I was 26 and I had the best cancer.

Unfortunately in today's world, we all compete. We even compete in the sickest of ways. "You are on Prozac, that is nothing, they give me _______ (fill it in) which is inevitably worse than your Prozac." "Oh, you had a finger amputated, I lost an entire leg and I live with the pain everyday."

Since I am not innocent or immune to this weird phenomenon, I will start this blog out with "I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer" (this was told to me to be the best kind of cancer to have, extremely low mortality rate).

So for the many of you that endured more, I am sorry. I wish I could of been there beside you. I am however going to tell a little bit of my story.

I was 26, I had two boys at the time of my diagnosis ages 3 and 1. My thyroid tests had all come up normal but I was still exhausted and couldn't lose any weight.  I went into the doctor and he was busy so the office provided me with the services of his nurse practitioner. She listened to my symptoms, saw my "normal" blood tests and then did a physical exam. She felt the lymph nodes in my neck which were mildly swollen but not tender, and then she stopped. Took a small breath and told me that I had a lump. She continued to inform me that this may be many different things and that I should see a doctor when I returned back home. (Did I mention I was visiting my mother at the time)

Because of the lack of excitement, I didn't worry. However, I was surprised that I didn't know the lump was there, but once pointed out to me, seemed so obvious.
I returned home and made an appointment with a surgeon who did a biopsy. He looked at the biopsy in his clinic and then said we had to send it out for testing. Not even an hour later I was informed that the lump was indeed cancer, very slow growing and the best kind of cancer to have. From that statement I decided I would not worry, cry or get excited. This cancer was not a big deal and it was the "best kind of cancer" to have. I am not going to die. I need to get over it.
I go home call my mother, of course she cries, tell my best friend, again crying, tell my husband, he shows absolutely no emotion and all the while I am thinking to myself, "What the hell is wrong with these people, it is the best kind of cancer."
Surgery was scheduled and more testing was done. I then learned all I could about the different kinds of thyroid cancer. There are a couple that are very common and two others that are significantly more rare and tougher to treat. I am going to rate them from 1-4, 1 being the best kind, 4 being the worst. My first call about the biopsy had stated that the cancer was #1, the next call was, we made a mistake, it is #2. This is fine, these are totally common, I thought to myself.
They rolled me into the surgical room early in the morning. My husband had a final that day (oh did I tell you we were still in college?) and would run over to the hospital as soon as it was done. A few weeks had passed by from diagnosiss to the surgery and my hubby still had no emotion over the entire event. I told him to study for his final, this is the "best kind" of cancer, and I will be fine.
I wake up from surgery, my best friend at my bedside with pictures from her wedding a few months before. We thumbed through pictures, made small talk and she seemed to get teary occasionally, but mostly we pretended that all was well. I asked her about Mike, my husband. Did he get back from his final? She said he did, but has be strolling the lobby and the halls like a zombie. He still had no emotion and couldn't form coherent sentences.
Weeks after the surgery another biopsy came back of the thyroid gland and two lymph nodes. One node had cancer as did the thyroid, the thyroid despite testing normal was completely diseased, Hashimotos, and the tumor was no longer the second best kind of thyroid cancer but it was #3, the third worst. This kind of tumor does not react to radiation or chemo, so if the surgery got the entire tumor, I would not need either of those things, if the tumor had spread past the lymph nodes, we would just have to chase it and cut it out. Yay.....

6 weeks after my surgery I was pregnant with my third child, not quite ready, I had a little of a melt down.
During that melt down, I realized I couldn't stop crying. I started evaluating my recent events and realized that I never allowed myself to get scared, worried or cry about my ordeal. And because it was "the best kind" I never felt that I had the right to blow it out of proportion. But there was no stopping the worry, angst and fear forever, it finally came. It didn't matter if it was the best or the worst kind of cancer, it was cancer just the same and emotions and realizations had to come along with the diagnosis, if I liked it or not.
I am 7 years clear of cancer and I am sure that it was one of the simplest of cancer cases, but I still had to allow myself to feel it. As my idiotic radiologist said, it might be the big "C".
So, as I wrap up this memory, I want to tell all those that may read this, allow yourself to feel. Whether it is depression, or bankruptcy, or cancer or fear. As hard as you try to stay strong, there is a time you have to allow your self to feel as well.
As for all doctors out there, please don't use the term Big "C" or the "best kind", don't sugar coat, just address the issue so we ( the patient ) can properly address the issue as well.
Lastly, allow those men in your life to handle and cope how they can, Mike never shed a tear but did morph into a zombie of a sort. That was ok, that was how he needed to deal. He taught the three yr old to make sandwiches so he could have something when I wasn't feeling well. I can not forget to love those that love me, even if I am confused on how they show it. Life is definitely too short.

Got an offer, turned it down, crap! The hell that is Wyoming.

In my desire to relocate my family, I had a job offer in Douglas, WY. For those from Douglas, WY, sorry, you probably shouldn't read on.
Douglas, WY is 11 hours away from my home, one way. Because I couldn't tell my current employer that I had a final interview and job offer, I had to squeeze the 22 hours of driving into about 48 hours of actual time. Which for those of you that can't help your children with their math homework, that would leave 26 hours over two days, for sleep and non driving time. It sucked.
Not only did I have to squeeze the drive, sleep and a 2 hour interview into that 48 hours, I also had to do all of this on my way to and in Douglas, WY.
Lets explain, Wyoming is barren, ok dramatic, it has small hills and sage brush, so I guess that is something. It also regularly has up to 30-40 mile per hour winds, I know what you are thinking, heaven, right? Am I right? But, there are a few cute towns along the way.
Anyway the only reason we would consider Douglas, is that there is also a lot of great paying jobs for my husband as well, so frankly money talks.
Then I drove around town, new elementary school, new bridges, looking good, oh, wait, what? Houses leaning, paint peeling, piercings glaring totally interfering with my sight. Re-thinking... how much money is hell worth? Tough question.
Never the less, the realist in me tells me I would rather earn $7 an hour than live in hell. I would rather my children not have to raise themselves. I will get to the point, Douglas, WY sucked. Every exit on the highway had barriers that if it gets too windy or stormy they can shut it down quickly, ding, ding, ding, how many red flags do I need?
So, obviously I turned the job down, my employer does not know about my 2 day marathon and I am back to the beginning. 
Se la vie.

Falling into the abyss. Dreading the next day.

I have been looking at relocating my family. But, applying for jobs 100's of miles away is seeming to be quite the task. So at work, although I get all my work done efficiently and effectively, I am sidetracked by wanting desperately to go somewhere else. I have spent 25 of my 34 years in my small town. I moved away when I graduated and as I got married have since returned. So, I am at that point that enough is enough. Need a change, time to move on, etc.

I enjoy those that I work with. I enjoy staying busy. However lately, I haven't stayed busy making each day longer and longer. To make it worse the slow times leave me space in my mind to dream of some far off land that I want to whisk my family away to.
I hate dreading going to work. I usually don't, but as I have mentioned, I am ready to move on. So as it gets harder to get out of bed in the morning, drive up to the dealership, I take a deep breath and walk into work with a smile on my face.
Today was no different, but with that smile also came a bout of laughter. Because not only am I starting to dread work, I walk in with a pretend smile, and then hear it. You know that awesome background music that I have blogged about in the past. There it is, "All, by myself, I don't wanna be all by myself, anymore."
This made me laugh. The only image that popped into my mind was a picture of "Bridget Jones Diary", with Renee Zellweger laying on her couch, boozing it up and singing, poorly I might add, at the top of her lungs.
I have to be grateful for the little things that get me through that door and still smiling at the end of the day. Even if it is a ridiculously sapping song that in lesser times would make me want to slit my wrists.

The 5th grade anatomy/hormone talk, yippee......

I am sitting at work, swearing at my network blocker that won't allow you to read blogs, post on Facebook, basically anything interesting. Anyway, as the expletives launch out of my mouth, I get a call. It is from my 11 yr old's son 5th grade teacher.
So, last week there was a bright blue form that came home in the back pack from school. I love how they make the forms bright colors so you don't miss them. Attention school, I don't pay attention to the bright form or the white form, frankly I just ignore them all.
I digress. The form is titled "Growth & Development Class"...... (they tried really hard to think of that title, you know they did) 
Back to the phone call from the 5th grade teacher. She has asked if I had seen the infamous form. I said, yes, I meant to send it back to school, but just have forgotten. She proceeds to tell me that the kids in the class are freaking out, embarrassed to turn the form in and just aren't taking the form home to their parents. I go on to inform her that the form is on my fridge and I will return it the next day. This form asks for your permission to allow your child to sit through a DVD that discusses "changes" in their bodies. If you choose not sit your child through this, he can go to library or something.
After I returned home from work this evening, I decided to ask my son what he had heard about this class, if he would like me to explain things to help prepare him for the class, or whether he would like me to let him skip the class and I would do all the talking, or he doesn't have to talk to me and he can take the class.....................He wanted to talk to me. So, we talked about hormones and hair growth in strange places, and all the many more disgusting and gross things that happen to boys. (Frankly such an easier talk than explaining what happens to girls) After about 20 minutes and pure shock on my sons face, I decided he had had enough.  I then ask him if he wants to stay in class for the talk and DVD (how lucky). He said he had heard enough and that he didn't need to attend the class.
He did say he wanted to talk with me again and how glad he was that we didn't talk about anything "inappropriate". Got to love him.
I have successfully survived my first "talk"with my 11 yr old son. My husband giggled the entire time.
So, he will not be sitting through the DVD. I am glad he is fine with our discussion and that I didn't scar him for life......Yay hormones!!!!!

Modesty is a virtue.

I have a 7 year old daughter. And in spite of my efforts, she has remained modest and aware of her body. Why should this matter? Well frankly, I am impressed.
Today's dolls & media show our children that people with giant eyes, an even larger head, and minimal clothing are the most attractive of the bunch.
Good news for troll dolls, but alter to nature for the rest of us.
To the story: This morning while getting my 7 year old ready for sh-ool (as Megamind would say) (no comments), anyway, this morning my daughter had to get ready for the school trip to the indoor water park.
My daughter has a cute tankini, with stylish belt included, is in her drawer, ready to wear. She also has another one piece suit that is equally cute but is nowhere to be found.
Commence argument. 
She does not want to wear the suit that shows a little of her stomach, because, it shows a little of her stomach. (in case you missed that). I however the shining beacon on Motherdom tell her not to worry, the suit is too cute, and she should love what she is wearing.
Really, I did that, I know. I don't need your judgement right now.
Finally my daughter had shamed me, by her example, to understand she is right. At 7 she is purer & smarter than me.
So, I searched and searched for the other swimsuit, the one that covered her entire body. The one that shamed her mother into the hoochi hall of fame.
Why do I care if she is the trendiest when it asks her to give some of her values up. Do I care more about being cute than letting her be happy and comfortable, unfortunately, the answer sometimes is yes. And to that, my dear Sophia, I am sorry. I love you. Thank you for showing me the way.

Hare Krishna Festival of colors of 2011

What a fun time we had. Family and I are in Utah visiting extended family and doing some work stuff. My beautiful cousin called and had a fun activity for us to do together. The Hare Krishna Festival. No, we weren't required to chant, although the mixtures of rock music and chanting were interesting. There were thousands of attendees covered in multi color chalk, dancing, singing.
But, the most fun was to see my own children unwind. Making friends with other chalk colors.

OK I will explain. The festival celebrates the triumph of good over bad with music, chanting and dancing.
"It's a festival of love where people can come and love each other face to face and that's why it's so popular," said festival coordinator Charu Das.

Every two hours, there is a countdown where everyone, when reaching that all so common, 3,2,1.....throw all colors of chalk  in the air. People are cheering and dancing. The cloud of chalk is like a rainbow dream. There was no drinking, which to some would be a disappointment, but with thousands in attendance, we were still able to bring our children.

We purchased our chalk in the pavilion, we did not get to pick our colors, so we had two different pinks, and yellow to throw in the air and at each other. Unfortunately, everything I do needs to be pretty, although pretty is relative when you are trotting around in the mud and covered in chalk, but you could be prettier and have the "right" colors thrown on you. So what did I do, I collected colors. Those walking by that had green, purple or orange, I would throw my chalk on them and they would reciprocate. So there I am, eyeing each passerby to ascertain their "color". Only I can take a festival of happiness and joy and turn it into a sting operation. Nevertheless this was such a fun day to spend with the family. Enjoy the pictures...

Sleeping my way to ruin.

As a working mother, there is always some running, running, running. I however have been more like crawling, crawling, crawling, lately. I get plenty of sleep but cannot seem to wake up refreshed or just wake up without wanting to kill someone. I am sooooo tired.
Skip to last night. Work, off at 6, check, dinner with two elderly friends 6-7:15, check, pack bags and off to overnight sleep study, check, Check-in at 9 PM. Once I finally arrive at the sleep center, I am escorted to my room. I stopped and got a trashy tabloid magazine to read before bed or while I was waiting, but I didn't have to wait long. Once the tech came into my room they attached what seemed like 20 or so electrodes to my head, neck, collar bone and ankles. Yes, I am glad you asked, it was terribly comfortable. Then they gather the wires toward the back of your head, like some sort of wiring harness, strap three bands around your chest and waist and say goodnight.

What the hell. It is hard enough to sleep well on a great night, much less dressed like John Cusack in Sixteen Candles. Not only do you have to fall asleep to have a sleep study conducted, which my previous reference proves, was ridiculous, you have to stay asleep without turning too much that you pull the wires out of your nifty battery pack thingy.

"It's morning" I hear in a cheerful voice as I am awoken at 5 AM the next morning by the sleep tech. It was time to get up and head home.
Ok, to refresh, sleep with a commodore 64 strapped to your head, awake at 5 AM without wanting to injure any of the staff. This sounds like a great introduction to sleeping disorders and therapy. I can't wait to see what is next. I will keep you informed.