A Wise Man's Words

My father was an Italian immigrant who came to this country as a child. When he was 50 years old, I was born (must be something in the gene pool!). Anyway, after having a child of my own and a new divorcee, I moved home with my parents. I had a good job and did not rely on my parents or ex for anything, but I stil got depressed a lot. My Dad would sit with me and share some wine and tell me one thing over and over again. I can hear his words now when he said " Vickie Marie, you need to remember that there are people in this world better off than you, and people who are worse off than you". I take that into account a lot more since I'm older now. I guess what he was trying to tell me is that you are given a place here, do with it what you can. Don't envy those who have more than you, but don't forget those who have less. He was a loving, caring man who always took care of the family, but always remembered to give to those who were hurting. Material things don't really mean a lot to me. I feel as though I've done the best that I could with what was given to me. I guess what I'm trying to say is, do the best with what you have, and don't forget those that could use a helping hand.

The Waiting Game

As of today, the numerous blood tests,cat scans, and pre-surgery tests have been completed. I am scared poopless, with Tuesday being the endoscopy/colonoscopy. I am grateful that they're knocking me out for this one. My better half tries to make light of it all, and since having been with him for close to 16 years, I know he has a habit of doing that when he too is worried about something. We are hoping that I will give birth to an 8 pound benign tumor. I just pray I don't come out of the anesthesia and be told that I won't be going home since this is an outpatient procedure.

anger and all that goes with it

i have to post this now because i am so full of anger right now that my blood pressure has risen to a new level. this may sound stupid to most people, but it totally p's me off. my niece recently posted a blog and had the audacity to also post it on facebook about the "psychic connection" that she and her family (my brother) have with my now deceased mom. well, good for them because i have never received any "signs" from my mother. i guess it boils down to sour grapes, but my brother was always her favorite. once my mom had passed away, my brother and his family severed any ties with me. i warned my son that this would happen, and it did. they never call to see how i'm doing; i always have to initiate the contact and it seems to be a forced conversation on their end. the last thing i wanted to vent about was the fact that they have both the ashes of my mother and my father with them and i have nothing but memories.

Quality vs. Quantity

With the status of my health being what it is, I have come to realize that there are decisions I need to make. Fifteen years ago I was told by a radiation oncology doctor that "it's gonna come back and get you right there", pointing to my pelvic area since I was diagnosed with stage three cervical cancer. But then chided that "20 years from now you'll be here thanking me with a bag tied to your leg". He meant colostomy bag. So with what I am experiencing now, he was right, he just missed it by five years. I need to make tough choices with my next set of appointments; to let this "thing" run it's course or prolong it with artifical hope. I have always been a fan of quality of life far outweighs quantity of life. I have no desire to prolong my life with the chance of making myself and those around me miserable. I think I have already made up my mind about the choice I will make; but time will tell.

Dragged Out Of The Pity Pool

I have finally realized that I have to stop thinking so much. One day at a time, and forget the past since you can't change it anyway. I'm sure we all have regrets; things that we should have done differently. All I can say is that, at the time, I thought I made the right choice. I guess we all have to live with the consequences of the decisions we make, but I now know we have to carry on. I have realized that I can't reconnect with my so-called family, who I guess could give a rat's behind about me, since they have their own perfect world (and I know for a fact that several of them have blogs here and will probably read this, or at least pass it on to other "family". Well, good luck to all of you. I have three people in my life who care about me more than any of you, combined. There is my main man, and his best friend Steve, and a woman who writes probably some of the best stuff I've read on here (no offense Steve!), Heather. Thanks to both of you for caring so much. As for my so-called family.....well, enough said.

Patent Pending?

My better half and I have dreamnt up several ideas that might fly. We would like you to consider milking stools for chickens, helmets for gnats, portable catheters, just to name a few. As I wrote in my last blog, I am currently going through several medical tests concerning my health. One that I forgot to mention (and trust me, I have my reasons), was collecting three stool samples for pontential blood. I happened to notice that the bag I am to return them is labeled "bio-hazard". I felt as though I had achieved great power in the universe! So I came up with the idea that people don't need to buy guns anymore; you could protect yourself with your own excrements, be it pee, poop, vomit, or sputum. Of course, you would have to come up with a way to make sure it doesn't loose it's capabilities. Can you imagine if everyone stored their own waste products for future use? If your held-up at gunpoint, you could tell your attacker "don't come any closer, I'm armed with...".

I woke up this morning in a sarcastic and comic mood. Anyway, I don't think I'll get the patent.

Do You Trust Your Doctor?

I had the unfortunate opportunity of seeing my primary care physician a couple of days ago. I am seen at a "teaching hospital", a not for profit urban hospital in the heart of this city's worst crime ridden neighborhood. I went for the purpose of sever abdominal bloating, looking and feeling as though I'm nine months pregnant (nah, not gonna happen, I've been sterile fore fifteen years following radiation "therapy" for cervical cancer). My first encounter was with a medica assistant who complained to anyone who would listen that she was again working with my doctor. She weighed me (I won't divulge the number) but realized I had not weighed that much since I was pregnant nearly 34 years ago. My blood pressure reading was even more frightening; 179/98. Okay, I thought. I'll ask the doctor. He appeared soon after and was more concerned over the fact that his medical records computer was not working than me. He asked me my chief complaint, and I explained. He did some poking and proding and did explain he might have felt an abdominal mass, but at the same time told me my lungs sounded fine, which I find hard to believe since I have chronic bronchitis and cough and wheeze all the time. He flippantly expressed the opinion that I could indeed have colon cancer, but let's order some tests. Blood work, colonoscopy,etc. he also ordered a bone density test and mammogram, since I was post menopausal. I fail to undestand the logic in this since I have been seeing this same doctor for over 5 years, and now, all of a sudden, he's ordered this when he never had before. And then I looked out of the corner of my eye and saw laying on top of my chart a copy of my MEDICARE card. he thenproceeded to question me repeatedly if I was diabetic (never have been, but I think he was seeing dollar signs). He blew off my blood pressure reading to the fact that the MA had used "the machine"(???) and left it at that. Anyway, I'm off to do all the follow up appointments which in this hospital's case will take a month to complete. More info when I have something new.

Facebook

I was finally convinced to try this relatively new way of "staying in touch". Unfortunately, I've found that I don't really have a whole lot of friends. Hell, I even have family members who don't acknowledge me. I guess, as my Dad used to say, "you made your bed, now lay in it". Trying to make up for past mistakes is more difficult that I thought it would be. It seems as though no matter how hard you try, some people never forget mistakes that were made. My greatest comfort is I now have my best friend in the world with me, and his family and friends have been more support to me than my own family. I know that what is wrong with me physically cannot be cured, and I am looking at the end. I had just hoped to make amends with some.

Disengaged Families

I was checking the obituaries yesterday, both locally and from back home, to make sure my name was not listed. It's something I do on a daily basis. In my hometown newspaper, there it was; my last name in big, bold print. It was my half-brother's obituary. This was a man I had had no contact with in nearly thirty years, but yet, the tears still came. Sure, he and I shared the same father, but there was more in common then more people will ever know; but he and I know. He was the black sheep of my father's first three children; in and out of jail, hell raiser, but a really good guy at heart. He helped me more than once. We shared a bond. He knew he was the outcast of the family, and when my father married my Mom and I came to be, there was talk that my father had married a woman younger than his oldest child. Please understand that this family was made up of devout Catholics who couldn't grasp the fact that my father would marry so soon again. And then, here I was, a child conceived by a fifty year old man; heck. I was soon to be labeled 'my Vickie Marie". Of course, my mother had never had any intention of having another child once she married my father. My father had adopted her son, born out of wedlock, and she was content. And here I come. We grew up playing parental favorites; I was Daddy's little girl, and my brother , according to my mother, was the one to concentrate on. I was told more than once by my Mom that I wasn't supposed to happen. I apologize for the trip down memory lane, but I guess that's why my half-brother and I sort of bonded. He knew what I went through growing up, and I know the same about him. God bless you, Carmen. In spite of all your failings, you'll always be in my heart.

Life in the City

I grew up in a small, ruraltown in upstate New York, where crime was negligible, except for the occassional barfight on Friday night (we had a lot of watering holes in town). The village police, who knew nearly everybody in town, and I believe knew who to target., made their rounds , and the usual suspects were picked up. I had the unfortunate opportunity to fall under their scrutiny(I was quite the party animal in those days) and was picked for DUI. I went to court, paid my fine, and had my license revoked for a year. We had a small town paper called The Review, who apparently had no breaking news to cover, but did enjoy posting the names and charges of those who appeared in village court. Kind of a public humiliation I guess. Needless to say, I learned my lesson from that experience. I now live in a large city, and the rampant crime here is frightening. Seems like everyone has a gun (I don't, but am seriously considering it), and the majority that do are not supposed to have one. I just find it sad that disputes are settled with violence. The words revenge, drive-bys, and regaining street respect appear in our headlines daily. Growing up, we never worried about leaving the front door unlocked, leaving the windows open at night to capture the fresh air, or even locking the car door. As it is, we keep our front door locked at all times, keep the blinds closed, and make sure the car alarm is engaged. It's a sad state of affairs, and I guess the older I get, the more I yearn for the good old days.

Sitting and Thinking

It's 6am on a Saturday and Ive got a lot on my mind. Misspent youth, illness, both of my parents now gone, never having seen my nearly 3 year old grandson (except for the occassional photo). Your kids grow up and lead lives of their own, and sometimes forget us old folks. Times have surely changed. As a child I was taught that you took care of your aging parents, no matter what the sacrifice, and believe me, I made a lot of them. I don't regret my role as their health declined and I became resposible for them, but I guess I do harbor some bitterness. My brother was married and had a Naval career which included a wife and four kids, so I became the caretaker of aging parents. I told my son I would never put hm in the position I was put in, and I guess he has taken that to the heart. I am now disabled myself but know in my heart that he will heed my words.