. We went in empty-handed, and went out with no less than 5 books. We made our way to Covent Garden, to drop into Ann Summers and look for Coco De Mer-we are both pretty intent on spending time between the sheets and toys are always welcome. Not finding what we were looking for we settled on some massage kit from the Body Shop-I love me a massage, and Angus has promised a sensual massage in my near future.
We went to the Adelphi Theatre then and settled in. I'd bought us tickets to see Chicago, and after drinking a glass of wine in the bar we made our way to the seats. Shocked, I realized just how good our seats were.
We were in the third row.
When the action started up, we could see everything-the actors were right in front of us! It was amazing. I've never sat so close. I was thoroughly enjoying it, even if the bint from Birmingham next to me kept singing the songs along with the cast at the top of her lungs, ignoring my shushing sounds and dirty looks (Bitch, seriously-I paid £100 to have professional actors sing to me. Do you think I really want you singing, too?)
And then the scene where Mama sings "You Take Care of Mama" came on (as played by the fabulous Queen Latifah in the movie. Queen La, I love you and your acting. I just don't really like your music). I looked up, and couldn't believe it.
It was Wonder Woman.
Seriously.
Wonder Woman was Mama. Lynda Carter was three rows away, belting out her song in a fantastic throaty voice. Wonder Woman was three rows away!
"Wonder Woman!" I wanted to shout. "Ohmigod, I loved all your work! Your golden lasso, your invisible plane! The way your corset became a symbol for all S&M practises everywhere! I wanted to be you when I grew up! I even wore wrist guards and pretended they were like yours, deflecting all evil! You should've won an Emmy for your brilliant work on the Muppet Show! I wore your Underoos! I LOVED those Underoos, even when they gave me a yeast infection! I forgave you that and every yeast infection those Underoos gave me after, I just couldn't give up my Underoos! Wonder Womaaaaaaaaaaaaan!"
Naturally I contained myself. This is my third London-going theatre experience, and in one of the other ones I saw David Soul. I have no idea which one he was, Starksy or Hutch, and it's unlikely to change the way I blow dry my hair in the morning, but Wonder Woman kicks the stuffing out of Starsky and Hutch anway. I can't imagine who's going to be in the next one, but if it can be John Cusack then all my dreams will have come true.
I need John Cusack Underoos.
Man.
Wonder Woman.
Three rows away.
The show was actually fantastic, we had a great time. After the show, Angus took me to a Mexican restaurant in Covent Garden, where I had multiple orgasms over the pitcher of frozen margaritas and the rapturous veggie enchiladas (with refried beans, which I have discovered that after many fits and temper tantrums in various Mexican and Tex-Mex restaurants, I actually like).
We walked back to Waterloo, a slight rain falling, a definite Fall chill in the air. I looked out over my adopted city and sighed with rapturous wonder-no matter how many times I cross that bridge, I fall back in love with London every time.
Just as everytime I get into our home train station, I fall in love with it all over again, too.
So it was we had a grand day out-books, massage goodies, Mexican food.
And Wonder Woman.
Three rows away.
-H.
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Wow! Wonder Woman. Awesome surprise, wasn't it?
You know, I dream of living in some romantic city sometimes, and London is one of the top 5 what I consider romantic, mysterious, the stuff those kind of dreams are made of.
Posted by: scorpy at October 10, 2005 01:01 PM (Cz46F)
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Wonder Woman!! What I wouldn't give for my WW Underoos. Oh, the good times we had.
Glad you had such a great weekend-you certainly deserved it.
Posted by: Teresa at October 10, 2005 01:07 PM (zf0DB)
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So she can pilot a plane, lasso anything that moves, deflect bullets, force people to tell the truth, is a Princess, AND she can sing too? If I wasn't already married to a Super Model (who also sings wonderfully), I'd be hunting me some Wonder Woman....um, I mean Linda Carter.
That sounds like a fun day. Enjoy them while you can. Children tend to make those kinds of days much fewer and farther between. The good news is you don't really miss them. Average, ordinary days with my angels are better than big nights out on the town. Taking my family to Taco Bell is as good as any 4 star restaurant. It's not where you go and what you do as much as it is who you're with.
Posted by: Solomon at October 10, 2005 01:26 PM (k1sTy)
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Ah, Linda Carter. She taught a generation of men what boobs were all about.
Posted by: Jim at October 10, 2005 02:45 PM (tyQ8y)
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Never cared much for Wonder Woman. Or Lynda Carter. But David Soul? He was Hutch, man. The lesser of the two. I think I had my first wet dream thinking about Starsky. Yum.
Posted by: Jennifer at October 10, 2005 03:32 PM (jl9h0)
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Oh lucky you! THere is nothing like a good theatre production to excite the soul. I once took my daughter to see Bernadette Peters in 'Annie Get You Gun'. It was a life changing moment for my 11 year old. We later went to see 'Chicago' in NYC (the wonder woman-less) production but it too was awesome.
Our song is "Mr Cellophane"
Posted by: Marie at October 10, 2005 03:57 PM (PQxWr)
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I think that may be the first time the words "John Cusack underoos" have been strung together but I hope they won't be the last!!
Posted by: mary at October 10, 2005 04:08 PM (o/h3H)
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I guess that was the Waterloo Bridge. London Bridge was moved tro Lake Navasu, Arizona, many years ago.
Tell me, how close were you to Wonder Woman. Did you get within 3 rows?
Posted by: old horsetail snake at October 10, 2005 04:19 PM (Bwih6)
Posted by: old horsetail snake at October 10, 2005 04:20 PM (Bwih6)
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Isn't it fun when you have such a terrific day... and then a big wonderful surprise on top of it!! Those are the days you deserve more of, H. {{{hugs}}}
Posted by: sue at October 10, 2005 07:47 PM (WbfZD)
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I like refried beans. That's why I wanna try fried beans, because maybe they're just as good and we're just wasting time. You don't have to fry them again after all.
Mitch Hedberg R.I.P.
Posted by: Brass at October 10, 2005 10:44 PM (6TLEO)
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That evening out sounds like heaven, honey.
Good on ya for having a great time.
And Wonder Woman! Whoo Haaa! Underoos -and- sensual massage. All in the same post. You are my heroine.
)
xoxo
Posted by: Margi at October 10, 2005 10:51 PM (nwEQH)
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I LOVED those Underoos, even when they gave me a yeast infection! I forgave you that and every yeast infection those Underoos gave me after, I just couldn't give up my Underoos! Wonder Womaaaaaaaaaaaaan!"
You seriously crack me up, Helen.
The best seats I ever had was for "Les Miserables" in the late 80's. Like you, three rows back.
We even got SPIT ON by Javert! YAY! *grins*
Posted by: Amber at October 11, 2005 02:41 AM (zQE5D)
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Best seats I was ever
offered was for Puppetry of the Penis. First row, centre. Nothankyouverymuch. That's waay closer than I want to be.
Evar*smiles* Now that was ART.
Posted by: Jocelyn at October 11, 2005 03:34 AM (p6cmr)
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WONDERWOMAN
*pant* *pant*
You lucky bitch.
Posted by: Elizabeth at October 11, 2005 07:05 PM (Xb+jS)
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I am currently giggling (very quietly) in the library. I wanted to be WW too! Jealous... So very jealous!
Posted by: stephanie at October 12, 2005 02:32 AM (/WWse)
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October 07, 2005
Father-Daughter Picnics Aren't Just For 7 Year Olds
My father had a hard childhood, pockmarked by abandonment, the taunts of being an illegitimate child, physical abuse at the hands of an evil uncle, and emigration to the States at a tender teenage age where he had to learn the language and the customs and the meaning of the word family. His mother left him behind when she went to the States with her new husband, and my father bounced around various family members until he came to rest with his maternal grandmother. By all accounts she was incredibly strict but incredibly loving, and she provided a stable life for my father in the rural Japanese town until her death, at which point he left for the States.
Many years ago I found a picture of her in a hidden photo album at my grandmother's. My great-grandmother was a tiny, wizened creature in a kimono and with those wooden flip flop shoes, crouched on a dirt lane and smiling at the camera. I took the black and white photo from her house, and years later I framed it in a black lacquer frame and presented it to my father.
He cried.
When you're a child, it's hard to empathize with what he went through. But today, talking with my therapist, I feel horrified for that little boy, the little boy that was left behind, the little boy that to this day has a fear of moths, as in a cellar one evening an enormous luna moth flew onto his face and scared him nearly to death. Now that I'm the age of motherhood, I want to reach back in time and take the little boy from the turbulence and love him and care for him. I want to give him a PSP and read him books at bedtime and above all I want to hug him and talk to him and tell him that love is the most natural and greatest thing on earth.
For many years my father had a hard time with reaching out, with closeness. And in many ways I understand that. In many ways, I am that.
When I was 7 years old, my Brownie Troup was holding a Father-Daughter Picnic. I was so excited. I would be able to go there with my father. I had the day ready to go, the plans already made. We'd made buttons in the previous troup meeting, and I had my button proudly pinned to my sweater. It would be me and my Daddy for a whole day, doing father-daughter things we never did. Picnic food and sack races danced in my head. Sitting outside in the sun, introducing people to my Dad'¦I was filled with excitement.
The day before the picnic, my father chose an optional TDY trip. He left that day, and the picnic was missed. I was crushed. I couldn't believe it-my father had bunked out of the one thing I was so looking forward to. My best friend's Dad offered to be my Dad at the picnic as well, but I was so ashamed and embarrassed I turned him down, and didn't go to the picnic. I threw the button away in anger, and it was just a few short months later that my parents split up.
Stupid, really. A fucking picnic could be so disappointing when you're 7 years old. It's amazing how the inconsequential can upset you so much.
My dad called the other night while I was sitting in front of the glow of the PC monitor, the desk lamp switched on and chasing away the night from my desk.
'Helen! This is your father!'Â he croaks into the phone. It's our new shtick, he tries to sound like an evil villain, Darth Vader's second cousin twice removed, and it makes me laugh every time he does it.
'Duuuuuuuuuuude!'Â I shout back into the phone.
'I'm no dude! I'˜m your father!' he'll shout back.
And I fucking love his phone calls.
Over time, my father has mellowed and molded and become someone that I would like to know. He is an avid hiker and biker now. At Halloween, he and my stepmother decorate and hand out candy with glee. We talk about books and movies. I talk to him about The Blackberries, as the sale is progressing along.
And the truth is, my father is someone I like now.
For his birthday I sent him a special hiking flashlight, one with LEDs that doesn't need batteries, you just shake it to charge it. According to my stepmother, my father walks around with it all the time in the house, shaking it. She says you can hear him across the house, shaking that flashlight and flipping off all the lights to use the light from the flashlight. She says she reminds him that they actually have electricity, and that their electric bill will be tiny. He says he doesn't care-he just wants to use the flashlight.
I love that he uses my flashlight.
As we talked on the phone, I realized there was something I needed to say.
'Dad, I've been seeing a therapist.'Â I say.
'ÂWhat? Helen! Does Angus know?'Â he says, astonished.
'What? Oh! Dad, no-I'm not dating one. I'm seeing one. Like 'paying for therapy'Â seeing one. I mean, obviously the average healthy adult doesn't run around trying to kill themselves or anything, so it's important I get help.'Â
'Oh! Right. How are you doing?'Â he asks nicely.
'Not bad, Dad. I really like him, I think he's helping me a lot.'Â
'I'm really glad, Helen. I'm really glad.'Â
'Dad'¦um'¦well, we were talking about your childhood, and I just wanted to tell you'¦I'm really sorry.'Â
'Why are you sorry?'Â he asks, genuinely puzzled.
I shrug, even though he can't see me. 'It was awful for you, Dad. I am really sorry. You didn't deserve that kind of turbulence.'Â
'ÂOh Helen.'Â My dad says, sighing. 'It's me who needs to apologize, you had the turbulent childhood. We really screwed up. I'm the one who's sorry, Helen. I wish I could make it better.'Â
I'm 31 years old. My father has just apologized. I choked a bit and tears formed in my eyes. He blew off the Father-Daughter Picnic I wanted, he disappeared for most of my childhood, and he was my single greatest enemy when I was a teenager.
And he just told me he's sorry.
'It's ok Dad.'Â I said. And for the first time in years on the phone with him, I mean it. 'I love you Dad.'Â
'ÂI love you too, baby. You're my Number 1, and you always will be.'Â
I'm 31 years old, and my father has forgiven me.
I'm 31 years old, and I've forgiven my father.
It feels fantastic.
-H.
PS-If you haven't already been, there, go ahead and throw $50 at this site-you get to see me half-naked, and it's all for charity. I have two covered shots and two un-covered shots. I think it's clear which one is me! Am debating some kind of "you prove that you paid the money to charity and I'll send you a third shot or tell you which one I am" type of thing, but somehow that feels like something that would have my grandfather rolling in his grave. Will think about that one further today.
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sweetheart, I AM SOOOO THRILLED for you. I know how much it means for you.
babysteps forward are just as rewarding and you deserve them!
Posted by: stinkerbell at October 07, 2005 12:03 PM (ZznPv)
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You sure know how to make me cry. This is a good example of the old saying "The child is father of the man (or maybe to the man). Your empathy with your dad's childhood experiences will lead you to become a wonderful parent. You will want to protect your children from the feeling of abandonment he no doubt had. Forgiveness is a wonderful thing for both the forgiver and the forgivee. I am happy for you.
Posted by: kenju at October 07, 2005 12:47 PM (+AT7Y)
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Congratulations Helen, this is huge! It is so strange that as we get older, it is only then that we begin to understand our parents. Motherhood only makes the scope wider, and with all your feelings of compassion and understanding, you are going to make a wonderful mother. Understanding them and where they come from is a big part of understanding who you are. I am so happy for you.
And I know what pictures are yours! *wink*
Posted by: Teresa at October 07, 2005 01:26 PM (zf0DB)
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Father-Daughter picnics at age 7 aren't blown out of proportion by daughters; they're not given their due importance by dads. Father-Daughter picnics (lunches, walks, hugs, outings,...) are a gift from God. I don't say this as a slam on your dad (I think you know me better than that) but as an encouragement to anyone who has young children. Make sure you/your husband spend loads of time with your children. Quantity is superior to quality regarding time with children.
If your dad knew then what he knows now, he'd have worn the biggest, goofiest, gaudiest button you could have dreamed up. He'd have worn a matching paper hat too
I'm really glad you two are restoring your relationship.
I hope it spreads to other family members too. There was a time when forgiving your dad would have been unthinkable. Maybe in time other relationships will be healed and egregious sins forgiven.
Kenju stole my sentiment: forgiveness is as valuable for the forgiver as it is for the forgiven. Feel free to remove the previous paragraph if it's too inflammatory.
Posted by: Solomon at October 07, 2005 01:35 PM (k1sTy)
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*big tears rolling down my cheeks*
Helen, darling -- this statement: “It’s me who needs to apologize, you had the turbulent childhood. We really screwed up. I’m the one who’s sorry, Helen. I wish I could make it better.”
Is worth its weight in gold. Sometimes the 'breakthroughs' don't come in the doctor's office, you know.
I hope you can feel my arms around you.
Love,
Posted by: Margi at October 07, 2005 04:51 PM (nwEQH)
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It's been demonstrated repeatedly--Tom Cruise's opinion notwithstanding--how important the father/daughter relationship is to the daughter. That sets the foundation for all of her future relationships with men.
Luckily, it's never too late to repair that.
Perhaps the next time you see your dad you can go on that picnic, complete with goofy buttons.
Posted by: ~Easy at October 07, 2005 05:57 PM (NL+Vn)
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Everyone is so much better than I am at saying it. Just know I have been down this path... So glad for you!
Posted by: sue at October 07, 2005 06:07 PM (WbfZD)
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"All is forgiven."
Cheapest therapy yet. Great progress, kid.
Posted by: old horsetail snake at October 07, 2005 06:34 PM (Bwih6)
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Big tears rolling down cheeks here too! Glad that you could make this big step with your Dad Helen.
Posted by: justme at October 07, 2005 06:38 PM (RPyFS)
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How wonderful. This therapy thing seems to be worth all your time and turmoil. I know it hasn't been easy to let some of those things out.
I am so happy for you. And for your dad.
Posted by: caltechgirl at October 07, 2005 08:30 PM (WfvM0)
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I am so happy for you. What a wonderful experience to have in healing.
Posted by: manda at October 07, 2005 10:03 PM (838ff)
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So many times there is so much I want to say here. Then the words just get swept away, and all I'm left with is, I love you, too. And hugs. I'm left with hugs.
This post was positively brilliant. I adored every single word.
Posted by: Jennifer at October 07, 2005 10:48 PM (1X5Jq)
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I LOVE the work you're doing with your new therapist! WOW! Great steps, good for you.
I'm so happy for you right now. :-) {{{{Helen}}}}}
And your dad too! {{{{Helen's Dad}}}}
*beaming*
I hope some stranger reads this, Helen, recognizes themselves and it inspires them.
Wouldn't that be fabulous?
Kudos to you! :-) Sorry I'm gushing so much, but...I LOVED THIS!
Posted by: Amber at October 08, 2005 12:56 AM (zQE5D)
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what a wonderful conversation with your dad. amazing how powerful a few words can be from someone you care for deeply.
*much love*
Posted by: kat at October 08, 2005 03:12 AM (xB7GF)
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I just tossed $50 their way, but I guess I'm not smart enough to figure out which one is you.
Posted by: girl at October 08, 2005 07:33 PM (MqAGl)
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Congratulations on finding forgiveness. I envy you--I'm working on it with my dad, too. Thanks for the happy tears.
Posted by: Marian at October 09, 2005 11:20 PM (A4ZL6)
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I'm having father-issues of my own right now, and I'm sitting here bawling my eyes out after reading that.
Posted by: catherine at October 10, 2005 04:25 AM (J1KMd)
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October 04, 2005
If I Had a Sheep I Would Call It Rover...Or Bob. Maybe Bob.
Last night a glimmer of my past raised its ugly head and stared at me again.
I couldn't sleep.
I even took a sleeping tablet, but I just stayed up most of the night anyway.
I haven't had sleeping problems since I moved to England, since I spent those cold dark nights in Sweden in the purple glow of the television wondering when I could finally close my eyes and make it work. I would alternate every third night with the prescription sleeping tablets, waiting for the rocketing dizziness to set in and waking in the morning with the bitter taste of medicine and poorly-won sleep. I would manage about 5-6 hours of sleep until the white light of hidden sunlight on snow steeped into the windows. My X Partner Unit would kiss my unemployed head goodbye and head off to work.
But even before then, the lack of sleep was evident. Returning from a holiday we had in Turkey I was up for nearly 3 days before I caved to the siren call of sleeping tablets (the word "zombie" doesn't adequately describe me in a sleep-deprived state. More like "lunatic who should be kept away from the internet"). Weeks were metered by the TV that I stared through in the night. Days passed into night and back again and there I was, dark rings like a raccoon and the desperate drug-like yearning for sleep, only once I laid down all I did was toss and turn.
The worst episode I ever had was when I lived in North Carolina, shortly before moving to Sweden. The stress was so great that I went into manic modes in which I would stay up for nights on end cleaning. Things had to be cleaned. Things that were clean got re-cleaned. My place was so germ-free even Martha Stewart would have agreed it was clean, and would have sat naked in front of the refrigerator eating the leftover lasagne with her fingers. This went on for about 3 nights and then I would crash burn and sleep for 24 hours.
I got away with this from work as I was working 7 days a week anyway.
So last night I couldn't sleep. I was in bed reading for a while with Angus, and when he snapped off the light we assumed the normal crash positions-both of us on our left sides, his right arm curled up around me, under my elbow, over my breast, resting just beneath the angle of my chin with my arm wrapped around his. Maggie laid herself like a throw over his legs and laying like that, the two of them drifted off under a patina of matching snores.
But I didn't.
I went into spinning in bed mode, unable to get comfortable. I twisted and turned and plumped my pillow and hung a leg or two out. I tried to relax, I tried to go into Mittyism dream mode-I manage to save the world from nuclear destruction. I won the Nobel Prize for my perfect risotto recipe. I wrote a bestseller and appeared on Oprah in which I naturally cried (as everyone cries. She may even have Barbara Walters beat by now).
It didn't work. I got out of bed and downed a sleeping tablet and ambled to the computer, where I surfed and then played Sims for a while. I heard a shouting noise and walked into the darkness of the bedroom, to a sleeping Angus awash in mightmares. I reached across the duvet and put one hand on his leg and whispered: Shhh...it's ok. You're dreaming. With a sigh he went back to sleep and I went back to the PC.
At midnight I surfed eBay and managed to find an alarm clock I had as a kid and which I must have now. It's a big white chicken that sings: Wow! Yeah! Hey baby wake up, come and dance with me! Am slightly worried Angus will hate it. I am looking forward to experiencing my childhood again, albeit without the part where I flung said chicken alarm clock against the wall to silence it, which leads to the singing chickenless state I am in today.
At 1:00 a.m. I downloaded David Ford's new fantastically titled album I Sincerely Apologise for All the Trouble I've Caused. It is of the slow sad kill yourself variety of music, the kind to be avoided at all costs if experiencing a break up while clutching a bottle of tequila lest you become even more desolate, when you're still in the Patsy Cline's Crazy weepy stage. The songs are even more sad and slow than Gabriel's I Grieve or Sarah's Hold On, the slow version of which makes me cry like I am watching E.T. (and I always cry when I watch that movie).
At 1:30 a.m. I returned to the bed, hopeful. Foolish...but hopeful.
At 2:00 a.m. I forgot what a cat lover I am as I reached over Angus and removed Maggie from the bed, seeing as she was stretched out taking up his space and he was stretching out Bogarting mine. I figured-cats have short attention spans. She'll forgive me.
At 2:30 a.m. I solved world peace, wrote up a week's worth of blogs, and figured out what to do about the fault log at work.
At 3:00 a.m. I had forgotten all my achievements and was just cross that I couldn't sleep.
At 3:30 a.m. I fell asleep.
At 7:00 a.m. Angus was on the phone and it woke me up.
Time to start the day then.
I don't think I am entering that cycle of "never leave the house or bathe or eat thanks to the big depression that will run your life forever and ever" again. I think it's more like my body's way of saying "Seriously, if you do not dump some of this stress I am going to find new and interesting diseases that you will suffer from, all of which will be listed in an encyclopedia of interesting and amorphous tropical diseases and which 15 year olds will read in their school libraries with a mixture of horror and excitement."
I am strangely tired but I think if I tried to sleep it would fail, and anyway the day is pretty hectic ahead. Phone conferences for most of the day then a trip into London to see that nice therapist guy who is working my head out with me. Then back home tonight. Interesting TV. Maybe a bath and a shag before bed.
And sleep.
Please dear God let me sleep tonight. I'll give you a kidney if you'll just let me sleep. I can't go back to that cycle again. I worry what it means.
-H.
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Fight it tooth and nail, Helen. Take a long, hot bath before bedtime and push stresses ourt of your mind, if you can. Drink a glass of wine or beer and relax. You'll sleep tonight.
Posted by: Helen at October 04, 2005 01:19 PM (+AT7Y)
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I really think it is just all the stress, and maybe the fact that you have been seeing a new therapist and unloading a bit. Maybe your mind is just trying to sort things out and is having a hard time settling down. I really do feel for you Helen. Sometimes I feel like I am walking this fine line between just making it and the "never bathe, eat, leave the house" mode. The fact that you are aware that something does not feel right is a good thing, because you are in the right frame of mind to find out what you need to do to feel better. Make sure to mention all of this to your therapist, as I am sure you will anyway. It makes me happy that you have a "neutral party" to talk with-you won't start the cycle again-you have come too far and are too strong.
Take care, hon.
Posted by: Teresa at October 04, 2005 01:39 PM (zf0DB)
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I've had bouts of this...until you've experienced sleeplessness and the physical and mental fatigue that accompanies it...well, its just awful.
I used to wander around the university town I lived in until the wee hours. I'd take a book of poetry to the coffee shop (open til 4 a.m. - God, I loved that place!) and have "ambrosia." It was steamed milk, honey and nutmeg. Might sound a bit too sweet, but it was really perfect. I'd be in the corner suddenly yawning and bleary eyed, then home to sleep a little.
Breathe deep...Sweet dreams...
Posted by: Serena at October 04, 2005 02:52 PM (C1IIN)
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I think you've got a handle on it. Just realizing you are feeling the way you are is a goal in itself. I agree with Teresa that your subconcious is probably whirling with all the things you've been dragging out in therapy. I, too, have gone through this and know it feels awful, but it will pass... however, I wouldn't rule out the bath and shag...
Posted by: sue at October 04, 2005 03:31 PM (WbfZD)
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I get a lot more graphic about what I would do to be able to sleep sometimes. I cant tell you how much I wish I could give you sleep. Seriously, is there no other job for you? Although I have to admit, seeing what strange disease you will get next is sorta entertaining.
:::passing the margarita pitcher:::
Posted by: That Girl at October 04, 2005 03:59 PM (gu1Ur)
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I can't really feel your pain, because I have never been sleepless for more than a couple hours at a time. I have wondered, though, how you do your job without some mental side-effects. I hope the job (and the accompanying side-effects) ease up soon.
Also, I wonder if it's the therapy that is bring this all to the surface. You did say your therapist is working through your past with you?
Posted by: scorpy at October 04, 2005 04:44 PM (vPHcv)
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"Well, yes, I will get that 'antique' alarm clock so in case I fall asleep I CAN WAKE UP in time for my next bout of insomnia. Money well spent, I'd say."
Posted by: old horsetail snake at October 04, 2005 06:30 PM (acLa9)
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I think the worry of trying to get to sleep or the worry of not getting enough, is enough to keep you staring at the ceiling. It's a vicious cycle alright.
Posted by: Steph at October 05, 2005 04:39 AM (cNG0u)
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I am surprised you did not try the mind clearing breathing techniques that you must have learned in your yoga class. I find that concentrating on the 8 count in, hold, 6 out rythm helps to focus my attention and eventually fall asleep.
try it. you'll like it.
J.
Posted by: J.M at October 05, 2005 05:05 AM (ulcPu)
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Yoga breathing helps me too. Or listening to a favorite CD or movie while I'm laying in bed. Usually I put White Christmas on the DVD player and set the TV to turn itself off in 2 hours. Then I lay down and listen to the movie with my eyes closed. Works great 99.999% of the time.
I know, I know, utterly cheesy, especially when it's 90 F outside.....
but then again. my dad used to read to me or tell me stories or sing with me every night when I was a kid, so I think the stories and music are probably comforting on a deep level....
Posted by: caltechgirl at October 05, 2005 07:19 AM (WfvM0)
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October 03, 2005
Are You Reading That 1985 Hello! Magazine Or Can I Have a Glance At It?
On Friday we went back to the IVF doctor for the final blood tests. I'd already been to get checked for gonorrhea and syphillis (despite an interesting university experience, I am pleased to say I am negative. All I have is a Weepy Eye and a cured case of Hand Herpes, neither of which disqualifies me from the fun-filled life of being a human pin cushion, it just means I need to lighten the fuck up.)
Last Friday's test were really the final pit stop before the whole thing could proceed. Angus needed a series of tests (HIV, hepatitis B and C) and I had two more final blood tests to add to my already exhaustive list of bloodwork I've had done-one of which is a very expensive chromosome typing that is done for women who donate their eggs. The tests take a while to get the results back and come in at over £1000, but since I am donating half of my eggs, the cost is free (there's a joke in there about counting babies before the egg hatches, only it's lost on me right now. Must have more coffee.)
Angus' tests have come back, and he has a spectacular group of swimmers. As a man it must suck to have to have stats on your boys read out. The form not only counts them, but includes the amount of "abnormal ones" (before you freak out boys, know this-all men have abnormally shaped swimmers. All of you! Now uncross your legs as I tell you the really interesting part-men can have up to 85% abnormal swimmers and still be considered a normal candidate! More beer, anyone?) Without going into detail, I can say that Angus' stats are exceptional and show that after washing out the unmotivated sperm who would rather channel surf on the sofa than get their hard hat out and head for Baby-Land (a normal process in IVF and yes, all of you men have some of those sperm as well) he has lots remaining and they mean business. Even after 24 hours, they are still chugging back their Gatorade and determinedly swimming upstream.
Superman Sperm if I ever heard of them.
When I was getting the Hello My Name Isn't STD tests last week, I had gone in alone. I waited and waited in the waiting room, my appointment getting later and later as the nurses were all occupied in another room by something. I was beginning to get pretty annoyed when the object of the nurses' attention came out-a woman about my age, with short brown hair. Her face was bright red and puffy, and a nurse held on to her shoulders as she continued to choke out sobs.
It has always been clear to me that an IVF unit is the place where dreams are made or broken, only I had never seen anyone else go through the broken bit before. While there were Kodak moments of dreams succeeding lining the walls, for every newborn set of eyes there were at least two women who wept bitter tears when their periods started. I remember sitting under a running shower and sobbing. No one saw my dreams bite the dust.
Sitting in that uncomfortable naughahyde chair, I saw hers.
And I was thus very patient as I continued to wait for my turn with the business end of a needle.
So Angus and I go to wait in the waiting room, and there amongst the two year old mound of Hello! magazines is a pregnant woman. She has one hand protectively wrapped around her stomach and she is laughing and talking with another woman waiting in the waiting room, a woman who bites her lip from time to time and looks with uncomfortable longing at the pregnant woman's stomach. She has the look of someone that has been in a lot of over-loaded Hello!-magazine waiting rooms and can rattle off the women Colin Farrell has been seen with, a distraction to a distracted mind.
Un-Pregnant Woman tells Pregnant Woman about a nice party they were at this weekend, in which she drank too much.
"I haven't had a drink in ages!" laughs Pregnant Woman. "You're so lucky! I would do anything to have a drink right now!"
Really? I want to shout. Seriously, would you? Because you're in a waiting room for woman for women that would gladly give up the bottle for as long as it takes to get where you are. You're in this room for what purpose, exactly? Your work on this ward is done. Go to the ob-gyn like a good girl now, would you, and leave the infertility to the rest of us.
Up-Pregnant Woman then talks about her treatment with Pregnant Woman. Pregnant Woman nods sympathetically. "I know, it's so hard. I remember all of that."
Do you? Then maybe you remember how you'd feel if a pregnant woman was sat in the middle of the waiting room with the rest of the Pathetically Un-Pregnants. It's bad enough the walls in this place are lined with pictures of newborn babies. How about you go wait in that other waiting room and leave the rest of us to our hopeful dreams, eh?
Life as an Un-Pregnant continues. I am on folic acid and pregnancy vitamins now as they say it's very helpful with IVF cases. Something about nuchal cords, or some other term that is uncomfortably like the word "belly button", and I never say the word "belly button" as I find that word to be the height of embarassing. Naturally the cover box of the pregnancy vitamins shows a happily pregnant woman dreamily rubbing her stomach, a mist of happy hazy mommy dreams. I keep the box face down in our junk drawer in the kitchen. Karma and all that.
We've decided to wait to start the process until after the New Year-not only would we not be able to start it before the holidays at this point (who knew chromosome typing took so long to kick off?) but reminders of losing Egg and Bacon in a hardware store toilet the day after New Years' has put me off of ever trying for a baby in the holiday time again.
I can just picture it.
Phwee! go those obnoxious New Years' noisemakers. Phwee! Rockets explode outside and people tipple their champagne glasses at each other. Angus kisses me and then looks down at the emerging puddle between my feet. "Umm...darling?" he asks, eyebrows raised. "You're bleeding."
"Oh damn it all to hell." I'll reply, reaching for the champagne bottle as it wouldn't matter anymore if I'm not drinking. "Miscarrying again at the New Year."
Or at Christmastime-I sit on Santa's lap with a cheeky grin.
"Have you been a good girl this year?" Santa asks.
"Define the elvish version of the word 'good' and I'll let you know, Nick." I reply. I can't recall the last time I was a good girl. At least I am wearing my most modest knickers, I suppose that helps.
"And what do you want for Christmas, young lady?" he'll ask.
"I want a lifetime supply of Sephora products, a puppy, and an end to fox hunting. I'd ask for world peace, too, but the Miss America pageant has really ruined it for all of us. Oh! And I want to have a baby, too."
Santa smiles and pats my head. "I'll see what I can do about those, only that sudden rush of hot liquid on my lap tells me that your baby dreams for Christmas are over. How about a lollipop instead?"
Yeah. So no baby attempts until the new year. We're looking at probably kicking it off in March-you can't fly long distance while going through the process and we'd already planned a long haul holiday with his kids in February. The baby dreams will wait for now, and in the meantime a machine somewhere whirrs a vial of my blood around to see what my chromosomes say about me. A computer is quietly clicking in the background, matching me with another prospective mommy-to-be. There's a collection of slender needles, just waiting to have my name on them.
We will see.
We will see.
-H.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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Funny, happy, sad, serious and poignant - all in the same post. You never cease to amaze me, Helen. I love the line about the sperm in hard hats - very funny.
I wish with all my heart that in the spring, your dreams will come true and the dream will stay in place until it is born.
Posted by: kenju at October 03, 2005 01:19 PM (+AT7Y)
2
Really...you are amazing. I believe your entries about fertility would not only make a fantastic book for anyone, but mothers struggling to have a baby would find your words comforting and encouraging. You may get frightened or frustrated, but you sure are strong. It seems you blog for yourself, but others could benefit from your wisdom, too...
Plus, wouldn't it be nice to quit your job once your book becomes a best seller!
All the best,
Serena
Posted by: Serena at October 03, 2005 01:58 PM (C1IIN)
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How you didn't smack the smug, preggers woman i will never know.
Good luck in your quest.
Posted by: Steph at October 03, 2005 02:05 PM (4mFH7)
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Spring is a time of renewal, and I am hoping a new chapter in your life will begin as well. I am so sorry about the inconsiderate pregnant women. Simply put, some people just don't have any class. Sometimes life seems so unfair, but I do believe that patience and determination are rewarded. That you are so aware of the whole process-what it does mentally and physically to a woman, I can't help but believe that writing about your experience and feelings helps so many women know they are not alone in their dreams. It also leaves me speechless that you are also helping another woman to realize her baby dreams as well.
Talk about karma and all that. You are amazing-best of luck to you.
Posted by: Teresa at October 03, 2005 02:26 PM (zf0DB)
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What a great post Helen. Spring sounds like a wonderful time! That could give you a late fall/early winter baby. Sagittarius people are just wonderful, um not that I am prejudice or anything lol.
Posted by: justme at October 03, 2005 03:24 PM (RPyFS)
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Some of us aren't smug. Some of us would have a baby FOR you, my love. I hope you know that. No, I KNOW you know that.
(I'd have smacked her myself.)
P.S. This made me choke on my tea: "Even after 24 hours, they are still chugging back their Gatorade and determinedly swimming upstream." WOTTA visual! LOL)
All my love,
Posted by: Margi at October 03, 2005 03:46 PM (nwEQH)
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Good luck. You may want to consider that the pregnant woman was just trying to find some area of commonality and point out an advantage that a non-pregnant woman has.
I agree, saying that anyone is "lucky" is condescending in the extreme. But weren't you thinking how lucky she was?
I only say this from my perspective of carrying a child that they told me would most likely die within days of being born. While I carried him, I was mildly chastized by a friend of mine who has been trying for 3 years to get pregnant (she was unaware of the diagnosis).
I dont think carrying Dead Baby Walking put me in any kind of lucky catagory, yet Im sure she envied me. Ha.
One thing I did learn from this is that grief is isolating and personal. While you mourn your "un-pregnancy" I mourned my pregnancy and have nothing to say to my friend, diagnosed similarly, whose baby died 2 days after birth. We all mourn, we all are sad, and our public faces, pregnant or no, rarely reflect the reality of our lives.
Posted by: That Girl at October 03, 2005 04:06 PM (gu1Ur)
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When my grandpa, the Baptist preacher, would hold communion, part of the drill was to quote Jesus as saying, "and this is my blood..." And then grampa would slam back a slug of wine. So maybe that's wine, not blood, you're leaking. I don't know if it would be as good as eis wein, but what the heck.
Also, if you wait till March, you will have the baby around Christmas. Another good time to slam back some wine.
You're a swell story teller, Helen. I am very glad to have found you.
Posted by: old horsetail snake at October 03, 2005 04:07 PM (acLa9)
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I did think how lucky that other woman was, yes. But I also felt-Gee...you're a former patient here. You know what it was like to sit in these seats. How would you have felt when you were going through this if a very pregnant woman came in amongst you? How would you feel if a very pregnant woman had come in and talked about how lucky you were, even if you couldn't feel lucky in any way shape or form?
I am sorry about your baby, ThatGirl. I really am. And I couldn't agree more that our public faces are never a mirror for what's inside.
Posted by: Helen at October 03, 2005 04:23 PM (Fpvv4)
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Great good luck, Helen and Angus! :-)
(And your swimmers story made Amber spit out her tea this morning)
Now that's class! ;-)
Posted by: Amber at October 03, 2005 05:10 PM (zQE5D)
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I agree that fall babies are the best, being one, and having married one
I wish you much luck and love as you and Angus go forward with this new adventure.
Posted by: caltechgirl at October 03, 2005 10:59 PM (WfvM0)
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It's gonna happen. It's gotta. Now enjoy your holidays and then get down to business...
Posted by: sue at October 03, 2005 11:33 PM (02K9y)
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Sorry about the pregnant woman...just wondering..I'm sure you've probably seen it or read the book but the film "Maybe Baby" is about a couple's struggle with IVF and hits on the same feelings as you have. Just thought I'd suggest it..have a good week Helen.
Posted by: Juls at October 03, 2005 11:56 PM (SDeyC)
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I wish I could just say, "Make it happen" for you, but my powers are not happening at the moment....I think it's good that you're protecting yourself against the potential holiday hurt. Just wait for the quiet time and grow that baby! I love your story telling and wish I could take this pain away. Thankfully I didn't have trouble having my children, but everyone has their own hearache, that's one thing I've learned. So smug preggers might be sailing through this part of her life, but maybe she had a horrible childhood, or will end up taking care of her incontinent mother for the rest of her life.... I'm just saying you don't know the pain that someone else is going through....but a good slapping might still be due her!
Posted by: Kathy at October 04, 2005 01:04 AM (flb/n)
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I prefer to be a lurker rather than a poster but I hope one day you write a book as one person here suggested. Please, please, please. Is that enough begging? You write so well I cannot believe I get your life and thoughts all on the world wide web for free.
Posted by: Judi at October 04, 2005 01:39 AM (hC3ot)
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