A Crohn's Story - Part 3: Realities

I've had some realities hit me today in a way that I did not anticipate.  I received my first shipment of Humira from the pharmacy.  I've spent the last few days on the phone with various nurses and PAs talking about what to expect and what I'll need to prepare for my first injection.  But watching all of the training videos and tutorials did not prepare me for the wave of emotion I would feel just unboxing the materials.

It makes it real in a way that nothing else has so far.  My hospital visit, though serious and lonely, still made it feel like it was temporary somehow.  You know, something to get through and then never worry about again - like my other surgeries.  Even the pain I've had since I got out of the hospital seemed short term - live with it until you figure out how to manage it.  But opening this box and realizing I'll have to take this shot every two weeks put it in the same column as Diabetes for me.

Diabetes being something my mother has and has to control through diet and insulin shots.  It's something she'll always have and it's not going to go away entirely.  She's a sick person and the last thing I ever wanted to be was a sick person.  I'm not even sure how else to describe it.

It's real, it's happening, and I don't want it.

A Crohn's Story - Part 2: Diagnosis and Denial

I spent most of the next day waiting for the doctors to tell me when I could be released.  There had been the promise of real food and then the bigger promise of going home if my stomach could handle the food.  So I started with a liquid diet - chicken broth, jello, non-dairy protein drink.   I'd never been so excited for chicken broth in my life.   It stayed down and I stayed pain free.

Then they moved me up to a low-fiber diet.  In this case, it was a grilled chicken sandwich with some roasted carrots.  Again, this was the best chicken sandwich I'd eaten and I didn't even mind the carrots.  They made me wait a full half an hour before agreeing to release me and that was the slowest half an hour of my life.

It felt like Christmas and my birthday all wrapped into one when they finally took the PICC line out.  But that was quickly quelled when the doctors came in to talk to me about Crohn's disease and what to do when I got out of the hospital.

Internally, I was second guessing everything the doctors told me.  I kept trying to think of other things that could be causing my symptoms.  The internet has no end of possibilities for alternate diagnoses and I was convinced that it was a kind of false positive caused by the excessive amounts of Aleve I had been taking for my herniated disk.

I scheduled a second opinion with my dad's GI doctor and he was very patient with me as I asked all of my questions.  He gave me reasonable explanations for why my alternate theories couldn't be an accurate diagnosis and he reviewed the treatment plan laid out by the GI doctor I had in the hospital.  My heart was very heavy at the end of that call - I didn't want to be a "sick" person.

There is a lot of emotional baggage when you're diagnosed with a chronic disease.  The worst was when I read that my condition would be considered pre-existing for most health insurance companies and that I would also be covered under the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 .  There is something about being protected by legislation that made me feel helpless.  Your health, safety, and livelihood can hinge on whichever way the political wind is blowing. (And, yes, I realize I'm coming from a place of privilege when I say this.)

A Crohn's Story - Part I: Pain, Hospital Stay, Potential Diagnosis

To be honest, I'd been worried about stomach pain since November 2019 and my doctor thought it might be IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) but, at the time, it was not as important as getting the herniated disc in my neck fixed.  The pain didn't happen all the time, or even after eating the same foods, so I wasn't too concerned about it myself.

Then around February I started tracking when I had stomach pain in my bullet journal.  I combined this with stepping up food tracking in my Weight Watchers app - to see if I could determine causation.  I was also experiencing severe back pain and trouble sleeping, which I thought was unrelated to the stomach pain.  K and I even went so far as to buy a new mattress to help improve our mutual back problems - his improved and mine did not.  I was thinking I might have another disc problem but in my lumbar this time.

In March and April, I started to see a correlation between bowel movements and stomach pain.  This wasn't really a surprise to me, I've been concerned about not having enough fiber in my diet ever since my gall bladder was removed ten years ago.  So I started stepping up the fiber routine to help with the constipation pain I thought I was having.  Towards the end of April, the stomach/back pain got much worse and I realized they must be related somehow - maybe kidney stones or some kind of infection.  So I scheduled an appointment with my Primary Care Doctor.

But before I could get to my first virtual appointment to address the issue, I had the worst pain I'd experienced since my gall bladder went bust.  It actually felt a lot like that pain, except it was lower in my stomach and radiating out to my back.  I could even time it, like with my gall bladder, and know that within a half an hour of eating I would get an attack of pain.  

After one sleepless Friday night, I went to Urgent Care.  They diagnosed me with GERD (Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease) and sent me home with pills to control the acid in my stomach.  I knew it couldn't be GERD, but thought maybe I had an ulcer or something that could be relieved with the stomach acid pills.  They didn't help at all and I spent the next two nights in pain until I finally realized if I stopped eating by 8:30pm I could at least lay down at bedtime.

PICC Line

My doctor sent me for a CT scan and I was willing to pay the out of pocket cost to be seen on Wednesday instead of waiting a week for insurance to approve it.  I have never been so glad I made that decision.  It turns out, I had two abscesses in my intestine and a fistula had formed between them.  My doctor sent me to the ER and I spent the next week waiting to see what the official diagnosis would be.

The doctors at the hospital put me on an antibiotic and a no food/no drink diet.  I had a PICC line inserted into my right arm  - for those that don't know, because I certainly didn't before this happened, it's a tube that is inserted into a vein in your arm (or leg, or neck) that goes all the way to an area near your heart.   So it's important to keep it clean and make sure there aren't any bubbles in the tubing.  There is a fork in the tubing that allows for two points of entry - one was dedicated to TPN (Total Parenteral Nutrition) and the other was used to draw blood or inject medicines. The hospital used this to feed me - using TPN which looked like a weird milkshake in a bag.

TPN is a mixture of sugar (dextrose) for energy and protein (amino acids).  Sometimes they add Fats (lipids), Electrolytes (such as potassium, sodium, calcium, magnesium, chloride, and phosphate are also included), and other vitamins/minerals as needed.  It contains everything a human being needs to survive.  The nursing staff tested my blood regularly to make sure I was getting everything I needed for normal bodily functions and adjusted the mixture from day to day to meet those nutritional goals.  The bag would be delivered every day at 8pm and would run for 24 hours.

TPN Bag

What the TPN did was to allow my bowel to completely rest by not digesting any food at all which, in turn, allowed the abscess to begin to heal.  The first day was pretty miserable because my brain was still sending hunger signals to my stomach, but after a while everything righted itself and I didn't have the feeling of being hungry all the time.  In combination with the hospital no visitor policy,  it made me realize was how much of an event eating food really is.  It's not just about nourishing your body - it's a social event and an activity to stave off boredom all rolled into one.

The whole week was spent mostly alone, except for the doctors and nurses who would stop in, and running all kinds of tests to rule out what was causing the abscess.  My partner, father, and step-father, were all able to drive by and wave to me through the window - K even brought our puppy for a walk where I could see her for Mother's day - but it isn't nearly the same as being able to be in the same room with the people you love.  I know that it was equally as difficult for my family to not be able to visit me and they felt helpless while I was going through all of this.

The Gastrointestinal(GI) Team at the hospital ruled out a troubled appendix very early and mentioned it could be a form of IBD (Inflammatory Bowel Disease) but needed more tests to determine for sure.  I suggested, in vain, that my father had diverticulitis and maybe this was something related.  What I wanted was something that could be treated, healed, and then forgotten - like I'd done with my Gall Bladder, Tonsils, and already the replaced disc in my neck.  What I didn't want was something I'd have to worry about the rest of my life - like diabetes, cancer, or some other disease.

The final procedure to determine my final diagnosis was a Colonoscopy.  For those that have the tremendous fortune to never have been through this process, please count yourselves the luckiest SOBs on the planet.  It's less about the procedure and more about the preparation for it.   I had to drink a gallon of what I can only describe as stagnant seawater that had been filtered through a jock strap and infused with celery.  I'm pretty sure it was straight out of the tank where they kept the Sea Monster in The Shape of Water.  Thankfully, I'd already been on TPN for 6 days and there wasn't a lot to cleanse out of my system. 

The Colonoscopy - about eleven years earlier than I had anticipated having one - wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.  There were, however, complications that have now made me impervious to public embarrassment.  My period had started a few days earlier, because of course it did, and I had to use the large medical sanitary pads the hospital had stocked.  So I had to keep my underwear on and then shimmy them down to my ankles right before the procedure in a room.  And, of course, the Colonoscopy team that day was all male.  

Otherwise, it wasn't unlike the outpatient procedures I had for my tonsils, gall bladder, or ACDF surgery.  They wheeled me back, told me they would put me under and to count backwards from 100.  Then the next thing I remember is being wheeled back out to the recovery room to fully wake up.   The nurses in the recovery room were very attentive and kind.  They offered me a ton of literature on IBD - specifically Crohn's Disease -  and a low-residue diet. So this was the first confirmation that I was going to be diagnosed with Crohn's and it felt like being blindsided even though the GI team had mentioned it as one of the items they wanted to test for. 

The doctors has taken a piece of tissue during the Colonoscopy to biopsy - because that was the only way to definitively diagnose Crohn's Disease.  I held onto that for the rest of my hospital stay - hoping and praying that the biopsy would show something else and we'd have to cross Crohn's off the list.  Unfortunately, I didn't get the official diagnosis until two weeks later when I went for my follow-up exam at the GI's office.  Even then, I insisted on a second opinion to be sure.

Weirdness

Things are weird - I feel manic and in denial and calm all at the same time.  May has been a weird month for me, for all of us I am sure.  But for me, I found myself hospitalized and isolated from family and friends for a full week.  Then I was part of a reduction in force at work, which has left me scrambling to update my resume and reach out to my professional network.

I've been making lists about what I need to do to hit the job search running.  All the while it feels like it's not real and I'm just on vacation.  Sadness creeps in when I think about how much I loved that job.  Then I feel like things are kind of okay because people are already reaching out with possible job opportunities in the same field.  And then I feel a bit of panic around paying bills and what the future will bring for medications.  

I keep having dreams that I'm late for work, so it doesn't feel real yet.  I've been trying to stay positive and find silver linings where I can.  Today's non-scale victory, as weight watchers calls it, was fitting into a size 12 again.  The Barbie dress I bought and wanted to wear to the work party in December finally zips up and isn't tainted with a bittersweet memory.  It's waiting for an event.

It makes me worried about my next flair up though - if the diagnosis is correct, I'll be dealing with this for a long time.  I'd been bitching about how I'd lost 25 pounds and not dropped a dress size and I think what must have happened was that my belly was so distended I didn't notice a difference.  Since I've been home, I've lost another 5 pounds and the change in my body is significant.  So I must have been accepting bloating and pain as normal when it clearly was not.  I did the same thing when my disc herniated in my neck - kept ignoring the red flags my body was sending out until it reached a critical state.  So how do I recognize the warning signs for the next time?

Camp NaNoWriMo Week#1

On most Sundays, Milady went to a local Church and offered up her prayers to a silent God.  It was not for herself that she maintained her childhood ritual, for she knew she had been lost long ago to that glittering afterlife.  Somewhere on the grounds of a convent, in a far flung corner of France, there was a grave stone that bore the name of Madeleine de Caumont.  She did not have to see it to know that it was cut from the finest granite that was available in Bearn or even that there was no other ornamentation, save the cross, above the letters.  Her parents would have provided the cost of the funeral and may have even attended, but only the old priest knew for sure if the grave lay empty or if, as Milady expected, a nameless pauper was there in her stead.  After all, he was always economical if nothing else.  The only truth on that piece of rock would be the spelling of her real name and the date of her birth.

No matter the doubts that crowded her mind about the ancient mythology of the Church, she could not stop herself from praying on the Sabbath for the soul of her lost child.  On the off chance that all the priests’ lessons were true, she could not risk abandoning her innocent angel to an eternity of waiting.  Whether her soul had gone to purgatory or had been winked out of existence with the child’s last breath there was never a reason to pay homage to that tiny stone in the corner of the yard.  For Milady it was only the small body of her child under the ground. 

Did her mother talk to the air and imagine that somehow her earthbound words could be heard just as Milady often did for her own child?  She often thought of her parents and wondered if they went to visit her at the false grave.  Did her mother pray for the soul of her daughter in purgatory and pay the indulgences to the church for her child’s speedy release into heaven?  If this were true, did the old priest feel the weight of his own guilt when he received her purse?

Perhaps her own mother’s wasted efforts could count toward her unknown granddaughter.  Perhaps, her mother prayed for the baby too.  Knowing the torment she had felt over a daughter she had only held for a day, she could only imagine what her mother felt over the loss of a sixteen year old daughter.  But Milady imagined that the shame surrounding her premarital circumstances were enough for her mother to be glad she could not torment them any longer even if it meant the loss of her companionship.

If the old priest had not offered her an escape from that shame, what would have become of her?  Milady was never meant to live a penitent life and a finite existence within the walls of a nunnery.  The daily routine and silence would have driven Milady insane even now in the maturity of her years.  The priest had had enough experience with novitiates to recognize when a woman was not meant for the cloistered life.   He had also worked with the Cardinal long enough to know the type of personalities he would readily employee for his clandestine affairs.  Of course, all of this was irrelevant now and she only entertained these thoughts when her own earnest prayers had concluded well in advance of the minister’s.

Milady’s first real mission after entering the Cardinal’s service was to seduce and marry the Comte de la Fere.  His lands and influence in the south of France were very important to the Cardinal in the preparation for war against their neighbor, Spain.  She was to use her feminine wiles to sway the Comte in support of the Cardinal and his scheme against the Queen.  If that failed, her instructions were to provide an heir who could be easily controlled after the untimely death of his father until he reached his maturity. 

To Milady, there could be no simpler task.  Men often responded very well to her and with all she had learned under the Cardinal’s tutelage she set off for Sauveterre-de-Béarn with a confidence that could not be shaken.  Indeed, Milady was successful in her attempts and she was soon wed to the Comte de la Fere.   What she had not accounted for in all her careful planning was that she might fall under the Comte’s spell in return.

He was a young man of about 22, just come into his inheritance, and confident as the day is long.  Armand, for that was his Christian name, had untidy brown hair that always found a way to hang directly in his line of vision.  He was often seen brushing it away from his dark brown eyes only to have it fall back into the exact same spot.  He was lithe and quick with the sword – a superior opponent for anyone willing to challenge him.  A great horseman on top of that would have been enough to make him an excellent soldier, but his fortune served as a buffer to those realities and he had not been called on to defend his King’s name. 

Her husband was never sympathetic to the Cardinal’s schemes let alone one against her majesty Queen Anne.  His lands were part of her territories and he refused to betray this great lady to such a villain as the Cardinal.  His description of the Cardinal had stung Milady at first.  For the Cardinal had given her everything she’d ever wanted and it was difficult for her to see him in a negative light.  The Cardinal’s interests were those of France after all.  No matter what angle she tried, she was unable to convince her husband that these schemes were worth his support.

Her attempts had become more desperate when she realized she was pregnant with Armand’s child.  She had hoped for more time to work with him before such an event but their passion for one another had escalated the situation beyond her control.  She had not yet felt the quickening but she knew that a child had begun to grow in her womb.  Her symptoms had been the same as before, but there was no doubting them this time.  Milady again found her pregnancy bittersweet but not because of her husband’s reaction.  Where her last lover had seen it as a burden she alone must endure, her husband had arranged a picnic by the Gave d'Oloron to celebrate.

They had arrived by the water’s edge around midday and everything had been prearranged by his servants who were now conveniently absent.  They ate their meal of cold pheasant and cheese with freshly picked figs.  When they were done, Armand presented her with a box.  Inside was one of the most gorgeous rings she had ever seen.  It was an old family heirloom, he had said, it had belonged to his mother and it was the most precious thing he owned that he could give to her.  He wanted her to wear it from now on because, with the birth of their first child, she would be the one carrying his family name forward into the next generation.  In doing this, she was giving him the most precious gift he could imagine.

She had thrown her arms around him and they’d tumbled over the empty basket and down the grassy hill a short way.  She had kissed him deeply for all of the things that he had said and for being so different from any other man she had ever known.  They made love by the river and spent the rest of the afternoon in each other’s arms dreaming of their future together.  It was only when the sun began to wane in the sky above that he called for the servants to pack up the remains of their meal and take it back to the chateau. 

Even with everything that would come to pass, Milady could think back on this afternoon with pleasure.  She would disconnect it from the man Armand had since become in her mind and pretend that the beautiful future they had dreamed together was still possible somewhere.  Though the man he proved himself to be had destroyed all of those possibilities.

The Cardinal had not been pleased with her husband’s refusal to acquiesce to his plan but he had been very pleased with Milady when he had learned of her pregnancy.  In the Cardinal’s mind his servant was carrying out his contingency plan.  In truth, Milady was trying to find a way out of the Cardinal’s snare.

It was not long after their romantic picnic that Milady and Armand decided to take a ride through his country estate.  They had visited with a few of the farmers to discuss the current growth season.  Milady goaded her horse into a run with her husband not far behind and soon they were racing towards home.  It was then that tragedy struck the young couple and the Comte de la Fere’s true nature had been revealed to her.

Milady’s horse had been spooked by something in the road and reared up throwing her to the ground.  She was knocked unconscious in the fall and he husband had raced to her side in a panic.  His first concern was for her and he cut the lacing from her corset without a second thought.  The child, he knew, could not have survived the fall and he had to make sure that she survived.  It was as he was trying to revive her that he noticed the fleur de lis branded on her shoulder.  How had he not seen it before, he wondered.  In all of their love making together, how had it been obscured from him.  He rubbed the mark with his thumb to be sure and there was no doubt left in his mind that it was real.

When Milady came to a few minutes later, the look on her husband’s face was enough for her blood to run cold.  She pulled her dress back up on to her shoulder’s and realized what he must have seen in her unconsciousness.  His face was red with rage and he shook her so hard she thought her head would fall from her shoulders.

“Armand,” she had pleaded, “you do not understand.”

“I understand,” he shot back, “that my wife, MY WIFE, has lied to me about who she really is.”  

“It is complicated,” she began again.

“No, it’s really not.  Everything that you have ever said to me has been false.”

“No, not everything,” tears ran down Milady’s face, “I do love you.” 

“SILENCE,” he screamed, “I will not allow you to persist in this lie.”  While she had been unconscious, the Comte had been to his horse to retrieve a length of rope.  It had been fashioned into a noose and looped around the nearest tree.  When Milady saw it she began to fight back with a ferocity her husband had not known was even possible.  She kicked his legs out from under him so that he fell flat on his back. She was up and scrambling to make purchase with the ground when the Comte de La Fere grabbed ahold of Milady by the roots of her hair.  He pulled her in this fashion to the side of the road nearest the tree.

“Mercy,” she gasped.  “Mercy, my lord.”

“Did you show mercy to your victim?  To the one that earned you that brand?”

“Mercy, please I beg of you,” she pleaded, “If our love meant anything to you, please have mercy.”

“It meant everything to me but your intentions are clearly known. How long did I have until I was your next victim?”  He pulled her close to his face and stared into her eyes trying to penetrate her very soul.  He found what he knew would be there, that knowledge that he had been marked for death long before they’d met.  “Would I have lived long enough to see my child?”

“I was going to find a way,” fresh tears sprang from her eyes and all of her fight disappeared.   “I would never have hurt you!”

“It is my duty to see that your sentence is carried out and no one else suffers at your hands.”  He placed the rope around her neck and pulled it tight.

Crawling back to the Cardinal had been easy after that.  When the man you loved hangs you from a tree and leaves you for dead, it is easy to believe that all men are treacherous and deserve whatever end they meet.  The Cardinal has sent his best assassins after that and the hole in her heart served as a reminder to never be that foolish again.

Weight Loss V.2 2017

In February, my doctor called my bluff and said he wanted to see me in six months to check on my weight loss goals.  It was definitely the kick in the pants I needed to start taking my 2017 new year's goal of "be healthier" seriously.  I spent about two weeks trying to track and watch my macro nutrients on My Fitness Pal.  This is an excellent app and I will definitely use it again in the future but I just didn't have the will power to manage calories and watch the fat, sugars, sodium, etc.

So two weeks ago, I took advantage of the Weight Watchers online sale and used some of my work bonus to sign up for 3 months.  I have been more conscious of tracking and the items I'm tracking since I started back.  There have been a few changes - the 0 point smoothies I used to love now have to be calculated differently - but so far it's been an easier transition than I remembered from my first membership in 2010.

The website itself has lost some functionality but still covers the basic necessities.  I don't find it as easy to research a particular restaurant or view my list of favorites when making last minute decisions.  But having to plan a little more in advance forces me to make better decisions in the long run. On the positive side, they put a lot of effort into making sure the online customers get the same support one would in a face to face meeting.  So I am confident that this will be the extra bit I need to be successful.

Mortality

Upon returning from my wonderful trip abroad, my friend H asked to come over to my house. I immediately knew that something must be wrong because city residents are always loathe to give up their parking spaces. We usually meet at her house or somewhere nearby that is accessible via public transit so that she can avoid the usual headaches associated with City Parking. Shortly before my graduation, she had learned that a mutual friend had passed away. Knowing that I had worked so hard for the last 5 years on my degree and my sister and I had planned a trip for after graduation, she opted to keep the information to herself until after I returned. After she told me, I was stunned. I was thankful that it hadn't been any of the 100 terrible scenarios I'd imagined before she arrived, but I was also in disbelief that this other person was gone. Naturally, my friend H was concerned that I would be angry with her for keeping the information for so long. But I was actually incredibly grateful to her for suffering alone through my happy milestones. I felt terrible that we had all sat at dinner on the evening I graduated and laughed at stupid family stories while she was dealing with the loss of a friend.

It makes me wish that I were better at keeping in touch with people.  That I wasn't so lazy by using Facebook to keep tabs.  A friend of mine was dead for 3 months and I had no idea.  It was a friend with whom I lost touch and hadn't actively talked to in about 5 years.  Part of it was that he was pushing people away and the other part was that I was simply too busy in my own life to reach out to anyone.  I need to be a better human being now that school is completely done.

The End of an Era

In May, my last grandparent passed away. We weren't exceptionally close, but she was still my grandmother.

It started with a call from my mother saying that Grandma had fallen and they were taking her to the hospital.  I didn't think much about it because she had fallen before and was able to recover.  But at 88 years old, there's always cause for concern.  It turns out that she had a heart attack the previous day and had ignored the warning signs.  She'd opted not to go to the hospital and went to bed instead. The damage to her heart was permanent by the time she fell and there was nothing to do but wait.

My sister and I arrived in Florida the same evening, but didn't get to see Grandma in the hospital until the following day.  She stayed in the ICU for 3 days and was then moved to Hospice care.  I have to say that the staff at Hospice of Marion County were fantastic.  They were very respectful to my grandmother and very helpful to the rest of the family.  We're also incredibly grateful to the help provided by the Salvation Army Center of Hope so that we didn't have to worry about ridiculous hotel fees.

When my father's parents died, it was sudden and we didn't have time to get there.  When my mother's father died, I was very young so it affected me differently.  For this grandparent, though, we were able to say goodbye and spend time with her at the very last of her days.  It was a surreal experience that I hope to never repeat, though I know that at some point I may have to.  With knowing that my parents are now orphans comes the realization that they're the next generation to go.

Certainly, there could be a terrible accident that could take another family member sooner, but for all intents and purposes they're the next on the list of possibilities.  This is a frightening realization for me and something on which I try not to dwell.  But it certainly makes me question a lot of things in my life and wonder what kind of story people will tell about me when they have to speak over my coffin.

Pride 2012

My cousin will be 15 in a month and I thought it was time he went to the Pride Parade in Baltimore.  Not the Block Party afterwards, he's still too young for that, but the family portion with the gay marching band would be just fine.  Over all, we had a great time.  He was able to be himself in a crowd of like-minded people and, even though I made him hold my hand through the crowded areas, he still managed to have someone grab his ass.

B-School: Fall Semester

I have formally decided to attend Towson University, even though I have recently learned the joint program with University of Baltimore is not really "Joint" so much as it's co-operative.  Basically, I can take classes at UB without having to enroll at both schools and with permission from the department head.  However, when I graduate, I will only have a degree from Towson University.  This has apparently caused a lot of confusion with the MS in Accounting & Business Advisory Students.

Now, I am just trying to get my Fall schedule lined up.  Ideally I would like to take Accounting 300 on Monday night and US Business Law on Tuesday nights, but it looks like I might have to take the Management class at 8:00 in the morning on M, W, and F if I can't bypass the pre-requisites.

Wish me luck.

Aunt Louisa




Mommom and Great Aunt Louisa

 
Today would have been Great Aunt Louisa's 82nd Birthday.

She was like a second mother to my father and a second grandmother to me and my sister.

As I've gotten older, I can look back and appreciate her more and I wonder what she would have been like to know as an adult.  I was in my early twenties when she died, but I was still trying to figure things out and couldn't really see her as anything other than a "grown-up."  I have questions, now, that I wish I had known to ask her when she was alive. 

Did she and my grandmother have a similar relationship to me and my sister?
Did she ever want kids of her own?
What did she think her life would be like when she was younger?
Did her current life meet or exceed those expectations?
Who is the first person she would want to greet her in heaven?
What was it like for her when Mommom died?

B-School: Acceptance Letter (The Reach School)

If I was relieved to get my acceptance letter from Towson/UB, you can imagine I am completely shocked to get one from American University in Washington, DC.  I applied there as my reach school, mostly to see if I could but not really expecting to make the cut, and I am just over the moon about my acceptance.  It's #87 out of the top #100 business programs in the country, in THE COUNTRY.  There were 32 students accepted into their program last year and I could be one of them this year.

With Towson and UB I felt that I had met their qualifications so that's why they accepted me, but with American I honestly feel it's because of my efforts with the essays.  The median GMAT and median GPA were both higher than what I had.  I knew that the essays would have to be some kind of amazing in order to get in and I worked my ass off on them.  I had multiple people read and re-read them until I was satisfied.  Writing truly is one of my greatest strengths and I think I had forgotten that somewhere along the way.  (Yes, I write here and at my job but it's never a concentrated effort to achieve something.)  But more importantly, I set a goal and then followed the steps to get to that goal and it completely paid off.  I accomplished what I set out to do and I did it well.

So I know that, regardless of which program I ultimately decide to go with, I will succeed in this long term goal of earning my Master's Degree.  Yes, going to classes for the next 4-7 years is a longer period of time than the last year I've spent preparing for and applying to grad school.  But I know that I have the tools and the ambition to finish whatever I want to set my mind to.  It's a powerful feeling, I'm not really sure how else to describe it.  I need to bottle this for those times when I feel that the walls are closing in on me. 

So often I feel like I am a great pretender, just going through the motions of what I think people expect, and I don't realize that I really am that talented, intelligent, multi-faceted person.  This acceptance is evidence I can hold in my hand that says I really am that good.  But it's so much bigger than that.  It's all those times when my dad's ex would tell me I was stupid or worthless made infinitely smaller in the bigger picture of my life.  It's me not letting that time period define me or control my future - harnessing that negative energy and turning into something positive for myself.  And, if I can do that, hell, I can do anything.

B-School: Acceptance Letter

I received an acceptance letter from the Towson/University of Baltimore joint Master of Science in Accounting and Business Advisory Services program over the weekend.  I hate to say that I was worried I wouldn't be accepted, for the most part I hadn't even entertained that thought - it just wasn't a possibility, but I definitely breathed a sigh of relief when I opened up the envelope and read the word, "Congratulations."  It is conditional acceptance, I think because I have an English Degree and not business, so I'll have to maintain a 3.0 or be dropped from the program altogether.  I'm not worried about that though.  I have a goal in mind and I'm moving forward.

I've scheduled a meeting with the program director for advising and everything seems to be moving forward very nicely.  I estimate it will cost me about $5,000 a semester and my company will reimburse about $5,000 a year, so that means I will take out anywhere from $5,000 to $10,000 a year in student loans.  If I take 2 classes a semester and only attend the fall and spring semesters, it will take me about 6.5 years to finish and about $30, 000 to $60,000 in student loans when all is said and done.  If I take summer and winter classes, I can be finished in 4.5 years and about $30,000 to $45,000 in student loans.

I feel pretty good about this.  By the time I am 35/36 I could have my masters in Accounting.  The next thing to consider will be whether or not I want to seriously consider sitting for the CPA exam.

30 years of the Little Tikes Cozy Coupe

My very first car was the Little Tikes Cozy Coupe.  My mother tells the story about how they had no intention of buying anything that large until one day they were in the toy store and I came zooming around the corner in it.  Of course, I have no way of knowing how accurate that story may or may not be but I like the sound of it.  This was one of my favorite toys growing up.  The sound of the door as it would swing closed and the way the static in the plastic would cause my hair to stand up.  My tiny little milk jug and pretend groceries fit so nicely in the trunk space.  I'm not too crazy about it's newest incarnation though.

Like most car companies, Little Tikes has presented a newer, sleeker model for the next generation.  I'm not sure of the actual measurements but it seems a little bit smaller to me (like the Cadbury Creme Eggs on the shelves this Easter).  The wheels seem sturdier and should allow one's sister to ride on top without fear of bending the wire axle.  And I would bet money that the windshield bars won't pop out unexpectedly during playtime.  Little Tikes has rounded out the features to create a visually pleasing toy and I applaud these efforts.  But is it really necessary to give the Cozy Coupe eyes as if it's a character in Disney's Cars?

Remembering my first car makes me realize why I picked my grown-up car.  Maybe I should consider a custom paint job to make the roof yellow?

Or maybe this should be my next car?

Echoes from the Past

This past week, through the wonders of Facebook, I learned that my former step-sister has been diagnosed with Cancer.  Even though she is now graduated from college and living her grown-up life in Texas, I still think of her as being 12 - 14 years old.  This was the last time I remember seeing her before our parents separated and I just can't believe time hasn't stood still.

We reconnected on Facebook a couple of years ago and I was stunned by her photos.  She's grown into a fairly independent and stunning young woman.  We talked about getting together the next time she was in Maryland visiting her family and even though I agreed I never really made myself available.   I think I couldn't get my head around the possibility that I might have to see her father if we attempted to meet up.  And as I've said on here before, I have no desire to ever see that person again if I can help it.

Now, I just feel like such an asshole.  This girl has had the shit end of the stick for most of her life and I couldn't deal with my issues enough to get coffee with her.  Of the three children, she is the one who can claim a fairly normal life.  Her brothers were always favored by her father, in my opinion, and she suffered a lot of the same treatment visited upon me and my sister.  Her home life in Texas, as I recall, wasn't much easier as her mother was almost equally as unstable as her father.  Her youngest brother had a lot of emotional problems and was thrown out of school for a bomb threat.  Like me, I think she often wished her family was more normal than they were.  Yet, she went to college and graduated.

I am just upset with the universe that this person can have both my father's ex as a legitimate parent and be diagnosed with Cancer at such a young age.  There is something very unfair about it to me.  And I know that life isn't fair and people don't always get what they deserve.

A Decade

Ten years ago, I received a phone call from my then Hallmark manager.  She needed me to come in and cover a shift because the assistant manager's daughter was being taken to the hospital.  It was a Wednesday night and I was out with my family so I didn't get the message until the store had already closed.  I called the next day to see if they still needed me and I learned that the assistant manager's daughter had passed away.

I remember going to the girl's funeral to try and support my assistant manager and I just didn't know what to do.  The daughter had just turned 18 the day before my birthday and she was going to graduate from high school the following month.  Her high school classmates were in tears and her little sister was so withdrawn it broke my heart.  They buried her in her prom dress and I couldn't help but think of my own sister who was 4 months younger.

My sister had been accepted to Oxford College of Emory University, a college that had been suggested by my assistant manager, and every time I would talk about my sister's college experience I felt guilty.  To this day, I hate to talk about anything my sister is doing around my assistant manager because I can't help but wonder what her daughter would be doing now if she had lived.  I don't know that my assistant manager makes the same connection, but I would assume she does.

The little sister is getting married in less than two weeks.  I'm glad that the family will be able to celebrate something joyous for a change.  She's only 23, but I think she has a better understanding of life than any of her peers.  The father has suffered from throat cancer and had an experimental surgery about twenty years ago.  More recently, the experimental surgery has caused him some problems as he's aged and they weren't sure he would live.  Less than two years ago, the little sister almost broke her back.  She was swimming with cousins and made a dive into the water.  The angle she hit the surface caused a chain reaction in her spine and the Doctor's weren't 100% sure she would be able to walk again.  But she pushed through it all and was determined to recover, now she'll walk down the aisle with her father.

I don't know how that family is able to stay as strong as they are.  Collectively, it's the only way to get through all that's happened to them.  But I am more concerned about them on an individual level.  As an outsider, I wonder why so much sadness has been inflicted on them and I can't help but feel they've wondered the same thing.

30 days to live....

The theme of the Easter sermon I heard on Sunday was "30 days to live" and the pastor asked everyone what they would do if they found out they only had that long left in their lives.  He was trying to make a point about how we live our lives on a daily basis and what we should be focused on instead.  Basically, stop worrying about keeping up with the Joneses and start thinking about the legacy you're leaving here on Earth.  Pastor Skip, I'll call him, gave a list of things that he would do if he only had 30 days to live and, though they were admirable, they were not the first things that popped into my mind.

If I were told, with absolute certainty, that I was going to die in 30 days and there wasn't anything I could do about it, I would probably spend the first day completely shell shocked.  The next day I'd probably cry, the third I'd fall apart completely, and by the fourth I would make a list of all the things I wanted to do before my final day.

1. I'd fly my mother up to Maryland.
2. I'd fly my sister up to Maryland.
3. Take the trip to Japan with my sister.
4. See Paris one more time and actually go to the Louvre.
5. Give my 15 year old cousin a driving lesson.
6. Buy the most expensive bottle of Scotch I can find and drink it with my family and friends.
7. Get in a bar fight, knock someone over the head with a bottle, and throw a stool through a window.
8. Go home with a stranger.
9. Get a tattoo.
10. Ride a horse.
11. Swim in the Pacific Ocean.
12. Have a photo session with my photographer friend
13. Challenge my dad to see who can eat the most Goll's Bakery Donuts and Apple Turnovers before getting sick.
14. Break all of my dishes.
15. Throw a huge party and invite everyone.  And the biggest gift had better have a card attached that says, "Thank you, for being a friend." 

So most of these things are not what Pastor Skip had in mind and I did clean up the list a little bit for this entry.  I can't even say my list is that outrageous.  There isn't anything like Sky-Diving or Bull Fighting on here.  Mostly, I would do all the things I was afraid of doing because of the long term consequences.  I would go after the life experiences I wanted but hadn't been able to fit in.  I wouldn't go to work, not even to make it easier for everyone else, and I wouldn't do anything I didn't want to just to make someone else happy.

Which is probably Pastor Skip's entire point.  It's important to take a look at one's life and really question why we do the things we do.  What is important?  How do we waste our time and how could we use that time more effectively?    We are not guaranteed tomorrow, at any age, and we shouldn't take the days we have for granted.

Restore Church::Experiencing Life

Went with my aunt and cousin to the Easter service at their church this weekend.  It's a newer church in my hometown and apparently has all the older, established churches concerned.  After my visit, I can see why.  I was directed to park in a vacant lot across the street from what we call Reverend Pittam's church.  (I'm not really sure why we call it that other than, obviously, there is/was a Reverend Pittam and this was his church.) As I got out of my car, the music coming from the church caught my attention.  It sounded like a party or a local rock band show was inside.  There were several people wearing red t-shirts that said "Restore Church Dream Team" on them.  They were all greeting people and handing out "care packages" to new comers.  I declined to interact with these people as I was looking for my aunt, but my understanding is that the bags they were handing out contained some basic info about the church, a bible, and a few other religious themed goodies.

Once inside, the lighting was darker as if attending a performance or, again, local rock show.  There was a stage up front with fancy show lighting and a full band.  People were crowded near the back by the coffee bar and snack table.  They were all "fellowshipping" with one another and I thought it was interesting that the church set this up before the service and not after like the Baptist church used to do.  The snack table had a beautiful spread of donuts, bagels, yogurt, fruit, and cupcakes decorated with Peeps.  The healthier options were prominently displayed and I was surprised when, during the sermon, people got up to help themselves to more snacks.  The whole place exuded a sense of welcome and had a laid back atmosphere.  Many people were there in jeans and t-shirts and even those in their Sunday best didn't seem to mind.

Even though this was their third service for the day, there was very little about it that felt practiced or rehearsed.  Obviously, the music had that rehearsed feeling but my concern is always with the sermon.  I've been to big "McChurches" where the pastor tells the same jokes and makes the same points anywhere from 4-10 times in a day.  By the tenth performance, it doesn't have that genuine feel to it anymore and I tend to zone out.  But this pastor was clearly passionate about what he was doing.  His sermon didn't feel like he was playing for an audience, even though I know there had to be some recycled jokes.  He was energetic and enthusiastic which is important for any presentation.

The church also has networking down to a science.  They made use of social media and modern technology to engage with their congregation even outside of the typical Sunday service.  I heard a couple of stories about how the leadership team made a point to contact someone when they noticed the person had posted on Facebook about a sad or difficult time they were going through.  I also noticed one or two key people from the older, established churches helping out during the service.  They seem to recognize talent whether it's with children, technology, music, speaking, etc.  It makes me wish they'd been around when my mother was in town.  They could have used her talents to their utmost effectiveness and she would have benefited from the joy of spreading her love of God.

It was interesting to visit, though I felt more like an observer than a participant.  This has been my reaction to most church services of late.  I pick apart the service like a performance or presentation and don't feel as moved as I did when I was younger.  I don't know if this is cynicism or just that I've grown up and can recognize intentional manipulation.  (To be fair, I do the same with certain movie plot lines.)  Perhaps this is a sign that business school really is suited for me, but I kept thinking about the whole experience as if the church were trying to sell me a product.  Which, of course, they are.  It's just weird for me to think about it in those terms.

A Promising Start to the Weekend

The weather is so beautiful today.  I can't even begin to explain how it makes me feel.  It's like waking up.  Not just going through the motions of life, but actually living in my skin and connecting with the world around me.  I am in an excellent mood for some reason.  I think most of it is the weather, but there's this incredible optimistic feeling about life in general that has to be about something else.

I want to go to Ocean City and sit on the wall.  I want to eat funnel cake and watch people go by.  I want to dance to the latest summer song and have some zany adventure a la Beach Party.  If only I could bottle this feeling for days when I just can't feel anything.

Here's hoping it's a great weekend to follow-up.

Flat Tires and Anti-Theft Devices

Yesterday had to be one of the worst days and only because of about two hours of the entire day.  I came out of work to find that my tire was flat, not completely but enough to be of concern.  (I had filled it with air the night before, so clearly it's a slow leak of some kind.)  I have never changed my own tire before, but I understand the mechanics of it and I was ready to take care of this myself.  So I pulled into a gas station and got out my tire kit, full-size spare tire, and manual.  I had no problem pulling the bolt caps off the tire, jacking up the car, or taking off 4 of the 5 bolts.  It was difficult work, to be sure, but I was able to get it done.   Then I started to remove the fifth bolt on my wheel and realized it wasn't like the others.  It had a weird shape to it and wouldn't budge.

According to the owner's manual, this is an anti-theft bolt.  There should be an anti-theft bolt key included in the tire kit or the dealership should have given me one when I purchased my vehicle.  Neither of these things happened.  The only way to get the tire changed is to take it to the dealership and have them do it for me.  Which would have been great on any other day, but all the Volkswagen dealerships are closed on Sunday.  Also, my car is no longer under warranty so it would have cost me money to have it towed anywhere.  Thankfully the Shell Station by my part-time job was able to look at the tire and give me some advice.  They told me that I should be able to fill it up with air and it would get me home.  But that I'd have to refill it in the morning to get to work and then again to get to the dealership in the afternoon.

So it's highly inconvenient.  I appreciate the anti-theft bolt and its purpose, but I am pissed at the dealership for not including the necessary equipment to properly change my own tire. (The gas station guys tried to be all macho and help.  Which kind of pissed me off, too.  They were like "oh, little lady need some help," as if I weren't perfectly capable of doing it myself.)  I didn't even know this was a security feature on the car or I would have made a point to ask for it.  My old Beetle had no such security feature.  Also, looking at the full-size spare I realized just how worn my current tires are and that they need replacing very soon.  Have you ever priced tires?  I didn't realize how expensive they were.