Energy!

 

Chronic illness cat, you speak the truth.

Gentle hugs,

Chels

Here’s to rest.

Wishing you all a restful weekend.

Gentle hugs,

Chels

An awesome giveaway with a twist!

My style has always been a little off-kilter, and I love dramatic and humorous touches to an outfit. That’s one of the reasons I love Peach Plum Pear. My new friend, Leslie, is the mastermind behind pieces like the Oregon Trail necklace:

 

I can’t count how many times I died of dysentery on that game …

She also makes some really beautiful jewelry, like this Art Nouveau statement necklace:

Isn’t it lovely?

What’s that you say?

You must see more?

Well, you were probably lured in by the title of this post, so I’ll get right to it.

Head on over to Coco and Cocoa’s blog for her $40 gift card giveaway to Peach Plum Pear!

If you don’t win the giveaway, or if you just can’t wait for someone else to snag your favorite piece, do not passgo:

 

Now, for the twist. By entering and sharing the giveaway, you not only get a chance to wear one of Leslie’s unique creations, but you’ll also be contributing to a great cause. Leslie is a member of the chronic health issue club, who’s been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and other illnesses, as well as adhesions. Adhesions are really painful sheets of scar tissue that can bind nerves and other tissue, in her case, part of her digestive tract, together. Adhesions act like a glue that can cause severe pain, obstruction, and other debilitating symptoms. To learn more about them, go here. Unfortunately, the type of surgery Leslie needs to relieve her of those terrible symptoms is only available in Germany, so she’s raising money for the trip and procedure by selling her awesome jewelry. So, please pass the giveaway and shop info along, and help Leslie reach her goal – she has $19,399.00 left to go! (To donate directly to Leslie, visit her Go Fund Me page.)

Gentle hugs,

Chels

Pet Peeves

I don’t know where the term came from, but “pet peeve” sounds so much cuter than the meaning. Those little, annoying, grating things … to paraphrase some well-written Incubus lyrics, it’s like chewing tin foil.

My list of pet peeves is pretty small. It used to be bigger, but then I grew up, and all that angst and anger at the world started to fade. I’ve always been a “why can’t we all get along” kind of girl, anyway. So, short as the list may be, here it is.

1. People who have a blatant disregard for rules, or think that they don’t apply to them.

Obviously, this one isn’t black and white. Rules can and should be bent or broken when the need arises, but all in all, rules are pretty important. It especially bothers me if someone is breaking a rule that’s meant to keep people safe. The teenager riding his skateboard the wrong way down the middle of a street lane, for instance, got a honk and a call to 911, because his response to my honk made it clear that he didn’t intend to stop. It especially, especially bothers me if the person doing the rule breaking is older than a teenager and should know better and who’s brain development and hormones should have leveled out enough by now to control the impulse even if they do know better. Obey traffic signs, please, people.

2. Loud snorting.

This one is much more specific. There are not many things that make my stomach churn, but snorting makes the list. I’m not talking about cute, funny snorts as the result of a laugh, or a sniffle with a cold. I’m talking that deep-down, sinus rattling, loogie inducing, why the heck is that necessary snort. You obviously have an unbalanced mucus to sinus cavity ratio and are in serious need of some Flonase or Mucinex. Please seek help.

3. When people say they “hate” something every few minutes.

If you’re agreeing with me about how bad something is, and you say, “Yeah, I hate that,” ok (and thank you for agreeing with me.) If you really, truly dislike something, hate is a nice, descriptive word to get your point across. If you hate everything and nearly everyone, however, and feel the need to voice it constantly, we cannot be friends. Even if you’re just saying you hate them when you really don’t. People who say they love everything may be annoying, but it’s much better than hating everything. Hate. Ick.

4. That I can only hear one or two notes of the music you’re playing in the other room or car.

I get it. You’re enjoying playing or listening to one of your favorite songs. I LOVE music. However, when it’s loud enough that I can hear it across a building, or on the road with all windows rolled up, but not loud enough so that I can hear most of the notes/beats, it drives me up a wall. Hearing the same one, two, or three notes out of an entire song is maddening. Even if I know the song, and can substitute what I can’t hear in my head. Bonkers, I tell you.

So, that’s about it. Nothing else I can think of has a big enough impact to mention. What are your biggest pet peeves?

Gentle hugs,

Chels

 

 

Pumped up kicks (fibro style.)

If you have any kind of chronic pain, chances are, shoes (or the lack thereof) are a big part of your life. The tallest heel I can wear anymore is about an inch, and even then I can only wear them when I’m going to be sitting down the majority of the time. So, my sandals, my flat, Keds-style sneakers, and my bare feet are what I put on my feet most often.

When I was a kid in elementary school, it was popular for the girls to get a little crafty with their sneakers. Neon puff paint was the obvious choice, but if you had the allowance a Bedazzler was the way to go. Then, in high school, any sporty girl who wanted to raise money for her team of choice or show spirit for her school learned how to tie scraps of fabric (in spirited colors, of course,) to flip flops and make them snazzy. Now, I’m not saying I support the sudden and unnecessary resurgence of neon, or that I ever liked the flip flops that were big on the flops, but you may want to break out the Bedazzler, folks, ‘cuz this trend is coming back! No need to torture yourself with sky-high heels, either, because, with a little DIY, flats can be sassy, too.

Exhibit A:

The Stud.

The same thing could be done with cool buttons or cabochons.

 

Exhibit B:

The Sparkle.

Think of the possibilities! These things are like tiaras for your feet!

 

Exhibit C:

The Intergalactic.

Dude, whoa. These look way more complicated than they actually are. Sponge on some paint and put random silver dots all over it.

 

Exhibit D:

The Quick Change.

This is my next DIY project. Don’t have access to shoe clips? How about clip-on earring bases? Don’t like bows? Cut out felt shapes in different colors, stack them together and glue. I’m thinking superhero action bubbles (bam! pow!) would be awesome, too. You can get as crazy as you like, because these babies just come right off when you’re tired of them!

 

And finally, Exhibit D:

The Big Faker.

For those of us who mourn the loss of our high heeled friends daily. These would be SO easy to DIY if you’re confident in your basic drawing skills. No paint needed – grab a Sharpie in your favorite color, buy a cheap pair of hi-tops from Payless, and get to doodlin’.

Gentle hugs,

Chels

 

 

Grief and pancakes.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

Oh yeah, and large amounts of bread-y breakfast foods.

Today is the first official day of our 2-week break from the Tri C (even though we still need to clean it,) and my husband from school. Not from life, of course. Darn it.

Tom finished his last summer final on Thursday, so yesterday he decided to host a humongous pancake breakfast for UTA students here at the center. The pancakes were many. As were the piles of bacon and turkey bacon, plus the giant bowls of a variety of fruits, and industrial sized jugs of syrup. As I’m typing I’m wondering if there are any left over for me to eat for dinner …

Anyway. I helped a bit with the preparation, but my dear husband let me sleep in so that all I had to do was come out and eat with friends. Then I went back inside the apartment to work on some painting and plan a little date for the two of us involving all the spare change I could scrounge. The date included dollar menu items and a beautiful local park. complete with sub-100 degree temperatures!

Breaking from the fun, I’d like to mention that since the beginning of the month (well, really all the time,) I’ve had the death of my aunt looming just behind the everyday thoughts. So, whether I’ve been conscious of it or not, it’s affected my mood and my physical health considerably. Now, since I’m in a flare up, the brain fog has gotten worse, and I can barely even track the day of the week, let alone the actual date.

It’s probably for the best, because today I woke up thinking it was the 10th. Even though I distinctly remember looking at my phone for the date to write on a bill I paid yesterday. Denial is a river in Egypt. So, I woke myself up early this morning to do one of my favorite things (though I’m sure I didn’t appear particularly thrilled with life to my perkier than is natural, morning-happy husband.) I got dressed up! Today’s church luncheon in honor of the ladies of the “Greatest Generation” (nicer than “We’re Not Sure How We Made It This Long,” though I’m sure a few of those witty ladies would appreciate that title, too) was a lovely excuse to wear my newly thrifted green dress. Tom commented that it reminds him of a vintage nurse’s uniform, and I have to agree. I also got to wear the beautiful black Austrian crystal necklace a sweet friend gave me on Thursday. I put on my peep-toe shoes and headed for church, ready for whatever my friends needed me to do, since I wasn’t able to participate in the planning. Ice was scooped into cups and fancy, tearoom style dishes were plated. There were decorations in pink and gold, and couples even brought their Keurig coffee machines to grace the drink table. The honorees were so appreciative, and we were all glad to learn more about them. It really was a beautiful event; a new tradition I hope will be carried on for years to come to honor more women.

After helping with cleanup, I stopped by a few local businesses to leave flyers for next week’s fashion swap. Then I headed home, changed into comfy clothes, sat down, and it hit me. Today isn’t the 10th, it’s the 11th. Mom and I bought some silk flowers a few days ago to arrange and put on my Nana’s grave in honor of her and my aunt, since we don’t have a grave site to visit for her. I called my mom to see how she was doing and to see if she wanted to take the flowers to the cemetery, and we decided we’d do it tomorrow when Tom and I come over for lunch.

It’s all the same when you can’t remember the date, right?

Gentle hugs,

Chels

Undergarments = torture devices

 

Can I get an amen?

Gentle hugs,

Chels

Cervix wars.

Note: If you are easily affected or worried by others’ medical stories like I am, and/or are going to have a biopsy or procedure similar to the LEEP, it’s okay to wait to read my story after it’s over, or to not read it at all. I promise. I’d rather commiserate with you than make you miserable!

I dub today LEEP Recuperation Day #3. Here’s what led up to it:

A story I don’t share much, because, honestly, I try not to think about it much, is the story about the invasion of my cervix by pre-cancerous cells. Really, some of my good friends don’t know much about the situation. Not that there’s much to tell. It’s something I’ve been dealing with for about 4 years now, and the 6 month checkups/colposcopies/biopsies have become pretty routine. Each time I get anxious, but my last couple of checkups have really taken the cake in that department.

Let’s call the first one the “false hope” incident. It went as follows: I contacted the women’s health center near my home (not the center that performs the colposcopies, but the one that requires a yearly well woman exam to ensure my birth control prescription gets renewed,) because I had just recently visited the dysplasia center, and wasn’t sure if I needed to make my well woman appointment or if I just needed to make an appointment to renew my prescription. A very sweet, well-meaning nurse informed me that I wouldn’t need to have another exam (sweet,) and I just needed to come in and talk with the doc about my prescription. She went on to ask how my last dysplasia appointment went, and I told her I was still waiting for results. She checked my chart, and was elated to tell me that the results were normal. Now, I tried not to get too excited, because, as you may already know, pap results can be normal while biopsy results may be abnormal at the same time. So, I explained I’d also had a biopsy, and asked if those were just the pap results. She assured me that “all of the test results came back normal,” and I was in complete shock. Seriously, I had to sit by myself in that quiet room for a few minutes for it to sink in. After the shock wore off, I was extremely excited, and shared the news with my family and some friends. For a few weeks, it felt like a baby elephant had been lifted off my shoulders. After 3 years, those low-to-medium grade precancerous cells had finally left my body! Then the results from the dysplasia clinic came in the mail. The results were (you probably guessed this, because you’re smart) abnormal, and I was a dangerous combination of crushed and very, very angry. Punching things angry. As I side note, I just want to say that kind of anger is okay, just as long as you don’t punch anything living; I don’t advise punching anything too hard, either. Fortunately, the office manager I spoke to at the women’s health center was incredibly sympathetic, and we had a conversation about how we both wished the results protocol was handled differently in the JPS system. I knew she couldn’t fix the problem, or the fact that I still had those nasty little cells, but it was helpful to have her to talk to. Sweet lady, whose name I’m sorry I don’t remember, I will always be thankful for you.

By the next 6 month appointment, I had come to terms with the results (again.) I thought things would continue on as they had for the past few years, which I was used to, and I reminded myself to think optimistically. There was a mantra of “the cells can still go away; they haven’t progressed” playing on repeat in my mind for a while. Then came the incident we’ll refer to as the “Why the *?&^ didn’t they tell me that?” incident. After the colposcopy and a particularly painful biopsy that was meant to remove the offending spot on my cervix, I thought, “Finally! Why didn’t they do this before?” When the doctor offered, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. An extra dose of pain was fine if it meant getting rid of the cloud of impending cancer hanging over my head. As usual, I waited weeks for the results, trying especially hard not to get too excited over the prospect of the dysplasia being gone for good. Let’s keep it real – I’m an optimist, but I’m not a fool. When the results came in the mail, though, what I read came out of left field. It was a notification to schedule a LEEP procedure to remove the pre-cancerous cells, and there was something scribbled in the margin about severe dysplasia.

Hang on. Can I just take a second and mention that, while I admit that I wouldn’t have the best penmanship in the world if I wrote that many notes in a day, I’d make darn sure that, if I was a doctor, I wrote patients’ test results and follow-up instructions clearly? Nothing incites a feeling of doom like getting an important message that may be really good or really not so good and not being able to read it. Dear reader, do everyone a favor. If you know a medical professional, or if you are a medical professional, could you please kindly but firmly remind your friend or yourself that legibility can either be sweet mercy or cruel torture? Thank you.

I called the clinic to clarify what my mail meant, thinking that my mild to moderate cells had gotten worse, and found out that the severe cells were in a different spot entirely. Now my not so threatening spot had a very threatening friend. No one had mentioned this to me during the actual exam, and since it’s a teaching hospital, they’re supposed to inform you of every little thing they do when they do it. In other words, someone should have said, “I’m going in for a second biopsy because I see a new area of dysplasia.” All I knew was that the doctor was trying to remove the original cells by performing a more extensive biopsy. All of a suddden, I got to experience a new procedure that involved way more slice and dice than what I was used to.

Needless to say, I was pretty upset. Not so much about the procedure, because it was something I’d talked about with my former doctor as a possible treatment. The LEEP procedure uses and electric loop to scoop out tissue and cauterize the area so that it will heal faster. In other words, they cut out the area, then burn it. If it sounds horrific, it’s because it is. I mean, if we’re going to compare it to other horrific things in the grand scheme, it’s not so bad. If you’re a woman reading this, though, you know that anything involving the maiming or removal of the physical symbols of your womanhood (breasts, reproductive organs, or genitalia) can be psychologically damaging. Frankly, another thing I just try not to think about. What I was so upset about was that, once again, I wasn’t given the correct information the first time around, and I felt violated. I spoke to another office manager, who was nice, but thought that she was talking to me because I was scared of the procedure. When I told her the reason I was upset, she really couldn’t do much but listen. At least she did that.

Fast forward to a few days ago. Fortunately, my husband was able to go with me to my appointment. Also fortunately, the wait wasn’t long, and the nurse and doctor were incredibly informative and asked several times if I had any questions. The nurse turned on one of the machines so I wouldn’t be surprised by the noise, and I had seen the familiar face of my doctor before in another visit. Unfortunately, the screen that magnified the area of the procedure was positioned so that the doctor could view it during the procedure, which means that it was also positioned for my viewing displeasure. I turned my head to the left and the nurse gave me a mask to squeeze for the numbing injection. The whole procedure was over in less than 10 minutes, and I was on my way home. After about 45 minutes, the numbing med wore off and I felt the full effects of the procedure. After taking the Tramadol prescribed for my fibromyalgia symptoms a couple of hours later, I was reminded of how well it works. These past couple of days have also been reminders of how blessed I am to be able to rest when I need to.

Today, 3 days later, I went to see The Amazing Spiderman and eat Mexican food with my husband and brother in law as an early birthday celebration. I have little to no pain from the procedure, I’m following the instructions the nurse handed me, and life is doing what it seems to do best. It’s going on.

Gentle hugs,

Chels

P.S. – If you would like good info about the LEEP procedure or any other procedure, I encourage you to ask for information from the clinic or hospital where you are a patient. You can also check out WebMD here. While there are plenty of medical discussion boards out there, I would recommend visiting them in moderation (or staying away altogether) unless you have a pressing question you forgot to ask your doctor who can’t be reached, or that isn’t explained on a credible website. My body, just like everyone else’s, is just that: mine. No one experience will be exactly the same as another. I sincerely hope yours is a good one!

When life gives you lemons …

I have a feeling making lemonade with “lemonades” would be a heck of a lot more fun!

Gentle hugs,

Chels

There’s not a card for that. (Happy Mother’s Day!)

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the moms and moms to be out there today! I hope that if you’ve lost your mom or any mother figure that you’ve had a day filled with beautiful memories. Moms should be celebrated every day, because they’re precious, powerful, and (still!) are underestimated and taken for granted. After losing my Nana, and nearly losing my mom a couple of years ago, I know for a fact that I had taken for granted all of the knowledge and wisdom, humor, strength, skills, and faith they have lovingly and freely passed on to me.

My Nana taught me that sometimes, all you have is you and God to get through things. She taught me that no matter what hand you’re dealt in life, that you can persevere and be successful by being willing to learn and work hard. She taught me little things, too, like how to make ribbon roses, sew by hand, crochet a chain and embroider. Her sense of style still inspires me. Sometimes she taught me what not to do, like hold grudges (she did, and I think it had a lot to do with so many of the health problems she had.) Whether she meant to or not, she taught me that life is too short and fragile to hold onto anger and guilt. I love her for that.

My mom has taught me too much to list. So many of our health problems have been the same, so she’s been my medical encyclopedia, and my shoulder to lean on. She always told me to marry a man who loved me “just a little more” than I loved him, which I never understood until I got married. (It doesn’t mean I love Tom less, it just means that each time I show him love, he tries to top it.) She taught me that WD-40 can fix unknown car troubles. Actually, we may have learned that together by accident … She taught me to be fearless when it comes to trying new things – food, experiences, a new skill. She taught me that I should never be embarrassed to ask questions, and to never be ashamed to show my true colors, because they’re beautiful. She taught me that sometimes, when you do the right thing, it’s not popular, but to hold your head high anyway and continue to stand up for yourself and others. She also taught me to do silly things and enjoy life’s “little” adventures, like dancing in the rain, or getting sort of lost in a historical town that probably has some really cool mom ‘n’ pop store or antique shop that will make the trouble getting home worth it. She’s taught me that you don’t have to be a bad product of a bad environment, and that you have a choice to do something good with the pain you’ve experienced, rather than continuing the cycle. The list goes on and on. I could never thank my mom enough for everything she’s done to help make me the person I am and that I’m still learning to be.

No Hallmark card can cover all that. (I know, because I worked in a Hallmark store.) Sure, the cards Tom and I sent to my mom and his mom were sweet, and thought went into choosing the right ones, but it just doesn’t cut it. We should be telling our moms every chance we get, in every way we can, that we love them and appreciate them for all of the work they put into saturating us with enough knowledge and general human decency before we got thrust into the real world. Because that’s where we find out that when they said “you’ll thank me when you’re older,” that we really are thankful. So, we should probably mention it.

Thank you, Mom. I love you.

Gentle hugs,

Chels

P.S. – The cute vintage tattoo style clipart up there is free. Use it to “tattoo” your mom on a card, a picture, in a scrapbook or collage, a memory box, or whatever else you can think of to send her and brighten her day.