Thanks so much, Everyone, for your kind words on my “Love on the other side” post. I was afraid to talk about this on my blog. I just don’t talk to anyone about this part of my life. I just wanted to share it with you because I think it’s nice to know where someone has been. You just never know about what a person has been through. I see sad faces all the time, happy faces, content ones and longing ones. I wonder sometimes what a person’s story is.
My mom used to blame her instability on her rough childhood and I’m always sad when I hear people blame their wrongdoing to others or themselves on the wrong done to them. Everyone is given a choice on how to use hardships. My rough childhood is probably not going to be the hearbreak of my life. But hopefully it made me strong enough to roll with some punches.
I really don’t like the saying, “What doesn’t kill me will make me stronger.” That’s not always true. I more often see people using their rough childhoods as the reason behind breaking the spirits of their own children. People commit crimes, break homes, injure others, and hurt themselves all in the name of painful childhoods. It’s strange but I guess so many people work with what they were given rather than trying to build off of it.
My mother gave me beautiful memories too. I feel blessed to have had her for 12 years. She also gave me my sister before she left. I have something to hold from her. I see mom in her eyes. I remember mom’s last 2 years as being more happy through the birth of my sister. That is such a gift.
Mom at 24
Me and my sister, 2005
Thanks for letting me share, and thank you for your kind words. I’m so happy to have “met” all of you; I feel lucky to have made friends like you through my blog.
I know I’m a Spazoid. I’m super cautious where healthcare in this family goes. While I trust natural remedies most of the time, I also know that modern medicine saves life. It’s saved my babies lives (during the last two complicated births, and Noah’s prematurity). It saved me during Appendicitis. It saved my sister’s life when she had Leukemia. I trust it for the most part. Jeremy grew up with an awesome hippie, holistic mom who packed his open wounds with Cayenne pepper (OUCH), stuffed some garlic down his thoat, and called him good. He never had shots, took antibiotics, or had severe illnesses and has never even had the flu.
Where’s this going? Well, let me get back on track here. I’m pissed so my brain is wandering. Ok, I found a lump in my right breast when Bella was 5 months old. I worried, obviously. The doc ordered an ultrasound that found a SOLID mass, Y’all. Not a cyst. This means it is either Fibroadenoma or a cancerous mass. Only way to distinguish between the two is to biopsy the mass. Oh, but they said to wait 2 months and we’ll see if it grows. It grew from 2 cm to 3 cm. Again, they say let’s wait and watch. Ok, let’s do! I’d LOVE nothing more than to WAIT and WATCH a potentially cancerous tumor grow. A third ultrasound almost a year later, last April, showed the tumor staying still. Shew, thank goodness. Now what do we do? We WAIT again! Ok, now we’re working on what’s nearly 2 years of waiting. The lump is still there. My brain is ON FIRE!! I have 3 children that depend on me, and the world must stop spinning if I’m seperated from them. I have a husband that I love too much to leave. I can hardly stand an 8 hour day away from him.
Now, the mass has like a 1 in 10 chance of being cancer. Still. I can’t stand trusting those people anymore. I have an appointment with what will now be the THIRD doctor who has looked at this and I’m going to INSIST they biopsy the damn thing. I don’t care if it isn’t growing. I just can’t believe how they are using ultrasounds as the only diagnostic tool!
They tell me I have age on my side. Did my sister have age on her side when she was diagnosed with Leukemia at the age of 11? Did my grandmother have age on her side when she had both boobs lobbed off at the age of 43? Did my old co-worker’s wife have age on her side when she died from breast cancer at the age of 28, leaving behind two babies!? I don’t intend to be negative. No, I don’t mean that at all. I just can’t stand feeling the lump, knowing it is there. I avoid it. I have to make myself check it once in awhile.
I can’t have a mammogram because I have breast implants and I can’t deal with the idea of them squishing my plastic parts that are, I might add, 11 years old and probably ready to pop under pressure. I’m having them replaced this year, so the needle aspiration for the biopsy doesn’t scare me as much as it once did. Needles and bubbles full of saline just don’t go together. Know what I mean? One lopsided, deflated boob doesn’t sound fun. At all. Anyways, I think the implants have also scared doctors from wanting to needle aspirate for the same fear, so, they seem rather to allow a lump to grow. My boobs scare them. Heck, they scare me too right now.
My appointment is Monday. I’m actually looking forward to it. There’s no room for cancer here. But there is need for peace of mind.
I visited this site where I found this quote. I’ve seen this type of info EVERYWHERE which leads me to think I’m working with small town, ho-dunk doctors. Oh, I actually am but nevermind that, small town docs have the same education. Right?
“…while ultrasound can distinguish between solid and cystic lesions, it is of absolutely no use in distinguishing fibroadenoma from malignancy.”
Hmph.
It’s another Tuesday, black & white self portrait time. I took this photo today. I thought by the look on Bella’s face that I must look pretty funny so I knew it would make a great self portrait. These kids make me silly and fun loving. Motherhood reminds me to be a goof whenever possible…
With that, I thought I’d share some photos I took today. They are pictures of things that make me feel at home. I wanted to share scenes of my home, my life, and the loves of my life.
Bella feeding Noah a bottle, because she’s a big girl and because she is learning nurturing. He’s still nursing, but I give him a bottle of frozen milk when he’s on a feeding frenzy, like today. Growth spurts for such a little guy are a good thing!
I can bake yummy treats for my family now that I’m not a Desk Wench anymore. This makes me feel good. I love to nurture them. I think they enjoy it to…
Our family dinners are my favorite. Sometimes chaotic, but always a good time to connect. And, how do you like my new antique table? Early birthday presents are divine!
My wall of love is the focal point of my home. I love adding new memories to it.
Watching my children play fills my heart with pride and joy. They love each other so much.
The little things. These are the things that I longed to see in my years of fertility struggles. Little shoes, little fingerprints on the wall, little glass jars of baby food, little footsteps coming down the hall.
Little dirty noses and wee toothless smiles too. His face makes me all googly and love stricken. No cupid needed here, Folks. This kid has me in his back pocket!
Big brothers who love and adore. He’s the most wonderful big brother on this planet. I might add that he’s also the most awesome big kid I’ve ever known, not just because I’m partial. I can’t tell you how blessed I feel to have a son this helpful, and thoughtful, and kind hearted. He amazes me every day. He’s going to be one heck of a man one day (husband and father too I hope).
He’s had a good teacher though. Jeremy is the Daddio of Daddys. He’s the kind of father I wished I had. He’s beautiful. Finding a good looking man is easy, but when they are hunky and loving and devoted to family? Well, that’s a gem. And damn if he doesn’t make some pretty babies!
And speaking of self portraits? I took this shot right as Bella was about to crash into my head with her doll stroller. Motherhood is good. It hurts at times, but it sure is awesome!
I have always thought so much about my mom. I used to set aside the anniversary of her death, October 17th, as a day to mourn her. I used to spend that day feeling blue, skipping work, writing to her, talking to her, and crying over her. I did, for years. Until my Bella came, and somehow being a mother to a daughter healed some of the pain of being a motherless daughter.
Mom died in as chaotic a way as she lived. We had no closure in our lives together. My mother was a single woman, had drug problems, left me alone to fin for myself a lot, treated me like I was her best friend and not a child. I was 5 when she first started leaving me home alone, for entire nights, while she worked double shifts as an Registered Nurse. I was 5 the first time she snorted cocaine in front of me, and 8 when she shared with me how good it made sex. I was 6 when she started using me as her party prop for friends, like a dancing monkey. I was 7 the first time she handed me a joint in front of her friends so that they could all get a laugh at watching me inhale. I was 10 the first time she tried to kill herself in front of me. I was 12 when she had that opportunity taken from her, because someone else took her life instead. I was 12 when everything changed. I remember seing her broken body lying on the embalming table and it haunts me still. If she had lived a healthier life, she would have lived long enough to grow up. To change. To be a good mother to me and my sister. To be a grandmother to my children. To save me from the rest of my childhood, because it wasn’t any healthier or happier once I became custody of the State of NC. I don’t tell you these things because I need you to feel sad for me. I’ve had enough of that. I have replaced that sadness in my life by choosing to surround myself with people who are good to me, who love me, who choose me too. That history could have done a million different things to me in its scarring, but I had a choice. I chose to love myself where they didn’t.
I guess I share this because I must need to let go of something, and I’m not sure what that is in this moment. I’ve kept a shallow blog. Maybe today I need to share more of myself with you.
I’m turning 31 soon. Mom was 32 when she died. Getting closer to that number has always been weird to me. I don’t know how to explain that.
I shared in a recent post that I slept in my car my last 3 months of high school. After mom died, no one really wanted me around. I was only 12, and now that Austin is nearly 12, I know how young that is. A baby nearly. But I was smart enough to know that I was always someone’s burden. I was scared to ask for things. I would apologize for sneezing. I tip-toed. I was conforming and careful and obedient, unlike most teenagers. I was grateful for the minimum of attention and was the most content when I could spend time in other happy homes. My friends parents were at least polite enough to pretend my presence was welcomed. It was not that way at home. I stayed with friends as often as I could because no one missed me at home anyways. I wasn’t a trouble maker, but I was tainted. I was terrible in school, but that was my worst crime. I had seen things with a child’s eyes that most adults would crumble over, I wasn’t concerned with Algebra. I spent the next 2 years after mom’s death in courtrooms with murder trials (yes, plural) and custody battles (even though none of the parties involved really wanted me). Don’t get me wrong, my “guardians” (father, grandmother) didn’t neglect me– they had money, so I drove a nice car, had nice clothes, had expensive hobbies. But there was hardly love there. That is what I needed most. I heard things that a child shouldn’t hear and I saw things children shouldn’t see. No one protected me. No one really made me feel wanted or loved. I loathed the carelessness of the adults in my life.
I swore that I would run from them. That’s what I did. I turned 18 on February 25th, 1994. I slept in my car from then until May 30th. I was determined to graduate from high school. At that point, I was given a small inheritance and I survived as long as I could on that, but it allowed me to enough money to sleep in a bed and to live. I have been gone ever since then. No looking back.
I am not bitter at all. I think people have power over the health and happiness of their hearts and minds. It is empowerment to understand that we have a choice after the dust settles to absorb our hurt and the wrong done to us in any way we choose. I choose not to spend too much time hurting over those things. I mourn the little girl whose heart was broken. I wish I could take her in and love her, nurture her, and offer her stability. I’m sad for her because, though I know her story ends happily, it is so disheartening to know that her sadness was for far too long. Children should be loved. They deserve at least that.
My past makes me hold my children closer. To cherish and love our moments. To embrace their childhoods and the importance my role is in their lives as children, and one day as adults. I want to give them those things I missed out on. I want to live to 32, 52, 72 so that I can be a good grandma too. I want them to be healthy, stable, loved, and confident. I want to give them some good examples to work with on being a loving parent when they later make families of their own, if they choose to.
I’ll hug those babes of mine tight. They are my healing, my reason, my heart. I knew in those years that there was something for me. Everything is all right. It may have taken an entire childhood, but I’ve found love on the other side…
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