Don't mind that I'm throwing lyrics from Evita out as blog titles now. But for real, that line and "your little body's slowly breaking down" have been running through my head all day.
Having the soundtrack of many musicals committed to memory is both a blessing and a curse, I tell you.
(That said, I like to think that I am also "losing strength, not style". ... Just cracked myself up with that, btw.)
Anyhoo... today's been a day.
Not a bad one, altogether. In fact, most of it has been fine. Some moments, a little bit harder.
I woke up this morning missing my brother who lives in Utah. I went on my morning walk and thought through all the contingencies of traveling this weekend:
- I'd have to take Allegiant to get a decent fare, this late in the game, which means I'd be down to one carry-on. If I wore layers on the plane here, I could easily take the turquoise bag as a purse and avoid luggage fees.
- I have a doctor appointment Monday morning at 11:30. I'd either need to fly back Sunday night or move the appointment to later in the week. Either should be doable.
- I have dinner planned with some of my favorite girls on Saturday, but I could move that to next Friday.
- This will be my last Sunday dinner at the Woods' until... who knows when. I don't want to miss that. But, again, if I fly back on Sunday, I'll be okay. And then I won't have to move my dr appt...
I got home from my walk around 9:30. I changed out of my walking clothes (if I'm not going outside and/or I don't know someone is coming over, I'm more apt to be living in pj's than actual clothes around here) and sat down with the laptop to see what my options were. With Allegiant, I'd be able to fly in Thurs or Fri and back out Sunday for around $300. That was doable on my end, so I sent a quick text to my bro and his lovely wife to see if they'd be in town and free to hang out if I flew up. While I was waiting for their response, I got up and did a couple things around the house, had a potty break and then went to clean up the mess I'd made in the kitchen last night.
Aaaaaaand my knees buckled as I stood at the kitchen counter.
Because my body is tired, and because I've had so much more pain in my backside and my legs since I spent 5 1/2 hours in the car on Saturday.
So I sat down. And I cried.
Because it doesn't matter if the Allegiant schedule would work, or that the tickets were still relatively cheap (incredibly cheap for last minute fare, actually). What matters is that my body is broken, and that I'm currently not living in a space where my wants get to be the decisions about what I do with my time.
I take one step forward, and then my body forces me to take two steps back. (And those two steps generally lead me right back into bed.)
It's incredibly frustrating, because I feel better than I have in months, but my energy levels aren't awesome. And my tissue, my skin and my muscles, are damaged. My sad little body is breaking down. And while I have confidence that the damage caused by chemo won't haunt me forever... right now, the struggle is real.
And I have to be well/strong enough to travel to Houston in 10 days.
So, I'm not going to Utah this week.
It's a real bummer.
If I hadn't spent an hour and a half this morning thinking about it, planning a trip out in my head... I'm sure this day would have been 100% fine. (It was a beautiful morning. I had a great little walk. I made some progress on a couple craft projects. I prepared/cooked two actual meals for myself. I had a friend from work bring me lunch and then stay to talk until the sun went down. Truly, it was a good day.) But the harsh reality of realizing that I still can't go where I want to go, that I can't see all the people I want to see, that I'm not currently in a place where my own free will gets to decide what I do in this body... that made today just a little bit harder.
Showing posts with label songs I sing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label songs I sing. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
In the wee, small, hours of the morning.
While the whole, wide, world is fast asleep. I lie awake and think about the chemo, and never, ever think of counting sheep.
(Just cracked myself up with that, btw.)
Here's the haps on the craps:
My ativan was ordered for every 8 hours in error. Oh, no. That's an every 6 hours med. Wanna know how I can tell? I had one at 10 and slept straight to 4:00, at which point, I woke up thinking I needed to pee. (Which, duh, I did. They're pushing fluids through me like crazy banshees.) But before I could even get back to bed, my brain was running in circles. Awesome. So far, I've walked the entire floor twice, trying to wear myself out. (Usually, this would work. Nooooot when I'm all hopped up on anxiety. Oh, no.) Had a total meltdown on my sweet night nurse who thought I was so pleasant when she came on shift last night at 7:00 (duh... I was medicated). She was totally awesome - and even told me stories to prove that I am not the crazy one. She's got a call in to the doctor to get the order changed, and then we just have to wait on pharmacy. Fingers crossed we've got some early risers out there!
In the meanwhile, I look up and this is what I see:
Other (hilarious) things that the chemo does to me? I've gained three pounds since my pre-bedtime weigh in. How nuts is that?! Three pounds in roughly eight hours. I'm looking at you, Mesna and Ifosfamide!
(Just cracked myself up with that, btw.)
Here's the haps on the craps:
My ativan was ordered for every 8 hours in error. Oh, no. That's an every 6 hours med. Wanna know how I can tell? I had one at 10 and slept straight to 4:00, at which point, I woke up thinking I needed to pee. (Which, duh, I did. They're pushing fluids through me like crazy banshees.) But before I could even get back to bed, my brain was running in circles. Awesome. So far, I've walked the entire floor twice, trying to wear myself out. (Usually, this would work. Nooooot when I'm all hopped up on anxiety. Oh, no.) Had a total meltdown on my sweet night nurse who thought I was so pleasant when she came on shift last night at 7:00 (duh... I was medicated). She was totally awesome - and even told me stories to prove that I am not the crazy one. She's got a call in to the doctor to get the order changed, and then we just have to wait on pharmacy. Fingers crossed we've got some early risers out there!
In the meanwhile, I look up and this is what I see:
Other (hilarious) things that the chemo does to me? I've gained three pounds since my pre-bedtime weigh in. How nuts is that?! Three pounds in roughly eight hours. I'm looking at you, Mesna and Ifosfamide!
Friday, February 20, 2015
Cheep, cheep, cheep
Nice baby bird fuzz, eh?
This picture was taken this morning. That fuzz was all that was left after about 15 minutes of Judy and me pulling on the loose ends of the hair that was still there when I went to bed last night.
Tonight, I'll take an electric shaver to it and clean it up, but who could resist posting a pic of that awesome fuzz?!
Also, I have a song for us to sing together in commemoration of The Big (Bald) Event. (Nope, I'm not even kidding.) This is a collaboration of one Michelle Beal, Judy and my own self.
Sung to the tune of The Popcorn Song
I woke up this morning, and what did I see?
Very little hair that was left upon me.
Cancer's brought me such a crap surprise - loss of hair right before my eyes!
I could take a handful and make a nest
For baby birds to have to a cushy rest.
I wish it wasn't so,
But it seems to me, all my hair is going up a tree!
You're welcome. ... And maybe now that my hair is gone, this little corner of the www will go back to something with a little more substance. (Big. Fat. Maybe.) Only time will tell.
Monday, December 22, 2014
Up on the housetop reindeer pause
This is probably my earliest specific-to-Christmas memory...
We were in Provo for Christmas, visiting my mom's parents. I was upstairs (a rare occurrence, let me tell you!) with Grammy. We were in the front room. She was in her chair (the dark blue swivel rocker, for those of you who'd remember such things) and I was standing in front of her and we were singing Christmas songs.
She asked if I knew Up on the Housetop. I didn't. So, she offered to teach it to me.
She sang it through once so I could hear it before she started to teach me the words.
Two things I remember: she snapped her fingers with the "click, click, click", and I giggled at the thought of reindeer having paws.
When she finished the song, I told her the song was silly, because reindeer have hooves, not paws. She smiled her beautiful, happy, smile and told me that "pause" was a different word than "paws", and that it meant to stand still or wait for a minute.
I think of her every time I hear this song. I see her smile, and I hear her fingers snapping with the clicks, and I am grateful for a memory of singing with my grammy who was smart enough to slow down and take a minute to explain the difference in two words that sounded exactly alike to her precocious (that's the nicest word I can think of to describe myself) granddaughter.
(Don't worry that I had just turned four, two months before this picture was taken, and I'm as tall as the organ I'm standing in front of. ... I did stop growing. Eventually.)
We were in Provo for Christmas, visiting my mom's parents. I was upstairs (a rare occurrence, let me tell you!) with Grammy. We were in the front room. She was in her chair (the dark blue swivel rocker, for those of you who'd remember such things) and I was standing in front of her and we were singing Christmas songs.
She asked if I knew Up on the Housetop. I didn't. So, she offered to teach it to me.
She sang it through once so I could hear it before she started to teach me the words.
Two things I remember: she snapped her fingers with the "click, click, click", and I giggled at the thought of reindeer having paws.
When she finished the song, I told her the song was silly, because reindeer have hooves, not paws. She smiled her beautiful, happy, smile and told me that "pause" was a different word than "paws", and that it meant to stand still or wait for a minute.
I think of her every time I hear this song. I see her smile, and I hear her fingers snapping with the clicks, and I am grateful for a memory of singing with my grammy who was smart enough to slow down and take a minute to explain the difference in two words that sounded exactly alike to her precocious (that's the nicest word I can think of to describe myself) granddaughter.
Pictured below, Me. December 25, 1978.
(Don't worry that I had just turned four, two months before this picture was taken, and I'm as tall as the organ I'm standing in front of. ... I did stop growing. Eventually.)
The Christmas I learned that pause and paws are two different words.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
I'll be home for Christmas.
I will.
I'll be home.
Today.
Hopefully, by noon.
And, when I get there, I will eat candy until I'm sick and sing until I'm hoarse. And then, tonight, I'll sleep so both my belly and my throat can recover, and then I'll do it all over again tomorrow.
There's nowhere else I'd rather be. (Even if the weather is better here.)
All season, this song's been making me cry. (Who's kidding who? It always does. And when my girl Karen is the one singing it, I'm even more prone to get all sappy and emotional. I so love her!)
When I'd hear this song in early November, I'd have to change the channel, because it was too hard to hear this song that I love talk about doing this thing that I love that I didn't think I was going to get to do this year.
I know, that's so silly. But it's also so true. (Also, holy-run-on-followed-by-fragmented-sentences, Batman!)
I've always loved this song, but this year, I think I love it more than I ever have before. This year, I've felt it in a different way, and I am grateful for that.
I'm so (SO!) incredibly grateful for the time I've been given. It has been such a gift, that I've been able to enjoy the holiday season with my family and my friends, that I get to go home for Christmas this year, where I can eat fudge and sugar cookies and tamales and microwave popcorn and little boxes of sugar cereal and all of the other things that are Christmas to me.
In a world where it can be easy to let the cloud of a dirty scan overshadow all that is good and light in life, getting a 6-8 week reprieve on starting cancer treatments has been the best gift I've ever been given.
I'll be home for Christmas.
Today.
I freaking love my life!
I'll be home.
Today.
Hopefully, by noon.
And, when I get there, I will eat candy until I'm sick and sing until I'm hoarse. And then, tonight, I'll sleep so both my belly and my throat can recover, and then I'll do it all over again tomorrow.
There's nowhere else I'd rather be. (Even if the weather is better here.)
All season, this song's been making me cry. (Who's kidding who? It always does. And when my girl Karen is the one singing it, I'm even more prone to get all sappy and emotional. I so love her!)
When I'd hear this song in early November, I'd have to change the channel, because it was too hard to hear this song that I love talk about doing this thing that I love that I didn't think I was going to get to do this year.
I know, that's so silly. But it's also so true. (Also, holy-run-on-followed-by-fragmented-sentences, Batman!)
I've always loved this song, but this year, I think I love it more than I ever have before. This year, I've felt it in a different way, and I am grateful for that.
I'm so (SO!) incredibly grateful for the time I've been given. It has been such a gift, that I've been able to enjoy the holiday season with my family and my friends, that I get to go home for Christmas this year, where I can eat fudge and sugar cookies and tamales and microwave popcorn and little boxes of sugar cereal and all of the other things that are Christmas to me.
In a world where it can be easy to let the cloud of a dirty scan overshadow all that is good and light in life, getting a 6-8 week reprieve on starting cancer treatments has been the best gift I've ever been given.
I'll be home for Christmas.
Today.
I freaking love my life!
Friday, December 19, 2014
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
This...
This is my song.
This song. Perry Como's recording. The girls in the office actually refer to this as "Laurie's Song". For real.
Why?
Because, while I am a sing-a-long FOOL with just about anything on the work radio these days, this version of this song is my very tippy-top-cream-of-the-crop favorite.
It doesn't matter what I'm doing, who I'm talking to (my own self, a co-worker or even on the phone with a customer... yes, it's happened), I will break mid-conversation at approximately 2:08 to laugh/sing along with my boy Perry.
I'm telling you, I loooooooove this song!
Because it's cheerful. Because it makes me merry. And because, people, it really IS beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
Enjoy!
This is my song.
This song. Perry Como's recording. The girls in the office actually refer to this as "Laurie's Song". For real.
Why?
Because, while I am a sing-a-long FOOL with just about anything on the work radio these days, this version of this song is my very tippy-top-cream-of-the-crop favorite.
It doesn't matter what I'm doing, who I'm talking to (my own self, a co-worker or even on the phone with a customer... yes, it's happened), I will break mid-conversation at approximately 2:08 to laugh/sing along with my boy Perry.
I'm telling you, I loooooooove this song!
Because it's cheerful. Because it makes me merry. And because, people, it really IS beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
Enjoy!
Thursday, December 18, 2014
This Year's Santa Baby
Okay, so... have you ever heard this song?
All praise to the mighty gods of Sirius radio for bringing me this little gem this year:
"Please help out my pet charity. ... You see, naturally, that's me."
Oh my gosh, I laughed OUT LOUD when I heard this song for the first time last week. I cannot believe that I'm 40 years old (and am a die hard fan of the Eartha Kitt Santa Baby!), and I had NEVER heard this before.
Love, love, love, love, love!
Apparently, Ms. Kitt released this beauty in 1954, as a follow up to her Santa Baby smashing hit of 1953. (Isn't Christmas music trivia the most fun, ever? I love it! ... Now, that's a board game I could actually get behind. Hmmm... maybe next year I'll come up with something along those lines.)
Anyhoo, I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. (Totally played it twice, just while I was typing this up. Ha!)
All praise to the mighty gods of Sirius radio for bringing me this little gem this year:
"Please help out my pet charity. ... You see, naturally, that's me."
Oh my gosh, I laughed OUT LOUD when I heard this song for the first time last week. I cannot believe that I'm 40 years old (and am a die hard fan of the Eartha Kitt Santa Baby!), and I had NEVER heard this before.
Love, love, love, love, love!
Apparently, Ms. Kitt released this beauty in 1954, as a follow up to her Santa Baby smashing hit of 1953. (Isn't Christmas music trivia the most fun, ever? I love it! ... Now, that's a board game I could actually get behind. Hmmm... maybe next year I'll come up with something along those lines.)
Anyhoo, I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. (Totally played it twice, just while I was typing this up. Ha!)
Sunday, December 14, 2014
We Three Kings
Many, many, moons ago, I was a sweet young thing, living in Provo and attending a BYU Ward.
Okay, fine. I wasn't such a sweet thing, but I was young. (Like I said, it has been many moons.)
I remember, the Sunday before the semester break, we had a musical Sacrament Meeting and three boys in the ward (Arden Anderson, Craig Woll and Terry Anderson, as I recall) sang We Three Kings a capella. ... It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard in my live-long life.
Even now, whenever I hear this song, I hearken back to that Sunday in the Sky Room. I can feel my red velvet seat give beneath me as I lean forward to listen with my whole heart, and I can hear the boys singing a song I'd never truly listened to before that day. It was a beautiful, and life-changing, experience.
It's been almost 20 years since that December Sunday, but I've thought of that musical program every time I've heard this song over the years. I don't know that I'll ever be able to tell those boys what that song did for me back then, but I can tell the original 13 readers of the blog (and anyone else who may have hopped on board for the Christmas song-fest this year).
I love this song.
I love this song, because the language and the harmonies are beautiful. But I also love this song because it reminds me of three young, but wise, men I knew once upon a time who stood up to sing without accompaniment in front of a room full of people. I literally thank God, every year, for what those men did for my relationship with this song. And for everything else they did that blessed my life - and the lives of countless others - in the mid 90's. (My life has been awesome. I've known so many incredible people, and those three men are some of the cream of the crop.)
The Beach Boys' a Capella version on YouTube is short (one verse), but it's men singing. Without accompaniment behind them, which is how I think this song sounds the best.
Okay, fine. I wasn't such a sweet thing, but I was young. (Like I said, it has been many moons.)
I remember, the Sunday before the semester break, we had a musical Sacrament Meeting and three boys in the ward (Arden Anderson, Craig Woll and Terry Anderson, as I recall) sang We Three Kings a capella. ... It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard in my live-long life.
Even now, whenever I hear this song, I hearken back to that Sunday in the Sky Room. I can feel my red velvet seat give beneath me as I lean forward to listen with my whole heart, and I can hear the boys singing a song I'd never truly listened to before that day. It was a beautiful, and life-changing, experience.
It's been almost 20 years since that December Sunday, but I've thought of that musical program every time I've heard this song over the years. I don't know that I'll ever be able to tell those boys what that song did for me back then, but I can tell the original 13 readers of the blog (and anyone else who may have hopped on board for the Christmas song-fest this year).
I love this song.
I love this song, because the language and the harmonies are beautiful. But I also love this song because it reminds me of three young, but wise, men I knew once upon a time who stood up to sing without accompaniment in front of a room full of people. I literally thank God, every year, for what those men did for my relationship with this song. And for everything else they did that blessed my life - and the lives of countless others - in the mid 90's. (My life has been awesome. I've known so many incredible people, and those three men are some of the cream of the crop.)
The Beach Boys' a Capella version on YouTube is short (one verse), but it's men singing. Without accompaniment behind them, which is how I think this song sounds the best.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Do Re Mi
I went to a fireside last night. (I know, recreational church. Like a crazy person.) And I sang.
To clarify: I sang a couple congregational hymns. It's not like I sang a solo from the mic or anything.
Anyway, I sang. I sat between two people I hadn't ever met before (dudes, both taller than me - wahoo!), and I sang my little heart out. And after the meeting, both men told me that I had a nice voice.
Which, in and of itself, is a nice compliment. But I'm writing about it, because it reminded me of last Sunday, when my Lizzie went to church with me. (Liz moved to Prescott last October, and is temporarily back in town because she has a little one at Phoenix Children's.) On the walk home from church last week, Liz said something about how she could tell that I'm feeling better, and how great it is that I can sing again. I love my Lizzie. I love that she knows me well enough to know that a) I couldn't sing for a while there, and b) that was hard for me.
It's totally awesome to be able to sing again. ... It took over a year, and I can't hit anything over an E, but I can hit an E again. And I'm not gasping for breath anymore. And my voice doesn't just give out if I try to hold a note for a full measure.
Life is good. I mean, it always has been... but it sure seems better when I can sing High on the Mountain Top with vigor.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Do you remember the movie Fly Away Home?
Yeah, neither do I.
I had to Google "duck movie true story 90's" to remember the name/find the trailer.
But what do I remember?
Going to this movie with Cousin Julie.
Ahhh... Provo's Movies Eight. Back in the day when I thought dollar movies were awesome (I have since decided that most discount theaters smell like someone - or someones, like, 17 of them - have peed their pants in the seats), and when I thought a theater with eight screens was pretty much the coolest thing ever. (Who grew up in a town so small that it didn't have a stoplight, let alone a movie theater? This girl.)
Anyway, I went to see this movie with Julie. We were (shockingly enough) the only people in the theater. (Crazy, right? With an inspiring story about a girl whose dad fashioned a flying machine so she could show her duck "children" how to fly South, I can't believe that theater wasn't packed to the gills!)
We were a few minutes early. It was a dollar movie, so there weren't previews. The theater was blasting (and I do mean blasting) muzak to keep the masses (we two) entertained until the movie started.
Enter this song...
Now, you can't tell me that you don't remember this song. (The movie? Sure. You could totally forget about that. But this video, complete with the creepy ghost motorcycle riding boyfriend?! It's unforgettable.)
As weirdie as this song is, it practically BEGS to be sung (sang?) along with. (I double dog dare you to disagree with that statement.)
I was sitting next to Julie, singing along to my heart's content, when she said the infamous words...
"I dare you."
More specifically, "I dare you to get up and stand in the front of the theater and sing this song. Out loud."
And how did I respond, you ask?
"What will you give me?"
"... A nickle."
"Done!"
No sooner had I gone up to stand at the front of the theater than an entire family (of, like, ten... you know how those Utah Mormons are with their big families) walked into the theater. I looked at Julie, silently asking if the bet/dare was still on... and she held up a nickel between her thumb and forefinger.
Oh, yes. It was on.
So, I sang. And when I say "I sang", I mean... I sang. I sang my little heart out. At the top of my lungs.
Picture it. Me standing at the front of the theater, belting it out as loud and proud as I could, throwing my arms out (a la Celine) at the "Babay, babay, babay" ...
I'm telling you, I put on quite a show.
For a nickle.
For my cousin.
For a memory.
And I've never regretted it. Not once. ... Not even when the family of ten just sat there in silence, staring at me. (They didn't clap, but I like to think that my musical performance was the highlight of their Saturday afternoon. I mean, come on. My competition was a movie about a girl who mothered ducklings, and you know that I totally rocked the song.)
I love my life. I love my cousin. I love to sing. Out loud. ... Some things never change.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
October 14
I love this day. ... I have loved this weekend.
Yesterday morning, I'd woken up, thinking that I had a week left to decide what I'm going to say at the conference on the 20th. (Note that I've known about this since Labor Day weekend, and I'm still not sure what I'll say. I am super awesome like that.) As I realized that I was on the six day countdown yesterday, I actually got a little nervous. I thought maybe I should get a little structure in my life and come up with a plan. ... For about ten minutes, I was afraid that I wouldn't have anything to say. I wasn't sure if I was gonna be able to go 45 minutes without getting boring. (Worst. Nightmare. Ever.) But there was somewhere I needed to be, so I stopped worrying about it and got myself there. As I settled in for a two hour appointment, in which I knew I would be lying perfectly still, my friend who was working on me asked me to tell her about my cancer. So, I did. I talked and I talked and I talked and I talked (you can imagine). And just when I got to the part of how I have a love/hate relationship with the cancer (mostly it's pure hatred... but I do love it for what it has shown me, in regards to how blessed I am, and how good people are), I realized that I had been talking for 45 minutes.
There went any worry that I would run out of stuff to say. (Like that was a legit concern in the first place. Really, Evans, you thought you'd run out of words? Really?)
And then she gave me feedback on what I had said. She told me she would have never thought I was sick. She told me that she loved that I could find humor in this hard thing that has happened, that she could tell that this particular struggle has brought me peace.
That is exactly what I would want anyone to know - or feel - when I talk about what the cancer has done for me. Gone are any concerns or worries I had felt that I cannot do what I need to do next week. G-O-N-E, gone. ... I do so love it when life hands me the very experience I need to have, so I can know that I'm on the right path.
...............................................................................................
My cousin Shelly is in town this weekend for a family function on her husband's side of the family, and we've been trying to meet up for days. This morning, I woke up and my first thought was "text Shelly - now", so I did. She responded right away that she was glad I was up (it was around 7:00), and said that she and Scott would like to come to my church, so they could see me.
(Wow, they're good, right? They go to church when they are on vaca. ... I am not sure if we're actually related.)
As I walked down the sidewalk into the church parking lot, I heard a car door shut and a familiar voice call out, "COUSIN!", and I felt a rush of love that I cannot quantify. That is one of my favorite words, it is one of my favorite titles - and all of the people who call me that are people I love. Shelly and I met in the middle of the parking lot. We hugged, we talked. ... And then we walked into church, late. ... The congregation was singing the third verse of Count Your Many Blessings, and I remember thinking that it was too bad I had missed the beginning of the song, as it's one of my favorites. We sat down and I started to sing. Shelly started right behind me, in harmony, and she sounded so like my mother that it brought tears to my eyes.
I had a hard time getting through the fourth verse without crying, I was so overcome with gratitude for the blessings in my life. Specifically, I was grateful that I was in church - and singing - with my cousin. I remember having two distinct thoughts: "I can't forget to tell Shelly that I count her as one of the blessings in my life" and "How happy would Grammy be, if she could hear us singing this hymn together?"
When the song was over, Shelly leaned over and told me that I sounded like Grammy. (That was a lie, but it was a kind one. So, I thanked her without calling her out.)
When the Sacrament song was announced - I Stand All Amazed - Shelly leaned over again and said "Wow, they sing good songs in your ward!" I smiled and agreed and told her that the chorister is a music teacher, so we usually have pretty good hymn combos. Again, we sang in harmony. Again, I had a hard time choking out some of the words... because I love them so much.
I marvel that He would descend from his throne divine to rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine (anyone who knows me knows that I am both rebellious and proud), that He should extend His great love until such as I, sufficient to own, to redeem and to justify. (Today, the words, own, redeem and justify hit me like a ton of bricks.)
I think of His hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt! Such mercy, such love and devotion can I forget? No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat, until at the glorified throne, I kneel at His feet. (The punctuation in verse three is a thing of beauty. I can't even type it without welling up.)
The rest hymn - For the Strength of the Hills - was, astonishingly enough, another of my FAVORITE hymns, I got through the first two bars of verse two before another wave of emotion and gratitude hit me:
"... we've borne and suffered long; Thou has been our help in weakness, and Thy pow'r has made us strong"
I especially love the end of that hymn. I love how solid and strong the language and the music are. Whenever I sing that song, I feel bound to my ancestors who really did find refuge in the strength of the hills. I love that my God was their God. I always feel a tie to family, to my history, when I sing that hymn - but singing it with my cousin, a woman with whom I share both my heritage and beliefs, made it that much more impactful today.
The closing hymn was God of Our Fathers, Whose Almighty Hand (I can't even type that without hearing the organ pounding behind me). Another favorite, with beautiful - almost painfully beautiful - harmony and accompaniment.
After Sacrament Meeting, I walked Shelly and her family out to their car. (They did go to church on vaca, but it was only for one hour. Maybe we're related, after all!) As I walked back into the building, I ran into Darrell Winder (the chorister) and he stopped me in the hall, saying that he had a story he felt that he needed to share.
Darrell told me that, on Tuesday, he was having difficulty selecting the hymns for the upcoming Sunday. He didn't have the topics for the talks and was having a hard time settling on what to sing, and suddenly his mind was directed to me. To give a little back story - Darrell and I went to high school together, so he has known me for over twenty years. Add time spent with mutual friends years (really, a generation) ago to the years he has been in my ward here in Mesa, and he has known a lot about the big events in my life to date. He told me that my name came into his mind on Tuesday, and he thought about me for a few minutes, remembering who and how I was in high school, and what he knows about me now - years later - and the four songs we sang just came right into his mind. He told me that he hadn't been sure why it was those songs, but that he'd been glad to see me walk in towards the end of the first hymn, because those songs had been chosen for me. He asked if there had been anything that had happened on Tuesday that would have led to his experience with the music. I told him that there hadn't been anything monumental on that day, but that last week as a whole had been hard, and that I had been amazed at how well the songs that we had sung today had resonated with me. I told him that my cousin had been there, that we had even talked about the hymn choices... and that I had been so happy to get to sing multiple favorites today.
Getting to sing songs I love with family was awesome. Hearing the story behind how those songs came to be chosen and grouped together brought me to tears.
Yesterday, I received an email from one of my childhood best friends. She wrote, "I hope you always feel the great love the masses have for you, and feel it the strongest when you need it the most."
I do, in fact, feel the great love the masses have for me - and it is always the strongest when I need it the most. At the end of the week last week, I needed to feel loved and supported. And I had both of those needs met - in spades - from no less than a dozen people in less than 48 hours.
I am so grateful for the sure knowledge that the Lord is aware of what happens in my life. I am so grateful for days like the last two, where everything has lined up and it has been crystal clear to me that I am where I should be, doing what I should be doing, spending time with those who matter the most.
To paraphrase a line from one of my favorite hymns, "I stand all amazed at the love that is offered me".
My goodness gracious, I love my life!
Yesterday morning, I'd woken up, thinking that I had a week left to decide what I'm going to say at the conference on the 20th. (Note that I've known about this since Labor Day weekend, and I'm still not sure what I'll say. I am super awesome like that.) As I realized that I was on the six day countdown yesterday, I actually got a little nervous. I thought maybe I should get a little structure in my life and come up with a plan. ... For about ten minutes, I was afraid that I wouldn't have anything to say. I wasn't sure if I was gonna be able to go 45 minutes without getting boring. (Worst. Nightmare. Ever.) But there was somewhere I needed to be, so I stopped worrying about it and got myself there. As I settled in for a two hour appointment, in which I knew I would be lying perfectly still, my friend who was working on me asked me to tell her about my cancer. So, I did. I talked and I talked and I talked and I talked (you can imagine). And just when I got to the part of how I have a love/hate relationship with the cancer (mostly it's pure hatred... but I do love it for what it has shown me, in regards to how blessed I am, and how good people are), I realized that I had been talking for 45 minutes.
There went any worry that I would run out of stuff to say. (Like that was a legit concern in the first place. Really, Evans, you thought you'd run out of words? Really?)
And then she gave me feedback on what I had said. She told me she would have never thought I was sick. She told me that she loved that I could find humor in this hard thing that has happened, that she could tell that this particular struggle has brought me peace.
That is exactly what I would want anyone to know - or feel - when I talk about what the cancer has done for me. Gone are any concerns or worries I had felt that I cannot do what I need to do next week. G-O-N-E, gone. ... I do so love it when life hands me the very experience I need to have, so I can know that I'm on the right path.
...............................................................................................
My cousin Shelly is in town this weekend for a family function on her husband's side of the family, and we've been trying to meet up for days. This morning, I woke up and my first thought was "text Shelly - now", so I did. She responded right away that she was glad I was up (it was around 7:00), and said that she and Scott would like to come to my church, so they could see me.
(Wow, they're good, right? They go to church when they are on vaca. ... I am not sure if we're actually related.)
As I walked down the sidewalk into the church parking lot, I heard a car door shut and a familiar voice call out, "COUSIN!", and I felt a rush of love that I cannot quantify. That is one of my favorite words, it is one of my favorite titles - and all of the people who call me that are people I love. Shelly and I met in the middle of the parking lot. We hugged, we talked. ... And then we walked into church, late. ... The congregation was singing the third verse of Count Your Many Blessings, and I remember thinking that it was too bad I had missed the beginning of the song, as it's one of my favorites. We sat down and I started to sing. Shelly started right behind me, in harmony, and she sounded so like my mother that it brought tears to my eyes.
I had a hard time getting through the fourth verse without crying, I was so overcome with gratitude for the blessings in my life. Specifically, I was grateful that I was in church - and singing - with my cousin. I remember having two distinct thoughts: "I can't forget to tell Shelly that I count her as one of the blessings in my life" and "How happy would Grammy be, if she could hear us singing this hymn together?"
When the song was over, Shelly leaned over and told me that I sounded like Grammy. (That was a lie, but it was a kind one. So, I thanked her without calling her out.)
When the Sacrament song was announced - I Stand All Amazed - Shelly leaned over again and said "Wow, they sing good songs in your ward!" I smiled and agreed and told her that the chorister is a music teacher, so we usually have pretty good hymn combos. Again, we sang in harmony. Again, I had a hard time choking out some of the words... because I love them so much.
I marvel that He would descend from his throne divine to rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine (anyone who knows me knows that I am both rebellious and proud), that He should extend His great love until such as I, sufficient to own, to redeem and to justify. (Today, the words, own, redeem and justify hit me like a ton of bricks.)
I think of His hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt! Such mercy, such love and devotion can I forget? No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat, until at the glorified throne, I kneel at His feet. (The punctuation in verse three is a thing of beauty. I can't even type it without welling up.)
The rest hymn - For the Strength of the Hills - was, astonishingly enough, another of my FAVORITE hymns, I got through the first two bars of verse two before another wave of emotion and gratitude hit me:
"... we've borne and suffered long; Thou has been our help in weakness, and Thy pow'r has made us strong"
I especially love the end of that hymn. I love how solid and strong the language and the music are. Whenever I sing that song, I feel bound to my ancestors who really did find refuge in the strength of the hills. I love that my God was their God. I always feel a tie to family, to my history, when I sing that hymn - but singing it with my cousin, a woman with whom I share both my heritage and beliefs, made it that much more impactful today.
The closing hymn was God of Our Fathers, Whose Almighty Hand (I can't even type that without hearing the organ pounding behind me). Another favorite, with beautiful - almost painfully beautiful - harmony and accompaniment.
After Sacrament Meeting, I walked Shelly and her family out to their car. (They did go to church on vaca, but it was only for one hour. Maybe we're related, after all!) As I walked back into the building, I ran into Darrell Winder (the chorister) and he stopped me in the hall, saying that he had a story he felt that he needed to share.
Darrell told me that, on Tuesday, he was having difficulty selecting the hymns for the upcoming Sunday. He didn't have the topics for the talks and was having a hard time settling on what to sing, and suddenly his mind was directed to me. To give a little back story - Darrell and I went to high school together, so he has known me for over twenty years. Add time spent with mutual friends years (really, a generation) ago to the years he has been in my ward here in Mesa, and he has known a lot about the big events in my life to date. He told me that my name came into his mind on Tuesday, and he thought about me for a few minutes, remembering who and how I was in high school, and what he knows about me now - years later - and the four songs we sang just came right into his mind. He told me that he hadn't been sure why it was those songs, but that he'd been glad to see me walk in towards the end of the first hymn, because those songs had been chosen for me. He asked if there had been anything that had happened on Tuesday that would have led to his experience with the music. I told him that there hadn't been anything monumental on that day, but that last week as a whole had been hard, and that I had been amazed at how well the songs that we had sung today had resonated with me. I told him that my cousin had been there, that we had even talked about the hymn choices... and that I had been so happy to get to sing multiple favorites today.
Getting to sing songs I love with family was awesome. Hearing the story behind how those songs came to be chosen and grouped together brought me to tears.
Yesterday, I received an email from one of my childhood best friends. She wrote, "I hope you always feel the great love the masses have for you, and feel it the strongest when you need it the most."
I do, in fact, feel the great love the masses have for me - and it is always the strongest when I need it the most. At the end of the week last week, I needed to feel loved and supported. And I had both of those needs met - in spades - from no less than a dozen people in less than 48 hours.
I am so grateful for the sure knowledge that the Lord is aware of what happens in my life. I am so grateful for days like the last two, where everything has lined up and it has been crystal clear to me that I am where I should be, doing what I should be doing, spending time with those who matter the most.
To paraphrase a line from one of my favorite hymns, "I stand all amazed at the love that is offered me".
My goodness gracious, I love my life!
Saturday, January 21, 2012
In the wee small hours of the morning
It's well past 1:00 AM and I'm sitting here, singing a song from the Sleepless in Seattle soundtrack to myself. True story.
I'm exhausted, yet I can't asleep. My body's so tired that it hurts, but my brain's too wired to fall asleep. It won't shut down.
So I sit here, in front of the TV, watching an episode of Castle for the I-don't-even-know-how-many-th-time.
This is my thought pattern (besides the singing to myself routine, which should be enough of a sign that I'm a little loo-loo, but since when do I not over share, esp when I'm posting something in the actual middle of the night?):
I'm sure glad that Kathy U. sent me a cake this week.
I'm even more glad that tomorrow's Saturday and I don't have to go to work in the morning. (It's frustrating when I get like this on a weekend night. It's infinitely worse when I can't fall asleep and I know that I have to get up and go to work the next day.)
I've read every post on every blog of everyone I know.
If I look at one more cooking blog, I'm going to have to get up and make something buttery and bacony and delicious. Or maybe a cake. ... Except I still have half a bundt cake to get through, so that's probably not a good idea.
Facebook is at a standstill. (And I'm not someone who generally checks FB over and over again. But still... it's at a standstill, and I know this, because I've checked it three times in the last hour between blog-hopping.)
It's too late to call anyone in the continental US, and it's too early to call England.
Hopefully, February will be an easier (and more restful) month. I figure that getting more info from the doctor on the 30th will only help my restless mind calm the heck down.
The good news is that I'm not a hysterical mess. Usually, this late at night, when I'm this tired, I can't help but cry. But today was a good day without a single breakdown. I'm grateful for that, and glad that even in the middle of the night, stone-cold tired, I'm not sad, scared or upset enough to be crying.
This is my life, people. Thankfully, it's not like this every night. (This week, this is only the second time it's happened. For that, I am grateful.)
I'm exhausted, yet I can't asleep. My body's so tired that it hurts, but my brain's too wired to fall asleep. It won't shut down.
So I sit here, in front of the TV, watching an episode of Castle for the I-don't-even-know-how-many-th-time.
This is my thought pattern (besides the singing to myself routine, which should be enough of a sign that I'm a little loo-loo, but since when do I not over share, esp when I'm posting something in the actual middle of the night?):
I'm sure glad that Kathy U. sent me a cake this week.
I'm even more glad that tomorrow's Saturday and I don't have to go to work in the morning. (It's frustrating when I get like this on a weekend night. It's infinitely worse when I can't fall asleep and I know that I have to get up and go to work the next day.)
I've read every post on every blog of everyone I know.
If I look at one more cooking blog, I'm going to have to get up and make something buttery and bacony and delicious. Or maybe a cake. ... Except I still have half a bundt cake to get through, so that's probably not a good idea.
Facebook is at a standstill. (And I'm not someone who generally checks FB over and over again. But still... it's at a standstill, and I know this, because I've checked it three times in the last hour between blog-hopping.)
It's too late to call anyone in the continental US, and it's too early to call England.
Hopefully, February will be an easier (and more restful) month. I figure that getting more info from the doctor on the 30th will only help my restless mind calm the heck down.
The good news is that I'm not a hysterical mess. Usually, this late at night, when I'm this tired, I can't help but cry. But today was a good day without a single breakdown. I'm grateful for that, and glad that even in the middle of the night, stone-cold tired, I'm not sad, scared or upset enough to be crying.
This is my life, people. Thankfully, it's not like this every night. (This week, this is only the second time it's happened. For that, I am grateful.)
Monday, December 19, 2011
For you, Daddy...
Silver Bells always reminds me of my dad. Always.
My whole life, whenever the man starts singing Christmas songs just for fun (around the house or whatnot), this is the song he starts with. When we go caroling, this is his suggestion. When we're in the car, and decide to sing carols instead of listen to the radio, this is what he leads with. I don't know that it's his favorite Christmas carol, per se, but it's invariably the first song out of his mouth. And every time I hear it, every year, all season long, it reminds me of him.
Merry Christmas, Daddio! I love you!
Friday, December 16, 2011
Breath of Heaven
Because I've been feeling that I need to make sure and keep Christ in Christmas.
Sure, peppermint is delicious and fun music is always a good time... but it was time to bring Him into my 30 Days of Christmas posts.
I love Him. I'm grateful for His life. I'm overwhelmed at the magnitude of the plan. I marvel at the purity of Mary and her ability to raise the Son of God so He could be who He needed to be - for each and every one of us.
"Help me" - Mary says it so well, so perfectly, in this song that is very like a prayer. I pray that He will - help me, help you, help all of us - every day, but especially as we try to stay focused and remember who and what matters most at this sacred and holy time of the year.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Never were there such devoted sisters...
It's my sister's birthday today. She's 25. That's CRAZY to me!
My sister is pretty amazing, and super fantastic. I love her for a lot of reasons. Here are a few of them.
She's:
funny
kind
a peace maker
principled
a survivor
a HUGE movie buff
introspective
big-mouthed (literally, not so much figuratively)
a quoter of TV and movie lines
good
witty
strong
She was the baby girl I spent my entire childhood praying for. She's an incredible woman. She's done a lot of amazing and really hard things, and she's done them with grace and with dignity, and for that, she is my hero. She's one of my best friends.
She's my seester.
Happy Birthday, Mooey! I love you!
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Just call me Lola
Even if I'm not wearing "a dress cut down to there", I do have a feather in my hair.
I figure, if the shoe (song) fits, wear (sing) it.
But I digress. A thing which is, sadly, typical. It seems that as soon as I have what I like to refer to as "song association" (esp if it's Barry-centric), I start singing to myself and the point of a post goes out the window. So sorry about that.
Anyhoo...
I went to an 80's themed birthday party a few months ago and was mocked (can you believe it?!) for my feathered hair-piece.
Mind you, the feathers were coming out of a pink fish that I'd sewn onto a barrette and clipped into my hair. (It was a cat toy. Before you join the throng and mock me, you just think about how many people you know who can fashion an accessory out of a 99 cent cat toy, some beads and elastic. Yeah, that's what I figured. ... From the thrifty/crafty angle, it's a pretty sweet feathered accessory, no?)
Anyway, I was mocked for the feathers. (The flip folder full of cat pictures I was packing around all night long didn't help, I'm sure.) Seriously. Mocked. People laughed out loud at it, and one sweet girl asked me what had made me think to put feathers on a barrette. Because, like, how was that "period"?
Clearly, most of the people at this party weren't alive in 1981. I was. I knew 80's fashion (specifically, about feathers-in-the-hair), because I lived it, baby!
No kidding. This is a circa 1981 pic of me wearing barrettes that I'd made with my very own hands at a Mother/Daughter Homemaking. (And how much do you love that I still have the same pointy chin and smirky look on my face? Hilarious!)
That my mother let me wear pink feathered barrettes with a blue and white polka-dot dress to have professional pictures taken is a testament to how she has always just kind of stood back and let me do my own thing (fashion sense be damned!), bless her.
And there you have it.
Me, with feathers in my hair. Just call me Lola.
I figure, if the shoe (song) fits, wear (sing) it.
But I digress. A thing which is, sadly, typical. It seems that as soon as I have what I like to refer to as "song association" (esp if it's Barry-centric), I start singing to myself and the point of a post goes out the window. So sorry about that.
Anyhoo...
I went to an 80's themed birthday party a few months ago and was mocked (can you believe it?!) for my feathered hair-piece.
Mind you, the feathers were coming out of a pink fish that I'd sewn onto a barrette and clipped into my hair. (It was a cat toy. Before you join the throng and mock me, you just think about how many people you know who can fashion an accessory out of a 99 cent cat toy, some beads and elastic. Yeah, that's what I figured. ... From the thrifty/crafty angle, it's a pretty sweet feathered accessory, no?)
Anyway, I was mocked for the feathers. (The flip folder full of cat pictures I was packing around all night long didn't help, I'm sure.) Seriously. Mocked. People laughed out loud at it, and one sweet girl asked me what had made me think to put feathers on a barrette. Because, like, how was that "period"?
Clearly, most of the people at this party weren't alive in 1981. I was. I knew 80's fashion (specifically, about feathers-in-the-hair), because I lived it, baby!
No kidding. This is a circa 1981 pic of me wearing barrettes that I'd made with my very own hands at a Mother/Daughter Homemaking. (And how much do you love that I still have the same pointy chin and smirky look on my face? Hilarious!)
That my mother let me wear pink feathered barrettes with a blue and white polka-dot dress to have professional pictures taken is a testament to how she has always just kind of stood back and let me do my own thing (fashion sense be damned!), bless her.
And there you have it.
Me, with feathers in my hair. Just call me Lola.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Heigh-Ho!
That's right, folks, it's come to that. ("That", being going back into the workforce.) It's been 6 weeks and 1 day since I had surgery (and I'm pleased to report that I can now sleep on my side all night long - glory be and hallelujah! - I may still struggle to lift a full gallon of milk and wearing heels makes my core feel like it's about to spontaneously combust, but at least I can lie on my side).
My advice to you: Don't ever have your abdomen cut open, specifically in a vertical line from the top of your ribcage down past your bellybutton. It may be the only way to remove certain types of tumors, but still... it hurts and the recovery is long and arduous.
My further advice to you: Don't grow a tumor. Don't. Don't even think about that. Not growing tumors will most likely save you from said surgery, which will make your blog/public journal a lot more fun for your readers. (I know that mine get a little sick of the carnage from time to time.)
So... I'm returning to work, bright and early tomorrow morning. I may even sing like I'm a dwarf. (But only because I like to say "dig" over and over and over again in a silly voice. Not because I actually work in a diamond mine.)
As some of you are aware, I had hoped to extend my medical leave to have a secondary procedure done. As a result of my previous surgery and bed-ridden-ness, I have Pilonidal Cysts (cysts on the end of my tailbone) that have become infected and need to be surgically removed. If you're the medical awareness type and would like more info on exactly what these are, click here. There aren't pictures (though I'm sure you could find them, if you're a sicko who's into that kind of thing), but there's a little write-up/explanation of what they are.
Let me just tell you - they hurt. Miserably. And the longer I was down flat on my back and/or bum from surgery, the worse they got. (Again, there are not words for how grateful I am that I can now lie on my side.)
Anyhoo... I'd hoped to have surgery this month to have them removed, then return to work in June once I was all healed up, but that was not to be. The new plan is to return to work now, and work through the second week of June, at which time I will qualify for FMLA again, then I'll go back out on a secondary medical leave and have the cyst issue remedied. (As most of you are aware, I'd exhausted by FMLA in 2010 with a similar tumor-removal procedure, and my employer, out of the goodness of their hearts, granted my initial 6 week medical leave to have surgery in March of this year. Bless them forever and ever for giving me unpaid time off work that they didn't have to give. I'm so grateful.)
I'll be working limited hours, because... uh... because I can't exactly sit for a 10 hour shift these days. Work has been incredibly gracious and understanding of my limitations, as have my insurance companies. The plan is that I'll work the next 6 weeks on a part-time basis, and then go out for approx 4 weeks to have another surgery mid-summer.
My life is a zoo. A medical zoo. By the time I have this next procedure done, I will have had 3 surgeries in 12 months. Two of them were incredibly invasive. (The third is just a little awkward. But whatever gets rid of the pain, man.) Prior to June 2010, I had never been cut open, I sure didn't have any tattoos (thank you, Radiation, for those 5 tats on my tummy), I had never taken prescription pain meds, I had never had a scar over 1/2 inch long.
Boy howdy, has the last year set some new parameters for me. I have been sicker than I would have ever thought possible. I've had to learn to live with pain that was previously unimaginable. I've learned a whole new definition of "poor" (you try not working for 3 months of the year, two years in a row and see what it does to your budget). I've had relationships change (and some die), because I wasn't well enough to put as much energy into them as I had been able to do previously. ... At the same time, I've learned that being sick doesn't mean that you have to be miserable, and that even when you're in pain you can choose to be happy. I've learned that a very small amount of money is enough, as long as I pay my tithing and use what is left for what it needful. The relationships that have withstood the test of time (and me being sick and unable to go and do) have strengthened. I am closer to my friends and family than I ever have been. Having been limited to what contact I can make by phone or by internet has brought me closer to my people than I ever was when I could pick up and go and do.
Relationships have been redefined, money has a different value to me, I am infinitely more aware of the importance of choice - because sometimes (oftentimes) the only choice any of us has is how we react to what snow cone we were given. (For the record, I would have chosen a grape snow cone. That sure isn't what I got, but it's what I would have chosen. I heart purple syrup.)
The last few months, the last year, really, has been hard. But it has also been good. I testify that the Lord really doesn't give us more than we can handle. I know this, because He has helped me handle things on a day to day basis that were previously unimaginable. I know that there is a greater measure of good than bad, in all of our lives, if we but look for it. In the face of trial and affliction, I have seen more blessings than I had ever been able to see before. I've always loved the scripture about there being opposition in all things, but I have an entirely new likening for that scripture in my life. I know that He will never let what is hard outweigh what is good. There is always an opposition, it's an eternal law. Hard things happen, but so do awesome, incredible, happy and even easy things. When I have looked for the opposition (or opposite) of what I have struggled with, I have found more light and more peace than I had ever experienced before. I have so very many blessings, in large part, because I have been so very sick.
Of course, I still recommend not growing a tumor. (Seriously. Don't do it.) But here's the thing - having grown a tumor (and then another one) changed me. I have always liked to think of myself as a happy girl, I have always tried to find the upside or funny things in life. But it wasn't until, literally, the only choice I had in how I felt was in how I let my spirit react to what my body was going through that I realized how incredible agency is, and that the Lord is always there, even in the tiny, little, otherwise unnoticeable and insignificant details. I love Him, and because of Him, I can do whatever it is that I need to do.
And this week, what I need to do is to go back to work. So I will. And it will be hard, but it will be doable. And I only have to do it for 6 weeks. I just may have to complain about my bum from time to time. (I know how much my mom loves it (heavy sarcasm there, folks) when I put really personal and sometimes gruesome details on my blog, but the thing is... no way am I the only person who has to deal with this stuff, and if it will help any one single person to know that they aren't the only person who has cysts on their tailbone, I will totally talk about it.)
So, tomorrow I'm off to work. For a nice, short, half-day. (Look at me, pep-talking myself.) And then I'm pretty sure I'll sing all the way home. Why? Because my life is a musical. (Besides, it's a fun little ditty that everyone should get stuck in their head from time to time.)
My advice to you: Don't ever have your abdomen cut open, specifically in a vertical line from the top of your ribcage down past your bellybutton. It may be the only way to remove certain types of tumors, but still... it hurts and the recovery is long and arduous.
My further advice to you: Don't grow a tumor. Don't. Don't even think about that. Not growing tumors will most likely save you from said surgery, which will make your blog/public journal a lot more fun for your readers. (I know that mine get a little sick of the carnage from time to time.)
So... I'm returning to work, bright and early tomorrow morning. I may even sing like I'm a dwarf. (But only because I like to say "dig" over and over and over again in a silly voice. Not because I actually work in a diamond mine.)
As some of you are aware, I had hoped to extend my medical leave to have a secondary procedure done. As a result of my previous surgery and bed-ridden-ness, I have Pilonidal Cysts (cysts on the end of my tailbone) that have become infected and need to be surgically removed. If you're the medical awareness type and would like more info on exactly what these are, click here. There aren't pictures (though I'm sure you could find them, if you're a sicko who's into that kind of thing), but there's a little write-up/explanation of what they are.
Let me just tell you - they hurt. Miserably. And the longer I was down flat on my back and/or bum from surgery, the worse they got. (Again, there are not words for how grateful I am that I can now lie on my side.)
Anyhoo... I'd hoped to have surgery this month to have them removed, then return to work in June once I was all healed up, but that was not to be. The new plan is to return to work now, and work through the second week of June, at which time I will qualify for FMLA again, then I'll go back out on a secondary medical leave and have the cyst issue remedied. (As most of you are aware, I'd exhausted by FMLA in 2010 with a similar tumor-removal procedure, and my employer, out of the goodness of their hearts, granted my initial 6 week medical leave to have surgery in March of this year. Bless them forever and ever for giving me unpaid time off work that they didn't have to give. I'm so grateful.)
I'll be working limited hours, because... uh... because I can't exactly sit for a 10 hour shift these days. Work has been incredibly gracious and understanding of my limitations, as have my insurance companies. The plan is that I'll work the next 6 weeks on a part-time basis, and then go out for approx 4 weeks to have another surgery mid-summer.
My life is a zoo. A medical zoo. By the time I have this next procedure done, I will have had 3 surgeries in 12 months. Two of them were incredibly invasive. (The third is just a little awkward. But whatever gets rid of the pain, man.) Prior to June 2010, I had never been cut open, I sure didn't have any tattoos (thank you, Radiation, for those 5 tats on my tummy), I had never taken prescription pain meds, I had never had a scar over 1/2 inch long.
Boy howdy, has the last year set some new parameters for me. I have been sicker than I would have ever thought possible. I've had to learn to live with pain that was previously unimaginable. I've learned a whole new definition of "poor" (you try not working for 3 months of the year, two years in a row and see what it does to your budget). I've had relationships change (and some die), because I wasn't well enough to put as much energy into them as I had been able to do previously. ... At the same time, I've learned that being sick doesn't mean that you have to be miserable, and that even when you're in pain you can choose to be happy. I've learned that a very small amount of money is enough, as long as I pay my tithing and use what is left for what it needful. The relationships that have withstood the test of time (and me being sick and unable to go and do) have strengthened. I am closer to my friends and family than I ever have been. Having been limited to what contact I can make by phone or by internet has brought me closer to my people than I ever was when I could pick up and go and do.
Relationships have been redefined, money has a different value to me, I am infinitely more aware of the importance of choice - because sometimes (oftentimes) the only choice any of us has is how we react to what snow cone we were given. (For the record, I would have chosen a grape snow cone. That sure isn't what I got, but it's what I would have chosen. I heart purple syrup.)
The last few months, the last year, really, has been hard. But it has also been good. I testify that the Lord really doesn't give us more than we can handle. I know this, because He has helped me handle things on a day to day basis that were previously unimaginable. I know that there is a greater measure of good than bad, in all of our lives, if we but look for it. In the face of trial and affliction, I have seen more blessings than I had ever been able to see before. I've always loved the scripture about there being opposition in all things, but I have an entirely new likening for that scripture in my life. I know that He will never let what is hard outweigh what is good. There is always an opposition, it's an eternal law. Hard things happen, but so do awesome, incredible, happy and even easy things. When I have looked for the opposition (or opposite) of what I have struggled with, I have found more light and more peace than I had ever experienced before. I have so very many blessings, in large part, because I have been so very sick.
Of course, I still recommend not growing a tumor. (Seriously. Don't do it.) But here's the thing - having grown a tumor (and then another one) changed me. I have always liked to think of myself as a happy girl, I have always tried to find the upside or funny things in life. But it wasn't until, literally, the only choice I had in how I felt was in how I let my spirit react to what my body was going through that I realized how incredible agency is, and that the Lord is always there, even in the tiny, little, otherwise unnoticeable and insignificant details. I love Him, and because of Him, I can do whatever it is that I need to do.
And this week, what I need to do is to go back to work. So I will. And it will be hard, but it will be doable. And I only have to do it for 6 weeks. I just may have to complain about my bum from time to time. (I know how much my mom loves it (heavy sarcasm there, folks) when I put really personal and sometimes gruesome details on my blog, but the thing is... no way am I the only person who has to deal with this stuff, and if it will help any one single person to know that they aren't the only person who has cysts on their tailbone, I will totally talk about it.)
So, tomorrow I'm off to work. For a nice, short, half-day. (Look at me, pep-talking myself.) And then I'm pretty sure I'll sing all the way home. Why? Because my life is a musical. (Besides, it's a fun little ditty that everyone should get stuck in their head from time to time.)
Sunday, April 24, 2011
He is Risen!
Easter. It's more than just a candy coma, folks.
I'm so grateful that He lived, and that He died, so that we might live.
I love Him.
Happy Easter!
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Little Red Riding Hood(s)
It's been unseasonably cool here. So cool, in fact, that Mom and I had to wear our sweaters on our walk this afternoon - hoods up.
Which made me burst into song. (Well, first a howl. And then a song.) Why? Because my life is a musical. (Of sorts.)
We were lucky enough to run into Amy Webb (instead of a big, bad wolf) on our walk, who was kind enough to take our picture (and not eat us up). Gosh, I'm grateful for friends (who aren't wolf-ish, even one little bit).
Which made me burst into song. (Well, first a howl. And then a song.) Why? Because my life is a musical. (Of sorts.)
We were lucky enough to run into Amy Webb (instead of a big, bad wolf) on our walk, who was kind enough to take our picture (and not eat us up). Gosh, I'm grateful for friends (who aren't wolf-ish, even one little bit).
Saturday, November 6, 2010
A musical review, courtesy of my friends at YouTube
I tweeted last night that I have a new singing boyfriend. It's true, I do. I went to see Straight No Chaser (I always want to punctuate their name - that's how obsessed I am with commas - true story) and oh, my word. The kid singing lead vocals on this song? Be still my beating heart. (And I'm not just saying that because he's singing a Mraz song. Though that would have been enough to do it...)
The Lady Gaga Medley? Oh, my. I laughed my fool head off. (I just wish the video was a tad bit clearer. The dancing - and kitty-cat arm moves - hysterial.)
Who loves a deep bass voice? I do, I do!
And who loves a good Michael Jackson cover? Uh... me. (Seriously, one of my fav things about this group is how they take songs from totally different periods/genres and fuse them seamlessly. Oh. My. Gosh.) Check it:
Most people know them for their Christmas stuff:
But seriously, check out their other stuff. Their new album? Seriously, A-MAZING. (And I'm not just saying that because I want you to support me in my new romance.) There's just something about an A Capella group. Straight No Chaser, they make me swoon.
The Lady Gaga Medley? Oh, my. I laughed my fool head off. (I just wish the video was a tad bit clearer. The dancing - and kitty-cat arm moves - hysterial.)
Who loves a deep bass voice? I do, I do!
And who loves a good Michael Jackson cover? Uh... me. (Seriously, one of my fav things about this group is how they take songs from totally different periods/genres and fuse them seamlessly. Oh. My. Gosh.) Check it:
Most people know them for their Christmas stuff:
But seriously, check out their other stuff. Their new album? Seriously, A-MAZING. (And I'm not just saying that because I want you to support me in my new romance.) There's just something about an A Capella group. Straight No Chaser, they make me swoon.
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