I'm missing my cousins today

So I'm making myself a traditional Ball family treat.

If only I had the silver spoon/straws that Julie got from Grammy's house, it'd be even tastier.

The most recent page turner in my life

I've been a reading lot this week. A lot.

Gosh, it's good to be back.

This is my most recent read.

Oh my word, I love this book! It is fabulous. Incredibly well written, it's a story of 3 women whose lives are intertwined. It's set in Jackson, MI in 1963. Not the best place in time, if you're at all familiar with the territory. (That line totally just made me sing a little ditty from The Music Man. "But you have to know the territory." ... I digress.)

Anyway, this book? It's fabulous. If you haven't read it, you must. I'm telling you, here and now, it's a must read.

Part of why I have loved this book is that it has reminded me to be grateful for the time and place I was raised in, for the tolerance of my parents and those of the friends I grew up with. Having an underlying theme of Racial Intolerance/Segregation, this book has helped me feel so grateful for my life. It has reminded me that not only were the lines between black and white so thick that generations of Americans had a hard time seeing around them, but also that way too many people had to fight and/or die for the equality that they believed in.

One of those killed on the road to Integration was Medgar Evers. If you don't know his name - if you haven't seen this movie - please watch it. Right away. (But maybe not at night. If you're a sissy like me, anyway. I get a little freaked out, and I've seen it loads of times.)




It's a fabulous movie. It's a true story, and very well done. James Woods is pretty much the creepiest bad guy of all time. And an added bonus, it's from 1996, which was back in the days when Alec Baldwin was a treat to behold.

So, basically, what I'm saying is... Read this book. Watch this movie. ... Just in case you have a hard time figuring out what you want to do with your free time these days, I thought I'd boss you around a little. You'll love both of them, I'm sure of it.

The best book I've read in a good, long while

Oh, my word. This book. It was, in a word, amazing. In another, educational. In yet another, humbling. It was the best book I've read in a good, long while.

This book is a first person narrative of a woman diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer's Disease. It is heartbreaking. It is life affirming. It is poetic, and it is beautiful.

By the end of the third chapter, I was so grateful to have been diagnosed with cancer at 35, and not EOAD at 49. I'm telling you, this book was a great reality check, in that there are numerous things to be grateful for in my life, not the least of which are being able to read and use language. (Oh, how I love words.)

When I got to page 117, I broke down and cried. And then I stopped crying, and I resolved to be stronger and fight harder.

This book changed the way I think, because it pushed me to feel things on a whole new level. It changed who I am. I could not recommend it more highly.

Please, read this book. Please. I loved it.

Oh, the things you use your stomach muscles for...

As we all know, I am a lover of lists. And this one has been going strong (in my head, anyway) for a few weeks. So, I thought I'd share it with you - in part, because it's informational, but mostly because it cracks me the heck up, some of the stuff I can't do because it makes my bellybutton hurt.

So, having recently suffered a 13 inch incision in my abdomen that has rendered my stomach muscles totally non-existent, here are a list of things that I cannot do.

The list of things that are not surprising:

Laughing, crying, coughing, sneezing (I feel like I just listed 4 of the 7 dwarfs - ha!)

Bending or twisting at the waist

Lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk (or a half a bag of ice, I've found)

Tying my own shoes

Putting on a bra that fastens in the back

Sleeping on my side

Lying down and/or getting out of bed. Period. (It's horrible and, by far, the hardest thing I have to do all day long.)

Driving a car

Driving one of those super cool motorized car/carts at the WalMart

Pulling open a car door - whether it's to get in, or shut it after I'm in

Blow drying my hair (still not an option at this point in time, so I'm a total frizz ball)

Putting my own tennis balls on the back of Ye Olde Walker

The list of things that are surprising and a bit of a crack up:

Twisting open a shampoo bottle

Turning on the water in the shower

Twisting the neck of the faucet in the kitchen sink to move the water stream

Getting a pan of cake - or bacon - out of the oven (but I suffer because I want the food, dangit!)

Wearing shoes that have any kind of heel/elevation to them

Stirring a pan of anything - including scrambled eggs - on the stove

Replacing the toilet paper roll

*Opening the silverware drawer

Reading a hardback book (paperbacks are fine, but a hardback, bound book is too heavy)

Walking without something to hold on to (for weeks, I had to hold my arms out - down, but straight out at the side with my fingers outstretched whenever I walked sans walker, so I could balance - I tell you, I looked like a really tall toddler who'd just learned how to walk)

Riding in a car (gravity pulls your body when the car turns and without a core to stabilize the bod, turning corners has been agony)

Opening a Ziploc brand baggie (they're tougher than you'd think, man)

Folding a towel

Putting a pillow case on a pillow (excruciating)

Cutting meat, like on a plate with my dinner (how nuts is that?)

Turning a key in a lock, as well as opening the deadbolt from inside my apartment

And... I'm sorry to have to say it... trimming and/or repainting my toenails (the perfect excuse to go for a pedicure, methinks - if only I could drive myself somewhere to get one)

And there's a lot more where that comes from. On a daily basis, I do something that makes me twinge and I think "Who'd have thought you'd use stomach muscles for that?". It's been an eye-opening (and stomach wrenching) experience, I tell you. The hardest thing has been that I want to laugh when I find something new/surprising that makes me hurt - but laughing makes me hurt, so I have to abstain.

Seriously, this surgery recovery period has been full of surprises - abdominal and otherwise. The good news? When I know I'm going to do something hard (like go on a walk or take food out of the oven), I can put on my binder (what Jenni lovingly referred to as "doctor issued Spanx" when she was here), and then I have support/fake stomach muscles so I can do what would otherwise be impossible. Who'd have thought that a big elastic belt could do so much to hold a body together? That binder is a blessing. I'd be dead in the water without it!

*This reminded me of a story. A couple weeks ago, I'd summoned JP to come and perform some manly duties at my apartment (I needed the fridge moved, among other things that neither my mom or I were strong enough to handle). When he was here, we were in the kitchen and I needed to open the silverware drawer to get something. I winced in obvious pain and he asked if I was alright. I responded that I was fine, but "Who knew you used stomach muscles to open drawers?!". Totally deadpan, he said "It looks like you have a new workout, once you're up to it". Right, like anyone could ever get totally ripped by opening/closing/opening a silverware drawer. Ha!

My favorite part of yesterday

Yesterday afternoon my friend Jo came and picked me up and took me home with her, because I still can't drive and I was needing an outing. (So what if I call 4 hours at Jo's house, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking water and eating trail mix (trail mix heavy on the m&m's, but we still like to think it's healthy) while we talk about everything under the sun an outing? Listen, it's a good time. You all should try it. You'd love it, too, I'm sure.)

Anyway, yesterday I went to Jo's. And it was, as always, pretty much the highlight of my day. We always have a good time. When I got there, Roomie (11), Rook (9) and Maggie (2) were home. Maggie shared her Chex Mix with me, one piece at a time. Rook had to tell me about ... oh, crud, I don't even remember what was so important to him. (See? It's a good thing I have no children. I pay such little attention to them when they talk, I would damage them beyond repair.) Roomie sat right down at the table with Jo and me, because she likes to a) listen to everything we say, and b) think she's a grown-up, too. Cili was next door swimming and came home about an hour after I got there.

Now, here's what I love about Cili. (Are you paying attention? Because this is important.) I love basically everything about that kid. Sure, she's a stubborn mule who knows what she wants and won't even think about settling for less. She's a bit of a drama queen and is always one to let you know what she thinks/feels. She's more strong willed and opinionated than most adults I know, and she's 6. We understand each other (and that's not just because we both have a penchant for shiny shirts and black and white accessories). We're basically the same person, only she's little and I'm big. I love her.

When Cili came home from swimming at the neighbor's house (dripping wet, mind you), she came right up to me at the table and leaned in and gave me a big hug. This was the first time I'd actually seen Cili since surgery. I'd been over to Jo's, but Cili was either in the pool or in bed, so I hadn't talked to her in over a month. Normally, I am not a fan of getting hugged by someone who is sticky wet with drippy hair, but for Cili I will make an exception. She leaned in/hugged me for a good long time, until I kissed her forehead and told her I loved her - at which point she was forced to remove herself from me and go and sit across the table from me. (Kids. They crack me up.)

Once Cili was across the table from me, she just sat and watched us talk/laugh. For a good 5 minutes or so, she was just watching us. Then she interrupted with "Laurie, did you change the way you look?". I wasn't sure I'd heard her right, so I asked her what she's said. Again, I got the "Did you change the way you look?" question. Before I could respond (or even be sure what she was talking about?), she looked pointedly at my stomach and said "Because I think you did". Hahaha... It was awesome! I asked her if she thought my stomach looked different. She, looking totally perplexed, said "Yeah. And the rest of you looks different, too. I think you look different.". Which led to a discussion of having had my stomach cut open, then being stitched and stapled back up so I could get better. We had a pretty in-depth and candid discussion of major abdominal surgery, Jo's kids and I.

It was a great day.

But, by far, my favorite part of the day (well, except for going to the store and being able to stock back up on ice and get a hold of some more Havarti cheese) was the 6 yr old who knew who I was... but was confused because I looked different to her. "Did you change the way you look? Because I think you did." Ha! I so love that kid.

One month ago today

One month ago today, I was leaving my house for the hospital. I mean it, exactly one month ago from right now, my friends Jo and Rhonda came and picked me up and we headed over to pick up Christine and we were headed to the hospital for a 9:00 AM check-in. It's surreal to think about everything that's happened and changed since then.

We met my parents and brother Kirk at the Admin office, and Cathy was there by the time I was in pre-op. Here's a pic of my posse (which is what my mom dubbed the group - how cute is she?) in the waiting room while I was in surgery.



I'm so grateful for good friends who came to the hospital - even though I told them time and again that they didn't need to - and then came and visited me again and again. I'm so grateful for my sweet brother who took off work to be there and hold my hand before I went into surgery. Kirk's always been my buddy, since we were little tiny. I wish everyone could have "a brother like that". I'm so grateful for parents who have been there to buy/read/watch anything I want, for a mother who scratched my back (and my legs) and rubbed my feet ad nauseum, for a father who would rather buy too many cucumbers than too little. I am, truly, so blessed.

It's been a month. I can't tell you how nuts it is to realize that, to write that sentence.

Going into surgery was one of the scariest things I've ever done. I knew I had to do it (as much as I'd wished for a magic "tumor be gone" potion, prayer or blessing, I knew the only way to get rid of the sucker was to cut me open and pull it out), but I was scared out of my mind about having to look at the incision. I was so nervous that it would be goopy and ooozy. (I don't like to see blood, least of all my own.) I hadn't had an awareness that they were going to put tubes down my nose and throat and keep me on IV's for 4 days. I had no idea how badly I would hurt. (And I have a pretty good imagination.) It was crazy. I remember coming out of anesthesia and hearing people talk around me. I'd hear one person say "is this the 22 lb surgery?", and then I'd hear another person answer, "22.5" with heavy emphasis on the .5, then the first person would say, incredulously, "22.5 lbs?!". (Like another half a pound really makes that big of a difference after you hit 22 lbs, really.) I had no idea that they were talking about me. It was surreal. My surgeon said, after surgery, that the tumor was the size of a watermelon.

I may never be able to eat watermelon again.

When the girls came in to see me post-surgery, they came in with flowers. Of course I cried, because I love flowers (and also because I love them). Every time I woke up for the next day or so, I had another floral delivery. I had flowers by my bed, on the shelf in front of my bed, and lining the windowsill in my room. They were a little bit of heaven in a really hard place. I love flowers. Thank you, again, to everyone who sent them.

I remember thinking, day 2 in the hospital, that I'd rather die than keep feeling that level of pain. And then the nurse made me sit up in bed, and I felt pain on a whole new level. And then she made me clear my throat and cough. And then I really wanted to die.

I could have morphine every two hours. It would take about 20 min to kick in and my pain level would go down for about 45 minutes to an hour. The last 40 minutes before I could have it again were agony. I asked my nurse if there was supposed to be a point where I felt no pain, because even when it was better for those 40 minutes, I still hurt. She kinda slipped and told me they weren't sure how high of a dosage to give me - they'd never had a surgery/tumor like mine. I know it's sick, but it made me proud, even in substantial pain, to hear that. Like I'd won some kind of contest or something. (I know, I'm such a weirdie.)

On day 3, they gave me a different drug that was 20x stronger than morphine. It was better, but I still hurt - a lot. I was living on ice chips and chapstick was my best friend. Also, on day 3, I was able to get a hold of my mascara. I couldn't sit up, so I put it on lying in bed (without a mirror), but I felt a lot better once it was there. Also, on day 3, I got the official word from my doctors that the results were in and the tumor had been malignant. My parents called my brothers, and Kirk and Spencer both came running to be with me. Spencer brought more flowers, and Kirk brought hair bows. I love them. Two oncologists came in and met with us and explained the treatment plan. The things I remember from that: the first telling me that I wouldn't need chemo, and the second saying something about radiation treatments 5 days a week. Also, I remember thinking that I was so glad that the second doctor was going to be my doctor, because he was better looking than the first. (This is hilarious to me, because he's ... uhm .... not all that good looking. I had a hard time not laughing out loud in my first appointment with him, that that's what I'd thought that day in the hospital.)

On day 4, I was cleared for food. They took the tube out of my nose/throat and I was able to eat the best freaking fish that I've ever had in my life. (Seriously. It was SO good. I wish I could go back and order that fish for dinner, like the hospital was a restaurant. But alas...) By then, I was walking the halls with my first hospital issued walker. It was awesome, I could walk for 10 minutes and then I'd want to pass out. My friend Rhonda came that morning and stayed until the nurses kicked her out that night. She brought new flowers, re-arranged the original arrangements to get rid of the wilty guys. And then she came back again the next day and did it all over again. She, along with my mother, saved me. That night I had more visitors (Ash & Erika, and later, Christine). I was starting to feel a little more human.

On day 5, I was up and walking the halls for 12 minutes at a time, twice a day. (I know - awesome fitness plan.) Ronnie came back - this time, armed with banana popcicles, because she knows I love them. Nurse Liz brought me a cherry limeade from Sonic. I ordered the fish again, because I loved it so. Rhonda brought a book, so she could read while I took a nap. That night the Petersons came, and we all had a surprise visit from Christine with her new boyfriend. J and Ash stayed late, Rhonda stayed later. I had been surrounded by my people and was feeling more like myself. (Also, I'd been on percocet and ativan - my two best friends - for 24 hours, and was feeling substantially less pain.)

Day 6 was a longer, harder day. (Maybe because I didn't order the fish for lunch, but I don't know.) I was more sore that day, probably because I had been up multiple times the day before. I'd had visitors, so I'd talked and laughed (my fake Katharine Hepburn laugh, but still...) more than usual. I was tired, and I was sore. But I still had the best nurses in the world. Both Lori and Liz would come in and check on me throughout the day. Which I know is their job, but they would just come in and talk. I found out that Lori had adopted her boys, and that Liz had just gotten married in December. They were my friends - and not just because they could give me hardcore narcotics every 4 hours. I loved them.

On day 7, I was advised that I could take an actual shower. I don't know what was scarier, when the nurse took the bandage off (she told me that I had to be able to look at the incision) - or actually getting into a shower. Either way, the morning was fraught with fear and danger. ... But I showered. And I washed my hair. And I survived. And I was released and came home a couple hours after the harrowing shower experience. Glory be and hallelujah, I was able to get into a car and come home. And when we got here, I was able to walk up the stairs and get into my recliner. Jo came and babysat me while my parents went to the store and bought provisions... And thus began the post-hospital recovery.

My mom was here for the first 3 weeks, and I don't know what I'd have done without her. She slept in a chair in my hospital room the week I was in the hospital, and on my couch for the first two weeks I was home. She is the best back scratching, foot rubbing, dish doing, water-turning-on-ing, door opening, listening, leg shaving, meds and food fetching, combination chauffeur and servant of all time. I love her. I always have, but now... Well, now, I have such a greater appreciation for her. Truly, she is the most selfless person I'm sure I'll ever know, and because she was here and because she took such great care of me, I am feeling so much better.

I am amazed that it's been a month. I am humbled at how many visitors I've had, how many volunteers to help me there have been. I have the best friends, and most incredible family. Ever.

I am amazed that the surgery recovery has gone as smoothly as it has (save the issue with the ever-present need for stool softeners and laxatives). I am grateful that my incision wasn't ever goopy and oozy - that at the most, I had to have a band-aid over my bellybutton for a week. It took me a while to work up my strength, but now I can not only wash my own hair, but also shave and lotion my own legs. This week I've been able to walk a mile at a time without my walker.

Thirty days ago today, I had major surgery. This morning, I got myself out of bed, made my own breakfast, walked 2 miles and then sat down with my laptop - all by 8:00 AM. I feel so much better, so much stronger, than I had any reason to think I would 4 short weeks after surgery.

I am amazed. And grateful. And amazed.

For my cousins - name that fabric

*Disclaimer: I know, I look more than a little like a bottle of Aunt Jemima syrup in this pic. It was the apron I was going for when the photo shoot took place, so I moved my arms back and out of the way. Who knew that act was gonna make me look like a giant, full color, life-sized bottle of mapley goodness? I mean, who knew?!

Aunt Jemima aside, it's the apron that's the focus here. Why? Because I am a braggart. I have a new apron, and I had to show it off my cousins. I'll give 117 Cousin Points to the first family member who correctly guesses the origin and age of the fabric here. (And Julie doesn't count as an entry, because she made me this fabulous thing, and knows exactly where the floral beauty came from.)

Here's a hint: I've been instructed to sing "Do, Re, Mi" whenever I wear it (which I have done, thankyouverymuch), as that's the song you sing when you wear clothes made out of these.

... And now I'm oddly wanting to watch The Sound of Music and have a sing along. I think I will. Singing is good exercise for my diaphragm - and we all know that my stomach muscles need all the help they can get these days.

So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, adieu (for now, anyway).

Channeling Diana Barry

Alright, so maybe my spirit is a little more Anne than it is Diana (I've been called precocious more than once, and... uh... proper, basically never), but yesterday my hair was feeling very Diana Barry. It was very exciting for me, as my previous celeb-hair-alike was Ma Kettle, which was more than a little less flattering than being a Diana-alike.

You all remember Diana Barry, yes? Anne Shirley's bestie from the Anne of Green Gables series? She was sweet. I am not sweet, but I do have dark and frizzy hair. So, in that regard, we are alike - a little bit.

Here's a visual refresher of my two favorite bosom friends. (Just in case - perish the thought! - you don't know who I'm talking about.)



And here's another shot of Diana, all grown up with her fancy up-do. Gosh, I wish I knew how to achieve this polished look. But alas, I think there's something in the personality of my hair that would refuse to be tamed. Bother.

But honestly, isn't she (and her hair) beautiful? I covet it.



And here's the kicker - when I looked in the mirror last night and thought I looked like Diana Barry with her big and fancy hair, that's what I thought I looked like. (I know, I'm about 17 different kinds of delusional.)

Uh, no. No, I did not look exactly like Diana Barry. As you can see below, I was still a little more on the Ma Kettle side. (In my defense, the dark wall behind my head in this pic totally lessens the bouffant effect of my fluffy/big bun. I really do think it was fancier - or at least looked a whale of a lot bigger - when I was backed by a lighter wall and you could see the mass of dark hair.)



On second thought, maybe I still look a little like a geisha. Darn that stupid flash on my camera lighting up my face like it's the 4th of July. (But don't my eyelashes look freakishly long?)

The End.

Another pic of my "favorites" & me

Okay, so I realize that this is only going to be funny if you knew my grammy, but I still have to tell you that when I typed the original title for this post, I typed "Another shot of me and my favorites", I heard a little voice in my head asking "are your favorites mean?". Ha! My mom's mom would ask me, every time I used incorrect sentence structure and put myself before the other subjects, if I really thought they were mean. Some examples:

Me: Grammy, can me and Beth have a popsicle?
Grammy: (with a short gasp) Is Beth mean? Why would you want to share a popsicle, if she's mean?

Me: Grammy, can me and Kirk watch a movie?
Grammy: Why would you want to watch a movie with Kirk if he's mean to you?

Me: Grammy, can me and Spencer play in the front yard?
Grammy: I don't understand why you'd want to play with a mean little boy, even if he is your brother.

So, of course, I changed the structure of the title, because my "favorite" aunts are so very far from mean. In fact, they're pretty much the exact opposite of mean. They're nice. (Super nice, in fact.) Behold, they took me for my very first post-operative eating out adventure.



We went to Red Robin, because I love both their fries and their Cobb Salad. (I split the salad with my mom and ate half of Debbie's fries.) It was a pretty perfect night. I love them (even more than I love Cobb Salad and steak fries, which is a lot of love).

Because every lady needs to accessorize

My friend Jenni's here for the weekend (which is SO FLIPPING FUN, btw), taking care of my needs. She's filled my ice water many times, held my bag of Munchies so I could just reach in and grab a snack (she's even eaten the pretzels that I've thrown back into said bag of Munchies, because I am not a pretzel loving fool unless they're covered in chocolate). She's a Class A servant folks, I tell you.

But the most impressive thing she's done since she's been here has been to add a little something to Ye Olde Granny Walker. Yesterday, while I was taking my daily 4 hour nap, she and her friend (I shall him Captain Forearms) hit the Home Depot and came up with the makings of this fabulous little basket.

Behold, the new and improved walker. Ooh-la-la, yes?



You may notice the handy-dandy tennis balls on the back legs. They're pretty hot, right? The thing is, they're funny and functional. In the first week that I was home from the hospital, I walked right through the original plastic coating and was sending metal shavings through the parking lot as I toddled on my morning and night walks. At the time, my mom and I thought it was cheap/thin plastic that had coated the walker feet. We were a little horrified that the manufacturer of the walker didn't put more into protecting their product. So we (by which I mean: she) went and bought some tennis balls to see if that would make a difference.

This is what we found: after 3-4 times up and down the street, I'd walk a hole right though the tennis balls. (Which translates into: it was not, in fact, substandard plastic that the manufacturer had used in production. I'm just really rough on walkers.) Check it.



In the last 10 days, this is how many times I've had to have new feet (tennis balls) added to the walker:

Monday July 5th - Spencer put tennis balls on
Wednesday July 7th - Jason put rubber feet on
Thursday July 8th - Dean put more tennis balls on
Saturday July 10th - Kirk added yet more tennis balls
Monday July 12th - Mom switched out two more tennis balls
Wednesday July 14th - Mom put yet another set of tennis balls on the walker
Friday July 16th - she doesn't know it yet, but Jen's replacing the balls AGAIN

So, what I'm saying here is that a) tennis balls last longer than rubber feet (did you notice that the rubber feet that JP put on on a Wed night had to be replaced on Thursday - they lasted for one walk - awesome), also, b) if you were ever thinking about buying stock in tennis balls, this would be the time. Seriously.