Wednesday, November 04, 2009

Back to Reality

It has been six weeks since my surgery, and I will have to return to at least some portions of my real life. Here are some of the things I will miss about recovery:
  • Getting dressed whenever I want, if at all
  • Watching The Doctors and Everybody Loves Raymond reruns (and really guilty pleasures, the occasional Bewitched or Beverly Hillbillies rerun)
  • Flowers, cards, gifties like tea, candy, and stuffed animals to hold on my belly, getting taken to lunch (some overlap in attention here in that my birthday occurred during the recovery period)
  • Getting asked how I feel all the time
  • Permission to be self-centered
  • Playing with my scrapbook stuff (did not get many actual pages done, but played with my stuff a lot...organizing photos and supplies, cutting out things for future projects)
  • Doing silly things like decoupaging wooden tissue boxes
Here are things I won't miss:
  • Not being able to play with my dog
  • Pain, soreness, discomfort
  • The inability to find a comfortable position to sit or sleep
  • Not being able to watch a comedy special or a funny movie because it hurts too much to laugh
  • The Creeping Weepies
  • Boredom!
So right now I'm in the middle...have not been officially "released" yet, but know I will be soon, and feeling well enough to participate in some, but not all, the stuff of life.

Sunday, November 01, 2009

On the Mend


Tuesday will be the five-week mark for my surgery. I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I am so, so, so happy I don't have to return to work right now as many women on my online support group must. I drove for just a short distance Monday night, to the mall, which is very close to my house. In better times (and better weather), I have walked there. I usually don't, though, for shopping, in case I have to carry something back. I met a friend there for coffee/dinner, and we walked around the mall a bit.

Friday I drove my husband to the car repair place to pick up his car, then I stopped at a nearby shopping center and drove myself home. That was a bit more of a challenge because my seatbelt was putting pressure on my incision area, and checking my blind spots was a bit uncomfortable. It was also more exhausting then I thought; when I checked the time in my car, I was surprised I hadn't been shopping much, much longer than I had.

The issues now, then, are discomfort more than pain, a lack of flexibility (I was distressed to discover that what I wanted at JoAnn's was on a bottom shelf and I would not be able to look the items over without help), and a lack of stamina. However, I had about 15 sensation-free minutes this morning in which I forgot I was "Surgery Girl" or "Recovery Girl" as one of the ladies has described it.

I went to a Halloween get-together last night dressed as my interpretation of a Mad Men character, "an unnnamed employee of Sterling-Cooper." Not only did this give me a chance to pay homage to one of my favorite TV shows, but also to wear the silly bouffant wig I found at the costume store. I so admired the puffy hairdos my older sister and her friends wore, but when my time came, straight hair, then Farrah hair and hideous perms were the trend. (I regret to say that I often went the hideous perm route.)

I was proud of not only going to that get-together, but pulling together a costume (of sorts) that involved putting on a wig and false eyelashes and struggling into pantyhose twice (I discovered the first pair had a run). Spending time at a party really helped me to feel more normal, I think.

I will return to my practicum in about a week-and-a-half, I think (I also completed and turned in an online assignment for the practicum seminar this past week). I am preparing items for the project I will do when I get back, and tomorrow I will re-enroll for the scary tech class I have dropped twice (let's hope the third time is indeed a charm.) I'm glad to be slowly returning to real life, but I am especially glad to have the opportunity to take it slowly.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The Gypsy 24-hour Design Challenge Project by Susan Edwards

Please vote for my very talented friend Susan's project so she can win a trip to NYC. She is an amazing scrapbooker and paper crafter, among her many other talents. Voting ends tomorrow, Wednesday, October 28 at 11:59 p.m.

The Gypsy 24-hour Design Challenge Project by Susan Edwards

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Thursday, October 08, 2009

Weepy Day

Everything is going on and nothing is going on. There is, of course, my aforementioned surgery, from which I am still recovering. This appears to be "weepy day" in the recovery process. As I also mentioned before, I have a bag of hormone patches, but whenever I have been tempted to use them, I start to wonder whether my issue is a result of the surgery itself, which is a pretty big trauma to one's body, or the new issues created by the surgery, for which the patches are intended.

Complicating that, I just collected a batch of early birthday cards from the mailbox. This will be my 50th birthday, so most of the cards mention that. I am fine with turning 50, but before this surgery came up, I had grand ideas about how I might spend this milestone. One idea was a special trip, maybe to Germany. However, before this surgery came up, I knew I would be enrolled in the scary tech class, so a trip was out. I had a variety of other ideas, but now just getting something like "dressed" is kind of a victory (stretchy high-waisted exercise pants and tops that cover my hips). So now I guess I will be doing next to nothing to mark this milestone.

It's not that I am being ignored. I have been receiving cards. Earlier this week my new phone arrived, a nice new phone I've been asking for. My husband also got a phone. We have been sharing one relatively basic cell phone for years, so this will be nice, especially when I can figure out our plan and how to use the various features on my phone without unintentionally running up a huge bill.

As I started writing this, my husband was in the basement trying to finish a scrapbook cabinet he has been making for me, so that's certainly nice. Then he came up and saw I was upset, and I explained the cards and said, "This is going to be a sucky birthday." To his credit, he said, "Yes, it is."

But then he said he had been thinking it's also kind of an opportunity. Because I will be taking the next session of work off (my recommended recovery period goes well into the session, so I just decided to ask to take it off and make myself available to sub when I feel better), we might be able to take a mini-vacation when I'm feeling up to it.

I feel a lot better now.

(By the way, the other upside is I had an excuse to postpone the scary tech class again, even though I am still doing my practicum. This will delay my graduation one semester, but, hey, i've waited this long to get that degree.)

Saturday, October 03, 2009

Hysterectomy

I debated with myself about writing about this, but since this blog is ostensibly about my mid-life victories and trials, it seems appropriate.

A few days ago, I had a Total Abdominal Hysterectomy/Bilateral Salpingo Oopherectomy (TAH/BSO), which basically means that entire diagram/illustration you saw in your high school biology book is gone. (Well, not that diagram/illustration; just my stuff.) Apparently this sends me into surgical menopause. I have a handy-dandy little bag of patches I can use should this start to give me any trouble.

This did not come as a total surprise. (Somewhat) less invasive means of dealing with my issues had been tried. I don't want to go into big details right now, but mostly I agreed with this to make sure I did not have ovarian cancer (I did not, for which I am so thankful.) If you don't know, ovarian cancer remains a difficult cancer to diagnose in its early stages, so even though the possible markers were slight and subtle, I did not want to wait on this. There were other issues (the ones we tried to deal with before) that were increasingly interfering with my life as well, although they never got to the point they have with some other women, who are made quite miserable with these problems.

I feel very positive about having done this. I am aware of the statistics surrounding this surgery...a very high number of American women have this surgery and some people feel too often. However, every woman I talked to felt positive about having done this (some to the point of glee, I think.)

It helps that I'm almost 50, so this was not traumatic in a way it might be for some younger women. When I found out I would be having this surgery, I Googled and found a wonderful Web site called HysterSisters. It gives information and offers an online support group. It is enlightening to see the varieties of hysterectomy and the reasons women have them.

My surgery had to be the old-fashioned kind, with a vertical incision. (I already have a "bikini" scar [yeah, right] from my Cesarean section when my son was born.) However, nowadays there are a lot more options for hysterectomy surgery if you are able to use them.

It was not as bad as I thought it would be. I was kept as pain-free as possible, and my nurses and docs were very attentive. (Everyone appeared to be about 12 years old, though,
especially the med student who had been at my surgery and came in to talk to me.) I had a semi-private room which was a tad claustrophobic, but I liked my roomie. She had surgery the day before me, but she was having some issues. The biggest discomfort, then and now, was trying to get in a comfortable position, both because of the surgery and because there are staples in me.

I got to stay in the hospital for two nights, which is just about right. After that, it becomes intolerably noisy and depressing. I got to order my meals from a "room service" menu. My roommate, who was having trouble with food, was always asking me to tell her what I had enjoyed. (Bad: Scrambled eggs; Good: Grilled cheese and tomato soup. The apple spice muffin was not too bad. The salad was mediocre.)

Now my husband is taking amazing care of me, and I am getting very spoiled. I get meals in bed, propped pillows, and pretty much anything I ask for. Nevertheless, I am looking forward to being comfortable (without the aid of medicine) again.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

We Will Not Be Who We Were Part 2

As the auto industry reorganizes in my state and elsewhere, other places and pursuits fall with the factories. I am not employed in the auto industry, but my husband was before he retired, as were (and are) many relatives and friends. I am employed at a community college that I was proud of before I was ever an employee there. I am a strong believer in the community college mission: a well-run community college is a great equalizer, giver of second chances, and picker-up of slack in the system. It is also a trainer of first responders.

When I am walking on our pretty little urban campus and I see future EMTs rehearsing emergencies or nursing students discussing their assignments or field work as they stand in a lunch line, I think about how these are the people who might be the ones to save my life if necessary before I ever see a doctor. I took the Legal Assistant program at the college myself and met lots of very sharp people either already involved in law and some who were trying to make their Bachelor’s degrees more marketable. I didn’t see so many of the people who were being trained for a more high-tech auto industry because that was located on a new campus on the other side of town close to the new factory.

I was very proud to be doing what I do as well. It is a bit tricky to discuss one’s current employer in a public forum, but here is why I feel compelled to write about this: I am the kind of person who needs to process losing the old thing before I can commit myself to the new thing…so here’s what happened. Because a community college obviously depends on public funds, and because the economy here has been bad for some time and no one is predicting a quick recovery here, there were a number of job losses (retirements, layoffs, non-replacement of people in vacant positions). Several departments were reorganized or eliminated, including ours.

I was part of a lovely department called International Programs. That eventually merged with our Multicultural Programs, and we had several Study Abroad Programs designed to enhance our curricula and to serve our students (who because of their nature or circumstances are very budget-minded.) We also hosted folks visiting from other countries a few times a year, and one year I got to be a part of that, teaching a little English/American Culture class and hosting a couple visitors. Mostly what I did and do though, is teach English to students who are preparing for academic programs in the United States. Now the department is gone, but I guess I should be thankful that our group was assigned to another department.

We will lose our workspace, which I have since discovered, shared and cramped as it sometimes felt, it was actually quite luxurious compared to other adjunct workspaces. We had places that we sort of adopted that became “ours” (you knew which desk to find someone at on certain days of the week. My de facto deskmate and I are friends, somewhat equally messy and tolerant of each other, and now that will be gone. We will be assigned workspace and work time, and will have a drawer to store our stuff. (After eight years there, I think I will need some serious space at home to store the stuff I have accumulated).

Because our students meet at the same time, many members of our department are close and we do a lot of informal collaboration. Many of us have strong friendships outside of work as well, but seeing each other at work in spite of busy lives at home helped sustain those relationships during big life changes. And I was part of someone’s dream: my original boss (now retired) created this program many years ago, and it was quite remarkable. He is from Korea, and once received a medal from the Emperor of Japan for improving Korean-Japanese relations. I think those of us who worked for him always felt we were part of something very special, like in our own little contributions, we were promoting World Peace or something like that. It was much more to us than a part-time job to help pay the bills.

Now we have been made part of another department. I like our new boss very much, and where we are centered is pleasant enough. Now, though, it feels as if we ESL faculty have no “home.” There is no place to build our little work nest.

And finally, though we will have international students, and they might have more of a chance to interact with domestic students, it seems like there will be fewer opportunities for our domestic students to have international opportunities. There will be a liaison with the nearby university for Study Abroad, but our programs were geared for our students.

I will be positive eventually, and my friends all love what we do and we will make it work. But, as in Part 1, we will not be who we were, and that just feels sad right now.

We Will Not Be Who We Were Part 1 (And yes, there will be a Part 2 this time)

First of all, in the overall scheme of things, I probably have no right to complain. There is still plenty to eat, the bills are getting paid, and there is some money for fun. My community has lost factories and jobs, but has a shiny new one and a still-standing older one. We still produce vehicles that sell here, and will have another model. However, when I start paying for my own vision and dental care, and perhaps mammograms or however the overall insurance aspect plays out, there will be less of that discretionary income, and that’s the point where others start going down with us, I guess.

The hard thing is this: people don’t understand Who We Are, and the media has tried to convey this, but not very well, because they choose mostly folks who fit their Central Casting stereotypes: Clueless High-Level Auto Executive and Salt-of-the Earth Union Family (3 generations), for example. Of course, those folks exist, but there are so many others. An auto plant is like a little city: there are line folks, people who sweep the floors, carpenters, millwrights, plumbers, electricians and various departments such as paint, trim, body, and so on. My husband had various positions throughout his career, starting on the line and ending as a planner and getting to work overseas.

What I learned over the years is all of these are complex operations. I also met a lot of people (or heard about a lot of people and personalities). There are, for instance, college graduates who worked on the line or in skilled trades because the money was good. I have met some very smart, funny, clever people in the industry over the years, and I did not see these people on TV. I have met folks who are passionate about cars (perhaps with an old beloved model in their garage that they love to tinker with) and loved being in the auto industry. I did not see those people, or if they were on TV, certainly not with the frequency and emphasis of the others I mentioned.

What I did like about the three-generation family is what they conveyed-- this is what we do here. Grandpa did it, Dad or Mom did it, and I was hoping to do it too. The majority of people I have known in my life work or are supported directly or indirectly by the auto industry. Even though I have never worked for it (but am fed by it), I consider it part of Who I Am. This is what we do here.

I will certainly admit there were some problems, but stereotypes and prejudices exacerbated some of those problems. When service awards were being won and models were winning awards and receiving high ratings, we weren’t hearing so much about that. Because my stepson was involved in the launch of one of those award-winning vehicles, I am somewhat aware of the blood, sweat and tears that go into making that happen.

I have been reading Barbara Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and found myself astounded to be sympathetic to a passage in which she remembers a college party (“one of those intensely conversational gatherings of the utterly enlightened”) at which people were discussing the “evils of tobacco.” She asked: “What about the tobacco farmers?” (This had been her family’s livelihood) Somebody asked: “Why should I care about tobacco farmers?” I would not have understood at all a year ago, but now I know what she means when she writes:

I’m still struggling to answer that. Yes, I do know people who have died
wishing they had never seen a cigarette. Yes, it’s a plant that causes cancer
after a long line of people (postfarmer) have specifically altered and abused
it. And yes, it takes chemicals to keep blue mold off the crop. And it sends
people to college. It makes house payments, buys shoes, and pays doctor bills.
it allows people to live with their families and shake hands with their neighbors
in one of the greenest, kindest places in all the world.


Now I am the last person on earth who will defend tobacco. However, what she captures in this and subsequent paragraphs is that when we gleefully celebrate the demise of something like tobacco (or logging, or the auto industry or whatever), there are more than evil Snidely Whiplash corporate executives finally getting their comeuppance and the deliverance of their clueless pawns. There is the loss of a way of life, not only financially, but of having a way to think of ourselves and What We Do. And it hurts.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

My Unsettling Junior Boomer Kind of Day

First of all, I must explain that I have never identified too much with the Baby Boomer label, even though I was born in the time period that covers. The older members of that demo had the VietNam War to contend with as well as the massive culture shift. By the time I reached my formative teen years and young adulthood, there were just not the same issues. I also graduated from college as a recession was ending and the Senior Boomers already had most of the jobs. However, I have two Senior Boomer siblings and a spouse, which often makes me feel younger than I actually am.

So...my morning started with my radio alarm going off. I had forgotten I had set it to a classic rock station. So I vaguely hear..."first live recording in 1967...during...the Beatles All You Need is Love...with Mick Jagger and Donovan among the members of the chorus..." Blah blah blah, I'm still half asleep. Then I hear something like..."This classic rock moment has been brought to you by the Burcham Hills Retirement Center." Boom! I'm awake, thinking "That's the wrong commercial for this demographic." I used to visit an elderly lady from my churh at Burcham Hills (which also has an assisted living center.) And then I realize, "Oh my gosh. It's not. It's exactly right. My husband is retired."

Then after returning to work after lunch (I had come home to feed the dog and let him out) I heard that Farrah Fawcett had died as I was parking my car. I sat in the car and listened to the story.. As I got out of the car, tears just inexplicably started rolling down my face. I was not a fan of Charlie's Angels...not my kind of thing, plus it was known as a "jiggle" show and I was developing my feminist sensibilities, such as they are, at that time. However, I always thought she was beautiful and had amazing hair even in the magazine shampoo ads in which I first noticed her (pre-Angels.) I also thought she did great work in The Burning Bed, which I paid special attention to because it involved people in a town near where I lived at that point...the case was frequently discussed in the local media. (It was a good movie, but I always wondered why the Michigan people had Texas accents. Most Michigan accents are more like Chicago-lite or Canada-lite or Sarah Palin-lite, depending on the combination of where you live and your parents are from.)

I was thinking about how in my college dorm so many of the young men had that Farrah poster in their rooms. Seriously, it was everywhere. I had to stop in the rest room and collect myself before I went to teach my class; I did not know why this was affecting me so.

And then later as I was reading something on AOL, in the more often than not extremely stupid comments, someone said something about Michael Jackson being dead. I thought it was a Mikey pop-rocks, Wikipedia false info planting kind of thing, then the local news said "TMZ is reporting..." (And I thought "Really? TMZ?") and then finally, Brian Williams was saying it.

I have two Michaels in my memory: Michael, the boy my age with pictures in Tiger Beat magazine who sang with his brothers, then Thriller Michael whose video "world premiere" I watched with my husband and stepkids before I became a mother myself. The much later Michael was definitely disturbing but I always wondered why no one seemed to be helping this clearly troubled man who pretty much had his childhood stolen from him.

I feel sad and old today.