Cigarettes, heart and life

One year ago today I drove myself to the emergency room because I was having a horrible asthma attack. It was on my way there that I smoked my last cigarette. How sick is that? I remember tasting stale smoke that was trapped in my lungs for a week. It was disgusting enough to keep me from smoking. Perspective changes with time and growth. What deemed more disgusting was at the time I felt pride for at least having smoked one last time before I was admitted. It is amazing what the lure of addiction will make one think. What is even more incredible is the fact that addiction speaks so many different languages on so many different occasions, it is hard to maintain awareness. Success occurs in a state of trained hypervigiliance. Though I am pumped about my not smoking I am even more proud and thankful of the results that I got from Mayo, yesterday.

As I said in a previous post I had what is called a CAT angio. I was anticipating the worst. My family history is damning. My mom had a quadruple bypass at 30. I was 4; I remember flashes, and her grayness. Moreover my grandmother has had multiple double and triple bypasses, and my uncle has had a quintuple bypass. I have been medicated since I was little. I think it was 2nd grade when I first had to take these horrible nuggets of grossness called Choli-bars. Honey would try and mask the bars disgusting flavor of regurgitated raspberry spit mixed with sand. I remember every day at lunch I would go down to the nurses station and pull out my bear full of honey, already gagging from the idea of my nemesis. When I turned 10, I was able to kick the bars and move over to questran. I can't believe that at one point I was excited about switching to a powder form. That was a fleeting feeling. I would mix orange juice and this straight sand concoction in one of those salad dressing mixers. I tried, as hard as a 10 year old could. Then I learned the tricks of the trade. I would pour it down the drain when someone wasn't looking, I would not empty the packet all the way into the juice and throw it away. I was pretty savvy at hiding my sneakiness when need be. The numbers never lied though. My cholesterol levels were monitored regularly, I hadn't plotted all the way through. When my numbers went back up, the dosage got upped. I think I was actually taking the sand juice in the morning before school and then at bedtime. On top of that I would have to eat the hunk of sandy raspberry spit at lunch. Those were rough years. Then when I was 16 I finally was able to take mevacor. All hail pills. That was shortlived as well. For the past 10 years I have been on and off cholesterol meds more than I care to admit. When I turned 26 it seemed a lot closer to 30 than 25. Thirty has been a magic number for me, In this case I thought it would mark a second generational bypass. I wonder if somewhere I wanted that to be the case. I have always loved my mom's scar. I wear it as if it were my own. Pride is multigenerational.

When I had those tests last week I went on my own. I felt as though it was something I needed to do for me and for my heart. I have lived my life as if parts of me compartmentalized will morph into my mom. It has been a long path to learn that I am not her and her experiences are not mine I surely hold them as if they were. But not today, not anymore. It is not her heart that beats in my body, it is my own. It wasn't about my crazy family history when I went in for that test, it was about my heart and it was even more about me. I got through it, and I would never change it; however the next time I need to have that test done I will not go alone. I would be lying if I said wasn't nervous. I felt really alone and I felt really young and I felt so much like myself. It was over almost as soon as it had started. I go back October 3rd for my follow-up with the doctor.

It was yesterday though that I met with my otalryngologist (ear, nose and throat doctor). He was the doctor who scolded me for not taking care of my heart weeks upon weeks ago. Today was a different story, my sinuses first of all feel 10000 times better, and he said they looked good as well. He then asked if I had been to see a cardiologist. I told him I had and told him of the tests. He then asked if I had the results and I told him I would find out on the third. He left the room for a moment. He came back with papers in hand. They were the results reporting no calcification in any of my arteries. My heart is a healthy heart, all of my arteries are clear. There are not any blockages anywhere. The slate was wiped clean for me. I thought for so long that actions I had taken in my youth had left severe repercussions; and it turns out it wasn't like that at all.

To sum all of this up; I am happy, healthy, and I am not broken. So much depends upon a year.

Blossoms

I had a rough day yesterday. The swelling of grief can burst when one seems to be the most content. Memories of friends, alive and gone, were all the rage yesterday. I yearned for an old comfort, the touch of a friend, a smile from my childhood, a picture taken quietly in a moment of bliss. That’s what I wanted last night. I shy away from talking about my grief because it seems like a beaten topic. It is possible that it is just such a constant on my mind that I feel if I talk about it, it is redundant. Though this is my path. I watched that new television show last night, Brothers and Sisters. I love Calista Flockhart; old Ally McBeal moments make me smile. Though it was in this show that I realized I wanted a big family, lots of children. I am surely getting ahead of myself here. I think I generally need to be attached to someone who would help me on this level of procreation; oh God, mom, if you're reading this, I am of course still a virgin.

It is in these moments of loneliness that I dream. Though, not the dreams that are encountered during sleep. Ones instead that are confronted with eyes wide open, fully aware of and able to be manipulated. Those kind of dreams keep my focus when I feel the rest of the world is a blur, and I can’t fit anywhere.

These are days that I reach out to my friends. I have never had a support system like I do right now; at home, at work, across the country. I am lucky. And I am having a slumber party tonight. Why do we stop doing things that offered so much comfort when we were children? I loved, lived, and breathed slumber parties when I was waist high. Then they stopped right around the time that I needed them the most. College brings about broken hearts, changed paths, life altering events; I didn’t have many girlfriends during this time. Now, is a different story. I seek them out now. I cherish these budding blossoms, and tend to them, as they can be as fragile as the human heart. These girls are my heart. Living through moments of loneliness is a nice reminder that in the end I am not truly alone. At all. Again, I am sure I am losing your interest in my sappy gratitude, but God for once it’s a nice change of pace.

Out of My Mind

I like it when I am hovering a little bit above my head. I enjoy the lack of worry that I feel when I sit silent above my world. You call me crazy, I won't argue. I have found that I think a lot. I used to say I think too much. By used to I mean yesterday. I now think i simply think, a lot. Too much, sounds negative. I am tired of making excuses for who I am and what I do that is different from you. Has anyone considered that the non-thinkers are the ones who are in the wrong, in the red, in the ocean without a preserver? I have but only today. I try and define myself minute by minute pigeon holing my current experiences with my peers. Odd. I think I am annoyed with this. I think I will stop. Why are you reading this? Are you following this, it is probably the same reason why i write. To be understood, to understand. I know this is a lot of ditherings, but there is a lot going on in my mind that should, for once, stay in there. Quietly learning, I am protecting myself. If I am dragging you through a path that you don't want to go through I do not beg you to stay, instead I will plead with you to go and not become jaded. Can you feel my loneliness? That is what this must be, I am writing to you... An indefinable you, one you, who actually does not exist. Yet I continue as if you will respond with my thoughts. It has been a lonely day, a lonely couple of days. My roommates are not at home nor have they been for a few days. There is only so much conversation I can extract from Alex on Jeopardy!

Loneliness is not bad. I do not write about this because i seek companionship. I write this as an observation of myself. It is normal. Somewhat interesting to be coming from my mouth. Cheers to loneliness, and the reflection it offers of my joy found in good conversation and loving friends.

Thank you!

Efforts of Poem #4

I thought this poem was going to be the death of me. Very challenging in light of the 20 aspects that had to be included. I will post the poem here. If you stumble over something please know that it was probably some weird requirement that I had a little more than a difficult time trying to integrate. I am though in the end very satisfied by what I was able to manipulate out of myself. As much of a challenge these exercises are it is amazing to me the amount of joy and sense of accomplishment I have after my piece of work has concluded.

Adam's Rib

Rainbow in the water, it glides,
This fish,
Painted an eternity
Ago. You exist to fill
My soul.

My soul on the exterior is a canvas, my crazy
Ideas filter into the dreams
Of my days. Nights transformed
By watercolors etched
Into skin
Painfully, breathing I laugh.

While dreaming, you talk to me,
I think Mandee, that’s silly
Fish don’t speak.
I will wake on a beach, the taste
Of the sweet salt tells me
I am not dreaming.

The waves offer violent
Comfort; push, pull
I smell the wisdom
Coming from far away
Carried on the wake
Of Atlas who shrugged and
Dropped the ball, and
Caused the tide
That carried you.

Crying out, the sky throws
My words back to earth
“Painted bodies will swim among the heavens!”
The orchestra from Anuhi came on with a crescendo
Breaking in time, like Atlantis
For all to hear

Ancient symbol of luck and perseverance
decorates my ribs
Not Adam’s from Eden
From where Eve arrived,
Simply mine, numbers 7
Through 12, the artist touches his work
Maybe not touches, but instead
Touched
By his own brilliance.

A sage, I find myself
Seeking your slippery presence.
Skin, scales grip me like a jasmine’s blossoming
Perfume: Intense, unmistakable.

I wrap my body around your image,
Circling me, you weep overwhelmed
our beauty combined blunders forward,
An echo of grace

Like you, I am destined
For greatness. Finding the majestic waterfall
Desire strikes, a pun arises, like the instinct within,
Carp as in koi, as in carpe diem!
I jump, your wings unfold
We tumble like the stories told
Morphing, twisting, a dragon
We become. Legend lives on!

A prism existing between water and sun
Elements at work.

Monday, Monday

RSVP, every morning, 7 am, outermost table, iced venti soy latte in hand; I sit. I see the two most scrappiest, broken birds this morning; like every other morning. I react the same way every time. I stop typing and stare. Little creatures escaped from hell, too evil to have wings, they trot, uncomfortably. I am still staring, the man behind them winks at me. I have to remember to keep my staring in check. I smile and nod in the direction of the odd little reptilian forks with black bodies attached; hoping he will get the message. Sidetracked already, and the clock is ticking.

I was intending to use this morning as a brainstorming session for poem #4. It is not an easy one. It is called 20 poetry projects; in other words a laundry list of things that need to be included in some creatively intertwined way. I wince. I can already say that this morning is not the morning that I will decide on a topic worthy of this kind of commitment. My mind is somewhere else. My grandfather would have been 91 today. Instead he has been at rest since 89y10m15d. It is that season again where I feel a great nostalgia, and the eye opening ways of the creation of life, followed closely by fear of loss. Are these not the great themes of life; loss and love, holding on and letting go, coming and going?

I have appointments at Mayo clinic this week. My first big heart tests. They now have a procedure that is a CAT scan angiogram. The original angiogram is the process of going in through the groin and threading a tube into your heart and then injecting dye. Once that has been completed a series of pictures are taken. These pictures show any arteries that have more than 60% blockage. Technologically speaking, the fact that this is now can be performed as a non-invasive procedure, is incredible. It works really only for those patients though who have not had any prior heart surgery. For example, my mom cannot have this type of CAT scan because the wires from her bypass would distort the images. So this procedure works simply. They inject me with dye, that part stays the same and so does the series of pictures that are taken. However, they are taking by the radiology approach. To top it off, I am my cardiologists youngest patient. I think that I make him nervous.

I know this posting is pretty random; my head is a little random. I am still preoccupied by the black birds that have no tails. Oh, how i love Mondays.

I am a shitty mom, literally

Yesterday I was exhausted. Though I have no children, I have two dogs. I guess maybe I could say that I do have children. This point was driven home when I walked into my house after work yesterday. I have a puppy that I am crate training. If I could paint for you the picture that was presented before me upon opening my door; I do not know if you would continue to read any of my future blogs. I feel that this is a risk I must take. I unlocked the door and found myself knocked over the head with the most pungent stench. I was not aware until that moment that an odor could take physical form. I was gagging before I even knew what had happened. I look at my little baby girl inside her kennel. She is squealing and covered in shit. I knew there was some sort of reason behind the term puglet. I look at her. She looks at me, I am at a loss for actions. Explosive diarrhea, that is the assumption I come to. Please focus on the word explosive. There was poo dripping from places that seemed to defy laws of physics. For example, off of the top of the kennel, on the wall above the kennel, on the speakers surrounding the kennel, on her back, in her eye, in her mouth. Are you getting the idea? I am still unsure of what to do. It wasn't even so much as to where the shit was, it came to be where it wasn't. I could not find an answer to that question. I walked into the kitchen and turned on the water in the sink. I let it fill up. I open the front door, and leave the screen door closed. Little Lallibella Foo Foo is still squealing in her cage. I then hear a sound I had not anticipated on hearing; my own laughter, in between gags. I am laughing. I mean, really? Is this actually happening. Yes, yes it was.

I grab Lalli out of her cage while Frodo sits at the screen door barking at every shadow, rabbit, rock, cloud that passes by. He is my guard dog, he just hasn't realized that specifiedshadow/rabbit/rock/cloud will not attack me . I am washing Lalli in the sink. I am tapping my foot to the beat of Frodo's barks, he does have good rhythm. I start to shampoo the little shit covered puglet, when my foot is no longer tapping. At this point, puglet tries to make an escape and jumps on me. I am now wet and covered in shit too. I am laughing harder. But this distraction wears off when I realize Frodo has vacated his look out post to go all Kujo on this little kid down stairs. I drop everything, Sorry little Lalli. The water is still running. IApparently I am too, down the stairs. I look at this kid, cornered and terrified on his bike. I tell him that I didn't think Frodo would bite him. His fear did not leave his face but instead became a little more intense. I then wonder who he is more afraid of; my little dog, or me, sopping wet, my hair dredded with dog hair and water, and me layered in shit upon more shit. I am mortified, but still I laugh. I then have to try and catch Frodo. He wants to play ring around the rosy with me and this kid. I finally win... Lalli has been howling for about 3 minutes now. I remember the water is still running. Awesome. I leave the kid who is now quite possibly traumatized for life and return to my shit home.

That really was the highlight of the whole event. I ended up cleaning the cage for an hour, Lalli ended up smelling like coconuts, and Frodo decided to get ferocious with his squeaky fox. I cleaned the house, and the smell left. But for some reason, I could not shake this happiness. I still laugh when I think about it. I could easily have been upset, and overwhelmed, disgusted, etc... Instead I was by myself bursting into fits of laughter.

If anyone would like to say that their dog(s) are not their children, ask them if they have ever cleaned up their pet's vomit, diarrhea (explosive or not), helped them eat, gotten up in the middle of the night only to love them until they fall back asleep. If they answer no, then maybe it is I that am crazy. At the end of the day when I have two beautiful baby pugs snuggling on either side of me, I cannot tell you the love that I feel and the happiness that swells from somewhere within. Whether or not they are my babies, I am certainly their mom.

mobile once again

There is comfort in familiarity of the past. I am at Starbucks with my laptop. Not a specific Starbucks, but one of the many. I am getting acquainted with my new baby. Last evening unfolded with a man inquiring about the ad for my 1994 Honda prelude. It was the second time he will have looked at it. I have never had the experience of taking responsibility for the actual selling and handing over the keys of a car to someone else. In step with everything else in my life I feel as if I just made another leap into adulthood. I negotiated, he negotiated, an overall successful transaction. I was handed cash. In step with the promise I had made myself I went straight to the Mac store. I found it, the one. I got the black MacBook and am thrilled with it. I had an Apple about 8 years ago and have recently become more and more intrigued by their ability to anticipate the needs of its user. I may find myself outsmarted by a laptop. I eagerly await this challenge.

And here I am blogging before work. How fantastic!

Since the welcoming of the new puppy I have been up at 6 every morning. I was just using that time to get to work an hour early. My mornings, now, will take a very leisurely turn. A turn that is owned a little bit more by me then by what expectations are laid out before me. So here I am in a familiar spot, comfortable, and oh so mine. I anticipate that this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

I had planned to put whatever money was left unspent after the laptop purchase towards my tattoo fund. However, after everything was said and done, I received $1.16 in change. So for selling my car I got a kickass laptop, and a speck of water that will exist above my rib. It is impressive how far a dollar will stretch these days. :) Happy Wednesday! It sure will be for me.

Poem #2

What I am beginning to understand about poetry is that each poem is just a riddle. The more layers, imagery, confusion that can be found in a line, a word, the better the poem becomes. It forces the reader to read the piece again and again. I kinda really dig it. It is harder for me than essayesque type writing; but it is also oddly comforting to try and figure out what it is that I actually am trying to say. Anyway, my second piece, I know you were waiting with baited breath. The fury of excitement beats around you. Wait no more my friend, here it is

The Cornfield

I open the curtain.
A gold wall gaps.

I pass.
Journey to the heart.

Peers planted,
towering stalks surround.

Companions found in solitude,
a world I ruled.

Righteous ruler;
a child, a daughter.

A maze of maize
made these memories.

Impending doom,
the stalks will fall.

Two tons of steel;
my kingdom it takes away.

Taadaa, Happy September!