Jenn Satterwhite

I was working on something telling you why I have been MIA when my son looked over my shoulder at the title and said, “That is wrong. Re-read it.”

The title was “Strep is a four-letter word I hate!” Okay, so strep is technically a FIVE letter word, but the way it has taken up residence in my home, it has become a four letter word. Sick Math: If you take “strep” add 3 [people] divide by 2 then you have a four letter word. So, yes, to me: Strep is a Four Letter Word. First my son brought it home and I trembled in fear. No! I even asked the doctor to put the rest of us on preventative medicine in order to keep the rest of us free of this dreaded invader. I pondered a HazMat suit, but I could not find one at a reasonable rate. I took every precaution short of moving to a hotel or kicking out my son, but none of it worked. By Wednesday, I had chills, a fever, ached everywhere and just wanted a fire hydrant to put out the pain in my throat.

“But I am okay!” was my mantra.

Thursday, Gabrie came home, hit the couch and was out cold. By dinner time her fever had sky-rocketed. Friday morning we dragged our sick, pitiful bodies to the doctor. And, yes, he did get an “I TOLD YOU SO!” glare from me. And that, my friends, is how I spent the last pitiful days.

Of course, being young my daughter is just fine and bouncing around. Me? I am still battling the on again off again fever, chills and “what kind of truck ran me down because I hurt and am too tired to speak” a week later. Getting old sucks.

So, if I have missed an email or two or owe you something, do not hesitate to send me an email. It may have been overlooked in my delirium. Because I tend to not say, “Hey, I am sick with a high fever and need a break.” I pretend I am just fine until I fall on my face.

Speaking of falling on my face, here is a bit of humor for you.

You know how they say cold and flu medicines come in non-drowsy versions? I say YEAH RIGHT. On Thursday I took a DayQuil and tried to work. (Forgive me for any contact you may have had with me. I was not in my right mind.) When it came time to pick up the kids, I went to the school to start the never-ending-always-in-my-van routine. As I walked towards the elementary school, I apparently either forgot that you must step UP when approaching a curb or someone pulled the curb out from under me. Either way, I fell ass over tea kettle flat on my face. When I say flat, I mean FLAT. Sprawled on the ground like road kill. For a moment I pondered whether or not I could have actually popped my right breast. It’s not even like I have implants, but it certainly felt like I popped it. (Not sure how I would explain that one.) And my hands? I forgot how badly it stings to get cement burn on your palms. That is some serious stingage. But the brunt of the fall apparently fell on my knee (and my right boob) because barring the breast poppage, the knee was in the (second) most amount ofagony.

This is why we all learn to walk at an early age. Besides the fact that we would look utterly ridiculous if we were a society of adults who only crawled, there is a much better reason. Falling when you are old and have a much farther way down to the ground HURTS.

And for the record, I don’t think anyone saw. At least, no one rushed to me in that humiliating concerned way to try to pry the Mom Road Kill off of the sidewalk. And no third graders pointed and laughed. At least I have that.

I also have this beauty (nasty after the jump) to show off. Or gain sympathy. Or just a reminder that cold medicine and walking do not mix well.

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I was double-tagged for a Meme. Granted it was because of NaBloMoFo (which I failed). Nevertheless, I am going to answer this one because:
(a) It IS all about me!
(b) It might give you some insight in to my particular crazy.
(c) Whenever I get a chance to let my freak flag fly—I take it!

Thanks to Daisy at Compost Happens and the Chronicler at Coopers Chronicles for thinking of me and not coming after me with pitchforks and blazing torches for taking so long to get to this.

So apparently they want to know 7 random or weird things about me. (Do you read my blog? Isn’t that what every entry accomplishes here?)

Ready? (I’ll ease you into this.)

1) I cannot stand to have unpolished toe nails. In fact, any woman with toe nails that do not have polish on them pretty much creeps me out. I don’t know why, but ….just put some polish on them. And yes, this does include in the Winter when no one even sees my toes. Trust me when I say they are definitely polished.

2) When I was growing up I used to throw gargantuan temper tantrums and lock myself in my room in tears on many occasions because of the whole adoption issue. Oh, I wasn’t adopted. My brother and sister were. Which made me the one who was different. Therefore, the one they were “stuck with” and not “chosen.” I am probably one of the few kids around who slammed her door screaming, “You don’t love me! Why didn’t you adopt me?!”

3) When I am driving across state lines, I have to pick up my feet as I cross the state line. You know when they have those little signs on the side of the road that say “Now entering ____?” Yep. I have to pick up my feet just before I get to it and not put them down until I pass that point. And, yes, this does include the times when I am the one driving. Many fights have broken out because I was asleep as a passenger and no one woke me up to tell me it was “State Line Time.” (For the record, I have actually passed this on to more than one of my friends who are now as obsessive about it as I am.)

4) I have a super power. Yes, I do. No, I cannot fly, read minds, bend steel or go invisible. However, I have a sense of smell that would put a blood hound to shame. I can walk into a room that seems okay to everyone else and immediately tell you if there is something not right. I have managed to stop at least one electrical fire that no one else knew was about to happen because I smelled the wires over heating. (Makes it hell for me at a seafood restaurant with SO MANY smells.) My hidden identity is Super Olfactory Girl.

5) I cannot stand the book Love You Forever. It does not make me cry. It does not make me sentimental. It kind of makes me worry a bit about stalking. I have 6 copies because of baby showers and the sentimental attachment people have to this book.

6) I have to sleep with a blanket. Always. It can be hotter than, well Texas in August, but I have to have a blanket. I don’t have to be completely covered up, but at least part of me does. Oh, and since we are on freak sleep issues, I cannot sleep if my hands are exposed. They are either under my pillow, under my head, under a blanket. Doesn’t matter. They are just not out in the open all bare and vulnerable. That is creepy.

7) I am terrified of sock monkeys. They really (really, really) freak me out. I am pretty sure I can trace this back to my brother tormenting me at night by hiding one in different places every night to scare me, but nevertheless, here I am at 38 and I am still freaked out by them. If you ever thought of giving me one…don’t. If you ever do, I will burn it. Burn that evil right out of it.

There you have it. My freak flag flying high. Did I scare ya? Now, I want to tag people, but I know that not everyone likes to do meme’s. Soooo, will YOU do this one for me and leave a comment that you did it? I want to get to know my readers better and see how free they are to fly their freak flags.

If you do decide (and you will) to do this, here is the low-down.

1- Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.

2- Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.

3- Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.

4- Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Looks like I blew NaBloPoMo.  Bummer.  NaNoWriMo–still on track.

The alien in my belly (the one I refer to as Annie) is doing just fine and is under control.  God bless pharmaceutical America.

I am currently at my sister’s house with 2 of my 3 kids but minus a husband, child and dog.  I never want to leave the  haven that is here.  Somehow, I find myself here.  Well, at least I find myself in a calmer place.  A place where I do not worry about the things that have me worked up when I am at home.  I am working on finding my real me at my own home.  I know it takes time.  I will do it.  I have a game plan.  Always have a game plan.  Or at least know how to fake one.

Big and good things are going on with my career, but things I have to keep under wraps for now.  Things that I have been wanting for a long time.

In the last week or two I have made big decisions about work, life and what can bring me to a place of peace. I have begun to see friends and loved ones as they are and not always how I want (or need) them to be.  I am learning to love the people in my life for who and what they are with no strings or expectations attached.  They are who they are no matter how much things change.  It makes a difference.  At least to me and to my peace of mind.  And I am learning to let go of the people in my life who need to be let go of.  It is freeing and feels good to not chase after the relationships that are not right for me.  It never works.  I am okay with that.  Or at least learning how to be.

The holidays?  They are hard.  I am not so much liking them this year.  A lot of tears.  A lot of anger.  I can work through them with friends and family.  And a lot of writing. Writing that has eluded me for so long I thought it abandoned me.  Some day–  soon I hope– I can share all of it with you.  For now,  I am thankful to be writing.

I am learning to be me.  On my terms.   In my way.  The very best I can.

What better way to celebrate a birthday–a new beginning– than taking off your shirt and exposing yourself? None!

Especially when the reason you are doing it is for a diagnostic mammogram.

A few weeks ago a noticed a lump in my right breast. One that I could not (though I really wanted to) ignore. Talk about terrified! I did not want to deal with anything like this. It has been a rough few weeks. Weeks where I could not do anything but panic. Weeks that I had to push back deadlines, reschedule appointments and try to just get through the day (not to mention the doctor’s appointments) without losing my mind.

Strangely, through it all, I didn’t want to talk about it. I told a grand total of 5 people– not counting my husband. And even with my husband I pulled the “I am not worried. All is well.” card. But then froze in panic when I thought about the “what-if’s”. Some people I talked to about it, I talked to because I really needed their shoulder to just let me say “I’m scared this lump is cancer and I need to tell someone that” and I knew they would listen and offer me a real shoulder. Some people I told out of obligation keeping it superficial and not expecting anything in return, but knowing I had to at least mention that something was up. And some I told because I respect them and they needed to know why I had to move some deadlines around. Otherwise, you got the “I am fine and dandy” speech, when I was terrified. I was scared that nothing was fine. The few people I leaned on, thank you. You know who you are.

So, for my birthday, I went in for my final round of mammo, sonno, etc. I took the girls out for some squishing, poking, and got them smashed. (I got my boobs smashed for my birthday instead of me getting smashed. Irony somewhere in there.)

I dodged the bullet this time.

They found no cancer in my lovely lady lumps. (Let us all release the breath I have been holding for over a month.) They did say cut back on caffeine as it makes the fibrocystic breast disease that they determined I do have even worse. That is what I was feeling.

I did feel a lump. And there was reason enough to look into it and make sure that I didn’t need to take further action. I was always worried that I was overreacting. That I was making something out of nothing. But I felt something. And I felt pain. And it had symptoms that scared the snot out of me. In the end, I got lucky.

Basically, I need to just have mammograms more often to make sure my normal stays my normal. Any lumps? Well, I have to be super careful and ensure that they don’t change in any way. If I get scared, I get them checked out. Period.

And here is where I get on my soap box.

Ladies, if you have been avoiding mammograms for fear of “oh I have heard how horrible it hurts”, knock that the hell off! It is so fast that you can endure it. I don’t care how sensitive you are. Honestly, discomfort is as far as I would take it. Now, the breast that was hurting in the first place and had the lump in it that sent me in to the doctor in the first place–the one that I will slap you if you touch– even that one was not the “writhing agony” that people had me fearing. Sure, that one hurt. Because it already hurt before they squished and twisted it. But it hurt for all of about 10 seconds. (I did over 36 hours of labor with well over half of that pitocin labor and no pain meds. I can handle 10 seconds of a boob squish!) And the side that had no pain to begin with–No Big Deal. Repeat that. No. Big. Deal. If you have not had a mammogram and you know you are due for one or should have one, do it. For heaven’s sake, just do it. Don’t you owe that much to yourself? Wouldn’t you want your best friend to keep herself in check? Take care of your ta-ta’s, ladies. Look at it this way. You get felt up courtesy of your insurance company. It isn’t like they don’t screw you over anyway!

This time I dodged a bullet. And I was terrified. But I am happy to say, my lovely lady lumps just enjoy having their own lovely lady lumps within and are not currently in danger.

Thank you, my friends I opened up to, for checking in, calling, emailing etc. It was good to know I was not alone if I needed someone.

And now, I am off to eat cake. And wear a really low cut shirt. Why? Because my lovely lady lumps are healthy. I am showing them off. So to speak.

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