Time... Time... Time....

I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately.  Funny thing, time… we can’t hold it or touch it, but it slips through our fingers.  We constantly say we don’t have enough of it and how great it would be if we had just a few more hours in the day.  Then we turn around and waste the time that we do have.

I think I can say that time has always been important to me, even more so than money.  (Right now I would gladly welcome a little bit more time or money.)  Let’s say that maybe you had an unexpected car repair or you needed to pay an unexpected bill and you come to me and say, “Sonia, I’m in a real bind, I’m totally broke until payday!  Do you think you can help me out?”  If I can, I will.  If I have a few extra bucks, I’ll help you out.  Now, let’s say you never pay me back.  Sure, I’ll be disappointed.  But the world isn’t going to end.  I’ll go to work and I’ll earn more money.  I remember hearing someone in a movie say, “Money is the most common thing there is!  They print more of it every day!”  Sure, I may be bothered for a little bit, but I’ll get over it.

Now time, time is a different animal all together.  I cannot stand it when someone wastes my time.  If I make plans with you, that means I have set aside time to spend with you.  This is time I could have spent with my daughter or my mom.  This is time I could have used to work.  This is time I could have spent with other good friends.  It could even be time I could have spent on myself giving myself a mani-pedi.  But instead… I set the time aside to spend with you.  So if you show up late, or cancel at the last minute or do something else to screw up our plans…then you have just wasted my time.

I think the reason that screwing with my time bothers me so much is because I can never get it back.  It’s gone.  It’s not like I’m going to walk down the street and look down and see that someone dropped three hours on the side walk like an abandoned $5 bill.  That time wasted is never coming back.  Perhaps it’s because I have been so busy during the last few years that time has become such an issue for me.  For the longest time, I have had very little time to myself.

The issue of time, time wasted and time spent was really driven home last week.  My cousin passed away suddenly.  She was only 27 years old.  27 years old and her time is up.  She has no more time left to hug her family, send an email to keep in touch with far away friends and family, no more time to sit and watch the sun set.  

And I’m here on my couch, watching a rerun of SVU with the time I have.

None of us are promised tomorrow.  Hell, we’re not even promised next month or even 20 minutes from now.  You could choke on a grape in the next hour.  Tomorrow, you might get hit by a truck.  Or maybe that dull pain you’ve been ignoring is really something big that you shouldn’t ignore.  

Let’s all pretend that we know for a fact that we will pass away exactly 6 months from now.  If we knew that we had so little time left, would you really spend it watching Big Brother or playing Halo or trying to create the perfect body impression on the couch?  I think that if we knew our time was up, we wouldn’t waste that time on stupid shit…instead we’d go out and really live.

But we don’t know when our number is up.  Instead we meander along like we have all the time in the world.  We stay in relationships that leave us feeling empty rather than fulfilled.  We think of friends we have lost contact with and say that we’ll reconnect with them…and then we don’t.   Instead of watching the sun rise or set, instead of watching waves crash on the shore, instead of watching out children grow…we watch TV or we have our noses buried in a tablet of some kind.

And we waste our own time.  The same time we wish we hadn’t squandered when we reach the end of the line.

I’m glad my cousin really lived while she was here.  She touched lives.  She influenced people.    

She left a mark on those who knew her.  

I think it’s time to stop wasting time.  I think it’s time for us to truly live.

When talking about undocumented immigrants, please shut your face!

I'm watching some programming about immigration and it makes me furious.  People make me mad.  I hear a lot of people go on and on about how they are taking jobs.  How they come here illegally and sponge off the system.  I hear people go on and on about how their grandparents were immigrants and how they came here legally and how immigrants need to go through the proper channels to come here. 

Here's the thing...

1.  Yeah, they do come here and take jobs.  But they're the jobs the overwhelming majority of you do not want to take.  Do you want to work long hours in the sun picking vegetable?  Do you want to scrub dishes in a restaurant and then run off to the next job cleaning offices at night?  And do you want to do it for minimum wage?  Let's keep in mind, if a person is here with no documents, they many times work for less than minimum wage.  Beggars can't be choosers so they'll take what they can get.  Seriously, if you are really mad because you didn't get the job at the chicken slaughter house, and an undocumented immigrant did, perhaps you should re-evaluate your career path and give your resume a good make over.

2.  I don't understand how they can come here and sponge of the system when they don't have a social security number.  No social security number no benefits.  You cannot get welfare, food stamps, section 8 and other assorted benefits without a social security number.

3.  Your grandparents were immigrants a zillion years ago?  Big whoop.  Good for them.  Back then they handed out visas and green cards like they were nothing.  Visas and green cards are so much harder to come by, especially when you are brown.  In fact, if you are just some poor little person who just wants to feed their kids, chances are you are not getting this magic slip of paper that will let you come here legally.

Sooo... the life of an undocumented immigrant is not an easy one.  You risk your life to come here.  Yes, immigrants have died on their journey. Some have been murdered, some have been injured or become sick.  Some have died of thirst.  Those lucky enough to get here with their lives work, work, work their asses off to make a wage you would find insulting.  They rent a room if they can, or room with a lot of people to pay cheap rent.  This way you might be able to send money home and feed yourself at the same time.  These immigrants will take whatever abuse their employer throws their way because they fear losing their job and being deported.  These abuses have included violence and rape.  And they take it...because their kids are getting fed.

I've heard people go on and on about how they would not make the same choice as these immigrants because they would want to do it legally and according to the law, blah, blah, blah...

I am willing to bet that if our economy were to completely bottom out, if there were no safety nets, and you stood there day after day after day hearing your children cry because they were hungry, your opinion would change real quick.  You wouldn't sit around filling out useless paper work for a visa you knew you would never get because you have been deemed "undesirable."  Instead, you would gather whatever money you had to pay someone to smuggle you into Canada so that your child could go to bed listening to a lullaby and not the sound of their stomach growling.

Sorry if this makes you angry or uncomfortable, but I felt the need to vent.  Please enjoy your comfortable life.

You're a She-roe!

I was pretty steamed for the rest of the week.

I had never been called up to HR before... EVER!  You'd think I'd react like any nerd would
on their first trip to the principal's office, but I didn't cry.  I was pissed.

I didn't think anything of it.  I just thought it was part of the new culture in the prestigious
organization.  Moving on... or so I thought.

About a week later, I was approached by a producer at the prestigious organization.  She's
pretty high up on the food chain so I never talked to her since I was just a little cog.  She walked
right up to me and said my name...I was shocked...I had no idea she knew who I was.

"DID YOU GET CALLED UP TO HR FOR SAYING TAMPON IN THE SPEAK EASY?!?"

My jaw dropped!  How the hell did she know about my spanking in HR?!  I was so shocked that
I could hardly speak... which is actually pretty odd for me since my big mouth is what got me into
trouble in the first place.

"IS IT TRUE?!"

I collected myself and said "yes," or rather I tried to say yes, it came out more like a squeak.

"THAT IS SUCH BULLSHIT!! I CANNOT BELIEVE THEY DID THAT TO YOU!!"

I could not believe this woman was talking to me let alone letting the word "shit" fly freely at
full blast!  She said something about wanting to start a ruckus, that something had to be done,
I think I may have blocked out most of her tirade.

I was approached by people high up in my department and other departments.  All women, all
pissed off!  I guess I didn't realize how far the ripples of my own tirade in the ice cream line
would go.  After a couple days, it all died down, and it was back to work until my last day.


The things that I remember the most about this experience are the little things.  The outraged producers
were cool, I guess.  But there were smaller things...

I actually received thank you notes.... some from friends and some from women I didn't even know.
Some women said that for the first time in weeks, they started seeing tampons again in the ladies room on their floors.  One woman said her monthly friend showed up early and she was desperate.  Out of desperation she opened the tampon dispenser. It had been empty for weeks...but she opened it anyway... and found it was full of tampons!

One woman said "Thank you for bringing back the tampons!  You're a She-roe!"  I thought that was pretty cool!

Since my days at the prestigious organization were numbered, I really didn't feel the need to work at full capacity.  I figured I was being shown the door and I got spanked for saying the dreaded "T" word, it was my form of silent protest.... or maybe I was just resentful... after all, I had been there for 7 years!

One day I wandered down to the second floor to waste time with some very cool ladies who worked there.  One of them said to me, "Can I ask you a question? Were you the one who said tampon in the speak easy?"  I laughed, "Yeah, it was me."

She just laughed and said "Oh my God!! You're Tampon Girl!!  You guys!! She's tampon girl!!  SHE'S TAMPON GIRL!!!"

Since we were all Latinas she said, "I knew Tampon Girl had to be one of us!!"

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!  What did you call me!?"

"Tampon Girl!  That's your name!  That's what everyone has been calling you!"

It took me a minute to take it all in...

"Joan Baez is writing a tribute album for you!  We're planning a parade!  Now that we know it's you, we can have your statue commissioned!!" (OK...this part about Joan Baez, the parade and the statue aren't true...but I can dream!)

Turns out that my tampon comment had taken on a life of its own and from the hyperbole and exaggeration, Tampon Girl was born!  Tampon Girl!! A mysterious, masked figure who attacked the policies of upper management with tales of the female reproductive system and feminine hygiene products!

In retrospect...it was only tampons.  It really wasn't a big deal.  But it turned into one.  Parts of the story are funny and in hindsight sometimes I laugh about it.  But in reality, the experience of being called up to Human Resources was demeaning and scary.  Who knows, they could have fired me right there and I would have been shown the door with no unemployment benefits.  Then me and my daughter would quite literally be on the street.  Luckily, things did not go that far...but c'mon... just give us the friggin tampons!

Perhaps this is TMI...but clearly its not my favorite time of the month.  I don't know any woman who looks forward to her monthly menses.  Bleeding for 5 to 7 days, along with mood swings, craving and bloating is not as much fun as it sounds!

I understand that times are tough and things had to be cut to save money and hopefully jobs, which is what they promised us.  But of all the things you choose to cut to save money, you choose to cut the tampons?!  Not the fancy lunches the executives have.  Not their travel.  They didn't cut down on all the new vice presidents they were hiring!  Instead they cut the first aid kits and the tampons!

(Although I will say that the top executives who make over a quarter mil did take a pay cut... 5%.... way to did deep guys.  After hearing of their contribution I became gravely concerned.  Sometimes I would lay awake at night wondering if they had enough money to put gas in their boats after such a hefty sacrifice... I was so worried.  But I digress...)

I guess I'm glad I'm gone. The place that fired me was not the same place that hired me.

Oh well, at least I got a great idea for a Halloween costume.... Tampon Girl to the rescue!!!

It Happened on Ice Cream Day!!

There are details about my lay-off story that are still a bit fuzzy to me.  The order of certain things is kind of unclear.  Did I get THE phone call before of after the speakeasy?  Did I know for sure that I was being laid off before or after I said "tampon?" I can't really remember.  But at some point I had already learned that I was being laid off and I had already said that word in front of the President and CEO of the prestigious organization.

I was getting my things together and I preparing for a long overdue vacation.  I was going to visit my cousin in Texas.  I had purchased the airline tickets before I received news of the layoff...so what was I supposed to do?  I packed my bags and my kid and I would take off to the Lone Star State.  But in the days before my flight I received a phone call.  I wasn't actually there to take the phone call, but I listened to the message...

"Hi, this is Badskin McFrizzyhair.  As you know, your contract with us will be up soon and I wanted to set aside a time to chat with you about your benefits and answer any questions you might have.  Also I wanted to schedule a date to have you exit interview. "

This was the part that pissed me off!  I received this phone call in April.  My last day of work at the prestigious organization was during the last week of August.  I could not believe Badskin McFrizzyhair wanted to schedule my exit interview so soon.  It kinda felt like they were twisting the knife.  She ended her voice mail with a cheerful closing and asking me to call her.

FUCK YOU!!

I had no intention of calling this bitch back.  So off I went to Texas to hang out with my cousin, drink too much and eat steak!!  I had the time of my life!!  And then I came back...

It was my first day back and I was trying to get back in the swing of things.  I was reading an employee bulletin that announced FREE ICECREAM!!  A new ice cream machine was making its big debut with us.  It could make a custom scoop of hard ice cream in a variety of flavors and toppings in less than a minute.  Not a bad way to start the week!  And then I got the phone call....

CALLER ID: "McFrizzyhair, Badskin - HR"

Good lord she was persistent!  I took the call.  I probably should have let it go to voicemail, but I took the call.  I made an appointment to see her that afternoon, and then I would go get my complimentary scoop of custom made ice cream.

I didn't realize what I was walking into.  What was the point?  I was going to be let go and be left with nothing! Why did I need a big meeting to state the obvious?  And I was right...she ran down a list of things I already knew... no job...no health insurance...possible severance...COBRA is super expensive...blah, blah, blah!

When I decided I had wasted enough time I piped up and said, "so, I guess we're done then?"

The following is what transpired:

BSMFH:  Well actually, there is something that I need to chat with you about.

Me:  Oh?

BSMFH:  Well, its about an issue that was brought to our attention.


Me:  Ok... (This is where I start furiously going through the mental roladex to narrow down what I might be on the hook for...)

BSMFH:  At the Speakeasy, you brought up something about aspirin, and that was great.  But you also brought up something about tampons.  We just want you to know that you made A LOT of people really uncomfortable.

Me:  I did?!?


BSMFH:  Yeah... We just need you to understand that The Speakeasy is not the right venue to talk about tampons.

Me:  But its The Speakeasy!

BSMFH:  Yes, absolutely.  But its not the right venue to talk about that sort of thing!  The thing about the aspirin was great!  But the it isn't the proper venue to talk about tampons.

Me:  Ok...then what is the right venue to talk about tampons?

BSMFH:  Well, if you have questions about tampons, you can always come and talk to me because I'm you're HR business partner! (She said this with the chipperness of a chipmunk!)

Me:  So, if I have questions about tampons I should always come to you...

BSMFH:  Yes, absolutely!

Me:  Because YOU are my TAMPON CONTACT...

The smile dropped from her face and she glared at me...."Yeah..."

Our conversation went on for a little longer.  Turns out, we were no longer being given tampons because it was no longer the policy of the prestigious organization.  When asked why we weren't given notice of this change in policy, she just kept parroting the same phrase over and over again, "It's just not our policy any more...It's just not our policy anymore..."  It was kind of sad in a way....that's all she kept saying...but then again, what was she supposed to say? The men in charge don't want to pay for your monthly bleeding issues?

When she had finally had enough she said again that at speakeasies I could ask about aspirins, just not tampons.  "Ok...so while we're on the subject, where is the aspirin?"  Turns out the prestigious organization wouldn't be bringing those back either.  Turns out they did not want to be held liable in the event that someone took the aspirin and got sick because they did not know they had an aspirin allergy.  To this day, this has got to be one of the stupidest things I have ever heard.

I ended our meeting by letting her know that she should go back to the suits and request that they re-evaluate their values.  There is something definitely wrong when letting someone die of a heart attack is better option than providing the aspirin to begin with and running the risk of someone not knowing they have an aspirin allergy.

I was so angry I could have spit fire.

I walked down to the lobby where the ice cream machine was.  Standing in the very middle of the line was my union buddy D.  She is every bit as loud and nutty as I am, so I walked up to her, "I was just in HR...."
I blurted everything out.  Told her everything that happened.

Since we were standing in the very middle of the line and I didn't bother to whisper, the news traveled down the line in opposite directions like ripples in a pond.

At the time, I didn't realize how far those ripples would actually travel.

Just Say No....to the Speak Easy!

When I think about The Speak Easy where I gained my super hero status, I often wonder if I should have just kept my big mouth shut.  Maybe if I had kept my yap closed, things would have turned out differently.  Or maybe I would have gotten laid off just the same.

Is it better to get laid off and leave quietly or is it better to go with some notoriety attached to your name?  I guess going with the former, rather than the latter, leads to a less interesting blog.

Since morale in the prestigious building was at an all time low, The Suits decided that it would be a good idea to set up special meetings called Speakeasies.  A place where the common worker bee could ask a question of management and get an answer without power point presentations or agendas.

People had questions about the budget, new vice presidents that they would have to answer to, the new direction we were going in... I figured my question was pretty small potatoes, not much of a big deal.  All I wanted to know was where the aspirin went!

Since we had to cut back and save money, management decided to stop refilling the first aid kits.  Instead of headache, allergy and stomach meds, all we had left was band aids and burn gel.  In the employee news letter were were told that in order to save money the first aid kit would only be stocked with things we needed in an emergency.  So basically, if I decided to slit my wrists or if I suddenly burst into flames at work, we'd be all set with everything we needed.

But I started thinking.... ALWAYS A BAD IDEA!  With a little bit of nursing school under my belt and a smidge of first aid training I deduced that if their argument was supplying us with things we needed in the event of an emergency, we needed the aspirin.  If a person in the prestigious building had a heart attack, one of the things we'd need to do first is give this person some aspirin.

So off I go to the Speak Easy to make my case for some basic pharmaceuticals.  While waiting for the meeting to start, some female co-workers were chatting about the lack of tampons.  Tampons and sanitary napkins were supplied for free to the female employees since the 60s.  Now they were nowhere to be found!  The tampon machines were not being refilled.  We were not even being given the option to pay for them with a stinkin' quarter!  And we were given NO notice.  No memo, no email, no article in the employee newsletter.  Nothing to let us plan ahead.  We were literally caught with our pants down!  Literally!!  Pants down!!

So the President and CEO of our very important workplace started the meeting. I decided to go first since I felt no one wanted to talk about aspirin.  So I made my plea and I was great!  I talked about what a heart attack is...how a thrombus forms... how aspirin keeps the thrombus from getting any bigger and causing tissue death...and how it can very well save someone's life...and how we need it in the event of an emergency, since that was their argument to begin with.  The President was very impressed, even gave me a little applause and said how happy he was that I brought this to his attention.  He said he was definitely bring this up again with his people to re-evaluate their decision because they clearly hadn't thought of that when they decided to nix the aspirin.

Maybe I was drunk on the adulation from top Suit so I opened my big yap and said, "And while you're at it, if you could fill up the tampon machine, that would be awesome!  For a lot of us here, that's an emergency too!"

I got a big laugh from the audience...I got a big laugh from the President himself...apparently the only person not laughing was the head of Human Resources who was sitting in the back of the room writing down my name and department!

This is how my story begins...

A Question of Faith...

It's Good Friday.

I have been wrestling with a spiritual question for some time now.  I haven't shared this with anyone because even wondering this, silently to myself, was disturbing...even to me.

Am I an athiest?

When I was a child, I believed very deeply in God.  I believed in God so profoundly that when I prayed, I believed someone was actually listening.  But as I grew up, cracks started to form in the foundation of my faith.

First, being sent to Catholic school didn't help much.  Nothing helps strengthen your faith in God like asking your religion teacher a deep spiritual question about God and being told, "Do you know what your problem is?  You think to much!  Maybe you should just stop asking questions and do what you're told!"

I know that as far as lives go... I've been pretty lucky.  I've always had a roof over my head.  I may not have always had what I wanted, but for the most part, I've always had what I needed.  My life has been a lot easier than a lot of people on this blue marble we live on.  Lucky....my mother says blessed.

But on occasion, life has thrown me a curve ball.  My dad was sick for a while.  My marriage was far from successful.  My pregnancy was troubled from the very start.  Maybe some of my dreams didn't come true.  People I loved disappointed me and broke my heart.  And sometimes it felt like these little things piled up into one big overwhelming thing I had to shoulder alone.  And I started to ask myself...

When I pray, is anyone even listening?

So I stopped praying.  I stopped blessing myself with the cross.  I stopped going to church.  I walked away. 

From time to time friends I've made along the way would tell me how they were saved.  They would share their beliefs with me and how they would go to church faithfully every Sunday with their families.  And it would bother me so much. Maybe I was jealous because they had so much faith and I had so little.  They were filled with their faith.  I on the other hand would feel utterly empty.  Sometimes I felt like I was going a little nutty because I was talking to myself a lot.  Maybe it was my replacement for prayer.

I know I talk a lot of trash about my mom sometimes, make little jokes at her expense, but she said something today that made me think and re-evaluate.

I said to my mom, "I'm sorry I'm not like you.  I guess I'm more like my dad, he didn't have any faith either!"

My mom looked me in the eye and very calmly said, "Your father believed very deeply in God...it was the priests that he hated!"

Huh?!?

Turns out that my dad avoided church because he didn't like priests, not because he didn't believe in God.  He felt that a priest was a guy just like himself...just a man.  He hated how many people tripped all over priests like they were special.  He saw them for the flawed human beings they were...just guys...and this is what they do.  Some people grow up to be dentists or mechanics...some guys grow up to be priests.

I was stunned.  That's why my dad hated going to church?!  I thought it was because his time could be better spent watching TV and drinking beer.  I didn't know he had an actual reason.  And what was more shocking... a reason that I agree with!!

Just like my dad, I've always had a problem with church.  I don't like going.  I never got anything out of it and I didn't feel it brought me closer to God.  And on top of that, I didn't like the idea of what I was being told...God is in heaven keeping a running tab of every little thing you have ever done wrong and on top of that, he takes attendance on Sunday.  Awesome.  And I hated how a lot of these religious folk who talked non stop about their church and their faith were, more often than not, faking it!  Who among us doesn't know someone who constantly goes on and on about how good and holy they are and when they think no one is looking, they are the sneakiest, most dishonest people around?

I('ve made mistakes and sometimes my moral compass does not entirely point due north.  But for the most part, I try to live my life as a good person.  I help out when I can.  I treat other the way I want to be treated.  I'm trying...  So because I don't go to church every Sunday or ram my religious beliefs down people's throats, does that mean I'm not welcomed in heaven...if there actually is a heaven?  Is it even the way its been described to us since child hood or is heaven something else entirely different? Who knows...

But I do know this!  I am taking a page out of my dad's book.  If you go to church and it fills you with absolute joy, then good for you, I am happy for you, I really am.  But its not for me.  I have a better chance of squeezing into a size 2 than falling head over heels in love with organized religion.

Now, here's a funny little tidbit.  All this time that I turned my  back on God, I started talking to myself a lot.  Thinking out loud, reflecting on stuff.  The funny thing was...it felt like someone was listening.  Just because I wasn't praying the way I was taught, or expected to, doesn't mean I wasn't talking to God.  I was just doing it differently.  

So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to park it on the couch and have a private chat with God.

Prologue.....

In the city of Boston there is a prestigious building. Within this building, drones work tirelessly to produce content meant to educate the general public. Content, shows, programs that are meant to open the eyes and feed the minds of whoever sees it...reads it...listens to it. And tirelessly the drones worked on in hopes of reaching the masses and satisfying its thirst for knowledge!

Once upon a time, the drones worked with pride...tirelessly...always tirelessly.

But as the landscape of the nation change... so did the focus of the public.

The public for whom the drones worked to satisfy no longer yearned for ABCs...or Physics...or History... or the tales of the peoples of far away lands.... in the modern age, the public yearned for something else entirely different. Who was voted off the island? Who did the bachelor pick to be his bride? Who sang until their throats were raw in hopes the public would vote for them to sing again another day?

And still the drones worked tirelessly....

And as the landscape continued to change....so did life in the prestigious building. New faces, strangers to the land of public broadcasting, took the lead in the executive offices. Before long, the drones heard dreaded words that shook them to their individual cores... furlough... lay-off... downsizing... restructuring... change.

And from these seeds of discontent, Tampon Girl arose!

I BELONG TO A SECRET SOCIETY!!

Due to reasons beyond our control, we have been forced underground.  Our traditions are squirreled away from the public and our beliefs are kept to ourselves for fear of prosecution.  We appear just like everyone else, we work with you, our children go to school with yours, and we stand behind you at the supermarket.  And when we recognize one of our own, we greet each other secretly, we whisper our secret message softly so as not to attract attention…we make sure we are in a safe location away from prying judgmental eyes and we whisper…. 

Merry Christmas!

Yes, it’s true, I admit it…. I am a Christian!  I know! It’s shocking!!  I’m the last person you’d suspect as being a Christian.  I love to swear…and I do it quite well.  When I get going, I can whip up such a stitch of profanity that sailors blush!  I love a good martini!  Gin, Straight up (no ice), two olives!  I haven’t seen the inside of a church in God knows how long, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in Jesus.

I don’t belong to any particular church.  I was born Catholic, but to be honest, the Catholic Church and I have gone our separate ways for a variety of reason including that Sunday Mass is a huge snooze-fest that I get absolutely nothing out of unless of course it’s the Spanish Mass at St. Ambrose because the choir is awesome and the walls vibrate from everyone singing.  (However, if regular Mass works for you…God bless.)

I don’t go to church; I don’t beat the bible and make it the centerpiece of every conversation.  However, I try to live my life according to what Jesus taught those of us in our secret society.  Treat others as you would want to be treated.  Be charitable.  Be compassionate.  Let others simply be…  I try my best, I admit sometimes I screw up, but I keep on trying.  Most people, I like to think, believe that although I can be brash and loud, I’m a nice person.

I don’t think it’s a bad way to live.

But here’s the thing…apparently my beliefs are so offensive that I am asked to say Happy Holidays so I don’t hurt anyone’s feelings.  Why do I have to celebrate in secret?  Why can’t we ALL celebrate ALL our faiths out in the open and just enjoy the diversity?

That seems like a lot more fun.

I’d like to point out a fact.  Christmas is about Christ…that why “Christ” is in the word “Christmas!”  Kind of funny how that works out, huh…. And for the record it has never been, nor should it continue to be Xmas...that's for people too lazy to write out the entire word.

Christmas is about celebrating the birth of a very special child.  It’s about taking a leap of faith.  It’s about celebrating this day with the people you love and wishing them the best.

It’s not about Santa Clause.  It’s not about shopping.  It’s not about racking up 5 months of bills! 

When I see all the commercials and see the people going bananas buying everything in sight….and completely missing the point…it makes my stomach turn.   It is an absolute perversion of the true meaning of Christmas.

Instead of manger scenes, we have a fat guy in a red suit and fictitious reindeer.  Instead of angels, we have elves.  Instead of "Little Drummer Boy" we have "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause," easily one of the irritating songs ever!  And before anyone stands up to defend “Santa” let me remind you what a jerk he was to Rudolph!  He used him for his red nose for one Christmas and then we never hear of him again…I find him a poor representative for Christmas based on his inferior moral fiber.

So while you are walking around your winter wonderland this holiday season, taking in the sanitized, unreligious, secular holiday decorations…while you are thinking, “Wow…how utterly fair and inoffensive to everyone” I would like to point out one thing.

ITS OFFENSIVE TO ME!

Merry Christmas!

It's Getting Swiney Up In Here....

My daughter has the flu....I am going to assume it is H1N1.  After all, my ex-mother-in-law has told me repeatedly, over and over again, on several occasions, time and time again, that the seasonal flu has not hit yet.  So if a child has flu symptoms, it's probably H1N1.

I am so bothered by this for so many different reasons.

I took her to the doctor for her yearly physical on Thursday.  She got a clean bill of health.  The doctor said she was in tip top shape.  When I called I said I wanted her to get the flu shot...this would be for the regular seasonal flu, not the new and improved flu, version 2.0, better known as the swine flu. I was told it would not be a problem.  The woman on the other end of the phone did not ask me if my daughter had asthma.  All they had left was the nasal spray.  If you have asthma, you cannot take the spray, you need the shot.  And MGH is out of shots.

Fine, whatever, we'll just wash our hands a lot and keep calling to see when another shipment will come in.

However, she comes home and she says her throat is scratchy...next comes the cough...she wakes up the next morning with a headache...she is sooo tired...she has the flu.

The thing that I hate about this flu is that it screws with your head.  First the kid is sick...then they feel better...then they are sick again...then the fever is gone...then the next morning its back with a vengence...its gone...then its back. 

Another thing that I hate is that I am doing this alone.  The ex-husband calls and checks in for a whopping 5 minutes, but that's it.  I have to deal with getting her to take her medicine, to making sure she is taking in liquids, taking her temp and deciding whether or not I can go to work today or not.

Didn't go to work today, her fever was very low, but I figured better safe than sorry.  Her fever shot up again to 103.3 half an hour ago.  And I have to go to work tomorrow.  Does the ex-husband have to face these issues?  Nooooo...he's off "rebuilding" his life with the new girlfriend.  Keep in mind he has been "rebuilding" for the better part of 6 years!

I cannot believe the fever is back!!!  ARGH!!

Yet another thing that enrages me is all the information on the internet.  I typed in H1N1 treatment...all these websites pop up, they claim to have info on treating H1N1...they list the vaccine as a treatment! 

Where do you get this magic vaccine?!

In the state of Massachusetts, the first batch of this vaccine went to prison inmates.  Normally, I am a left wing, bleeding heart liberal.  Not this time, I had never sounded so Republican in my life that when the following thoughts crossed my mind, I wondered if I had been possessed by the ghost of a GOP member!

There is a vaccine out there that could have prevented my kid from getting this flu that is quite frankly kicking my ass and its going to prison inmates first?!?  Why are their lives more important than my daughter's life?  My kid never killed anyone!  She never hurt anyone!  But we're giving the vaccine to Johnny Rapist first?  Does this seem wrong to anyone else?

Ugh!  I am sooo frustrated!  And I am so tired!  And I have to go to work! And the fever is not going away!  And just when I thought she was getting better, she gets worse!  And people who do not raise my child or have no background in medicine or patient care are under the impression that I am dying to hear their opinion on what I should do!

I can't wait for flu season to be over...or for everyone with an opinion on what I should do to find a new target.

I CONTROL THE CHOCOLATE MILK!

Many years ago, I was cradling my little pink baby.  As I studied and took in her absolute perfection, I thought to myself, "Wow...I'm going to screw her up."

I came to that conclusion after contemplating my need to be the best mommy I could be.  And how my mom tried to be the best mom she could be.  And no matter how hard I try or what I do, she will eventually end up on a therapists couch, blaming me for something. 

My mom was always smothering me...or My mom didn't care about me....or My mom tried to be my best friend when what I needed was a mother...or My mom was to neat...or messy...or strict...or lax.  No matter what I do...she's screwed.

So I figured I should have fun with it.  And then my pink baby spit up on me.

GAME ON!

Just like last summer, my daughter is spending her days at summer camp.  Every morning we go to the day camp location and I walk her to a big tent...it kind of looks like a banquet tent and I sign her in.  And then I walk her down a gravel path to a smaller tent.  This second tent serves as a home room.

So I sign her in like I do every day.  And we start to walk towards the gravel path and she stops.  She turns to me and says, "Mommy, you don't have to walk me, I can go by myself."

I swear that I could hear my heart crack and split in two.  My God, I knew this day would come...she is starting to pull away from me.

"Are you sure, Mommy can walk you the rest of the way...it's ok."

"No..I can go by myself."

I tried so hard to hide the heartbreak and desperation in my voice, "Are you sure?"

"Yep, I'm good."

She's good?!?  What the hell is that?!

I lean down to give her a hug and kiss like a do every morning...and she pulls away!!

"MOM!" she says under her voice like I just did something gross like pick my butt in front of her friends.

And off she went. 

And then I heard the voice in my head..."What the hell!!  She can't even give you a hug and kiss?!  Get a hold of this situation NOW!! YOU CONTROL THE CHOCOLATE MILK IN THIS RELATIONSHIP!! Get a hold of this situation and handle it!!"

I didn't know what to do, she was walking away!

She was about 30...40 feet away and I took a deep breath and yelled out:

"TREENIE PANINI!!"

She stopped dead in her tracks...dropped and shook her head.

"HAVE A GOOD DAY SWEET HEART!!"

"MOMMY LOVES YOU!!"

"MAKE SMART CHOICES!!!"

She turned to me and mouthed very clearly "I hate you!" to which I replied:

"I LOVE YOU TOO!!"

I think I made my point.

Later that evening we had a chat about mommy's little display of affection.

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!?"

"I DID THAT BECAUSE YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT I CONTROL THE CHOCOLATE MILK!!!"

"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN!!"

"IT MEANS I AM THE MOMMY AND YOU ARE THE CHILD AND THAT IS THE END OF THE STORY!!"

After some more discussion, I made an offer to end the little stalemate we found ourselves in.  Every morning I get my hug and kiss and she can then walk to her tent alone.  At first she didn't think it was a good deal.  But then I said I could always show up at camp and show her friends her naked baby pictures.  She soon saw my point of view and we settled on my offer.

So every morning I get my hug and kiss...she walks the path alone...and I control the chocolate milk.

A Gas Grill A BBQ Does Not Make!

This is an issue that really bothers me and I feel that I can no longer hold it in...my friends, I must speak!

COOKING ON A GAS GRILL DOES NOT COUNT AS A BBQ!! 
AAAAARRRGGGGHHHH!!

Oh my God, it felt good to get that off my chest!

Yesterday I went to a BBQ at my friend's house.  It was good to get out of the house and go have grown up time without the offspring.  Don't get me wrong, I love my child but she can be a pain in the ass!

"I'm bored...when are we leaving...how much longer are we going to stay...I'm bored...the battery in my DS died...did I mention I'm bored?"

But luckily the offspring was at a slumber party and mom got to hang out with friends in the "over 30" group!

My friend's put out quite the spread! And best of all, it was grilled on a Webber with charcoal briquettes! 

I remember watching my dad load up our Webber with the charcoal...he used to let me douse the briquettes with lighter fluid.  The biggest thrill I got was when he let me light them myself for the first time...and it only took two months for my eyebrows to grow back!  Kidding! But it was something my dad and I got to do together.

I remember he and the other dad's would talk about the right way to stack the briquette's...should they be laid out flat or should you stack them in a pyramid.  I believe it should be in a pyramid.

And just like yesterday's bbq...the food would taste sooo good!  There is just something about the way food tastes when it is off a charcoal grill.  You don't get the same taste from a gas grill.

I don't like gas grills!  They are boushy! 

That's right! I said it! 

They're boushy!!

Not everyone can afford a big ol' propane gas grill and pay extra for an engineer to put the stupid thing together so that it doesn't blow up in your face and burn down your house.  However, you can buy a little hibachi for a couple of bucks to grill up some dogs and burgers.

And a gas grill is nothing more than a glorified stove top!  You spent $300 on something that could do the job of a stove top and a special pan...and you look foolish as you impress everyone by turning the knob on your big ol grill..a knob that looks a lot like the ones on the stove.

And the food tastes like it would if it came off the stove.  Not that that's a bad thing...but its just not special.  If you're going to go through the effort of grilling the payoff should be in the way the food tastes.

A gas grill is not gilling...it's just cooking...outside!

I was at the supermarket today saw that one of these babies was for sale:


A Kingsford Barrel Grill...isn't it beautiful?  And if I ever have a house (not a condo) with a yard...I'm getting one of these and I'm having a big ol' Barbecue!!!

A Tribute to Ghetto Pizza

Every generation hopes that the one after them has it easier than they did.  Everyone hopes that their own children will do better than they did.

And I look at my daughter, she has it pretty good.

She has a dog.  I never had a dog.  She goes to a lovely little school in suburbia.  Not me.  I lived in the city. My daughter gets bored, she has over 100 channels to choose from, plus a slew of "On Demand" movies and programs.  I had to use my imagination.

But there are things that I did and experienced that my daughter has not, and I think its kind of sad.  My daughter has never known the joys of watching the big kids pop a fire hydrant and then jumping around in the water in what can only be described as unbridled joy.

My daughter has never hopped a fence.  She's never needed to.

My daughter has never played in the middle of the street.  I remember playing kick ball in the street.  Not the sidewalk, but the street.  And it was always someone's job to yell "Car!"  And we would get out of the way...and when they passed by...it was back out onto the street.  I could never let my kid play out in the street now!
 
I remember my sister in law was having a hard time with my niece one day.  Much like now, the economy was really bad and no one had any money.  And it was worse for my brother and his wife.  They were recent immigrants with a young child.  (We have different moms and he was raised in El Salvador.)

On that particular day in the 80's...my niece was driving her poor mom up the wall by repeatedly asking for pizza.  She wanted pizza so bad.  But her mom hadn't gotten paid yet and had NO MONEY.  And its humiliating to not have any money when your kid wants something.  I'll be the first to admit that I've been there.  After all, I was driving a big ol' Jeep not long ago when gas was over $4 a gallon!

At one point I swear this woman was near tears as my niece fired off a steady stream of "Can we get pizza?"

I took my niece into the kitchen.  And I made her a snack that I had invented 10 years earlier when I was her age.  My niece and I are 10 years apart in age.  While my neice was a small child during the recession in the 80s.  I was a small child in the recession in the 70s. 

So I decided to share with her a wonderful snack I invented as a child when my mom did not have money for pizza.  I took a piece of Wonderbread.  I slathered a layer of ketchup on it.  I sprinkled the ketchup with dried oregano, basil and some pepper.  Then I blanketed it with a layer of American cheese.  It may have been government cheese, but I can't remember. 

And into the toaster it when,  and when it came out my greedy crumb snatcher little niece scarfed the whole thing down!  And the begging for pizza was over.  She had come to love my creation...Ghetto Pizza.

My daughter on the other had has not known the joys of ghetto pizza.  She's never really had to experience the need for ghetto pizza.  I've been lucky enough to have a few bucks lying around to get a small pizza from time to time.  And I wonder if I'm doing my daughter a disservice by giving her all that I didn't have.  At the risk of sounding cocky...will she be as resilient as I am?  Will she know humility?  Will she know to make the best of it when you don't have a lot?  That's what I learned when I ate ghetto pizza.

I wonder if she'd even eat it?  I wonder if she'd look down her nose at it?  I think I'm going to see if we have any white bread and ketchup!

Mmmmmm....toasty!

My Bail is $695.50!!!

This is HILARIOUS! Just read the 'offense' and if you've done it, you owe that fine. Keep going until you've read each 'offense' and added up your total fine. Title your blog 'My Bail is $........'you dont have to Confess your answers, just write the amount of your fine

1) Smoked pot -- $10

2) Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk --$50

3) Cheated on your significant other -- $10

4) Been in love with two people or more at the same time -- $50

5) Said you love someone but didn't mean it -- $25

6) Went streaking -- $5

7) Went streaking in broad daylight -- $15

8) Kissed a co-worker-- $ 20

9)Kissed your boss --$50

10) Been arrested -- $5

11) Spent time in jail -- $15

12) Peed in the pool -- $0.50

13) Played spin the bottle -- $5

14) Done something you regret -- $20

15) Slept with your best friend >-- $20

16) Been in love with a stripper -- $20

17) Went skinny dipping -- $5

18) Been slapped-- $5

19) Slapped someone-- $5

20) Beat up someone -- $20

21) Been jumped -- $10

22) Ever had sex at church -- $25

23) Dated someone you met on My Space -- $25

24) Cheated on test -- $50

25) Vandalized something -- $20

26) Slept with someone in your parents' bed -- $100

27) Crossed dressed -- $10

28) Given money to stripper -- $25

29) Flirted with an officer to get out of a ticket-- $30

30) Been in love with a stripper -- $20

31) Kissed some one who's name you didn't know --$10

32) Hit on some one of the same sex while at work-- $15

33) Ever drive drunk -- $20

34) Used toys while having sex -- $30

35) Got drunk, passed out and don't remember the night before -- $20

36) Had sex in a pool -- $20

37) Masturbated -- $10

38) Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend --$20

39) Done oral -- $5

40) Got oral -- $5

41) Done / got oral in a car while it was moving-- $25

42) Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you-- $40

43) Stole something -- $10

44) Slept with someone who has been in jail -- $25

45) Made a dirty home video -- $15

46) Plan on making a dirty home video in the near future --$30

47) Had a threesome -- $50

48) Had sex in a public place-- $20

49) Been in the same room while someone was having sex -- $25

50) Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars --$20

51) Had sex with someone 10 years older -- $20

52) Kissed a teacher while you were still a student--$25

53) Lied to your mate -- $5

54) Lied to your mate about the sex being good -- $25

OK , now tally up your answers, then, copy paste this into your blog.  In the title of your post put your 'My Bail Is... (your total) 

Best Day Ever!!!

I didn't move any mountains today.  I didn't cure cancer.  I didn't free any nations.  I did very basic things with my daughter and it was great.

First, we took the dog on a nice long walk.  That was cool.

I took my daughter to the local library.  I felt it was time for her to get a library card.  She was so excited and we checked out her first book, "Beezus and Ramona" by Beverly Cleary.  While I was there the librarian asked if I happened to have a library card.  Truth be told, I haven't had one since high school.  I am now the proud owner of a library card.  Since we had time, my daughter and I curled up on one of the library couches and we started reading her book.  It was nice.

Next we met up with some friends.  I am part of a Single Parents group.  We get together from time to time to do stuff with the kids.  Today we bowled.

After bowling the real fun started.  My daughter and I love Air Hockey. And I am an Air Hockey fiend....and quite good.  And I have to say, for an 8 year old...my kid is pretty good too.  I am sooo good at air hockey that in the years my ex-husband and I were together, he only beat me at air hockey once...and that's because I was trashed!  And then he just flat out refused to play air hockey with me.

Well, me and the kid were going back and forth pretty furiously and attracted an audience.  Mostly teenage boys and a few of the parents I was with.  At one point...I got challenged.  I played this kid...and I beat him.  I got challenged again by someone else...beat him too.  And everytime I won, my daughter would look at whatever teen was standing next to her and she would say proudly..."that's my mom!"

"THAT'S YOUR MOM?!?"

I finally did get beat.  But after each game, regardless of whether or not I won, I would shake hands with my opponent.  It was pretty cool.  But it was funny because each of these kids was soooo stunned that someone my age was sooo good at air hockey....because Air Hockey was invented last week.

Then we went to the Food Connection.  Its a huge food court like you would see at a mall, but its all Asian food.  And not the crappy asian food we would get at the mall, but the REAL STUFF!!  And my daughter ate it all up!!  And I topped off my meal with a Thai Iced Tea with mini boba!  Yum!

And then we came home...read some more...and called it a night.

It was a good day!

Its Time!

It was Valentines Day and I was sitting in my hospital bed.  I was never a fan of the holiday and now it was celebrating it in a hospital bed.  Ugh.  I was twiddling my thumbs and looking out the window.  The doctors were supposed to get back to me regarding my weekend furlough.

First one in...the husband carrying a big box of Godiva Chocolates.  So far the day was starting out with chocolate...not a bad start.

Then I was surprised by my friend Christina and her boyfriend Tan.  Tan was a good friend of my husbands from high school and I was so thrilled that he found himself the most wonderful girlfriend in the world.  They dropped by for a surprise visit.  They didn't know if I would like Mussles Fra Diavlo or Chicken Parm...so they brought me both.  I was so happy!

I got a craving that day for a large chocolate frappe.  And I got my wish.  I got my frappe!  So far, my day was going well.  And I completely forgot my doctors were supposed to get back to me about early release.

After my visitors left, I sat in bed watching Oprah.  It was exactly 8 years ago, but I remember the episode.  Oprah was talking to women who were not turned on by sex.  I thought it was kind of funny because sex is what got me into my current predicament.  They were talking about using porn to spice things up in your marriage.

I remember thinking that maybe that chocolate frappe was a mistake because now I had this stomach ache.  But then it went away.  And then it came back.  But then it went away.  And then it was back.....oh shit.

I noticed that stomach ache was getting very painful.  It didn't feel like a contraction..it felt like there were razor blades in my stomach.  I tried not to panic so I hit the call button.  I said I needed my nurse because I was in pain.  The receptionist fired back with "Your nurse is busy with someone else so your'e just gonna have to wait your turn."  The way she said it was really snotty.  I told her I understood that but something was wrong.  She replied "I said you have to wait!!"

"Listen!!  You get me my nurse or someone else's nurse now or I swear to God I am dragging my pregnant ass down to your desk and kicking your ass up and down the 11th floor!!"

"Nurse needed in room 1118...Nurse needed in room 1118!!"

Again I got hooked up to machines.  But this time nothing was coming up showing a contraction.  I could not believe it when a nurse asked me "Are you sure you're having pain?"

The attending OB came to my room and found that I was 2 centimeters dialated...and I had a fever.  That infection I had been warned about finally caught up with me. 

And I was taken to Labor and Delivery and this time it was really going to happen.  I called my husband, he was taking classes at night.  I called my mom...she was on her way... I called my in-laws..they were on their way too...this was not a drill.

While we waited for my husband to get there, my fever spiked.  I walked into the bathroom at one point, but when I shut the door behind me, it felt like I had walked into a meat locker.  I was so cold...and sporting a fever of 103.  My nurse covered me in blankets straight out of the dryer.  And the pain was getting worse.

Finally the anesthesiologist arrived.  I received anesthesia through a spinal injection.  The pain was finally gone, but I couldn't move from my chest down.  Easily the freakest thing I had ever gone through.

The husband finally arrived and into the operating room we went.  The doctors asked me what kind of music I wanted to listen to...I chose the blues.

It was wierd.  I remember lying there with a blue curtain across my chest.  I was curious to see what they were doing.  I even checked the reflections in eyglasses of the surgeons.  They were all wearing non-reflective lenses.

I guess that was a good thing.  The thing about c-sections is that you think they make a cut and lift out the baby.  That is the furthest from the truth.  The fact is that the mother is gutted like a fish.  First, there is the cut across your belly.  Then your intestines are moved aside.  Next your bladder is lifted out of your body and placed next to you on the operating table.  Now, they finally cut into the womb.  And finally, they pluck out the baby.  After, they put you back together again.

When I hear a woman say she wants to have a c-section because its easier, I know she is ill informed.

I was under the impression that everything was going well.  However, doctors have a funny way of speaking and my then-husband pays very good attention.

"So I went golfing last week at that new resort....the baby is stuck.....and I got to break out the new golf clubs....I can't get the baby out....I was in the clubhouse and they have a new chef....she's bleeding alot....I was really impressed with the new menu....we're running out of time....The fish was really fresh....

I turned to my anesthesiologist and asked, "I feel really sleepy, is it ok if I close my eyes for a little bit?"

He responded with a very panicked "What?!"  And then I lost consciousness.

At that same moment the surgeon yelled at a nurse "We need O-Postive."  According to my ex-husband the doctors shifted into over-drive.  I was loosing blood.  The baby was stuck.  Both of us were running out of time.

Although I was unconscious...I remember stuff.  I remember after I closed my eyes I was in a dark place.  It felt like I was wrapped in the most wonderful comforter and tucked inside a peapod just my size.  I had never been so comfortable in my life.  And I thought to myself, "Wow, I could sleep forever!"  I was so at peace and warm.  I remeber that everthing was black..but I could see there was some kind of light.  And I turned to see where that light was coming from....

And then I woke up!  A surgeon announced my sudden consciousness with "She's back!"

Back?  I was only out for 30 seconds...right?  Wrong.  I was unconscious for over 10 minutes while I was bleeding to death.  But the bleeding was finally under control. 

They finally got the baby out. 

For the whole month I was in the hospital I was told to be prepared, when a baby is born a preemie sometimes their lungs are under developed and they can't cry.  They took the baby from my body and carried it to the other side of the room to waiting nurses and specialists.  And I waited.

Then I heard a screetch so hellacious that it split the air in the room in two!

"What the hell was that?!?!?"

A chorus of doctors and nurses shouted "It's your daughter!!!"

I had a little girl.  And she had perfect lungs!  And then she stopped screaming.  Basically, one scream is all she needed.  They wrapped her in a blanket and gave her a pink hat.  Because she needed to go to the NICU, they held her up in front of me before taking her away.  I didn't get a chance to hold her.  But she was just looking around.  She was observing everything.  And then she looked right at me.  She looked me straight in the eyes and it felt like she was looking directly into my soul.  I felt naked.

And I felt ashamed.  She was so magnificent and so incredible.  And I felt absolutely unworthy.  I felt she needed someone better than me.  Someone worthy enough to call themselves her mother.  I took a deep breath and looked her back in the eye and thought to myself..."I may not feel like I'm good enough, but I'm all she's got...so be better!"

Then I felt the strangest thing.  I felt something come alive inside of me.  It wasn't a warm, fluffy, tv mom kind of thing.  It was something ferocious.  What I felt was similar to the sound a cougar makes.  And I instantly knew what it was.  I was now a mother.  From that point forward and for the rest of my life I know that without thinking I would lay down my life to protect my child.  And if I had to, I would be capable of taking someone's life to protect my child.  My child had become my prime directive and I was now a different person.  What came alive inside of me was the most primitive mothering instinct to protect her young.

My husband walked over to see his daughter.  He looked at the doctors cleaning me up.  He said he nearly passed out.  He had never seen so much blood in his life.

I didn't find out that I nearly died until the next day.

My daughter was born on 02/14/2001 at 9:30pm.  She weighed 3lbs, 11oz.  She was a miracle baby because her only problem was that she was small.  She was responsive.  Her lungs were perfect.  But she was tiny.  In fact, she was only in the NICU for 8 hours.  She was too healthy to be there.  I never had to step into that horrible place again. 

She was moved to level 2.  It was the nursery for babies who were not in such dire straights that they needed the NICU, but they still needed a little extra help.

So now you know.  This is how my monkey doodle made her big debut.  Bringing her into this world was no easy task.  And I would easily crawl over glass for my daughter.  Which makes me so angry at women like the octuplet mom or the Gloucester 17.  Brining a child into this world is no easy task.  It is not a game!  And its not for the faint of heart.

When I go to the market with my daughter, sometimes I joke with her and tell her that when she was born she weighed less than the chicken we're having for dinner.  It makes her laugh, but its true. 

And today she is 8 years old.

A Postcard From the Edge.....

A funny thing happens when you are on bed rest for an extended period of time...you slowly lose your mind.  It may sound funny and some of my story is funny...but in then end I know I took a temporary leave of my faculties and its not a place I ever want to go to again.

~~~

On my first day in the hospital, Dr. Greene decided that I should take a test for gestational diabetes.  I explained to him that I had a test done less than two weeks ago and that I had a clean bill of health.  But Dr. Greene insisted and I had to drink a sugary soda like substance.  Now here’s the thing.  When I took the test two weeks earlier, my womb was filled with amniotic fluid and I could feel the baby having a great time on a sugar high.  This time there was no fluid...and the baby was kicking fiercly...and there was no fluid buffering the kicks.  I laid there in pain for two hours waiting for the kicking to stop.  My child was literally kicking my ass from the inside out.  All the nurses could do was hold my hand and tell me they were sorry and assure me that Dr. Greene was the top doctor in world when it came to gestational diabetes.  Turns out that part was true, but that doesn’t excuse him from being a jackass.  When the test came back it showed no signs of gestational diabetes...just like I said.

~~~

I was at Mass General for over 30 days waiting for my baby to make her big debut.  And I had nothing but time on my hands.  Time to spare, loads of time, time to burn...just time...alone.
At first I tried to keep busy.  I made huge lists of what the doctors would tell me.  That way any visitor coming to see me could read it and keep up with what my doctors were saying.  It helped fill my time, and it got old having to repeat the same information over and over again, every day.  And when there was more news, I updated the list.

I had a great view of the Charles River.  It was nice watching the cars dart back and forth on Storrow and Memorial drive.  I’d see people making their way around.  It was January and it was cold.  I found that late in the day when the temperature drops, the Charles River freezes into a solid sheet of ice.  When the sun rises the next morning and the river defrosts, the ice breaks apart in perfect squares.  I thought that was kind of odd and spent a lot of time thinking about it, after all I had nothing better to do.  When I would redo my lists I would doodle squares in the margins of the paper.

~~~

There are certain things you figure out when you are in the hospital for such a long time.  One of the things I will never forget is the ketchup.  Lets say you would like to order a cheese burger and fries for lunch.  When your lunch gets there, you only get one ketchup.  So you have to decide.  Will the ketchup go on the burger?  Or the fries?  Sure you can ask the lunch lady if you can have another ketchup, but one of three things will happen.  One...she’ll forget.  Two...She’ll remember, but she will bring the ketchup after your lunch is cold.  Or three...she’ll remember and bring you the ketchup after your tray has been cleared away.

So just to be sure I always had a spare ketchup I started ordering ketchup with each meal.  And I would tuck it away in my nightstand in the event I would have some ketchup related emergency.

About three weeks into my stay, my then husband brought me some magazines he thought I would like.  “I’m just going to put them in your nightstand.”  Imagine his surprise when he opened my the drawer to see 60 packets each of ketchup, mustard, salt and pepper.  He took some ketchup in his hands and was in complete disbelief, “Soni, why do you have so many...”
He never finished the sentence before I went absolutely ballistic.  “Those are mine!!  You can’t have them!!  They’re for me!!  Put them back!  PUT THEM BACK NOW!!!  THEY’RE MINE!!!!”

My life had gone on without me.  And I was sitting in a hospital room and I had control over NOTHING.  Nothing except the ketchup.  If I saved the ketchup packets, that was something in my control.  I think it was pretty obvious that I was losing my mind.

~~~

One of the saddest things I saw happened on my way to an ultrasound.  An orderly came to take me to my test.  My room was all the way at the end of the hall.  As he wheeled me down the hall I peeked into everyone’s room.  Room after room was exactly the same.  In each room, a single solitary pregnant woman sat in her bed and stared out the window.  And I knew when my test was over and I was taken back to my room, I would assume the same position and look out the window like all those other women and watch my life go on without me.

~~~

It really wasn’t a long jump from ketchup hording to all out delusional.  

I would sit in my room and stare at things.  Stare out the window.  Stare at the TV.  Stare at the floor and count the tiles.  Stare at the wall paper.  It was pretty, very light pink stripes with a swirly border at the ceiling.  I made a joke once that the stripes were like prison bars and the swirly border was like barbed wire.  I would think about how much I wanted to go home and how I couldn’t  because I was sick.  And then it turned into how I wanted to go home but couldn’t because they would say no.  And finally, I wanted to go home, but they wouldn’t let me leave.  And it didn’t help that I was in a locked ward.  You needed to hit a buzzer to get in or out.

Because I am naturally a silly person, I spent my days thinking up escape plots.  I got a lot of amusement out of it.  I think I started after I saw a movie with Clint Eastwood in it and how he and a few others escaped from a prison, it may have been Alcatraz.  I would think about tying the sheets together and repelling down the side of the building.  Or hiding among the linens.

While I was in the hospital, the only time I was allowed to get out of bed was to take a shower or use the toilet.  Those were big field trips for me.  One morning I took a shower and when I opened the closet to get a fresh set of pajamas I noticed a bag.  My mom had brought back my clothes from the night my water broke.  I had clean clothes, socks, panties...everything.  Hmmmmm.....then I checked my coat pockets.  I found my house keys and $5.  That was enough for a train ride to my town and a cab ride home.

I was giddy!  I was finally going to leave.  I climbed into bed and hatched my plan.  I would wait until 5:00pm to change my clothes.  The floor got busy after 5:00 because that’s when visitors would start arriving.  I would get dressed, keep my head down and walk out as someone was walking in.

I remember I was fully dressed and I was putting on my coat when I heard a familiar voice,
“Soni....what are you doing?”

I was busted.  My mother, godmother and god-sister were standing at the door.  

“I got tired of wearing pajamas, so I thought I’d get dressed for a little while”

My god-sister was very gentle.  She told me she understood.  And said “Let’s get back into bed.”  I slinked back into bed, defeated.  It wasn’t long until the whole family knew of my botched escape attempt.  My brother in law said he could imagine the headline in his head “Crazy Woman Escapes MGH to Give Birth on Train.”  My mother left that night with my keys and my $5.  

Traitor.

~~~

It was a weekend and I had a new nurse.  She had gotten the idea in her head that I would benefit from a trip to the NICU, the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  There was a very high chance that my baby would have to spend some time in the NICU and Nurse Ratchet felt I would benefit from visiting the NICU so I would know what to expect.  I told her that I didn’t think it was a good idea.  I didn’t much enjoy visiting the ICU to visit a dying adult, now I have to see dying babies?  I didn’t thing it would be good for me to see sick babies.  She just stood there and smiled and said ok.

During the day she managed to get my husband alone and explained to him that I would benefit from a trip to the NICU.  Knowing that I didn’t want to go, he caved, he took her side.  The two of them ganged up on me and told me how it would be good for me to see the NICU.  Next think I know, I’m in a wheel chair and we’re on our way.

I saw things that no expectant mother should ever see.

I saw babies that were no bigger than the palm of my hand.  I saw babies that were so covered in tubes and wires, that all you could see of them was a foot or maybe a finger.  I saw babies who could only breath with the help of a machine.  I saw that the nurses station had baptismal robes behind the desk in case a baby had to be baptized before it died.  I saw mothers sitting in rocking chairs, staring glassy eyed and stone faced at incubators.

I started to notice that it was really hot in the NICU, I was sweating and I was having trouble breathing.

Another nurse joined us.  Nurse Ratchet says “This is the patient I was telling you about.”  They wheeled me over to an incubator to show me a baby who was born at 26 weeks.  He looked like a potato wrapped in a blanket, he didn’t even look human.  And then he opened his eyes and it was like I was looking at a dead baby who suddenly opened its eyes.

The room started spinning.  I couldn’t even speak, I could only make a bleating noise.  All Nurse Ratchet could say was “Doesn’t he look great?”  At least the other nurse realized I was not doing well and asked if I was ok...I couldn’t answer her.  She turned to my husband and asked “Does she speak English?”

“JUST GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!”

The nurses kept telling me to calm down and that everything would be ok.  

“GET ME OUT OF HER NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL WALK OUT!”

All I got was more cooing that it would be ok.  I stood up out of my wheel chair and ripped the IV out of my arm and walked out leaving a trail of amniotic fluid and blood behind me.

The ward was locked.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR YOU BITCH!!!”

The trip back to my hospital room was filled with apologies.  I laid in my bed looking out the window at my frozen Charles River.  I was so angry with my husband for not taking my side.  I know what I can handle and what I can’t.  He sided with a nurse and not his wife.  I couldn’t even look at him.  I just stared at the river and told him to get the hell out.  

Then I sobbed for two hours.

After I calmed down a bit Nurse Ratchet was back, “I’m sorry, I thought you could handle it.”

“I told you I didn’t want to go, I told you it was a bad idea but you didn’t listen to me.  NOW GET THE FUCK OUT!!”

~~~

The next morning, the attending physician came to see me.  Every week there was a different doctor who did rounds.  He was the first doctor I saw when I entered the hospital a month earlier.  And now he was back on rounds.  I had made it all the way back to the top of the rotation.

“Hi Mrs. McNair.  How are you today?”
“I want to go home.”
“Oh I understand, for women on bed rest it can be very frustrating to spend so much time in the hospi....”
“No, you’re not listening to me.  I’m not a prisoner here.  I know my rights.  I’m going home today.  Please bring me my discharge papers.  I’m signing myself out and I’m going home.”

I had never seen a doctor look so panicked in my life.

“Please.  Just give me 10 minutes, just 10 minutes!”

“FIVE!”

And that man ran down the hall like a bat out of hell.  And I was crazy enough to time him.  It was 4 minutes and 26 seconds.  He was back with the head of nursing and the head of Obstetric Psychiatry.  Apparently there is a whole school of psychiatry dedicated soley to pregnant women.

For the next 45 minutes I basically heard pleading, “What can we do to make you stay?”  “How about a weekend pass”  “How about time with a therapist?”  They tried everything to make me stay.  And finally I gave in, “I will stay if I can go home on weekends otherwise I am outta here!”  They promised that they would do everything they can to plead my case to the rest of obstetrics.  After all, I was there for over a month.  I had gone through 4 roommates.  I was there longer than any other patient currently on the floor.  And it was perfectly obvious that I was losing my grip on reality.

The date was February 13, 2001.