Birthdays remind me of how lucky I am to have the family and friends that I do. I am the luckiest birthday girl in the world to have a birthday buddy to share it with. Happy Birthday to us Dad! You are the best present I could have ever hoped for. Off to have some ice cream. Ok, maybe some sprinkles too.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Reunion reality
Last night I had a reunion of sorts with some of my grade school classmates. The evening was an attempt to reconnect with those who live in New York City. Some I had not seen since ninth grade graduation. Some I stay in touch with. Two are still quite close friends. But I was a little nervous to walk into the bar by myself. I had talked myself out of the whole evening the entire afternoon. What was I going to wear? The bar was further than I normally venture from my apartment, on the West side for that matter. I felt awkward going solo (not that I go other places plus one!) and it was pouring rain. Translation, my back was feeling like staying home. And then I remembered the reach. So I showered, put on my uniform of white pants and blue jacket that I wear out at least once a week and hailed a cab.
When I walked in, my good friend A was sitting there and ran to give me a hug. Behind me came a hug from my other friend M who lives in Texas but was in town for a wedding. Hours later, laughs, stories and a couple of shots had been thrown around. By the time I was in the taxi going home, I immediately felt like going back to the bar. Ok - maybe not actually going back. But I wanted more of those nights to continue, with friends who no matter how long it has been since last seeing them, its as if no time has passed at all. Of course, reunions come with some interesting characters who you might never see again other than at the next one. And there are those faces who you have forgotten and names you need reminded. But I was pleasantly surprised at those who did show up. Four guys, who I had been intimidated by in ninth grade and teased me of my hair ribbons, sat around with girls who probably would have been characterized by the "cool" guys in ninth grade as "dorks." And everyone was reminiscing about funny memories and telling stories. We had definitely grown up. Moral of the story to remind myself next time I convince myself otherwise - get in a cab and go, regardless of the outfit, and always be friendly to those whom I have least in common with because ten years down the road, they might be my neighbor.
When I walked in, my good friend A was sitting there and ran to give me a hug. Behind me came a hug from my other friend M who lives in Texas but was in town for a wedding. Hours later, laughs, stories and a couple of shots had been thrown around. By the time I was in the taxi going home, I immediately felt like going back to the bar. Ok - maybe not actually going back. But I wanted more of those nights to continue, with friends who no matter how long it has been since last seeing them, its as if no time has passed at all. Of course, reunions come with some interesting characters who you might never see again other than at the next one. And there are those faces who you have forgotten and names you need reminded. But I was pleasantly surprised at those who did show up. Four guys, who I had been intimidated by in ninth grade and teased me of my hair ribbons, sat around with girls who probably would have been characterized by the "cool" guys in ninth grade as "dorks." And everyone was reminiscing about funny memories and telling stories. We had definitely grown up. Moral of the story to remind myself next time I convince myself otherwise - get in a cab and go, regardless of the outfit, and always be friendly to those whom I have least in common with because ten years down the road, they might be my neighbor.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Reaching for my coffee cup
I was reminded this morning of something that I take for granted. Reaching. Reaching for the coffee cup on the top shelf of my cupboard. Reaching for the ceiling in yoga doing Triangle. Reaching for my dreams. I once was envious of anyone who could reach without hesitation. I now can reach for my mug in the morning without asking someone else to get it for me. I reach and I am aware but not always conscious of the metal in my back that feels like it is being torn away from my spine. That part has become my normal. And I am grateful that I can reach for myself. I am grateful that most of the time my body forgets what living without pain feels like so that I am not reminded. Instead, I work with how my body, my back, feels now.
I get lazy in yoga. My arms sometimes feel jellied from the day and I go through the motion without thinking about opening my heart and lungs. I am lucky to have my arms. They need to reach.
Dreams. Certainly I have them. To write a book. To fit into my skinny jeans. To become a wife of a husband who loves my flaws. To start my own company. To remain aware and never complacent. But I think on a day to day basis, I just get through the day. Routine is comforting and safe for me. But I dream for my future to become more of a risk taker.
I started a blog with a mission. I have failed. My mission was to step outside of my comfort zone, to try new things. In some ways, this blog forces me to step outside of my comfort zone because I share things that sometimes I would keep to myself. Fears that I am ashamed of. Thoughts that I think to insignificant to say aloud. But that is not enough. I need to reach. If I reach, I will without fail, fall. But I would be failing myself if I kept my arms at my side. I wouldn't grow. So, with you as my witness, I will reach for the stars, for the sky, and for the sweater tucked up behind my shoes in the back of my closet. Here goes...
I get lazy in yoga. My arms sometimes feel jellied from the day and I go through the motion without thinking about opening my heart and lungs. I am lucky to have my arms. They need to reach.
Dreams. Certainly I have them. To write a book. To fit into my skinny jeans. To become a wife of a husband who loves my flaws. To start my own company. To remain aware and never complacent. But I think on a day to day basis, I just get through the day. Routine is comforting and safe for me. But I dream for my future to become more of a risk taker.
I started a blog with a mission. I have failed. My mission was to step outside of my comfort zone, to try new things. In some ways, this blog forces me to step outside of my comfort zone because I share things that sometimes I would keep to myself. Fears that I am ashamed of. Thoughts that I think to insignificant to say aloud. But that is not enough. I need to reach. If I reach, I will without fail, fall. But I would be failing myself if I kept my arms at my side. I wouldn't grow. So, with you as my witness, I will reach for the stars, for the sky, and for the sweater tucked up behind my shoes in the back of my closet. Here goes...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Squeezing fear
Doctors. Needles. Rubbing alcohol. Blood. You would think that these words would scare me. At the very least cause a bit of anxiety. The truth is I now hardly flinch when having blood drawn. The bad news is that my veins are small and hidden. The good news is that they are there. But it takes one experienced nurse to get blood on the first prick. I know exactly what to do - clench fist, pump my hand a couple of times, and then relax. Normally I look away but sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me and I stare at the steady stream of crimson liquid, hopeful that it will be the batch flooded with answers.
Similarly, MRI machines once made me nauseated and completely terrified; I still get claustrophobic in elevators. Now, after 30 MRI's, I can tolerate them without squeezing the panic rubber ball in my hand to alert Jeremy behind the glass window that I must, get, out. Now. I sat for one last week for two hours. That was a record even for me. But I did. I listened to Bach and Beethoven. I tried to relax in between the head brace that was placed to secure my neck from twitching.
Hospitals in the past made my heart race and my stomach lurch. Now, I navigate the hallways without hesitation. I am familiar with everything in the room. Every sound that beeps and signals. I am not afraid. I can even remove an IV line from the pump. When my father was in the hospital last week for back surgery, the only discomfort I felt was seeing him in pain.
Experiencing what I have over the course of the past six years, visiting doctors around the world, enduring surgeries and managing daily life with pain, has prepared me for life's roller coaster of uncertainty. One day I was playing tennis, the next day I was having x-rays and being prescribed narcotics. Now I am back playing tennis - my limit is 20 minutes before I surrender to the stabbing sharpness between my shoulder blades - but I am grateful for those 20 minutes. I took my last pain killer three years ago. And I have conquered some of my fears to the delight of Jeremy who now only has to retrieve me once from the scan tube. I am thankful for where the journey has taken me. I am grateful for getting out of bed in the morning without having someone lift me with a sheet. Walking down the street, I now walk at the same pace as most of my fellow pedestrians instead of 12 paces behind. All that gives my pain away is the tattoo of scars on my back that are visible when in a bathing suit. Plus, when a friend goes for blood-work and they need a hand to squeeze, they know just who to call.
Similarly, MRI machines once made me nauseated and completely terrified; I still get claustrophobic in elevators. Now, after 30 MRI's, I can tolerate them without squeezing the panic rubber ball in my hand to alert Jeremy behind the glass window that I must, get, out. Now. I sat for one last week for two hours. That was a record even for me. But I did. I listened to Bach and Beethoven. I tried to relax in between the head brace that was placed to secure my neck from twitching.
Hospitals in the past made my heart race and my stomach lurch. Now, I navigate the hallways without hesitation. I am familiar with everything in the room. Every sound that beeps and signals. I am not afraid. I can even remove an IV line from the pump. When my father was in the hospital last week for back surgery, the only discomfort I felt was seeing him in pain.
Experiencing what I have over the course of the past six years, visiting doctors around the world, enduring surgeries and managing daily life with pain, has prepared me for life's roller coaster of uncertainty. One day I was playing tennis, the next day I was having x-rays and being prescribed narcotics. Now I am back playing tennis - my limit is 20 minutes before I surrender to the stabbing sharpness between my shoulder blades - but I am grateful for those 20 minutes. I took my last pain killer three years ago. And I have conquered some of my fears to the delight of Jeremy who now only has to retrieve me once from the scan tube. I am thankful for where the journey has taken me. I am grateful for getting out of bed in the morning without having someone lift me with a sheet. Walking down the street, I now walk at the same pace as most of my fellow pedestrians instead of 12 paces behind. All that gives my pain away is the tattoo of scars on my back that are visible when in a bathing suit. Plus, when a friend goes for blood-work and they need a hand to squeeze, they know just who to call.
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