JANUARY IS THYROID AWARENESS MONTH

As many of you know by reading this blog, I suffer from Hashimoto's disease.  It took a team of doctors over two years to figure out what was happening, even though my Irish grandmother died from complications of Celiac disease.  She also had a goiter.

Hashimoto's disease, also known as chronic lymphocytic thyroiditis, causes inflammation of the thyroid gland, which leads to hypothyroidism. It's an autoimmune disorder in which the immune system inappropriately attacks the thyroid gland, causing damage to thyroid cells and upsetting the balance of chemical reactions in the body.

Unfortunately, the signs and symptoms of hypothyroidism vary widely, depending on the severity of hormone deficiency, so it can lead doctors in another direction. At first, most barely notice symptoms, such as fatigue and sluggishness and attribute it to getting older. But as the disease progresses, many of us develop more obvious signs and symptoms.  I believe I have been dealing with this condition my whole life and it finally took me down (literally), forcing doctors to look at all disease possibilities.

My symptoms were:

-Sensitivity to cold. (I always had these strange "cold attacks" where I'd get cold and nothing raised my temperature.  It is a type of hypothermia, and hot showers left me shivering in the shower.  One solution was to take a blanket and cover me over a blowing heater vent. I'd became exhausted, still shivering and fall asleep.  I awoke feeling hung-over as if I ate too much sugar.  It was the strangest event, which happened without warning.  My doctor felt I was experiencing a mild form of Myxedema).
-Pale, dry skin. (No cream ever worked on alleviating this condition.  It would go away when the sun came out and I went outside).
-A puffy face.
-Hoarse voice. (especially when exhausted).
-Unexplained weight gain, followed by weight loss, then gain again without changing lifestyle.
-Muscle aches, tenderness and stiffness, especially in shoulders and hips. (I always attributed this to ballet combined with ice skating; then aerobics combined with weight lifting and standing on my feet all day; then hiking too much on theweekends with this crazy boot camp work out class during the week.  I never thought I wasn't suppose to be sore).
-Pain and stiffness in joints and swelling in knees or the small joints in hands and feet. (I thought this was from the 17 years I spent dancing on my toes and bending like a pretzel for ballet).
-Muscle weakness, especially in lower extremities. (I started noticing if I wasn't careful and turned wrong I'd have a nasty fall.  The first few times it happened I thought nothing of it, but after a while it began to scare me.  It was one of the symptoms which began to concern my doctor, as I was often black and blue from a recent fall.)
-Excessive or prolonged menstrual bleeding (menorrhagia). (I think this symptom speaks for itself...)
-Depression. (I caught on to this right away and was up in my doctors face.  I was working out too much to be depressed, and refused anti-depressents.  Luckily my doctor knew me for 18 years and was aware this was not me).
-Tingling and numbing of hands and feet.  (My hands or feet would go to sleep for no apparent reason).
-Catching many colds.  (I seemed to catch every cold and often it would turn into bronchitis).                  
-Sleep apnea. (Good lord the problems I had with sleeping!!)
-Memory problems. (Trouble remembering directions, confusion when driving, and not remembering details of information I once found easy).                               
-Hair loss. (Sort of a male pattern baldness thing with thinning hair - THANK GOODNESS this was reversed with the medication!)
-Extreme fatigue. (I could sleep for days and felt such lethargy, that at one point I wished to die.  Luckily I live for Brian, called my doctor and had someone drive me to see him.  He gave me a shot of B12 and changed my thyroid meds).

The thyroid gland produces two main hormones, thyroxine (T-4) and triiodothyronine (T-3). They maintain the rate at which the body uses fats and carbohydrates, control body temperature, influence heart rate and helpregulate the production of protein.

The rate at which T4 and T3 are released is controlled by the pituitary gland and the area at the base of the brain, which acts as a thermostat for our system. The brain signals the pituitary gland to make thyroid-stimulating hormone (TSH).  The pituitary gland then releases an amount of TSH depending on how much T4 and T3 are in the blood. The thyroid gland regulates its production of these two hormones based on the amount of TSH it receives.

Normally, our immune system uses antibodies and lymphocytes to protect against viruses, bacteria and antigens that invade the body. As I stated at the beginning, Hashimoto's disease is an autoimmune disorder in which the immune system creates antibodies which damage the thyroid gland. The disease causes inflammation of the thyroid gland, known as "thyroiditis".  This can impair the ability of the thyroid to produce hormones, leading to hypothyroidism.

Doctors don't know what causes an immune system toattack the thyroid gland. Some scientists think a virus or bacteria might trigger the response, while others believe a genetic flaw may be involved.  My mother has thyroid nodules and elevated TSH.

Since my Hashimoto's disease caused a thyroid hormone deficiency, I needed replacement therapy with thyroid hormone. This involves a daily dose of Armour Thyroid and Cytomel, other people may be prescribed levothyroxine. This medication is suppose to restore hormone levels and reverse the symptoms listed above. It has taken me another two years after starting treatment to begin to feel better.  They say it can take time to reverse symptoms, especially if the disease went untreated for a number of years.

Here are a list of websites for more information:

AllThyroid.org

Celiac Disease Foundation

The Thyroid Foundation of Canada

Thyroid Disease-Org.UK

Endocrine Disorders

Genetics Home Reference

Dr Lowe

A Hashimotos story like mine

Another Hashimotos Story

Myxedema

Armour Thyroid Information

At first the diagnosis and day to day dealing with the idea of a "disease" was difficult and frightening.  Doctors don't say much when they deliver a diagnosis.  As patients we are often left to search for our own answers ... and hope.  Thank God for the Internet, books and medical studies.

There is also the worry of being able to handle one's life and how 'unsexy' the word "disease" can be.  We think some foolish thoughts before we settle into the idea that we are stronger mentally than we ever knew.  We fight back, manage the pills and get on with the day to day living of our lives.

I still have good days and bad days.  There are the occasional "crashes", where for some reason the meds don't work and some difficult symptom reappears.  I think this is the cycle of auto-immunity.  When I catch a simple cold now (it is rare) the old feelings of exhaustion return and fear overtakes my thoughts.  I have to remind myself it is "just a cold". In a few days I will be up and running again.  I rest, then recover - thrilled that my body is doing what it is meant to - heal.

Some people overcome this disease, and for some strange reason the body stops attacking the thyroid and TSH returns to normal.   For me, I am not sure about the outcome since I think I went too many years undiagnosed.  But we know me - I love that word H O P E.  It is the sweet wine of belief fruit that is my life.

"Sanity may be madness but the maddest of all is to see life as it is and not as it should be".  ~Don Quixote

Until next time-

C 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com, Hashimotos, hypothyroidism, thyroid, Armour, CFS

I haven't moved my blog over yet

Sorry - I am still writing at AOL. I haven't had the extra time to move my blog over. I have been thinking of starting a new one about "Sinfindel Times" Life as a redhead in Wine Country. Being a third generation of Northern California Pioneers, I know much about Sonoma County, wine, apples and traffic.

My current blog is at: http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

I will let you know when I have made the offical shift.

Catherine

EVERYBODY ... PLAY BALL!

It's official.

I am entering the black tunnel years.  You know ... the years where parents misplace large segments of their lives being taxi-drivers, cheerleaders, event coordinators, and time managers.

Brian is starting baseball next month.  Practice is twice a week with games twice a week.  Did I say I wanted a life?

(Sigh) B A S E B A L L

My biggest fear is how much he loves it.  I see my future and it smells like dirt, spit and sweaty socks. 

Until next time-

C 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Tags: baseball, redheads, parenting, little league, boys

I HAD A BANNER...

There is this joke:

"How do you anger a redhead?"

"By breathing."

I am aware of the feisty, ill-tempered redhead rumors.  It takes a great deal to push me into losing my temper.  I do try to control being baited into an argument.  REALLY.  When someone pisses me off - back away - I am going to say what I think and yell when I am saying it.  I'd label me more the feisty type.

It's funny, because I never yell at Brian.  I would never yell at young kids anyways.  Brian does his best and I recognize this.  When he is way out of line, I comment, "You should go in your room to protect yourself from me right now."  He will respond with, "I know" and escape to his bedroom sanctuary. His room is fully equipped with a TV, stereo, cool bed and video games.  (A rough life).  Maybe I should go to his room and he should stay in the kitchen and clean.  He is smarter than I thought.  After about 15 minutes in his castle, he will come out and apologize for his attitude.  He thinks it is funny when I warn him to leave the room when he pushes me too far.

The African buffalo is known for its bad temper, and won’t hesitate to fight. It will defend its territory, mates, and calves at all costs and has been known to attack and kill lions, leopards, hyenas, and even humans if needed.  Many people consider it to be the most dangerous mammal in Africa.  Some would say this also adequately describes a redhead.  Maybe a crazy redhead, but I have known more blondes who  fit this description.

Me with a bad temper....?...I usually beg to differ, except for last night at Brian's basketball practise.

(I am sorry for the break in continuing this story.  I came down with a sinus infection that knocked me to the curb).

Brian and I arrive at practise a half hour early, because my son can nag the hide off a grizzly bear.  "Mom, can we go now?  Can we go NOW? Can we go now...? MOM, can WE go now?..." Youget the idea... but GOD FORBID Ineed to go somewhere. Then,  his feet conveniently drag and he becomes hard of hearing.

As we walk from the parking lot towards the courtyard outside the gym, we pass one of Brian's team mates and his dad.  They are walking to the parking lot.  There has been this ongoing time issue with the last few practices.  The Christian high school  basketball team has been practicing a half hour into the practise of the grade school league.  To add further fire to the flame, the high school coach doesn't want anyone in the gym while his players are on the court.  (Because the high school team might "go all the way" to the "most unknown team in history" ).  This has caused an argument between the coaches about when the high school team is actually finished with practise.

As with all things volunteer, no one seems to take charge or solve this dilemma.  You'd think they were voting to raise the minimum wage. For three weeks we are told practise will definitely start at 7:00pm, only to have the high school coach continue with his team until 7:30.  It was supposedly solved.

Uh huh.

As we pass the dad leaving with his son, he stops to tell us the coach to the high school team won't let him in the gym and practise can't start until 7:30.  He is angry enough to leave.  His son looks like someone shot his dog. 

I look at Brian (who lives for this evening) and tell him we can go play basketball together on the outside courtyard.  Relieved, Brian looks at me like men have looked at me when I say I understand football.  He is certain I can't possibly know how to sink a ball into a hoop.  But his yearning to play overcomes his certainty that his mother lacks a skill which doesn't involve cooking or cleaning. He runs to the courtyard where there are several basketball courts.

I set my coat, purse and book down on a picnic table to join Brian on the court.  Since this is a small school, the outdoor lights work about as well as a candle in a cave.  I miss my first couple of shots and Brian grins the kind of grin where he is thinking, "girls...".  On my third try, I make a shot and he congratulates me.  How did I ever know how to do anything before he was around to tell me?

We enjoy playing in the dark until one of the other boys arrives with his dad.  I throw the ball to the kid and walk away to sit on the picnic table.  I am smart enough to know when a parent is no longer needed.  His dad wanders the courtyard.  Several more kids and their parents arrive.  I am still sitting off in the dark, and the parents find odd places to sit while we wait for the gym to open.

Brian's coach arrives next. He spots me first, even though I am sitting in the dark.  He walks up and asks why we aren't in the gym.  I tell him about the first boy who left and we can't be in the gym until 7:30pm.  The coach sighs, mumbling this was suppose to be solved. He walks to the gym to find out what is going on.  I sit back down and continue to watch the boys.

Brian's best friend on the team's dad follows the coach to the gym.  He stands outside the doors, pacing back and forth waiting for the coach.  Suddenly, I hear this loud voice yell, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Being that I am at a Christian school, and having never actually heard the voice of God, (as a redhead) I am certain he would yell the first time he wants to speak to me.  I look up, to my right, then to my left and all around the courtyard and I don't see anyone.  Maybe this is my sign? Then, the voice says,

"HEY! I AM TALKING TO YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!"

The boys stop playing to look around; I look around.  Again we can't figure out where the voice is coming from.  I assume it is someone in the gym and we are hearing it outside.  I look up - just to make sure there isn't a burning bush, a flashing star or some sort of sign from God that I might be over-looking. I haven't committed a mortal sin in ages, so what would God want with me in the middle of a dark basketball court in rural Northern California? 

Again, the voice yells,

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?  DON'T YOU RESPOND WHEN SOMEONE IS TALKING TO YOU??"

This time he continues yelling, which gives me enough time (with the echo of the large courtyard) to figure out where the voice is coming from.  I spot this man at the far end of the courtyard, standing at a door, yelling towards the gym.  I realize this is our yeller.  The boys look to me asking if he is yelling at them, to which I respond, "He better not be. Go ahead and play boys." 

The man walks off his platform. He is still yelling.  It dawns on me that this man is yelling at the back of Brian's best friend's dad.  The dad has been slowly walking back toward the boys.  I watch as this short, fat, scruffy-looking man tries to catch up with the dad.  By the time he reaches him, they are next to the boys on the court.  He gets beside the dad and yells,

"WHAT IN THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?  WHAT, YOU DON"T UNDERSTAND ENGLISH YOU..."

I should stop here to say that the dad is Hispanic.

Before the nasty man can yell another word in front of the boys (here goes the redhead) I yell (calmly),

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT MISTER.  DON'T YOU DARE.  STOP IT RIGHT NOW! YOU WILL NOT SAY WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO SAY WHILE I AM SITTING HERE AS A WITNESS!  NOT IN FRONT OF THESE BOYS.  DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT - I AM WARNING YOU!"

Shocked, the yelling man stops in mid-breath and squints his eyes to see who is sitting in the dark.  The boy's dad (who the yelling guy was about to say something bigoted)  has stepped back and is looking down, as if willing to take what this jerk is about to say.  The yelling man begins to yell over at me,

"I WATCH FOR SECURITY HERE AND WHEN I SEE SOMETHING SUSPICIOUS IT IS MY JOB TO FIND OUT WHAT IS GOING ON!"

Now I should saythat this so-called security guy is in a dirty white t-shirt, with a belly that hangs 50 inches over his jeans, which sit on his hips so low it is really the upper thigh, exposing his belly button.  His belly button is the size of a football, and covered in grey hair.  He needs a shave and looks like someone who just woke up from sleeping in the park.  A gum wrapper left in a parking lot is cleaner than this guy. Security my ass.  He is the scariest person here.

I respond, calmly yelling back,

"THIS IS WHY YOU ARE BOTHERING HIM?  WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF US?? I AM TELLING YOU TO STOP IT NOW!  I KNOW WHAT YOU WERE TRYING TO DO AND I AM THE WRONG WOMAN TO PISS OFF, TRUST ME ON THIS. I WOULD STOP NOW IF I WERE YOU."

(Little did I know, at this moment Brian is huddling with the boys and saying, "Don't worry. NO ONE messes with my mother - just watch.")

I can tell the man is sizing me up, but confused, as I sit there in a business suit and a long black trench coat with my long red hair.  I can tell he is thinking he should be careful, but is too angry and has too much of an ego to listen to a woman.  It is obvious he has not caught the fact that my hair is red.

He begins to turn back to yell at the man, when I stand up and say,

"Look you poor excuse for a representation of the male species.  It is obvious to me by the dirt on your body that you never wash your ears, so I am going to assume they are filled with so much wax that you can't hear me when I say you will stop this right now. I am the wrong woman for you to continue this argument, since you don't know whether or not I am a complete nut-case, for which I just might be.  And since I don't give a crap what you think,  and unlike you I have showered this week, I can say with conviction that you will wish to your dying day that you never met me and that you would have stopped when I asked you.  Am I making myself clear or do I have to move closer to draw you a more unpleasant picture?"

The man has stopped with his mouth open as the boys stare from me to him, me to him, me to him.  By this time the coach has come out of the gym to witness the last part of the scene.  The other parents are beginning to stand. He walks straight up to the man and asks,

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?"

The security guy, who is really the janitor turns to the coach and tries one last yell to which the coach tells the man to go back to his room.  They exchange a few words.  The man mumbles as he walks off back to his hole.  The coach grins at me and says,

"I'd ask if you are allright, but I can tell you don't need my help."

I laugh and sit back down.  Brian runs over and sits next to me. He is grins and says, "Mom, you are so cool."  I know he understood what was really coming down.  He was proud that I didn't let the yelling janitor say something awful to his friend's dad, and humiliate his friend.  There was just no way in hell I was going to allow that to happen. 

Well, there would be that "redheaded temper" thingy in action.

It has been said, Joan of Arc was a redhead.

Until next time-

C

PS.  I have now been invited to three different boys homes for dinner...

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com, Redheads, Joan of Arc, bigotry, anger, basketball, ice storms

REDHEAD FIRST IMPRESSIONS

It is sometimes strange being a redhead (no sh** you say?).  Where it can be most curious is with statements that occasionally fall from a man's mouth.  It can be worse on the Internet where anonymity is protected. 

Once, when I was out dancing with a group of college girlfriends, an unknown guy approaches me. He looks nice enough - clean cut.  You know, the kind of guy who looks like you can take him home to meet your mother.  I think he is about to ask me to dance, when he smiles and says,

"Wow.  I love redheads.  Would you like to go to my place and fu**?"

My girlfriends stand frozen, stunned.  It pisses me off enough to want to slap him, but luckily hold my wits about me and reply,

"I'd rather take up yoga and learn to lick myself."

Shocked at my quick response, he chokes on to what to say next.  My girlfriends explode in hysterical laughter.  He apologizes for bothering me and walks away. What a little boy. 

On what planet did he think that pick up line ever worked? 

It wasn't the first or the last time guys would say stupidly offensive comments like:

"Are you a real redhead?"

(I am thinking....No, I am faking it along with my freckles, pale skin and orgasms.)

For the record: I am the real e v e r y t h i n g.

"Do the collar and cuff match?" or "Do the carpet and drapes match?"

(I am thinking...Do the brain cells in your penis and head match?)

"Do you like to fu**?"

(I am thinking ...Do you like little boys?)

"Prove you are a redhead!"

(I am thinking ... Do I burn your house down?  Will that work?)

"Are you good in bed?"

(I am thinking ... I am good at snoring, farting, bed wetting - ANYTHING that will turn YOU off.)

I don't know where these guys think it will go after offending a redhead.  We shift these boy-men to a certain category with the boys in school that throw rocks at girls, barf in the back of cars and pass out at public functions.  They are to be avoided at all cost.

There are so many amazing comments a man can say, which will leave a redhead wanting more - possibly interested for a lifetime.  I doubt any of the boy-men will  stumble upon this redhead secret.

And I am not about to tell.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/
Tags: Redheads, Stupid questions

Http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

ENDANGERED SPECIES

My dear friend Dale sends me the following email.  I am not quite sure if this is a desire on his part, or a warning (this is great because I have been lax in my writing and this strikes me as hilarious)-

Will rare redheads be extinct by 2100?

By Robin L. Flanigan
Rochester (N.Y.) Democrat and Chronicle

Article:  She was just walking down the street with her sister, in her old neighborhood, when an elderly woman stopped her car in front of her and called out, "I love your hair! It's so beautiful!" Caitlin Tydings was about 8 then, and caught off guard. Now a high-school senior, she has since grown accustomed to strangers commenting on her strawberry-blond locks.

[Me:  ... and her pale white pasty skin, fondly known as "Chalkcasian"; the 10,000,000 freckles of various shades of brown, shapes and odd sizes and let's not forget the red "ruddy" hue to her skin in odd patches at strange times... this HAD to be her grandma shouting...]

Article: If predictions by the Oxford Hair Foundation come to pass, the number of natural redheads everywhere will continue to dwindle until there are none left by the year 2100.

[Me:  Is this a dream or mere speculation by men who have dated, married, or talked with us...?]

Article: The reason, according to scientists at the independent institute in England, which studies all sorts of hair problems, is that just 4 percent of the world's population carries the red-hair gene. The gene is recessive and therefore diluted when carriers produce children with people who have the dominant brown-hair gene.

[Me:  At first I read "recessive" as "regressive' and took offense, although if we use this word instead ... it might explain a great deal about me and the men I date.]

Article: Dr. John Gray's explanation of his foundation's findings: "The way things are going, red hair will either be extremely rare or extinct by the end of the century."

[Me:  I am picturing all my ex's lining up to ask for a more exact date, time, and place. I think we have given them hope and a new meaning to their lives.]

Article: Red hair certainly has made the endangered list. But with 4 percent of 6.4 billion people carrying the gene, says University of Rochester Medical Center's David Pearce, it is too large a figure to be wiped out completely in the next 95 years.

[Me:   Great, so now I am on a list with the African wild ass, the Black rhino, the Pygmy hog, Visayan warty pig and the illustrious Bactrian camel.  Any resemblance to fellow endangered species is purely speculative, although there may be people who beg to differ.] 

Article: "I think someone may want to check their calculator," Pearce says. The red-hair gene "will dilute out and become rare, but there are a variety of other factors that can change hair color that are not really understood well right now." The gene responsible for red hair was only discovered in the late 1990s. People have a good chance of being born with red hair if they have a mutation of that gene.

[Me:  I just love being described as recessive, endangered and mutant.  Did me and the scientist date at some point in my past?  Throw in a little affliction, fascination,  perturbation then stir and we've got a pretty good description of life with a redhead...]

Article: Red hair is found in all ethnic backgrounds but is most commonly associated with people of Celtic descent. Red hair skipped two generations before sprouting on Brianna McBride, a 5-year-old preschooler from Penfield, N.Y. It comes from her great-grandmother on her father's side.

[Me:  Luckily, not the mailman...]

Article: "As a baby, we'd be in the store and people would always try to touch her head. She didn't like that, so she was very shy," recalls her mom, Alice. As Brianna got older, "we started to point out other redheads, and she started understanding." Now, her mom adds, "she looks forward to the attention. She has really learned how to use it."

[Me:  Note to her mother- RUN FOR YOUR LIFE now while you still have your wits about you.]

Why redheads are news fit to print is beyond me.  Maybe it was a slow day in New York, or the scientist at Oxford woke up with one shaved eyebrow, soap on his toothbrush, all toilet paper missing, and his fingernails painted bright red after telling his redheaded girlfriend he wanted to see other people ... He was hoping all redheads will soon disappear from the face of the earth...

Yeah, but we will be messing with heavens above ... there is just no escaping us.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Tags: Endangered species, redheads, men who have dated redheads, hope, science

SHAKE RATTLE AND ROLL - ROUND TWO

I dream someone is shaking me and awake to my lamp moving.  We had another earthquake on the same fault:

http://quake.usgs.gov/recenteqs/Quakes/quakes0.htm

I live right near Glen Ellen.

Until next one-

C
http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife

Tags: earthquakes, california, redheads

DISTANT REMINDERS

Elisabet and I share our weekly fix of Grey's Anatomy.  We have been doing this since the show began and no one knew of the McAdorables.  We'd chat afterward or the next day - laughing at her love of McDreamy. 

Now the show hits a bit closer to home. The intern known as George has a father who is diagnosed with cancer in his esophagus, which has spread to his stomach.  I know what it is like to hear this prognosis in real life.  I was almost 14 when Dr. Seisums told my mother my father had Esophageal cancer. 

I remember all the tests, the visits to the doctors, my mother and father up in the middle of the night.  She is a nurse and fear kept her pacing the floors in the wee hours of the night. My dad would be up consoling her.  God, they so loved each other.

I remember the color of the green walls of the doctor's office when the doctor, my mother's friend (and boss) broke the news to her about my father.  I remember her sitting down in the chair in his office.  She seemed strong and fearless to me.  I haven't thought about all of this in years. Tonight on television, Grey's Anatomy brings it all flooding back.

Over 20 years my father's only symptom was chronic heartburn a couple of times a week. When he was diagnosed in 1973, he had stage 3 cancer, which means the disease had already spread from the esophagus to his stomach and surrounding tissues.

The operation my father underwent was to remove the cancerous part of his esophagus and stomach. What was left of his stomach was brought up to meet the shorter part of his esophagus.  Back then, the surgery took 22 hours.  For many years my father's surgery was the longest known surgery in the history of Memorial hospital.  His name was engraved on a small plaque that hung in the wing where cancer surgeries were performed.

In my father's esophagogastrectomy the surgeons removed one-third of his stomach, 8 inches of his esophagus, and the sphincter muscle that controls flow between the esophagus and the stomach. The surgery is a blur in my mind.  I remember beingat the hospital, and my mother pacing and pacing but I don't know if I was there the whole 22 hours.  I don't know who would have cared for me and my brother.  I just don't remember.  I remember being scared and praying for my dad. I remember the blurry glow of the ceiling lights down the long hospital corridors. It seems like a distant dream.

I don't ask my mother about it.  She would probably tell me, but there is still a part of me that doesn't want to remember.  So here I am sitting in my living room watching my father's story on a popular TV show.  If the character story is like my father's he will die.  Although, my father didn't die on that operating table.  He lived another four and a half years slowly dying while the cancer spread little by little throughout his body.

He worked every single day during those four years of death.  He roofed our home.  He bought me my first car and taught me how to change my own tires.  He took us on camping vacations throughout some of the most amazing country in the United States.  He came to every ballet performance, took my brother on scouting trips and went dancing with my mother.

Because the sphincter muscle was gone, every time he ate, he would throw up most of what he had eaten.  In the four years he fought to stay in our lives he lost 70 pounds, going from looking like Paul Bunyan, the lumber Jack to a tall pencil.  Yet, nothing stopped him.  Nothing.

By the time I graduated from high school I was convinced he would make it.  Convinced he would live to see me graduate from college, walk me down the isle and spoil my children.  But if one knows the mortality rate of this cancer back in the 70s, we were lucky to see him after the surgery.

But on a sunny August day, the summer I graduated from high school, two short weeks before I was to begin college, he called out to me in my mind before slipping away to the other side.  By the time I got home and made it to his side, he had taken his last breath and was gone forever.

I have never written about his cancer before.  I was 18 back then and now I am 46.  My father was 45 when he had surgery and died at age 49.  In some ways it seems like yesterday.  Now that I am the age he was it is hardto believe he was so young.  He seemed wise and so much more together than I am at his age.  He was larger than life. I have a hard time making it through a day when I am cold.

It's strange how something as simple as a TV show can bring a memory flooding back into view.  Thank God Men in Trees is on afterwards and Brian is with his dad. I can recover from this memory...

But I still miss my dad...

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/   

Tags: Cancer, Greys Anatomy, surgery, redheads

BRRRRRRRR

Isn't winter over YET?

Cold weather (if only after sunset) still drops my body temperature below 96, even with taking Armour.  (Sigh) so it seems I still have thyroid work to do.  I stopped taking Cytomel because I was feeling good.  Now I think I need to adjust down the Armour and add one Cytomel pill.

We are seeing temps below freezing at night, but my down comforter and tempur-pedic mattress, along with two pairs of socks, pajamas and a sweat shirt aren't keeping me warm.  I have so many blankets that my bed is looking like something from the Princess and the Pea... and I am the pea.  People tell me sleeping naked will keep me warm. The idea of sleeping naked right now is about as appealing as cleaning a public restroom.  This is saying ALOT coming from the resident redhead here.

Maybe the "people" suggesting it meant I should sleep naked with THEM.  Hmmmmm.  Any idea of nakedness is making me shiver.  This is probably the reason people hook up in the fall and break up in spring.  People need dates for holiday parties and someone to keep them warm at night.

Tomorrow night is Brian's basketball practice in the gym that was built before God and insulation.  I am trying to figure out how many layers of clothes I can put on before Brian won't want to admit I am his mother ... plus I need to be able to bend my arms to drive.

I think I need to invent a mink bra.  That could help keep a girl warm…

Until next time-

C

Tags: freezing, winter, bra, redheads,

THIS SITE IS A MEMBER OF:

 Thanks for supporting Brian!

  

Click to join healthylivingwithhypothyroidism

         

 Redheads         

© 2006 WebRing Inc. AlL ThE CrAzY PeOpLe [ Join Now | Ring Hub | Random | << Prev | Next >> ] Search

Fiera- Redheads of the World Unite! [ Join Now | Ring Hub | Random | << Prev | Next >> ] RingWebRing © 2001-2005 WebRing Inc. - Help - Browse WebRing

© 2006 WebRing Inc. Ring of Redheads [ Join Now | Ring Hub | Random |<< Prev | Next >> ] Search

Red Ring by ajs_2002 [ Join Now | Ring Hub | Random | << Prev | Next >> ] © 2001-2004 WebRing Inc.Helphref="http://www.webring.com/">Browse WebRin

Search4blogs

 

site is a member of WebRing. To browse visit Here.

                       Technorati Profile                         http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/   

SEX AFTER 60

It is a time to rejoice and a time to bemoan. Brian returns to school; Christmas vacation ends.  December was a nice month and 2006 disappeared swiftly in quiet contemplation. 

We are over our Christmas colds as the weather in northern California experiences a "spring" hiccup.  We see days with temperatures near 70.  But the nights are still as cold as an angry wife.  It is the beginning of a new year. 

The first Redwood Writers club meeting of the New Year convened Sunday evening.  The guest speaker was Joan Price, a local advocate for sexuality for seniors.  She has written several books, maintains a blog and teaches line dancing.  She is an inspiration to be sure.  I am proud Sonoma County can boast her as their own.

I haven't forgotten my own redheaded sexuality; it is just taking a back seat to being Brian's social director these days.  My mother did the same with my brother and me during the pre- teen years.  It is amusing to remember how great she looks after my brother started driving ourselves and she had more time.  Although … Brian does think I look great ... but I don't think any 11-year-old boy likes to think of his mother as sexy.  I think they prefer we look like Betty Crocker.

Joan talked candidly of her life what has brought her to where she is as a writer.  I am impressed with her knowledge of blogging, as media would have the public believe only pubescent teenagers with friends to text have blogs.  During her conversation about blogging she shares an example of a phenomenon I have seen too much of on the Internet. 

The story is about a group of people from a shock jock radio program that took it upon themselves to blast her blog with negative postings, making fun of people over 60 having sex.  Their comments borderline evil and remind me of mob mentality.  We are forever talking about eliminating bullies from the schoolyard, only to see them reappear on he Internet.  Joan made the mistake of not having her moderator turned on so she can filter out the postings.  By the time she realizes what has transpired on her blog, the postings have sat, creating an alternate image of what she stands for.

It was during this time that a local newspaper reporter is reviewing her blog for the first time.  I am at a loss to understand why people waist any precious day (in our short lives) berating a stranger.  It was lost on me growing up and is lost on me now.  It would be more understandable if provoked, but aren't we supposed to be more evolved?

I see the same thing happening on a blog where a young man talks about foreclosure on several houses he bought at the end of the real estate bubble.  The mortgage payments are crushing him and he is fighting the thought of financial ruin.  He writes with innocent honesty.  In response, some strangers will write the cruelest tirades.  Again, I am lost as to why.  It isn't like his financial ruin affects anyone posting at the site.  He is trying to tell his story, and probably sell it in the hopes the money will prevent him from facing a bankruptcy court.

Isn’t this the American way?

This growing climate on the Internet where hatred is spread in the name of “free speech” disturbs me.  It has shut down popular chat rooms, newsgroups and conversation postings.  Is “free speech” what Hitler called his vision for the future?  Or what the murderers of the one million Tutsis slaughtered in Rwanda called it? How do people think atrocities happen?  They begin with hatred left unchecked. It grows like an infectious disease silently killing courage.  I am bored with the argument of “Who decides what hate speech is?”  Oh come on people, we are not THAT stupid.  I think we can all agree what is hate speech.

At the club meeting I watch the faces of the other writers as Joan shared this negative experience with her blog.  Their eyes swell with the air of reluctance.  Fear is a powerful perfume.  I think it is a shame if the world is denied the next Hemingway, because he or she is afraid to tell their story.  These negative web experiences are why everyone should do a blog and post their thoughts and stories.  We cannot let the bullies of the world spread their message of hate and ridicule unabated.  We cannot let them silence our courage.  I have been lucky enough that all my emails from readers are funny, and many read this site without posting, but I can moderate out content too.  But negative reactions won't stop me from blogging. 

37 signals writes about this phenomenon in the article, "Why do blog comments seem to bring out the worst in people so often? " so the subject is getting some attention.  I am baffled as to why so many people are bitterly unhappy and want to "share" it with the rest of the world.  And when did it become okay to make fun of seniors with such disrespect? 

Besides. I am all for people having sex until they are well over a 100 years of age.  I am behind the boomers blazing THIS trail for me!! You go sista!  I was born at the tail end of the boom, so I have benefited greatly by the changes boomers bring to the world.  Why shouldn’t we be passionate about life until the day we die?  You can’t tell me there is one person out there, who given the choice between dying of a heart attack at age 96 after having great sex or dying in a hospital bed hooked up to tubes and monitors with a bedpan under their ass would chose the latter.

Saturday morning I enjoy my weekly morning coffee call to my mother.  She is 78 and turning 79 this June.  She looks and acts like a 60 year old.  I often tease her that she will live to be 104 because of the longevity genes in her family.  I joke how we will be rambling around some house with her telling me to pick up my shoes.  I’ll be 73 saying “I’ll do it in a minute, mom.”  She laughs and then tells me that she only wants ten more years and then she is done.  Ten years.  Ten years is too soon to say goodbye.  I know she dreams of the day she will see my dad again.  I know she misses him.  She stays healthy and active out of love for us kids and her grandchildren. 

But ten years?

I rather like the dream of having her live with me.  But she is determined to leave this world her way.  The way she plans things she’ll probably quietly nod off to sleep in church during mass, never to wake up.  My father's spirit will be on the other side gently extending his hand, telling her he has been waiting patiently to travel the universe and heavens with her.

Hopefully ... I will be having great sex with the love of my life by then…?

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com, redheads, sex for seniors, aging, spammers, hatred, love

SHAKE, RATTLE AND ROLL

We just had an earthquake here that jolted me out of bed.  A redhead somewhere must be having sex (wink).  But seriously, I see the National Earthquake Center is reporting it was a 3.1.  I am not feeling any aftershocks...

Until next shake-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: http://www.aweekintheofaredhead.com, earthquakes, redheads, insomnia, sleep, aftershocks

NO REPEATS

I know! I haven't beenwriting much introspective, witty repartee here this past month orso.  Truth be told I am still recovering from whatever kind ofcold this is.  Daily, I now have heartburn and a massiveheadache.  Brian is suffering through the same and enjoys livingin his pajamas for days on end.

I manage some work and at leasta shower, but I must admit I love hanging out in my homewith Brian.  It is my favorite thing.  I know these are thelast few years before he is off to be with friends, doing his ownthing.  I will miss him terribly.

For now, we get to compare handsizes, worst spider stories and favorite comedic lines.  He isinto farting and thinking it is funny.  I am into chasing himaround with Fabreeze (because he is getting that "boy" smell) and Ithink it is funny.  He points out when I have lipstick on my teethand  tells me he likes me better without makeup.  I point outto put on shoes and I like him better when he cleans his room...

I am lucky KB and Elisabet haveyoung children too, because they understand my desire to hang withBrian.  They are like me - older women with youngchildren.  We had large lives before we had ourchildren.  I have girlfriends who married just out of high schooland had children before they were 20.  Now they love their newfreedom and embrace corporate America with a vengeance, wherewe think "yawn".  I didn't get married until I was 30, so Itraveled. went to school and did the corporate rat race long beforeBrian. None of it compares to being the mother of Brian. 

I don't have a burningdesire to spend time away from Brian.  It was hard enough totravel for work while he was young.  I used to justify it in myhead by telling myself it was time he would be spending with hisdad anyways.  But now that I don't have to travel, I want him allthe time and hate sharing.  Yes, yes he does need to be around hisdad.  I have girlfriends whose kids are grown who getirritated with me when I take Brian back before his time with his dadis done.  They say I am letting my ex "off the hook"  when Iallow him to change Brian's time with him.  Really, I don't care,as Brian is welcome home anytime (day or night).  I willforever be pleased to see him.  

No other man, girls night,dance class or event could equal time hanging out with my son.  Iam smart enough to realize time is a precious gift that changes in asecond.  Before I know it Brian will be driving, then off tocollege, maybe traveling the world and then married and starting afamily of his own.  I will then become the welcome guest inhis life from time to time.  The time we have right now is"our time."  It will never repeat.

However, I would like to get over whatever bug this is ...

Basketball season returns infull swing Thursday night and we begin the whirlwind that is the finalmonths of Brian's grade school life.  Never to be repeated in thislifetime...

Until next time-

C   

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife
Tags: colds, parenting, redheads, boys, basketball

RESOLVERE

Wow,was that the holidays just flying by?  What an amazing couple ofweeks, both for me personally and the world at large.   Itseems like I blinked and now it is 2007.  It was a nice Christmas,especially nice for Brian.  I took two weeks off, like I always doand fully enjoyed every busy day.

Now we are at the New Year andthe question of resolutions abounds.  I rather look at resolutionsas "adding" instead of "removing".  So what kind of resolutions doI have for 2007?  I think they should go something like...

Resolutionnumber one:  For Christmas, my mother gave me the softest,puffiest, like-a-cloud blue robe and matching blue Ugg slippers. I resolve to spend more time enjoying being wrapped in the comfort ofall things soft.  I resolve to wear my Uggs wherever I feel. Christmas day, I wore them to see the movie, The Pursuit of Happinesswith Brian.  He wore his slippers ... there is nothing like seeinga movie in your slippers.  There is nothing like eating anddrinking in a robe... just ask Hugh Hefner...

Resolution numbertwo:  I resolve to walk Boonie more.  We have a great time onour walks and now that I have a IPod with all my dance music, it makesthe walks one long nightclub for the senses.  I also resolve todance around my living room with my IPod in 2007.  I could do thisin my Uggs and robe... ah the visuals...

Resolution numberthree:  Brian and I attended Handle's Sing Along Messiah overChristmas break.  We ended up on a local TV program.  I sangso hard that I lost my voice the next day.  It was the first timeBrian was able to see me read music and sing as a tenor.  All theyears I have talked about when I sang in a local choir, he was finallyable to see and hear me. He was shocked.  I resolve to take Brianto more plays, musicals and live events.  We had a great time, andone of the angel girls tried to flirt with him.  He confessed shewas cute, but alas was (ugh) just a "girl".  I think I shouldcaptivate on this attitude now before he begins to decide girls are thebomb...

Resolution number four: My brother fixed Christmasdinner and spoiled Brian.  To my shock, he is a good cook.  Iresolve to spend more time with my brother ... besides he has thisgreat swimming pool and killer washers and dryers.  I can dolaundry and swim laps.  His wine collection isn't shabby either...HEY! I could take my robe and Uggs...

Resolution numberfive:  I resolve to see Elisabet more.  2006 sucked withoutmy constant cheerleader in the game of life.

Resolution numbersix:  Do more of the things I love - like writing, gardening andpainting.  There is nothing like giving part of yourself to theworld to make you feel happy and alive.  Maybe I will leaveanonymous love notes to the world wherever I go...

Resolutionnumber seven:  Write more to my dad's surviving sisters and getthem to tell more of the Hughes family history so I have it inprint.  They have been researching for years and have some amazingstories about my grandfather.  My Aunt Colleen says she tracedus back to our connection to Howard Robard Hughes Sr and Jr (yes,THAT Howard Hughes) although my dad always swore we were not related tothe man.  But some of my exs might say, "I can see her locked awayin a room, with long nails and paranoid fantasies ... must run in thefamily...” Hah, I say, its just being a crazy redhead like we all are...

Being a Hughes is only secondary.

Although I am eyeing this robe and slippers thing...

Resolutionnumber eight:  I resolve not to sob when Brian graduates from 6thgrade.... or when he starts middle school in the fall.

Andmostly I resolve to be grateful for every single day, good or bad, upor down.  And know, other people's opinions of me and my life, arenone of my business.

Until next time-

C

"Allmy children have spoken for themselves since they first learned tospeak, and not always with my advance approval, and I expect that tocontinue in the future." Gerald Ford. 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife

Tags: redheads, New Years Day, New Year's resolutions, Christmas