Mood: annoyed
Didn't everyone's parents tell them this as children. Have people always been as hateful and mean as we are now? And if not, then when did we become such a mean culture? When did we decide that the best way to begin feeling better about ourselves was to tear others down? When did the need to constantly feel superior to the other begin? Why do we continue this even when we know how harmful and hurtful this behavior is?
For the past few days I've been mulling over a few posts I've seen on Facebook or Pinterest recently that bash women who wear makeup when going to the gym. Full disclosure because we're all friends here, I am that woman. I wear mascara to the gym.
I kind of let go of these posts because they really didn't upset me that much but then, I started thinking about Panera jerk from this past fall. For full details on what I'm talking about, read here.
Then today, as I'm browsing a style/beauty book in the Amazon eBook store I read a comment that states "women need to read this book before ever leaving the house in jeans because it would save me from seeing so much public ugliness." Really? REALLY? I'm pretty sure the public ugliness is your comment.
After reading that these feelings of inadequacy turned into an incensed anger. Why is this okay behavior?
Honestly, when did it become acceptable and normal to be so rude to each other?
Maybe I wear makeup to the gym not because I want to look good for anyone there, but because without it I feel too insecure to leave my house some days. Maybe I wear makeup to the gym because it helps me to feel more powerful and increases the amount of work I do there. Maybe the reason I wear makeup to the gym is none of your damn business.
Or maybe, just maybe, if we lived in a less judgmental and hateful world, I wouldn't feel so "ugly in public" and I could cart my yoga pants wearing fat ass to the gym, makeup free, but with a genuine smile on my face.
There is a quote that has made the rounds online by Jennifer Lawrence about how people veil this horrendous behavior by saying "welcome to the real world" and her retort was "that shouldn't be the real world" and I cannot applaud her enough for saying that. It shouldn't be acceptable to bash and hate and bully and belittle and then just tell people to suck it up.
I know that one of my resolutions in this new year is to do more good. To start leaving more encouraging messages randomly on cars or in public restrooms. I started this blog as a way to impact change in my own world and while it has served that purpose, it has strayed as well. I hope, this year, to blog more intentionally about making a positive change in the world. As my favorite artist, Andrew McMahon sings, "this world can be ugly, but isn't it beautiful?"
Yes, Andrew. Yes it is. If there is one thing I learned from cancer it is that the world is full of generosity and beauty and truly amazing people, even when things seem to be at their most hopeless. And I vow to do my part this year to help others see the beauty that I now do each and every day. I hope you'll join me.
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
2013/11/26
Black and White
Mood: thankful
My most hated nickname from my family is Drama Queen. I HATE that nickname more than any of the others, and my dad has an affinity for calling me Poopstain so I think that is saying quite a lot. The reason that I hate it is because, well, it's true. And I hate this about myself. I live my life in extremes, in black or white. I am forever disappointed that life is a series of confusing, convoluted, nebulous events rather than concrete absolutes
Today is one of those days where I am just so disgusted by myself and my need for things to be 100% one way or the other. I really do wish that I could change, but time and again I find myself disappointed over unclear or indirect answers.
Today Jeff, Malcolm and I headed to the oncologist for his post chemotherapy CT scan. A little over three hours after arriving at the hospital we arrived at our moment of truth. Were we facing a happy, healthy holiday season? Or another battle for Jeff's life?
I wanted so, so badly to hear that Jeff is 100% in remission and is healthy and has kicked cancer's ass. I really did want to hear that.
And, for the most part, that is what we heard. Thank God that Jeff is healthy! The oncologist declared Jeff to be in remission, but, there are still spots visible on the CT scan. They do not appear cancerous, and it is unlikely that these spots are, however the oncologist just is not sure what they are. He says that he does not believe them to be cancer. A needle biopsy is out of the question due to the position of these spots; they are located too close to blood vessels. If a biopsy is to be done it would be invasive surgery removing the mass and a chunk of lung.
So, while we got tremendous news today, is yet one more shade of gray in a world that I so wish was black and white. The poetic justice of the CT scan images is too much, really. It is the white and black that are normal. The gray masses are the unknown, the threats, the unanswered questions.
I am truly thankful that Jeff is healthy and the smile on his face once he heard the news...I haven't seen one like that in months. I cannot say how relieved I am to know that all of his heartache and physical pain from chemotherapy has resulted in his health once again. Yet, I cannot get these masses off of my mind. I know I am in for a long holiday season because I am a drama queen and I worry about everything. Cancer continues to humble me and I continue to learn and grow because of it.
Now we play a waiting game again, and on top of being dramatic I am eternally impatient. In January Jeff returns to the oncologist for another CT scan and more blood work. If the masses are gone, we are totally in the clear. If they are not, we are facing a bone marrow transplant.
Thursday, when we sit down to eat I know I will not be without worry or anxiety, because that is just who I am. But, I will be thankful that my husband is alive. I will be thankful that Malcolm has a father with many years of life and love ahead of him. And I will be thankful to bear witness that God has carried us through this.
My most hated nickname from my family is Drama Queen. I HATE that nickname more than any of the others, and my dad has an affinity for calling me Poopstain so I think that is saying quite a lot. The reason that I hate it is because, well, it's true. And I hate this about myself. I live my life in extremes, in black or white. I am forever disappointed that life is a series of confusing, convoluted, nebulous events rather than concrete absolutes
Today is one of those days where I am just so disgusted by myself and my need for things to be 100% one way or the other. I really do wish that I could change, but time and again I find myself disappointed over unclear or indirect answers.
Today Jeff, Malcolm and I headed to the oncologist for his post chemotherapy CT scan. A little over three hours after arriving at the hospital we arrived at our moment of truth. Were we facing a happy, healthy holiday season? Or another battle for Jeff's life?
I wanted so, so badly to hear that Jeff is 100% in remission and is healthy and has kicked cancer's ass. I really did want to hear that.
And, for the most part, that is what we heard. Thank God that Jeff is healthy! The oncologist declared Jeff to be in remission, but, there are still spots visible on the CT scan. They do not appear cancerous, and it is unlikely that these spots are, however the oncologist just is not sure what they are. He says that he does not believe them to be cancer. A needle biopsy is out of the question due to the position of these spots; they are located too close to blood vessels. If a biopsy is to be done it would be invasive surgery removing the mass and a chunk of lung.
So, while we got tremendous news today, is yet one more shade of gray in a world that I so wish was black and white. The poetic justice of the CT scan images is too much, really. It is the white and black that are normal. The gray masses are the unknown, the threats, the unanswered questions.
I am truly thankful that Jeff is healthy and the smile on his face once he heard the news...I haven't seen one like that in months. I cannot say how relieved I am to know that all of his heartache and physical pain from chemotherapy has resulted in his health once again. Yet, I cannot get these masses off of my mind. I know I am in for a long holiday season because I am a drama queen and I worry about everything. Cancer continues to humble me and I continue to learn and grow because of it.
Now we play a waiting game again, and on top of being dramatic I am eternally impatient. In January Jeff returns to the oncologist for another CT scan and more blood work. If the masses are gone, we are totally in the clear. If they are not, we are facing a bone marrow transplant.
Thursday, when we sit down to eat I know I will not be without worry or anxiety, because that is just who I am. But, I will be thankful that my husband is alive. I will be thankful that Malcolm has a father with many years of life and love ahead of him. And I will be thankful to bear witness that God has carried us through this.
2013/09/09
Cancer: A Lesson in Humility
Mood: humbled
This post has taken me nearly two weeks to write. So bear with me....
I don't know who reads this blog, I suspect my parents. My sister. Maybe my brother. Close friends from the east coast. A few co-workers from Iowa. Other than that, I have no idea. Many of you probably already know then, that my husband Jeff had a brief battle with testicular cancer in April. We got the all clear and he's been having two month check-ups.
His last one was August 30.
I hate going to the cancer center at the hospital. I hate that we have to go. I hate dragging Malcolm along as he sings and chatters and Jeff and clutch to what little sanity we have left before the appointment. I hate the waiting room.
Last time we walked in, sat down and within two minutes watched a woman have a complete breakdown as she left the office. I've never heard wailing and sobbing so loudly in public before. And it's not at all that I was uncomfortable, but I was completely helpless. I don't know what prompted her tears and it really is irrelevant. I wanted to hug her, to tell her she mattered, to do anything that might momentarily relieve the pain in her heart. All I could do was wipe my own eyes and focus on Malcolm reading the story he had picked up from the front of the office. Jeff and I caught each other's eyes and the heartbreak I felt was mirrored.
To get to the office that Jeff's oncologist is in we have to walk past a pediatric cancer office. The first few times we went it was empty. The last two times we've gone, there have been children, younger than Malcolm, and mothers waiting. Each time we walked past that office or we left the cancer center with only a two month check-up appointment and a bill of all clear I realized how immensely lucky we were/are. Sure, we got the news that Jeff did have cancer at this office, but it was out of his body by the time we needed the oncologist. And at least our child was accompanying us because we didn't have a babysitter and not because he needed an appointment.
With each time that we left I got a little more confidence. It was a little easier. We didn't hear bad news. We weren't taking Malcolm. Maybe, just maybe, one brief battle was all we had to endure and we were now impervious to bad news and the devastation that is cancer. After all, Jeff is in his early 30s. I have yet to hit 30. Malcolm is only 4.
That's the thing about cancer, though. It doesn't care how old you are or who you are or where you're from or what you've done. Cancer attacks without rhyme or reason. And that, is a humbling lesson to learn. You grow up knowing of the horror stories or watching them play out. The first funeral I remember attending was for a very good friend in high school who died at the age of 15 after a horrendous battle with leukemia. My grandfather battled cancer for a large part of my adult life. But, you know, it just doesn't happen to you.
Until it does.
On August 30th we found out that there is a mass in Jeff's lung. Testicular cancer typically reappears in the back, according to the oncologist. That doesn't mean it can't come back in the lungs. So, now we wait for his biopsy. I really don't have coherent thoughts on what is happening now. Except that it sucks. And it's scary. And I hate it. And, I know better than to expect that nothing is wrong because I've learned this year, if nothing else, that nobody is immune to anything. Cancer sucks.
And it can happen to those you love the very most. Those that you've pledged to spend the rest of your life with....and only had 2 years with. It happens. And it sucks.
As we wait, I guess I'll try and keep calm. And laugh as much as possible. And enjoy every second of health that Jeff has at the moment. If the mass is cancerous he's looking at a three month round of chemo. So. I'll take deep breaths when I need to and cry when I have to and laugh every second that I can. And I'll remember above all else to count every blessing I have instead of focusing on what is going wrong. Because positivity matters.
This post has taken me nearly two weeks to write. So bear with me....
I don't know who reads this blog, I suspect my parents. My sister. Maybe my brother. Close friends from the east coast. A few co-workers from Iowa. Other than that, I have no idea. Many of you probably already know then, that my husband Jeff had a brief battle with testicular cancer in April. We got the all clear and he's been having two month check-ups.
His last one was August 30.
I hate going to the cancer center at the hospital. I hate that we have to go. I hate dragging Malcolm along as he sings and chatters and Jeff and clutch to what little sanity we have left before the appointment. I hate the waiting room.
Last time we walked in, sat down and within two minutes watched a woman have a complete breakdown as she left the office. I've never heard wailing and sobbing so loudly in public before. And it's not at all that I was uncomfortable, but I was completely helpless. I don't know what prompted her tears and it really is irrelevant. I wanted to hug her, to tell her she mattered, to do anything that might momentarily relieve the pain in her heart. All I could do was wipe my own eyes and focus on Malcolm reading the story he had picked up from the front of the office. Jeff and I caught each other's eyes and the heartbreak I felt was mirrored.
To get to the office that Jeff's oncologist is in we have to walk past a pediatric cancer office. The first few times we went it was empty. The last two times we've gone, there have been children, younger than Malcolm, and mothers waiting. Each time we walked past that office or we left the cancer center with only a two month check-up appointment and a bill of all clear I realized how immensely lucky we were/are. Sure, we got the news that Jeff did have cancer at this office, but it was out of his body by the time we needed the oncologist. And at least our child was accompanying us because we didn't have a babysitter and not because he needed an appointment.
With each time that we left I got a little more confidence. It was a little easier. We didn't hear bad news. We weren't taking Malcolm. Maybe, just maybe, one brief battle was all we had to endure and we were now impervious to bad news and the devastation that is cancer. After all, Jeff is in his early 30s. I have yet to hit 30. Malcolm is only 4.
That's the thing about cancer, though. It doesn't care how old you are or who you are or where you're from or what you've done. Cancer attacks without rhyme or reason. And that, is a humbling lesson to learn. You grow up knowing of the horror stories or watching them play out. The first funeral I remember attending was for a very good friend in high school who died at the age of 15 after a horrendous battle with leukemia. My grandfather battled cancer for a large part of my adult life. But, you know, it just doesn't happen to you.
Until it does.
On August 30th we found out that there is a mass in Jeff's lung. Testicular cancer typically reappears in the back, according to the oncologist. That doesn't mean it can't come back in the lungs. So, now we wait for his biopsy. I really don't have coherent thoughts on what is happening now. Except that it sucks. And it's scary. And I hate it. And, I know better than to expect that nothing is wrong because I've learned this year, if nothing else, that nobody is immune to anything. Cancer sucks.
And it can happen to those you love the very most. Those that you've pledged to spend the rest of your life with....and only had 2 years with. It happens. And it sucks.
As we wait, I guess I'll try and keep calm. And laugh as much as possible. And enjoy every second of health that Jeff has at the moment. If the mass is cancerous he's looking at a three month round of chemo. So. I'll take deep breaths when I need to and cry when I have to and laugh every second that I can. And I'll remember above all else to count every blessing I have instead of focusing on what is going wrong. Because positivity matters.
2011/02/28
I'm Extra Ordinary.....
Mood: I've got a little bit of hope...like a soap on a rope....
I love Better Than Ezra...
When I wake up...or before I fall asleep...it will be March. I can't believe that the first 2 months of 2011 are gone already. It feels as though it's been a full year...and just a week at the same time.
As we welcome Spring and Lent and of course...my birthday...I've been doing some thinking. I started a journal again. While writing on here is cathartic for me...it's nothing compared to putting a pen to paper. To the feeling of physically getting words out of me. To watch my hand hold a pen and form words from my thoughts. The beauty of flowing and scrawling across an empty page.
The thoughts are random...at best...and much like what I end up writing in here.
As spring approaches...and my paranoia induced by insomnia is conquered for the minute...I'm feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time about my life. Not that I haven't been happy or content...but I've definitely had ups and downs in the first 2 months of this year. Today, though, I feel truly hopeful as to what the rest of the year may bring.
While there are always things that will need improvement...I'm actually working towards those things now. I have rejoined a gym. Started actively seeking a doctor I trust and like. Decided it's time to start therapy again (I soooooo hate this...but I know it'll be helpful in the long run). Putting in tons of hours at work... and finding joy in it. Attempting a social life. Reading. Eating better and drinking more water (I am sooooooooooooo bad about this sometimes). Cleaning up just a little every day. Organizing. Saving money when I can.
Just small, tiny things that seem insignificant...but will have a extraordinary impact on the rest of my year. And if I do it right...the rest of my life.
So I'm ready for spring...and March...and at least for tonight...I'm ready for the rest of the year.
And also...I'm ready for bed. Got to get a full 7 hours or I'll be cranky.
Sleep well...and be nice. And extraordinary...
I love Better Than Ezra...
When I wake up...or before I fall asleep...it will be March. I can't believe that the first 2 months of 2011 are gone already. It feels as though it's been a full year...and just a week at the same time.
As we welcome Spring and Lent and of course...my birthday...I've been doing some thinking. I started a journal again. While writing on here is cathartic for me...it's nothing compared to putting a pen to paper. To the feeling of physically getting words out of me. To watch my hand hold a pen and form words from my thoughts. The beauty of flowing and scrawling across an empty page.
The thoughts are random...at best...and much like what I end up writing in here.
As spring approaches...and my paranoia induced by insomnia is conquered for the minute...I'm feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time about my life. Not that I haven't been happy or content...but I've definitely had ups and downs in the first 2 months of this year. Today, though, I feel truly hopeful as to what the rest of the year may bring.
While there are always things that will need improvement...I'm actually working towards those things now. I have rejoined a gym. Started actively seeking a doctor I trust and like. Decided it's time to start therapy again (I soooooo hate this...but I know it'll be helpful in the long run). Putting in tons of hours at work... and finding joy in it. Attempting a social life. Reading. Eating better and drinking more water (I am sooooooooooooo bad about this sometimes). Cleaning up just a little every day. Organizing. Saving money when I can.
Just small, tiny things that seem insignificant...but will have a extraordinary impact on the rest of my year. And if I do it right...the rest of my life.
So I'm ready for spring...and March...and at least for tonight...I'm ready for the rest of the year.
And also...I'm ready for bed. Got to get a full 7 hours or I'll be cranky.
Sleep well...and be nice. And extraordinary...
2010/10/12
Healthier
Mood: a bit under the weather
My allergies are acting up...in a way they haven't in YEARS. I generally have a few slight allergy annoyances each fall and some sinus problems but this year it is pure torture. My eyes are burning and stinging and itchy. My ears are in a constant state of pounding...my throat is perpetually sore.
So after much tea drinking and wallowing early this morning (continuing from last night) I decided that my nice thing for today...was to make an appointment to go see a doctor.
Yes, that is it. I look at it this way...the last time I had a real physical....was the last time I was on an insurance plan. That was back in 2008. So...it's time. And there are a few random issues I'm worried about (the knee injury is starting to flare WAY more often these days). Since I don't know for sure when my first paycheck comes in from the church, this appointment isn't until the end of the month...but I'm proud of myself.
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