I don’t have time for much else right now, but I do have a moment to put up some pages I’ve done. These were a few weeks back, since in the last few weeks, I have done nothing but school, school, school!
I knew I’d Slip…
Ha ha! I did not have faith in my ability to keep writing, because I always have so many things going at once…one usually slips. So it was this blog for a week or so. I have been frantically trying to pull together everything I need for the start of the school year and mourning the end of my summer vacation…sigh…so soon??
Plus, we’re crazy and we just adopted a dog. Yay! She’s a pug and older (2 1/2) so even though she’s only been here a few days, it seems like we’ve always had her. She is roly poly and lazy and cuddly…my kind of dog! We’re keeping her on a strict feeding schedule and got her a harness for walks, though, because we know pugs tend to get overweight. So we love her already and her name is Maddie and here she is:
Maddie
I know, a face only a mother could love, right? Well, we think she’s adorable! She’s a rescue pug and was found as a stray and pregnant. They removed the puppies because they didn’t know what she was bred with, and if it was a big dog the birth would kill her. So she’s spayed now, which is good.
I have also been getting more into digital scrapbooking and trying out lots of layouts. I finally got ink for the printer so I could print my layouts and see them in hard copy. I tend to be someone who does lots of things on the computer, but I have to print them out in order for me to really know what it was I did! I’m like that…I have to hold it in my hands!
I have also been taking stock of Sophie’s and my summer vacation, and realizing that the summer could have gone a little differently. I tended to be really focused on so many things that I only got a little of each thing done. That left little time for just relaxing and being. I have a hard time with that anyway. I always have to be doing something. Now, the summer’s over, and I wish I could take a mulligan! Do-over, please. But hey, we did the best we could!
Loose Ends…
Okay, so it’s been a few days…a very busy few days! I go back to my real job in 11 days, and I have sooo much to do! I met with my boss several days ago and the meeting went very well. For the first time since I’ve been there, I will get to start the year with my own classroom-setting it up and being the lead teacher. This may not seem like a big deal, but after the past two years, I finally feel like I will be able to be a better teacher. I have not yet felt like I was in charge of anything, I just showed up and did what I was told. This was very hard for me after teaching in the public school system, where you are in control of every aspect of your classroom. I have decided I will approach this year like I did when I was teaching public school. Plan, plan, plan!! That’s when the best things happen when you are a teacher. When everything is well-prepared. I am so happy to finally get the chance to do that for the first time in 5 years! ( I took a long break, to go work in a non-profit atmosphere and then to stay at home with Sophie). The only thing that is hard is it’s going to be a lot of work in a short amount of time. Plus, there’s lots that I want to have for my room but I’m not exactly rolling in cash. So I guess I’m going to have to be creative.
Why, Mom, Why?
Grrr…. I know, that’s not a good way to start off, but if any of you out there have mothers, you might understand what I’m feeling right now. Who can inspire more guilt and therapy sessions that your own mother? I can’t think of much. And this weekend, I found out (casually, of course) that my mother said a doozy of a remark about me…behind my back…to my husband. Who then waited two weeks to tell me. The sad part of all of it is that despite the fact that I am almost thirty, my mother’s remark crushed me. How can she still do that? I literally have been depressed all weekend because of it, and avoiding her to boot.
So first, a little background. My mother is 5’5″ and about the size of a (very thin) toothpick. She teaches aerobics class and is almost obsessive about working out. Me? I come from my dad’s side of the family. If you put me and my mother together, we don’t even look like we’re from the same genus and species, much less from the same family, much less than the fact that the woman gave birth to me.
I am the spitting image of my Memaw, my dad’s mother. Which on the one hand isn’t bad. She’s almost eighty and looks sixty, at the most. She just bought her own house a few years ago and has a younger boyfriend. In all the (almost thirty) years I have known my Memaw, she has never changed, looks-wise. Seriously! So if I have those genes, I can’t complain too much. However, she has always struggled with her weight. So I got those genes, too. I remember first feeling self-conscious about being chubby at age 8. Since that time, I have done constant battle with my self image. I am all those things you would say… big boned, more to love, etc., etc. I am not a huge person by any means, but I am not skinny, and I have always been extremely conscious of the fact that I am not skinny. The number one person who makes me feel like a big blob of disappointment? Yup, that’s right, Mom.
Before I had found out I was pregnant with my daughter in Sept. of 2004, I had just lost 40 pounds. I was looking smoking hot, at least in my mind. It was the least I’d weighed since high school, and I worked very hard to get there. Of course, as soon as I was at my lowest weight, I became pregnant. Well, let me tell you, it has all gone to hell since then. I have struggled ten times more with my weight since having Sophie than ever before. I am a size 14, but I feel huge. My 14′s don’t fit right, even thought they do fit. It’s like all my parts shifted around after I had Sophie. More thighs, more middle. Couldn’t it have all gone to the boobs? Anyway, enter into this my tiny, energetic mother. I know she judges my size. She always has, but never directly. I see it in the comments she makes to others and the looks she gives others. To her, fat people are disgusting. Although, some of her very good friends are larger people too. She just doesn’t say anything to them directly. So if fat people are disgusting, does that mean I am too?
I know how I look. I know how to eat right and exercise. I fell awful in bathing suits and shorts. I beat myself up about my appearance more than anyone else ever could. Why can’t I bounce back to my pre-pregnancy weight in 3 months like all those celebrities? Oh, that’s right, I have to work a full time job and care for a child, often by myself, and we’re not rich. Where it’s taken them three months, it’s taken me three years, with no change. Three years!! This is partly why I’m unsure about having more kids. I’m terrified of being pregnant again.
So here I am, largely feeling down on myself to begin with because it’s hot summertime and everyone is wearing less. I just want to put on a big sweater, but that’s not an option. Then we go on vacation with my parents two weeks ago. One day, we’re in the pool at the state park, and I take Sophie to the bathroom. Apparently, while I’m gone, my mom says to my husband, Chris, “Geez, Jaime’s really going to have to do something about her weight soon, isn’t she?” My husband replied, “We all do, you know. We’ve slacked off lately,” or something to that effect.
My husband told me this on this past Saturday while we were working on our budget. The subject of my mother came up (she has a thing with looking down her nose at our debt problems, too) and Chris mentioned what she said. I was so shocked and hurt that I almost burst into tears right there, but I didn’t want Chris to see how much her comment affected me. Even now, two days later, I am still unable to come to terms with it. First of all, I know why she said it to Chris. Because she would never say it in front of me. But I know she thinks it, so isn’t that worse? And second, doesn’t she think I know? Doesn’t she realize what mean, hateful things I say to myself day in and day out about how I’m such a failure at losing the weight? Does she think I don’t notice how I look? Or does she just think I don’t try; that I’m too lazy to do anything about it?
I guess overall, it doesn’t really matter. She said what I knew she was thinking all along. She confirmed my worst fears…yes, she is judging me, and she does wish I was thin like her. Does it kill her that her daughter is overweight? Is she embarrassed? Disgusted? Disappointed? All of the above?
Well, join the club. I think all of those thoughts, too. But she is my mother. Isn’t she supposed to love me unconditionally? Why do mothers hold the ultimate power to inspire hurt and guilt in us daughters? Why does it have to be so hurtful to hear those words coming from her, when they are the same words I say to myself? It just goes back to that awful mother/daughter dynamic that we have played out over the years. I am never good enough because I am not like her. That’s the message I’ve always gotten, isn’t it?
I pray and hope that my relationship with Sophie is different. Sure, I want her to be healthy and smart, but I will tell my future self right now: Don’t cut her down when all she’s looking for from you is love and support. Don’t go for her weakness just because you know what it is. Help her with her problems, but don’t make her feel like less of a person because she has them. Future self, treat your daughter like you wish you were being treated right now. You don’t have to live by the example you have just because it’s the only example you have.
There, I think I’ve said everything on my mind. I’m not trying to trash my mother, because I really do love her and she’s done a lot for me. It’s just that there are some bad relationship dynamics that are always there no matter how good the two people are individually. I just wish she’d see my talents and my humor and my goodness rather than my faults. It’s hard, isn’t it, when you have children and your whole perspective on your own mother changes. Has that happened to anyone else?
Another day…another page. Officially addicted!
Sophiekins
These pictures were taken on July 23, 2008. Sophie is 3…but she’s looking at the camera like she’s 13! I love this page…and it was fun to do.
Hopefully It Will Turn Out Well
In my first post, I was worrying about my full-time job and wondering how I should go about approaching my boss. I wrote an email to her, and after writing the one I really wanted to write, with lots of ranting and whining, I revised it heavily and sent the version that sounded professional and wouldn’t get me into trouble. I simply asked to be placed somewhere else this year and added a few thoughts I’d had. I am meeting with her on Friday, so hopefully all will be resolved. She sounded very open to hearing what I had to say. I’ll write more about what happened after the meeting.
Gallbladder, Part 2
I was going to be about eight months after my heart tests before I would find out what was wrong with me. And what a fun time that was…
I was so happy that my heart was not going to give out on me at any moment. It seems silly, but I was a little nervous about the tests, even though I suspected deep down it wasn’t my heart. I have a friend who is a few years older than I am who was having problems with her heart, so it wasn’t unheard of. (Scary.)
The new phase of “mystery disease” began in May. One Sunday afternoon, I was outside with Sophie when suddenly, out of nowhere, I really needed to use the bathroom. I handed Sophie off to my mom and booked it to the bathroom. I felt like someone had reached into my chest right below my sternum and was squeezing my insides for all they were worth. Afterward, I lay on the floor of the bathroom, curled in a fetal position. Then I crawled to the living room and lay flat on my back, trying to concentrate on breathing. I was shaky and had broken out in a cold sweat. After about fifteen minutes, I felt completely fine. I chalked the whole thing up to eating something that didn’t like me.
The next day at work, I described my “attack” to my co-workers, who all agreed it was weird. Then, at almost the same exact time, it happened again. I had to get my supervisor to cover while I rushed to the bathroom. Then I went to the play area in our classroom and sat on the kid sized couch, sweating and shaking. In about ten minutes, the whole episode was over. Now I was really confused. I hadn’t eaten the same thing as the day before. Maybe it was some sort of bug, I told myself. It didn’t happen again for a little while. Then, one night a few weeks later, I woke at about 3 a.m. and felt that horrible sensation below my chest. I ran to the bathroom and then afterward lay on the living room floor rolling around in agony. There was no comfortable position. It felt like I was being squeezed inside out. I woke up my husband and shakily told him what was going on. He asked if I thought I needed the emergency room, and I said no, we couldn’t afford it. He suggested I visit a clinic the next day if I still felt bad. The episode passed and I was able to go back to sleep, but the next day I felt horrible. It was as if someone had stuck a knife in between my shoulder blades and left it there. I reluctantly went to a walk-in clinic. The doctor told me it could be a number of things, but his guess was peptic ulcer. This sounded more random than heart problems, but who was I to argue? I didn’t have a clue!
I took some sample Nexiums home with me and followed the doctor’s advice for peptic ulcers. This involved buying Maalox and avoiding common heartburn foods. The next big attack that stands out in my memory occurred in late September/early October, about 4 months later. I was at work and suddenly felt that pain below my chest at about 3 p.m. I headed resignedly to the bathroom and sat on the floor with my head resting on the cool tub, trying to calm the shakiness and cold sweats. Then I went into an unused room and lay on the floor, breathing. My co-worker, Sharon, came to check on me and I described what was happening. I mentioned, in a shortened version, what had been happening for months.
“That’s your gallbladder,” she said.
“Huh?”
She went on the describe her battle with gallstones, which she had had since her first pregnancy, and all the symptoms/causes of her gallbladder attacks. I listened in disbelief as she described every symptom I had and even relayed a typical attack for her, which sounded exactly like mine. She said she couldn’t eat anything fatty or greasy, or spicy, and that usually about three hours afterward, if she had inadvertently eaten something like that, she would have an attack. She had an ultrasound done during her second pregnancy and it showed she had five gallstones, but she had been unable to have surgery because she has no medical insurance and the attacks weren’t severe to make surgery a medical necessity. I was surprised it turned out to be my gallbladder, because I had no ideas this could even happen, but I was convinced right away that I had finally found my culprit.
After my group insurance finally kicked in, I found a local doctor and set up an appointment. I explained my problem and said I suspected it was my gallbladder. She set up an ultrasound appointment for me. I had to wait a few days after the ultrasound was done for results. Those technicians give away nothing, do they? My doctor’s office called and said, (I believe these were the nurse’s exact words) “Congratulations. You have a gallstone.”
Congratulations?
Well, at least I knew, finally, what had been going on for almost two years! They sent me an appointment with a surgeon. I called to reschedule because we were shorthanded at work and I couldn’t take the time off. Then, wouldn’t you know it, the day of the rescheduled appointment we had a snow day. I had my daughter home with me, and I didn’t want to drive with her on possibly bad roads. If I had been by myself, I might have done it, but I bit the bullet and rescheduled it again.
This was the dumbest thing I ever did, I believe. I should have just gone to the first appointment and told work to kiss my patootie. But I didn’t, and five days before my appointment I had my worst attack ever. Not only that, but I missed work Friday and Monday because I had…the flu. (That’s right, I didn’t get my flu shot.) That was miserable because my husband and daughter had it too. Then, on Thursday of that week, I woke up at 4 a.m. in the middle of an attack.
Okay, I’m going to be honest here. If you’re at all squeamish about throwing up, I advise you to quit reading, or skip to the happy ending, where I undergo surgery–you know, maybe you should just quit if you’re squeamish. Just trying to help ya out, here.
As my attacks got worse, I found that throwing up seemed to help, because it either got rid of the offending food or, I guess, caused enough havoc on my insides that it sent the stone back to it’s place. So, I had to…and this is awful…make myself throw up. I absolutely, positively will do anything to avoid throwing up, so this tells you how bad the pain was. I threw up just to get rid of it. So on this particular morning, I threw up until I felt like whatever was in there that was causing me misery was out. Then I took a shower and tried to get ready for work. When I got there and went to drop off my daughter, her teacher asked me if she felt all right. We checked her temperature, and, sure enough, it was 101. I found my boss and told her Sophie was running a fever and I was throwing up from a gallbladder attack. She just sent us home. I didn’t eat anything at all that day, Sophie and I basically spent it on the couch. The next morning I again got ready for work and took Sophie with me for a few minutes until my mom could come get her to watch her. At about 9:00 a.m., my mom picked up Sophie. About ten minutes later, I was laying on the floor in a ball of agony. The attack was back…with a vengeance.
A coworker finally convinced my I had to go tell my boss, which I did. As soon as she saw mew, she told me to go home. I could barely drive my car, so I’m lucky I only live less than a mile from work. I arrived at home, and all I can say is thank goodness for my mother. I was in pure torturous agony. I couldn’t even lay down. I found minuscule relief kneeling on the floor with my head on the rug. My mom convinced me to call my doctor and see if there was anything they could do. I called and explained I was meeting with the surgeon next week, but I was having a monster of an attack right now. She said she could try to prescribe me hydrocodone and see if that worked. If it didn’t, she advised me to go the the emergency room. In the meantime, while she called in the prescription, I remembered Sharon telling me hot water helped ease her pain. I didn’t feel like taking a shower, but I did have a hot pad from a Pyrex dish. I zapped it in the microwave and lay down with it under my shoulder blades. Finally! I could rest comfortably. My mom ran to the pharmacy to get the meds, and once I took those, I was considerably happier. The pain finally eased enough so I didn’t feel like my entire middle was in a vice grip. I didn’t know what was going to happen when I met with the surgeon in less than a week, but I did know this: whatever she had to do to help me avoid another episode like that, I was more than happy to let her.
Next up: Gallbladder, the surgery! (The exiting final chapter)
The other me:
I tried my hand at a second digital scrapbook page, and this is what I came up with. I got the cool background from carjaziscraps, so it make my theme a little dark. I decided to make my page about things people who know me wouldn’t necessarily suspect about me.
Jaime digital scrapbook page
My first ever…
…digital scrapbook page! I found all the pretty materials at GingerScraps. Thanks!
Here it is…Sophie at Lake Ouichita in August 2006. This was my very first time using Photoshop Elements. Wow, my head is spinning. It’s a lot to take on all at once, but worth it, don’t you think?
Bear with me…
I just created this blog and am still trying to figure it all out. I promise I’ll get it together soon!
