Radioactive Fallout

The doctor looked at me and said, I think you have a stress fracture in the right metatarsal. You'll need a bone scan so I can see the extent of your injury. And just like that I was fitted for a cast and drove off to Concord Imaging, my favorite imaging center. They're nice and it looks and feels like a spa when you walk in, which helps calm me down. I'm on a first name basis with Alma now, we swap stories like we're old friends as she injects me with radioactive isotope. When she maneuvers my foot under the camera I refrain from crying out in pain because I have convinced myself that I really don't have a stress fracture but am instead just reacting like a big baby because I want some extra attention. Even though it really does hurt and the doctor himself noted that the pain was severe.

Then the isotope begins to race through my blood stream down to my injured foot. It pools in the exact location that has been causing so much pain and glows an unearthly white on the screen. And I know that I'm not overreacting. The proof is on the screen and I begin to cry. Somehow seeing it in black and fluorescent white gives me the permission I need to feel the pain and my foot begins to throb. When the initial part of the scan is over I cannot walk. Instead I hobble to my chair and fight the sobs that want to take over. And then I pull it together, put on my cast and drive to work.

5 hours and 32 ounces of water later I am back at Concord chatting with Alma. She compares the new images to those from my bone scan in April that revealed a diagnosis of osteoarthritis. This time the right foot definitely shows a new injury and it glows much brighter than the silly old arthritis, highlighting the inflammation. For the next 45 minutes I try to lay perfectly still as my foot is placed in odd positions so the scan can capture all angels for the doctor to review. As I lay there I continue to berate myself for not seeking treatment sooner, for thinking that I'm still 26 instead of 5 months shy of 40, for trying to be brave or ignore the pain until walking was out of the question.

I'm grateful that despite my stupidity the radioactive fallout of this procedure was mild. Yes the pain is severe, but the prognosis is good. I will be in a cast for 4-6 weeks but there appears to be no permanent damage. I will be forced to care for my foot and not abuse it by pushing it harder than I should. That means no more running or extensive walking, but instead biking or God-forbid water aerobics. It also means old lady shoes instead of heels, once I'm out of my Frankenstein cast that is. And my Frankenstein cast is huge - because in order to fit my ginormous calves I had to get a cast made for Arnold, not Angelina. Hey it ain't pretty but at least I already have a costume for Halloween!

My "Frankenfeet" - driving shoe and walking cast.

My Inner Hippie

I found my inner hippie last night. I didn't know she was lost until my boss gave me concert tickets to Rain: The Beatles Experience. And for those of you who don't know, my boss does everything in style.

• The Majestic Theater
• Box seats
• Private lounge
• Valet parking

It started with I Wanna Hold Your Hand and ended with my favorite, Hey Jude. The other 2 hours were filled with songs like Yesterday, Come Together, Let It Be, Hello Goodbye, A Hard Day's Night, Eleanor Rigby, Girl, Across The Universe, I Am A Walrus. As much as I enjoyed the concert, can I be honest and say that I've always hated the walrus song? Last night didn't change my mind. It's still awful.

But, otherwise the night was AMAZING. I feel like I saw the REAL Beatles live in concert. It was an unbelievable show. Psychedelic lights, a multi-media presentation, musicians who almost perfectly imitated the real stars in look and sound. It made me wish I had seen the real deal. If you appreciate music at all then walk, don't run to the nearest show!

Now if I can just finagle a way to see U2 and Coldplay live in concert before I die.....


http://www.raintribute.com/

Barbie Doll Wannabes

I was in Las Vegas last week. Land of bad Elvis impersonators, an Eiffel Tower knockoff, gondolas that glide across shallow swimming pools instead of murky canals, AND an over-abundance of fake boobs. Lots and lots of silicone.

Come to think of it, aside from Sin City, I don't think I've ever seen so many fake boobs in one place. Not to mention the fake tans, fake hair, fake eyelashes, fake nails, fake noses, fake lips, fake ____________ (fill in the blank). Everyone seemed to be masquerading as someone else. It was difficult for me to discern fantasy from reality, well at least until I looked into the mirror!

Remember that Oprah episode about human Barbie Dolls? It chronicled women who had spent thousands of dollars and endured multiple surgeries to transform their faces and bodies into living, breathing Barbies. With each surgery their noses got smaller, cheekbones more defined, lips plumped, boobs enlarged and fat sucked away. Post-surgery their hair was blonder, teeth whiter, tans darker and jewelry flashier.

In the altered reality of Vegas I encountered one of those women. She almost knocked me over as I tried to exit the casino. As I stumbled I was struck by a few things, including her enormous, fake knockers. She was frighteningly skinny, no bigger than a size 0, her tanned and leathery skin stretched uncomfortably over her 5'10 frame. With her stilettos and teased, blond hair she appeared to be 6'2. Her tiny body could barely support her enormous chest and it was all she could do to stand up straight as she held on to her date for dear life. After my initial shock wore off I looked more closely. I ignored the barely there mini-skirt and the tight & tacky spandex tank top and focused on her distorted features.

Her lips were filled with too much collagen, her brow smooth and shiny from Botox. Restylane filled her cheekbones and fake, feathery eyelashes framed her wrinkle-free eyes. A tiny, upturned nose was barely noticeable above her bee-stung lips, and eyeliner was expertly painted to draw attention to her cat-like, blue eyes.

Although she held herself with an air of confidence, her eyes were empty and she seemed brittle and hollow. It was achingly obvious that she was not as young as she tried to appear. The attention she drew was mostly from people gawking in horror. No one was fooled by her vanity; clearly she had purchased Nicole's nose, Anna Nicole's breasts and Angelina's lips. And all of the money and painful surgeries had failed. She did not look like a Barbie Doll.

As I watched her walk away I thought of how often my own vanity or pride causes me to live under pretense. I don't want people to see how messy my life is, how deep the wounds, how severe the traumas, how pathetic the vanity, how painful the suffering. I would rather appear to have it all together, or to seem smarter or funnier, or even kinder and gentler. But just like the wannabe Barbie, others see through the pretense, and in the instant I choose to keep hiding I miss out on letting them know me as I am, instead of who I wish I were. Funny how that works.

Circle of Life

Years ago when I was a 9-year-old girl something magical happened. My oldest brother and his wife became the parents of a beautiful baby girl. She was christened Andrea Jane and in that moment I became the most ridiculously proud "child" aunt the world had ever seen.

I bragged and BRAGGED about her to all of my friends. No one else in my clique had yet enjoyed the privilege of being an aunt, and I was obnoxiously vocal about my new role. Not that I got to see her much since she lived 4 hours away and I was just a child myself, but no matter, my title was permanent. When we moved to the same town as my brother and his family I was able to spend more time enjoying the wonders of her toddler hood, and before long we welcomed her baby brother, Tyler into the world. Their adorable faces and amazing spirits captured me and I believed with all of my heart that motherhood was on the horizon for me, and I couldn't wait. Little did I know that the waiting would be bitter and endless.

10 years ago this month I was diagnosed with a condition that makes conceiving children close to impossible and carrying a child to term risky and difficult at best. My case was more severe and the doctor said it was unlikely that I would ever be able to conceive, even with the help of medical science. I was 29 at the time and the news sent me into a tailspin. No one quite understood what I knew in my heart. I would never experience pregnancy. I would never feel the flutter of a new life kicking and wiggling in my womb. I would never gaze with wonder on a child I helped create. Never. I was devastated.

For many years I struggled to live life with the knowledge that my dearest dream would never be fulfilled. I tucked away the disappointment and threw myself into being the best aunt I could be. Each time I held one of my nieces or nephews in my arms I was amazed that I shared DNA with such perfect and amazing creatures. Babies are wondrous with their tiny fingers and toes, gurgles, fragility, scent. And oh how I adore 3-year-olds, and 8-year-olds, and, who am I kidding I adore ALL of them! When they're near it proves to me that even though I'll never know the pure love a mother feels for her child I still have a small part in the circle of life.

Now the circle has expanded. My niece, whom I once held in my own tiny arms now holds her own child. She gave birth to Jonathan a few weeks ago. He is perfect and beautiful, a wonderful combination of his proud mommy and daddy. His arrival made me a great-aunt, and I cried tears of joy when I saw the first photo of him gazing at his daddy. Of course I also cried when I saw him resting peacefully in his granny's arms, and when I saw the real smile on my brother's face as he held his first grandchild.

Andrea, Tyler, Bethany, Cody, Bryce, Kaitlyn, Kyle, Zachary and now Jonathan. All miracles. All amazing. All part of my circle.

Cars & Keys

What possesses someone to key another person's car? Seriously, someone keyed both the passenger door and the hood on my new car and I have NO idea why. I haven't flipped anyone off or yelled at anyone while driving for a long time, honest. I finally got over my road rage and was rewarded with.....vandalism. Stupid Murphy's Law!

Even though I had a patient scream (and I do mean SCREAM) at me last week, and another patient who wanted to know why he was billed for his no show since we were just going to stick something up his @*#$@#! @#$, I'm pretty sure they don't know what kind of car I drive. And besides, there are cameras and offices with windows that overlook our parking lot at work so it's unlikely it happened there. I did go to Target and HEB but didn't notice it until the next morning. With my luck it happened at my very own apartment. Hm, I don't think I've ticked off any neighbors, but then I am famous for making people think I'm mad at them when I'm not. The only thing I did was rebuff one of my neighbors who kept hitting on me, she just wouldn't take no for an answer.....

Now I'm worried that there is someone lurking near my apartment, just what I needed something else to scare me. Maybe I should install a video camera so I can see who is out there in the middle of the night when I'm locked tightly in my apartment. I cannot for the life of me comprehend what type of person would do that. Even when I am my angriest I don't mess with other people's stuff!

I guess I'll be calling my Denver brother to see what he recommends to repair the damage. It's frustrating to have to deal with this issue so early in the life of my new car, I mean it still has that "new car" smell (sometimes!) I know it's just a car, but it was my new car and now it's scratched because of someone else's lack of morals, and I have no idea what I did to deserve it. Maybe I should just sell it and start taking the bus! Ha, like THAT'S gonna happen!

Adventures in Puppy Parenting - Chewing it Up

What? I'm not eating your shoes...

I was just moving them for you....
Yeah, that's it!

I promise!

Ah, the teething phase, I REALLY hope he outgrows it soon. Right now as I type, my adorable puppy is gnawing the window sill while eyeing the mini-blinds and curtain. I just noticed that he has already pulled a thread from the once perfect curtain and tried to eat it. Grrr. If I didn't know better I'd think he was hungry, but his belly is most definitely full. Earlier today I had an inkling that he was up to something when he didn't follow me into the kitchen. No sooner had I left the room than he shredded the tissue I had left on the coffee table.






Exhibit A

So far he has inflicted the following damage:

1. He has eaten a hunk out of the wall
2. Destroyed my USB cord
3. Eaten tags off of every toy, blanket, doggy bed, etc. It's his favorite thing to do and it's the first thing he looks for on new toys. I frequently find his beds upside down and the tags chewed
4. Chewed the window sill , curtains and window blinds AND gnawed my sofa cushion, pillows, blankets, comforter, towels, shoes and purse
5. Attempted to eat the vacuum cord, computer cord, lamp cord, or any other cord - if he can get to it it's fair game
6. Mutilated several toys - his bunny is missing it's tail and her back leg is practically severed; his teething bone is unrecognizable and I frequently step on the hard pieces of blue rubber; his bouncy ball is no more - he chewed it in half, ate some of the rubber before I could get to it and proceeded to throw up on my bed, at 4:00 am - um, I'm afraid I wasn't too gracious about it either!

Exhibit B

Sigh. If he wasn't so darn cute he'd be in the dog house, literally. But when he looks at me with his tongue sticking out I find him absolutely irresistible and smother him with kisses! He's got my number!

Puppy Love!

On May 30, 2009 I became the proud "mama" of a bouncing (he literally bounces), 3 pound baby boy named Zeus. He now weighs in at 6.1 pounds and fills my mornings and nights with lots of play and affection.

Here is the photo that made me want to meet him:

Here are a few more recent photos that cannot even possibly begin to capture why I love him SO much:

Sigh, all prejudices aside he really is one of the MOST adorable puppies I've ever seen, and because of his adorableness I now know all of my neighbors and random people who walk by. He attracts A LOT of attention, and he's so friendly and playful that most people are smitten with him immediately. He's a sensitive little guy who gets his feelings hurt when other dogs do not want to be his friend. One of our neighbors Ginger, a Shitzu mix, actually bit him a few weeks ago. But he doesn't hold grudges and his initial sadness wore off after, oh 2 seconds or so. He is a persistent little chap who STILL tries to play with her when he sees her, but I am a wee bit overprotective and remind him gently that she tried to eat him, so no we will NOT be making her acquaintance! Popeye, the silver and black poodle who lives next door, is also a wee bit grouchy but he is warming up to Zeus little by little. Poor Zeus, he really doesn't understand how annoying he is to the elderly.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll have LOTS of stories to tell about my "Adventures in Puppy Parenting". I'm convinced that I should write the sequel to "Marley & Me" because apparently I have his spawn.....

When What A Girl Wants Is What A Girl Needs

Sometimes a girl just needs a new car. Okay, I understand that the word "need" is a relative term, but when my 2002 Saturn began to burn oil, I decided that I would begin looking for a new car while the deals were hot. Because putting a quart of oil into my car every few weeks is not an enjoyable experience for me. It involves dirt and grease and it makes my hands smell terrible, not to mention I get anxious about my car dying and leaving me stranded on a dark street when I should be in the safety of my home. Besides, why spend $3,000 to overhaul an engine on a car worth precisely $3,000?

Case in point. Just before driving to The Woodlands to visit my brother and sister-in-law a few weeks ago, I wisely checked my car's oil level and discovered that it was almost empty. So there I was at the gas station, dressed in my work clothes, with the hood up on my dirty car, trying to put oil in the engine through a flimsy paper cone. Of course, figuring out where to put the oil was my first challenge, and unscrewing the lid was the second. I spent several minutes screwing and unscrewing the cap, but it would not budge. Then it dawned on me that perhaps I should just pull it off, and to my embarrassment off it came! I was muttering very unkind words as I drained that quart of liquid gold into my engine and then slammed the hood before locating my stash of baby wipes in a vain attempt to rid my hands of the oil and gas stains and smells.

Finally I was on my way for a mostly uneventful drive, although somewhere outside of Seguin, Texas, with Bon Jovi blasting on my radio I happened upon a white truck (ironically) with a hand-written sign that said, "Save White America". Seriously, it really said that. After 3 hours I made it to Houston and the dreaded tall bridge that lead to the toll road. I did great though and managed to talk myself over it without hyperventilating only to get lost (huge shock, I know) after making a wrong turn in The Woodlands. My brother was kind and didn't laugh at me as he talked me to his house and I only arrived an hour later than expected. :-) Thankfully all was well and we sat down to eat a yummy dinner (thanks Ann!) before settling in for a relaxing weekend.

We watched movies, and ate good food, and talked, and looked at photo albums, and researched dog breeds (more on that in a later post) and had a really nice time. And better still on Sunday my brother, ever the savvy shopper introduced me to www.edmunds.com and because of that I paid below invoice price for my new car. Thanks Ray!!!

At the time I was looking at Toyota Corollas (gray, black or white - NO silver) and we looked at all of the different prices with the options I wanted and I learned exactly how low the dealer could go on the price so I could get the best bargain. After driving home (and taking an unintended detour to Lackland AFB) I decided to look at cars on Monday. I researched Corollas but also looked for Camrys with a manual 5-speed transmission and to my surprise discovered that there were 4 of them in the city of San Antonio. I went to 2 different dealers and drove 2 Camrys, one silver and one black before talking the dealers down to BELOW invoice price on each car. Ultimately I surprised myself and chose the silver car and walked away with a brand new 2009 Camry, with all the options I wanted for LESS than I would have paid for the Corolla. Apparently no one wants buy a Camry with manual transmission - except me! So now I have a beautiful new car and amenities I never thought I could afford all because of one smart brother and a dad who went with me to help me haggle.

No more putting oil into my engine and looking and smelling like a grease monkey. This car should last me for years before it needs repairs, in fact I'll likely be driving it when my hair is as silver as it is! I'm thrilled with it and feel like I'm driving a Lexus, when I'm only in a base model Camry. My first grown-up car, and I'm only 39..... Like I said, sometimes a girl just needs a new car!

In Transit - The First 36 Hours

Finally, the big day had arrived, after a 3-year hiatus, long years spent wishing, hoping and waiting for the chance to return, I was once again leaving on a big jet plane headed for a holiday across the pond. Hours of packing, hours of planning, hours of obsessing, hours of........waiting in airports. Ugh.

High on adrenaline despite being hormonal and sleep deprived, I checked in and grabbed a few breakfast tacos before heading to gate 33. I was eager to get to Dallas and spend the day with my friend Cindi before heading to London later that night. After a 20-minute delay everyone boarded the plane and buckled up ready for the short hop to DFW. But then the captain made a fateful announcement, there was an electrical problem on the plane, severe enough that we could not fly until it was fixed. Ah but he had hopeful news, it should only take a few minutes to repair, I'm such a sucker that I believed him. Silly me.

Sure enough, after those "few" minutes were memories the passengers were asked to leave the plane and continue waiting in the terminal. I texted Cindi to warn her of the impending doom and settled in with my book, making fast friends with the other disgruntled passengers. Our updates were frequent but progress was agonizingly slow.

Excuse #1: The mechanic could not reach the defective switch because his hands were too big.
Excuse #2: Due to the mechanic's oversized hands he had to disassemble the jump seat.
Excuse #3: When he finally wrapped his GINORMOUS hands around the relay switch he discovered that he needed 2 switches instead of only 1.
Excuse #4: There were no additional relay switches in San Antonio, AA would have to fly one in on another plane.
Excuse #5: The second relay switch did not fix the problem.

After 4 hours I was thinking that if it took that long to TRY to fix the airplane I had affectionately nicknamed Humpty Dumpty, then I would not be flying on it. And finally the geniuses at AA (they're the cream of the crop I tell you, the best of the best) decided that PERHAPS they could fly us out on the plane that had been sitting empty at the next gate for 2 1/2 hours! Of course, they didn't make that decision until a severe thunder and lightning storm had rolled in and caused a power outage in the airport. I'm sure you can imagine that I was a WEE bit grumpy by this point, and hormonal, did I mention hormonal?

So finally, after almost every passenger had missed connections, and I had missed my chance to see Cindi, we boarded the plane and took off before the weather worsened. The trip was so bumpy that the flight attendants were required to stay seated, no peanuts or drinks for us. Unbelievably, when we finally landed in Dallas we circled the runway until a gate could be located for us, I guess they were fresh out. Then the pilot attempted to park, and I write that with a straight face because the parking system failed, so we had to wait to be towed the last 12 feet to the gate. Hey, at least the brakes worked and we didn't crash through the terminal.....

I settled in for a 5-hour layover and read magazines in between switching gates 3 times before the airline finally decided where we would board. I was nearly involved in a hit and run accident with a man (not a teen) who thought skateboarding in a busy airport was a good idea. Those of us who narrowly avoided a visit to the E.R. strongly disagreed. Oh, and I found a Proactiv vending machine. That's right, we have stooped so low as to sell acne medication in vending machines at airports. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity...

And then, I'm sure you'll never believe this, wait for it.......my flight to London was delayed. Huge shock I know. I almost fell over dead when they made the announcement. What? Delayed? You have GOT to be kidding me? That NEVER happens... What were the excuses? Well, the plane was late being towed from the hangar, I guess the scheduled time fell during the union break. Then we needed catering, bad airplane food must be on board before the unsuspecting passengers. And of course, we had "mechanical problems". Did they REALLY need to tell me that BEFORE I left on a 9-hour flight OVER THE OCEAN? But alas, the flight was uneventful. I watched a bad movie with one earphone, ate terrible lasagna and shifted uncomfortably in my seat all while trying to keep the lady in front of me from sleeping with her head in my lap. Gotta love flying coach!

As I awoke from my miserable slumber my eyes feasted on the greenery of Ireland below me before Scotland and England came into view. Upon landing I made my way through customs and walked what felt like miles of hallways before emerging into the largest airport I've ever seen. Heathrow was like a city and I was completely overwhelmed, thankfully the signs were clear and I easily found the shuttle to Gatwick Airport. Once there I watched the Scottish men parading around in kilts, perhaps there was some kind of convention? At least they were not trying to run me over with their skateboards, because skateboarding Scotsmen in kilts may have sent me over the edge! I did rather enjoy their lovely accents, and I have to admit that each time one of them took the escalator upstairs I tried to sneak a peak to discover if he was wearing his kilt properly....I never did figure that one out. ;-)

Finally, after 5 long hours of waiting I boarded the Easyjet plane bound for Basel and settled in for the short flight. Upon arrival I collected my luggage and tried to remember if I was supposed to exit through the Swiss or French sector of the airport. I chose door number 2 leading to France and was rewarded with Laurie and Emmalee's smiling faces, and in that instant all of my stress melted away and I knew that the past 36 hours had been worth all of the hassle.

39 and Holding

As I find myself staring down the last year of my thirties I wonder how I got here. How did I become the girl who no one loves? This birthday is hitting me harder than I thought it would because, even though I have a year to go, I've accepted the fact that one of my biggest fears is imminent:

I will be single when I turn 40

Gulp. It may not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but it is the death of yet another dream, my most cherished one in fact, and it has shattered my ability to hope. Last year was unkind to me and all I want to do now is crawl under my covers and stay there for a really, really long time. I don't want anyone close to the gaping hole in my heart because it's too painful. I already gave up my dreams of children and a family to call my own, and even though it isn't the end of the world, being an Old Maid is not something I aspired to.

But hey, at least I can hog the remote, spend my money how I choose and set the thermostat where I want.....those are the "positives" my married friends point out to me. Yeah, FYI that's NOT helpful. I do, however, have Europe, and even though I often travel alone I enjoy people watching while sipping tea in an elegant cafe. I also love seeing art that I never see here, and glimpsing history that was left out of World History 101. It's a pleasant break from my life of boredom and I'd rather explore this beautiful world than not, even if I have to do it alone. Do you think it counts if I turn 39 in a foreign country? Can I choose to stay 39 until I get married? If so, I promise I'll give up the remote control without complaining, but money and the thermostat will take some serious negotiations!