Falling To Pieces

Being the smart mouth, tough "softy", little person with a big mouth and quick come back was always natural to me. I've always felt like I had to hold it together, even when I was falling apart, because I felt it was my civic duty as a child, to make sure my parents didn't worry about me. I'm of the opinion, if you're going to do something, do it right or don't do it at all. So of course, I start life as a walking natural disaster. I started the chain of one of many surgeries when I was 18 months old. I was born with a congenital heart defect where my Aorta was crushing my trachea AKA innominate artery , which in turn would cause me to code at the drop of a hat, and was further compounded by yet another birth defect in the structure of the bronchus in my right lung AKA the breathing tubes AKA pig bronchus,not the cute kind of pig either which only allows me to receive 60% lung function on my right side. So, in layman's terms : Heart defect that squishes air tube + existing non operable lung defect = Very sick baby, almost dead baby. By some miracle of God the Dr's at Mass General Hospital in Boston figured out what the malfunction was and fixed the offending defect in July of 1985. My parents say there after it was like day and night. Well, more or less.


I continued my adolesence through a perverbial revolving door at the Operating Room, almost like a comedy of errors. It might not have been funny at the time, but seriously, who gets a joint replacement in middle school because you got struck with a softball. Me, that's who. I almost died that time too. Like I said, if you're going to do something, do it right, or go full out. I got diagnosed at 17 with endometriosis, after OBGYN shopping for severe pelvic pain and periods from hell, I finally had a doctor (at least temporarily) who would listen to me. No asshole, I wasn't trying to get pain meds, I want you to end the pain, I don't want any god damned pills, I want you to find out why I turn into Sybil and bleed for 3 weeks every month - thank you very much.
By the time I graduated High School at 18, I had 18 surgeries - one for every year I was alive. It's really comforting to hear "what are you having done THIS time" from your friends, awesome. It's also a good ego booster to have to be medically excused from gym class and any team sports because it might, literally, kill you. It does wonders for your social status too, incase you were wondering, but thankfully I wasn't alone in social pergatory in High School. The art room was way more fun than lacrosse anyways.


The following years were a series of inexplicable medical mishaps and mysteries, Pancreatitis twice, Endometriosis surgery (again), Sinus surgery (for the 3rd time), diagnosis of a Mitral Valve Prolapse, mis adventures through the wonderous land of birth control (note to self, Ortho Evera Patch = Bad, very Bad), Cervical Dysplaysia and two perfect pregnancy's (take that Endometriosis!)and with a brief reprieve, I am back at square 1, whatever the hell that is supposed to mean. I fell like a big bag of shit, between my right clavicle that is incased in arthiritis (WHO gets that at my age?!? honestly)and impinging my rotator cuff and all the nerves, and my endometriosis that is sucking my will to live (because its completely normal to bleed straight out for 4 months and pass out from the sharp pains), I'm spent. Oh and let's not forget the daily choking episodes that have made it all but impossible to eat with out anxiety and 9-1-1 on speed dial. Fear not, I have my first of the two procedures tomorrow to help decide whether it is Lupus, eosinophilic esophagitis, or severe GERD that is causing all of the swallowing difficulties. Hooray!!! What's more liberating than having a scope down your nostril while you're awake .....


I do not faulter though, I'm not allowed to. Having to drag my sorry ass into work aside, I'm a wife and a mother, oh and I don't want to worry my parents (they've had their fill over the past 27 years). I grew up with a sick mom, a very sick one at that. It fucking sucks. I don't want to do that to my kids or my husband, I don't want to be the emotional burden that makes them worry if I'm going to make it this time. That's not an option. The one thing I've gained though my life experience (besides a collection of some pretty impressive scars,intolerance to most codeine based medications and a nifty allergy to latex)is strength that I didn't know I was capable of. It's amazing what you can go through when the only option you have IS to be strong.

Mullet Free Since 83'

Ever walk into a salon or respective barber shop and just get a feeling of " this is probably a bad idea". Wedsneday was one of those times. I had been looking around the local salons for a place that looked to be half decent and not too expensive. I thought wrong. I for whatever reason decided on the salon by walmart, which was formally "Lords and Lady's", which I had gone to in the past and had a decent experience with. Not so much this time. I am , in case you hadn't noticed, kinda OCD. Once I find something that irks me I fixate on it and obscess, its one of many redeeming qualities I possess. Anyways, I walk in a and immediately noticed:
1)the furniture didn't match
2)5 out of 6 of the stylists had on acid washed high waisted jeans and/or a mullet, or femlet respectively
3)my stylists name was "Arlene" ... I know that you can't help what your parents decided to name you, but at some point when you become of legal age you'd think you'd want to change it to something that doesn't automatically conjure up the dueling banjos.


I sit in the chair and show her what I had in mind, I wanted a darker dirty blonde/light brown (with golden undertones) and heavy blonde highlights in the front, and a trim of the dead ends since I've been growing out my hair for the past two years from the aysemetrical Victoria Beckham bob I had a couple of summers ago. So what do I get. Brassy washed out blonde with highlights on top, and ashy muddy greenish/brown underneath. And as far as the "trim", in my past 20 years expirience a trim meant breaking out the scissors, and trimming off the dead ends. This "Stylist" proceeded to whip out her razor (I'm surprised she didn't see my look of horror on my face), and razor the ever loving shit out of my hair. I have very fine baby hair, YOU DON'T FUCKING RAZOR IT EVER. It looked like a six year old cut my hair, she took off a good 2 inches, and the front was cut straight across like a bob, then it was long in the back. HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS LADY IS REALLY GOING TO GIVE ME A MULLET RIGHT NOW. At first it looked okay, not exactly what I wanted, but I hadn't notice the extensive WTF until I was at the gym , which then prompted me to exit immediatly to the parkinglot. I was pissed. It wasn't cheap this butchering of my hair, it was around $135 after tip, and my hair looked like I used box color from the sale bin at CVS and used a "suck cut" ... "well it certainly does suck".




Thank god for Hotlocks in North Falmouth. I called the salon and explained the massacre that had occured , and they were super nice. They had me come right in, acess the damage, discuss what needed to be done to correct it, and the stylist even trimmed my hair and softened the edges so it didn't resemble the Tina Turner wig from the late 80's. The reconstruction project of my dome piece isn't even that bad, it'll probably be around what I paid in the first place to get my hair done. I should've gone there in the first damn place. Moral of the story: always trust your instincts, if it feels wrong, its a no go. Especially when they break out the razors *shudders*

Building Bridges

This summer has been crazy busy , not just work wise, but life in general. We've spent a lot of time with my brother and sister in law after rebuilding a relationship following a massive blow out, which turns out if people just took a minute to actually ask what the problem was instead of making assumptions, wouldn't have happened in the first place. Husband has started working on the relationship with his father and that side of the family, and clearing the air on things that have bothered him for years. He's also come to realize that some relationships are not necessarily healthy, and is learning to take some things for face value. It's hard to come to the conclusion that the people you grew up with aren't who they appear, and when they start creating a stressful enviornment for everyone around them, it's time to cut the cord and do whats best for you. I'm getting to know in laws that I wish I had the chance to years ago, and gaining the strength to ignore the hurtful and toxic behaviors from others. The funny thing about the whole thing is that I, who grew up in a house hold where you did not discuss your problems or emotions, was the one who orchastrated the whole chat session to address the issues. I felt like it was right in my heart, and faced my fears head on, you never know how strong you really are until you are faced with a problem you have no other choice than to solve.


Growing up in a emotionally handicapped atmosphere has also led me to be weary of trusting people, and I have something of an emotional block, the size of the great wall of china. The only person who has ever been able to break it is my husband and a few select friends that I've had since kindergarden. I'm just always ready for the next blow, and I figured that if I don't let that person in emotionally, when they screw me over it won't hurt as bad. It has been effective thus far, but it also slows any healing process to a complete halt. After starting to reconcile with my sister in law following a massive blow out, I acknowledged that I am a difficult person to get to know and that I was willing to work on that. She admitted and owned the wrong doing on her part, so I have to be able to acknowledge my faults in order to make any progress. No one said that being a grown up would be fun or easy, hell all I cared about in high school was having my own car and no curfew. I have both now and its not really all that special. I guess, what I've learned is that 99.999999 % of all these problems we've had is from a complete lack of communication. If we just sat down and discussed what was going on and bothering us instead of assuming, these big blow outs wouldn't have happened in the first place.

Miss Cape & Islands Contest 2010

So I conquered my fear and kicked my anxiety of being in front of a big group of people by participating in the "Miss Cape & Islands" contest held at The Sand Dollar Bar & Grill in Dennisport. I had to say I was expecting pageant hell with catty bitches, but I was pleasantly surprised. All the girls were really awesome and I had a fabulous time! Free drinks also helped :) I had an amazing time going out there and talking to people, getting the crowd pumped, I never thought I would do that. I was however dissapointed that all the girls that won were employees of that bar or associated bars, and the judges owned that bar or neighboring buisnesses. To me that falls under 'conflict of interest', bad policy. So in my quest to awesomeness I will try again at the competition being held at The Cabby Shack in Plymouth on wedsneday the 12th.