“My Grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was 60. She’s 97 now, and we don’t know where the heck she is.” — Ellen Degeneres
If you are all wondering where I’ve been for the past two weeks, I am happy to report that I have been released back into the wild. Doc say’s I’m fit and ready to go.
Well, not fit per se’, seems I’ve gained ten pounds since my surgery. The weight gain puts me (uhg) 60 pounds over my target weight. He very politely side stepped that note ( nice man) and simply said I could now start a program, just start slow. Walking would be good. That and riding my bike. Just don’t over do it.
Me? Overdo something? Never. Unless you count my years in Tai Chi and Shaolin — maybe training for three hours a day was a bit much for a relaxing hobby, but I had a goal. I wanted to compete in China and to do that I had to place in Regionals, and then I needed to place in Nationals. I would have made it to China too, if I hadn’t blown out my ACL playing on the church softball team.
I don’t over do things at all.
Okay, maybe a little. But I’m learning.
I think I’m off to a good start. I stopped at Wal-Mart to buy milk and found these really cute work out clothes that I just had to have, because if I’m going to work out, I’m pretty sure people don’t want me to do it naked. And while I was there, I stopped at Payless for sneakers.
Oh yes, Payless shoe store. I like that store. I can usually find a buy one get one half off sale just about every time I go. I walk in the doors and the first thing I see is a poster of a pair of women’s legs that rival the lamp from A Christmas Story- minus the fish net stockings of course. These legs literally go up to the ceiling and are attached to pretty pair of Champion Shoes. The poster goes on to tell me how these tennis shoes have three different patented technologies that will tone, firm and perform liposuction, all for $29.95 plus tax. What a deal.
Yes I bought them. I’m a sucker for visual advertising and I too want to believe if I own these shoes I will look like the gal in the poster.
Posters lie. I’ve had these shoes for six days now and my legs don’t look anything like the ones in the window. I’m apparently supposed to walk in them in order for them to work. Figures.
Who wants to walk when the heat index is over 100? I’m too busy driving around in my air-conditioned pick up truck saying hello to everyone I haven’t seen in a few months. I plan on walking, starting today. Who knows, maybe I’ll like it so much that instead of driving my truck over to say hello, I’ll just walk over.
But for now, I’m thinking a walk to the park is probably good enough.
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart, July 1, 2010. All rights reserved.
Disclosure of material connection. No goods or services were provided in exchange for my writing about Champion Shoes or Payless Shoes Store.
The picture to the left is our shed before we painted it. – I was in a patriotic mood the year we bought that shed and wanted our home to be red, white and blue – a color combination very popular in New England, but not so popular in Oklahoma. I wound up choosing a more color neutral pallet for our house so that it would fit in with our neighborhood that prefers beige to everything else. What worked for the shed was rejected for the main house. I still like the colors, but it is time for a change. And wow – did I change it.
Not being able to work in my garden is probably the most difficult part of my recovery from surgery. I love working in my gardens. Something about it is peaceful and comforting. Still, just because I can’t physically work in them doesn’t mean that I cannot plan them.So that’s what I’ve been doing — working through new plans.
I told you a few days ago about how I was on the Better Homes and Gardens pages and got inspired to redo our garden shed. I thought my husband was going to hold his breath until he turned blue in Home Depot and I still walked out of the store with watermelon, Green Apple, and Lilac paints. I am a blessed woman.My oldest painted and I helped as I could. Yes, DH thinks he deserves canonization for it, but Lutheran’s don’t canonize, so the poor man is out of luck.
This cute sign (Above) – Plant Grow Bloom was purchased from Amanda’s Gift Shop on E-bay
The metal flowers below were purchased from Lowes Hardware store.
If you look closely, we had to use special brackets (purchased separately) at the top of the wire sculpture. The hardware that came with the flowers was not sufficient to attach to the wall. The watermelon color is by Glidden and the green and lilac are Behr. I wanted all three in Behr, but you are not allowed to cross brands. Meaning, I cannot pick up a Glidden color card and ask the Lowes guy to mix it in a non Glidden paint and vice versa. Nothing against Glidden, it’s a great paint, I just prefer Behr for longevity. Having said that, I really like Glidden’s exterior color pallet this year, it’s bright, and very versatile.
The watermelon was a little intense, so we used lilac with the green apple on the sides.
Side view -- now to go back and add the landscape.
So that is my new garden shed. Pretty hunh? Being the only female in my house, I’m pretty much the only one who likes it. My husband has jokingly told me his tools may not be able to live in such a place. And even though he’s not on the same artistic page as I, he does agree this project and these colors have not yet killed him.
We still have landscaping to finish. Pea gravel for the front of the doors, some flowers and maybe a rose-bush or two. I have a wisteria that I need to move and will probably put it next to the shed for stability. The white picket fence in the back ground is new as well. My dogs were destroying the fence line and have broken the main gate too many times, which is why we split the yard this year.
And that is how I spent my recovery time – blue printing and planning my gardens. I have more to come and as time and the doctor allows, I’ll be busy.
Have a great day ya’ll and don’t forget your sun screen.
On a side note, I was linked to from Shed Building Master’s Class last week. What a huge compliment. If you want to know more about building your own shed, please be sure to check them out. It’s a really nice and professional looking piece.
Not everyone hates Mary. It’s easy to think that sometimes, especially when sitting in a protestant church. Pastors seem afraid to speak of Mary – Mother of Jesus – in a positive light, lest they give the opinion that we are worshipping her. Lutheran pastors are probably the worst in that regard.
For those who don’t know me, let me add I am a Lutheran, by marriage, but a Lutheran nonetheless. I don’t want you thinking that I’m picking on Lutherans here because that is not my intent. Most Lutherans are, however, overly cautious on anything that might be perceived as Catholic teaching. And so,they avoid Mary.
Mary, as a mother, has always fascinated me. I can’t imagine what she must have been thinking, or how she did the things she did. She was 13, 14 at the most, when Gabriel came to her and offered greetings. WOW — I haven’t really given her much thought lately, until.. A half sheet of paper fell out of a book bag this morning. On it are my notes from a Sunday School class I taught last December. Doesn’t mean much really, except that I taught a class DEFENDING Mary’s title as Mother of God as well as her dignity within our church. My passionate tone, opinions, and facts cover that half page of take home material.
I’m not sure what I remember most, the excitement over being allowed to lead the women’s class in December while pastor led the men – or the fact that I got teach on something that resonated so passionately within my spirit.
Like I said, Lutherans seem to be afraid of Mary. – Unless you are a Catholic – with a capital “C” Lutheran – and I recently learned that we have a few of those around. It was because of one such local pastor, that I found the courage to dig deeper into Mary’s story. By doing so, I found pieces of my own.
I’m looking at my notes today and I see my first point – Mary’s response to Gabriel seems flip, almost a “yeah what do you want” kind of response and why is that? Because Mary knew her history. She wasn’t the first person to “find favor” with the Lord. Abraham, Moses, and King David to name a few also found favor.
Having an angel of the Lord appear to you to say “you found favor” means only one thing really; Your life is about to be turned upside down. Go or someone is going to die.
Lot to ask of a 13 year old. Lot to ask of a 44 year old.
What has me pondering today, isn’t the message I taught on Mary, but the fact that I have roughly 50 of these pages scattered throughout my closet, into my den, and on my kitchen counters. Someone probably just needed that book bag, but still… I’m a little on the creeped out side because
Everywhere I look I see that phrase “Your life is about to be turned inside out – go – or people will die… Will you answer the call?
Edited to add: My liturgical studies have ended for now. I will write more about it later, but for now I’d like to leave this thought. There is a difference between capital C, Catholic and small c, catholic; one equals Rome, the other means universal. While I am grateful for the opportunity to dig more deeply into the things of God, I’ve learned that to replace a real relationship with Christ for the things of Christ (a worship service only from the hymnal) is like having a parishioner who mails in their tithe but doesn’t come to church. They’ve done their duty, but nothing more. They are bound by obligation and pride, but not love.
Participation Trophies are humiliating, at least that is what THIS blogger says about that. And you know what? I think she’s right. And so do my kids – who have those trophies by the way. They also have trophies they actually EARNED and they like those a lot better.
While we (boomers and well wanna be boomers such as myself) lament over what is wrong with the allegedly overly entitled millennials (Gen Yer’s) they in turn lament over our own overly inflated opinion of self.
What is interesting to me is while writers and others lament over the way we’ve allegedly spoiled our millennial kids (I have two of them) with participation trophies for sports and science fairs, grades based on perceived ability to achieve as opposed to actual achievement, we too ignore our own shortfalls and I want to know when did failure become a bad word?
When my children’s Christian grade school closed, we sought out one of those artsy fartsy country schools for my youngest. We thought it would be good for him to learn at his own pace in a more “open and accepting” environment. This school was so open and accepting (of anyone willing to pay $10k a year) that he wound up repeating the 6th grade when we transferred him to another school the following year. Turns out they grade on perceived ability and being the brilliant child he is – he convinced them he had the IQ of squid and made straight A’s all year while doing little more than breathing in and out.
We’re even lied to in church. What with the feel good evangelical movement all around us that sells us a lie that I believe has the potential to condemn us.. The “God doesn’t make junk, therefore I don’t sin anymore” propaganda that some pulpits try to pour down our throats, even within my own synod sometimes.
My only question is: If I don’t fail, don’t sin, and gosh darn it people like me, do I really need a savior?
Don’t get me wrong, God doesn’t make junk, I’m not junk, some people really DO like me, but I still sin, and I still fail. And I think it’s okay to admit that.
And yet — I’m told that if I admit my failings, that I’m beating myself up needlessly. Really? I thought God’s word told us to confess our sins to one another.. To seek forgiveness. To be humble and transparent.
There are those who would rather blame others, or blame God than admit they failed. If so and so had done thus and such everything would have turned out alright – or here’s a subtle lie I was recently told:
I chaired a community egg hunt a few years back. We planned on about 1,000 people and twice that showed up. We were overrun, my volunteers bailed. Teens ran through the crowd and stole most of our eggs (I’m not making that up). Hundred’s of children went without. I had children crying, parents yelling. What was left of my team jumped under the prize tent to split up baskets and hand out what we could to children. Parents, upset that their child had not received anything yet stole prizes out of our hands.
The egg hunt was in my mind a complete disaster. I – as chairman and MC of the Event failed. I learned from it, I know what to do differently now and what went wrong, but I still – in my opinion – failed.
What surprises me is how many people are eager to hand me a participation trophy. They tell me that I am the only person on the entire team who takes personal accountability for that event and considers it a failure. “We didn’t fail Deana. God just used that to show us we weren’t thinking big enough. So you really don’t need to beat yourself up.”
Oh really?
Don’t get me wrong, God’s grace covers a multitude of shortcomings yes, and I’m not talking about perfection here – what I am talking about though – is when I die and go to heaven, I don’t want a participation trophy that says “good for you, you tried.” I want those crowns that we’re promised, the ones we get to throw back at the feet of Christ. The ones we cannot get unless we are willing to try, fail, admit we failed, confess, repent, and try again.
Oh I failed — miserably. I was ill prepared, over run and terrified of not only the crowd, but the people “above me” who wouldn’t listen to my arguments of location location location. The good news is, I didn’t stay down. I took all of that back to the cross, and picking myself up, dusting myself off, I prayed for teachers, and opportunities to learn how to do better next time.
And God answered those prayers with wonderful men and women who came along side me for a season and have taught me great things about ministry, planning, events, speaking, and even comedy. By admitting I failed, I open myself up to more grace and more of God’s hand than I could ever imagine. And yet, so many times, so many of us would rather receive a participation trophy than admit we failed. Why is that?
I believe failure becomes a bad word when we don’t own it. When we can’t get past the false shame and confess – truthfully – to God and to eachother that we missed the mark.
Failure becomes a bad word when we miss the redemption that Christ promises us in his word. “If we say we have no sin we decieve ourselves and the truth is not in us. BUT if we confess ours sins (failures) God who is faithful and Just will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
Why do you think we are afraid of the “F” word? Why are we – our generation – afraid to own it when we fail? I’d love to hear from you.
This blog post is written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved. Deana lives in Oklahoma, is a stand up comic, motivational speaker, mother of two highly creative boys and the wife of one awesome musician.
I had the amazing privilege of being a hostess for nationally known speaker Thelma Wells at an E-Women conference not that long ago. Having seen Thelma speak at Women of Faith for years, I have to admit I was little intimidated. Something interesting happened the weekend I met Thelma – her mothering spirit met my daughter’s heart and it took everything I had to remember I was there to serve and not be served and not just crawl into her lap for the weekend like I wanted.
Thelma is warm, kind, inspiring and insightful. Hosting Thelma for this blog tour, is an honor and a privilege. I will post her interview on Saturday, June 12, but for now I’d like you to know a little bit about her newest book and about her.
Enjoy…
Ready to Win Over Depression by Thelma Wells
(Harvest House Publishers)
Every year depression strikes more than 35 million in the United States alone. Popular speaker and author Thelma Wells knows firsthand how difficult depression can be. She provides powerful tools readers can use to successfully battle depression. With her trademark action-based, faith living, Thelma offers powerful real-life stories, medical facts, and biblical truths. She helps readers evaluate where they are (clinical depression, situational depression, “the blues”) and implement four steps to counter life’s negatives:
change the way they talk
share their feelings with someone
take care of their health—physical and mental
get outside themselves by helping others
Using interactive self-evaluations, readers tackle depression at the source by applying God’s promises and principles. Thelma says, “Most of all, they’ll see how they can become winners over the effects of depression. Don’t give in—God wants you to win in every situation!”
About the Author
From times of singing in a dark closet to the founding of a national women’s mentoring ministry, Thelma Wells’ life has been a courageous journey of faith. The name on her birth certificate read simply: Baby Girl Morris. Thelma’s mother was a severely deformed teenager with no husband and no place to go, since her own abusive mother insisted that she take the baby and leave the house. So when the baby was born, her unwed teenage mother found work as a maid cleaning “the big house” while living with her baby daughter in servants’ quarters. Eventually, the baby went to live with her great-grandparents, who called her Thelma Louise Smith and loved her dearly. They took little Thelma to church, where she learned to love the hymns and praise songs.
Thelma “Mama T” Wells
Find out how to have Thelma speak for your group’s event CLICK HERE
On those occasions when Thelma was taken to her grandparents’ home, her grandmother abused her, just as she had tormented Thelma’s mother. She was locked in a dark, smelly, insect-infested closet until just before her grandfather came home when her grandmother would bring her out of the closet, clean her up, and act as if all was well. In spite of her deep fear, little Thelma spent her time in the closet singing every hymn and praise song she could remember. She would sing herself to sleep in that closet, and the Lord received this little girl’s innocent praise and rewarded it with an abundant life of joy, protecting her from feelings of anger or bitterness.
Thelma grew up to become a trailblazer for black women, a prominent international speaker and author, and a wife, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. As a student at North Texas State University in Denton, Texas (now the University of North Texas), she was a member of the first group of girls to integrate the school’s dormitories. She earned her Bachelor’s degree there and eventually received a Master’s of Ministry from Master’s International School of Divinity in Evansville, Indiana. In 2002 she became the school’s first black female professor.
In 1980 Thelma became the first black woman in the South to organize her own international speaking and consulting corporation. Her natural talent for public speaking and storytelling attracted the attention of the Women of Faith Tour, and in 1996 she became the first black core speaker for the organization. She has authored several books, including her latest God Is Not Through With Me Yet, an inspiring examination of her own life experiences in which she encourages readers to “sing in the closets of their lives.” She serves as the president of The Daughters of Zion Leadership Mentoring Program, an organization she founded in 2000 (another first for a black woman). Through this ministry, “Mama T,” as she is affectionately called, has mentored over 100 spiritual daughters, received an honorary doctorate degree and was ordained into the Christian Ministry on December 16, 2008, from St. Thomas Christian College and Theological Seminary and the Association of Christian Churches in Jacksonville, Florida. She was also was named Extraordinary Woman of the Year 2008 by Mrs. Julie Clinton, Host of the Extraordinary Women Conferences an affiliate of the American Association of Christian Counselors.
Thelma has been married to George Wells, her best friend, supporter, and encourager, for over 45 years. The couple lives in Dallas, Texas, and has three children, eight grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren.
Word to the wise: When planning out your gardening ideas, it is sometimes best to not let your husband see you on the Better Homes and Gardens Web pages. He saw this photo and almost had a stroke.
We are painting our shed and I did pick out some less than traditional colors like watermellon, lilac, and green apple. I think it’ll look great. DH isn’t so sure. He say’s his power tools will need a new place to live.
I think he’s exagerating just a little – but you never know.
In the mean time, DH is trying to find a way to block Better Homes and Gardens from our computer.
Oct 18, 2011 – This particular piece received a lot of hits this week so I thought I’d look at it to see why and oh wow I really shouldn’t publish blog pieces while still on pain meds. I’d delete this, but there’s some good stuff in it, even if it does reveal a mild (and short lived) post-op crush on my surgeon – so I’m keeping it. You should have seen it before I scrubbed it — mortified does not even begin to describe how I feel reading this a year later and realizing it has gone viral locally. I wrote this back when I had all of four readers — my family — and then I promptly forgot about it until now. — This is part of a series I’d written during my hysterectomy in 2010. You can tab to the older entries to see the full story if you’d like. or not. Either way – enjoy.
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The only thing I hate more than going to the doctor’s office is going to a MALE doctor’s office. I don’t do doctors. I especially don’t do MALE doctors. Hmmm. Nope, not my style. And yet what do I get with my referral on Easter? A Male doctor. Nice.
Color my Easter basket un-thrilled. It’s bad enough I was in so much pain I had to leave Easter Services to go to the hospital, now I find out that I need to see a guy about my female parts? Can I just please fall down a rabbit hole and stay there? I mean, it worked for Alice didn’t it? —
Oh that’s right, she came out of it eventually.
Drat.
I tried to drown my pitiful sorrows with chocolate marshmallow bunnies, but it didn’t help. I needed to see a specialist and he was available and it turns out, it didn’t kill me.
My surgeon at looks kinda like Robert Downey Jr (or at least he did post anesthesia), is a College Lit major before med school, artist, poet, loves the rock band U2, happily married with children, is a total brainiac, and he cares as much about my emotional well-being as he does my physical health.
Can I keep him if I say he followed me home?
Okay, well no probably not. I’m pretty sure my husband wouldn’t go for the whole followed me home bit. Worked with the cat, but not a doctor.
Still, the whole reason I know he loves U2 is because I told him once that my husband and I have tickets to see U2 in Denver on June 12 and how I think that I “need” to be well by then.
Even though the answer is no climbing the Rockies so soon after my hysterectomy, my surgeon did at least empathize with me. He also found a way for us to connect emotionally – a mutual appreciation for the rock band U2. That connection took me from freaked out scared to “I think I can do this.”
I like that.
I tell him a lot of things actually, and I am pleasantly shocked to discover that he not only listens to me – he repeats facts I’ve shared back to me at various times and uses them work through a plan of action for my recovery. He hears me. Wow.
My MALE surgeon rocks like Bono….
………………. only better. Who knew?
So why is this news?
Because I only use female doctors thank you very much. Always have always will. Except for this time. This time I needed an emergency referral and opted for first available and got R.D. Jr. Edited on June 29 to add — my surgeon is my new GYN. I’m not going back to someone else. He’s an excellent doctor, and I can get over his being male — eventually. (laughs)
Common myths I’ve always believed.
1. A female Doctor will understand me in ways a male doctor cannot.
2. A female doctor will listen and be compassionate.
AND
3. I’ve always thought of Male gynecologists as a creepier than normal Mr Rogers. (I’m serious, grown men in cardigans have scared me since I was a toddler.)
What I’ve learned in the last 40 days –
It’s not the sex of your doctor that matters, it’s the doctor that matters.
My female doctor listened to my complaints about my cycle getting worse and said “Welcome to Peri-Menopause” without looking into it.
RDJ said let’s look for the cause.
My female doctor listened to my complaints about my bladder getting weaker and said “Welcome to middle age, it comes from having babies dear.”
RDJ said, “I might be able to fix that, if you need me to, but I’m not sure you do yet. Let’s find the balance between too much and just enough, okay?”
My female doctor listened to my complaints about random abdominal pain and said “here take these pills, I think you are getting depressed.”
RDJ. said “This is why you are in pain, …… I can fix that.”
My female doctor felt the top of my mass, said my abs had split and told me where I could get a tummy tuck.
I never asked him where I could have gotten one of those. That would have been well… too much for me. But what he did so is spend more time doing the surgery right (albeit the hard way) so that I could recover more quickly. And it was the fibroid pressing on my bladder that was causing my “issues” and not my babies after all.
I can’t tell you if my surgeon is good at making eye contact, because I wasn’t. I still have some issues with the whole male gyn thing, BUT: What I can tell you is at this office, and at Saint Whosits in Tulsa, I felt cared for, cared about, and taken care of. He listened to me and he included me in every step of the process. He went out of his way to make me comfortable and help me understand.
While I’ve worked with men almost my whole life – I prefer to stay in my head. Intellectually I can match any man. What I don’t do well, is vulnerable. And in order for this patient/doctor relationship to really work, I have to be vulnerable. What’s great about this office, and this particular surgeon is they make it easier to do that than I had expected.
I couldn’t ask for more in a doctor, male or female. Can you? So, question for you dear friends, what is your favorite thing about your doctor and what is your least favorite thing?
I realize I am being more well, personal than usual. I mean yeah, I can wear my heart on my sleeve, but today – I want you to see my internal heart.
Added May 31, 2011 – It has been exactly a year since my hysterectomy. (Read update here) I cannot even put into words how much better I feel physically, emotionally, and spiritually. While I wish I could have avoided the surgery, I’m grateful for the staff of doctors and nurses who walked me through it every step of the way.
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved. Please note that no goods or services were provided in exchange for this post.
For those of you dear readers who have been with me since the doctors found a mass in my uterus, I thank you for your prayers, thoughts and encouraging remarks. For those of you who are new to my blog, it’s been a roller coaster of a ride since Easter Sunday. The good news is, I’ve had my surgery, and I’m home recovering. Preliminary test results say I do not have cancer, I do have a fibroid mass that is larger than a grapefruit and smaller than a bread basket, plus my endometrial cells are presently mutating into a precancerous state thus requiring a hysterectomy. They took everything but my ovaries.
The surgery was more difficult than my doctor anticipated, The mass was so big they named my uterus “Fergus” (I’m not kidding, doctors crack me up) Even though it was a bit on the tricky side according to my surgeon, they were able to get everything. They did everything laproscopically as well so that my recovery time would be shortened.
The pain coming out of surgery was worse than I’d experienced after my gallbladder surgery and ACL repair combined. I vaguely recall getting into it with a post op nurse over pain meds at one moment and seeing my surgeon standing between us the next. It took most of Friday to get my pain under control. I’m not sure why it was so high, but it was. I’m usually much more tolerant of pain.
I have since learned that I lost a good deal of blood, my BP was really low (80 over 43 low), and my oxygen levels were also below 90% – they had more serious issues to deal with before leveling out my pain. I just didn’t realize it at the time. I’m sure there is a spiritual lesson in there somewhere.
I’ve been anemic for months and the blood loss during surgery has made it worse. What the doctors told me is I’ve become accustomed to operating on not enough fuel. Once my hemoglobin and oxygen levels return to where they are supposed to be, I am going to be a completely different woman.
I’m on a two-week rest order. My DH thought he took the time off to take care of me, and what he’s discovered is he took the time off to keep me out of trouble. I’m feeling better, I want to work now and can’t. Rest is not optional, it’s required.
I have my pile of books that I’ve been meaning to get around to reading. Photos I’ve been wanting to get around to sorting. And files that need to be organized along with videos I’ve been meaning to watch.
I’m also learning how to let other people “bless us” by offering help, bringing meals and what not. Something this caretaker is decidedly NOT good at.
Calling off the surgery was a good call. I went home and slept for three days. Turns out, I was one sick puppy. Once I came to, I discovered that my lungs could no longer tolerate smoke and I am reluctantly happy to report that I am smoke free. I say reluctantly because while I cannot tolerate smoke, it doesn’t mean I don’t crave them. Color me with nicotine patches and I’m tolerable to be around.
Smoking did not go down without a fight. I tried to smoke – it didn’t work. I couldn’t inhale and that frustrated me. So for two or three days, I played with cigarettes, watched them burn, watched the smoke, remembered my Father in Law and my Grandparents, and kinda grieved. Okay – it’s pathetically wierd and I know it. But cut me some slack here okay?
My grandparents smoked and neither of them died from it. My father-in-law and I were very close buds and he did die from it. My emotional tie to cigarettes has everything to do with my emotional ties to these people who are no longer in my life. Letting go of my own cigarettes is another step in letting go of them.
I visited Dr B’s office yesterday and my lungs sound fine. We talked about music (he likes U2 as much as we do) and surgery and we are ready to rock and roll on Friday. literally – he listens to U2 while he operates. That just totally cracks me up.
I did catch something funny that he does. When he’s talking to me, he stands next to me and holds my right hand with his right hand and he places his left hand on my wrist. All this time I thought it was a nurturing and centering tactic, which it is. I also figured out that it allows him to feel my pulse while he’s talking to me to check my anxiety. Laugh out Loud. Jeff and I figured that out last night.
I can lie through my teeth, but I can’t lie through my veins. This whole mass-in-the-uterus-in-you-need-a hysterectomy thing has me a little on the scared side.
Out-smarted by a surgeon. Go figure!
So later gators. I have salt water to drink – don’t ask and an operation to get ready for.
I’ll post again later next week. Have a wonderful weekend.
“My Grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was 60. She’s 97 now, and we don’t know where the heck she is.” — Ellen Degeneres
Deana O'Hara - Speaker, Comedian, Writer 