I am Scared No More

I often contemplate writing a letter to WebMD requesting that they ban/block me from using their symptom check feature on their site.  On any given visit, I have been self diagnosed with Chron’s Disease, Adult meningitis, Lyme Disease, just to name a few.  So it’s to my great surprise that when I was given the order to receive my first baseline mammogram this past August, I avoided the event like it was the Plague.  Excuses, cancellations, weather conditions – everything kept me from keeping this appointment.  For someone who is so eager to self diagnose online, when it comes to the real deal, I panic and retreat.

Just when I had “forgotten” to make the appointment, I had to make an unexpected, but routine visit to my gynecologist.  Of course, I was reprimanded for my inability to follow through with her original mandate.  I left her office with the promise to make the mammogram appointment.

And I did make the appointment, but that is when the panic set it – A panic unlike any WebMD self diagnosis. I began to think…

…what if “God” willed it for me to make that unexpected visit (as if he is sitting up in heaven plotting such things) since I was unable to take the initiative myself. 

…what if my inability to shed more weight is my body’s way to tell me something is wrong (and eating Girl Scout cookies has nothing to do with it, of course).

Luckily, I did not wait long for the appointment and soon I found myself sweating in the waiting room of the radiology center, my hands literally shaking.  I was not afraid of the test, but afraid of the results. 

The test itself took no longer than five minutes.  Yes, my boobs were squished and squeezed, but that was no more painful than my days breastfeeding my two little “gavones”.  As the talkative technician concluded her work, she asked to take just one more photo.  Immediately, my panic level raised.  Initially, the technician told me she would take just four photos.  Why take the fifth?  Did she see something?  Before I could muster the courage to say something, the test was complete and she began rattling off information.  “We will call you within 12 hours.”  “Don’t be surprised if you receive a call back.  This is your baseline and its very common.”

I walked out of the medical office shaken.  She would call me in the next 12 hours because she saw something in that fifth photo and that explanation about the call back common for baseline test was just a way to ease the fear she saw in my eyes.  Needless to say, I could not rest for the remaining 12 hours.  But true to her word, she called me and told me the news that my boobies were OK.  All my fears were laid to rest and barring any self-examination diagnosis, she would see me in five years.

In those hours that I dwelled on the possible results, I couldn’t help but think of several acquaintances who have fought the evil monster and not only won, but kicked the monster in its ass.  Time and time again, whether in person or on Facebook, their message was always the same – I will fight this / Prevention is key.  I always admired their resolve and strength and was embarrassed by my lack of not only courage, but common sense to just get tested. 

So I write this post today to share my experience, in hopes, that anyone who is avoiding to schedule a mammogram will do so today.  It will only help you, not harm you.

It’s Never Too Late

This past week I have been mentoring a young lady who is interning at my office.  She embodies intelligence, charisma and absolute potential. Several hours into our work day, I began to recall my original dream to be a writer. Early on in my academic career, I quenched my dream for a profession that would provide income and stability.

During the 10+ years that ensued, I focused on my career, marriage and then family.  Then one night last year, I decided it was not too late to give writing one more shot – not for fame or fortune, but for me.

Perhaps it was her infectious excitement about the project (which ironically requires her to blog) or her determined spirit, my intern inadvertently helped me see that despite the myriad paths I took, I am living my dream.

It’s really never too late.  If there is something you always wanted to do, try, be…give it a chance.  It may not turn out as you planned, but it may just knock your socks off.

Two Little Girls sitting in Pew #4

It was 1st grade, Lenten season.  Our class was headed down to the chapel to pray the rosary, a weekly Friday ritual for the less than pious group of 6 year olds.  Mr. Keller was conducting his gym class nearby using a stick that he would methodically bang against the floor.  For reasons I cannot remember, A. and I thought this was hysterical.  So much so, that the uncontrollable giggles followed us into the 4th pew in the chapel. As we made our way through the rosary, the giggles continued and caught the attention of a fellow classmate sitting in the 2nd pew.  This classmate, infatuated with our laughter, kept turning to peer back at us.  When saying the Rosary, all eyes must be facing towards the altar and our inquisitive little classmate was clearly looking the wrong way.  What happened next has been embellished over the years as we relive the story, but the gist of it is as follows:  Grabbing all the hairs from her well-groomed pony tail, Sr. Gerrard pulled our poor defenseless friend from out of her pew and shook her as her feet dangled inches from the ground.  Of course, this propelled us into raging fits of laughter which firmly cemented us as the culprits of this major disruption – in the most holy of places.  At that moment, despite the colossal trouble we were in, I knew I had found my best friend.

Twenty-eight years later, I could fill volumes with similar stories.  The tiny man lingering in the driveway at the Cape, the walk home from the Coaches house, the Viaduct – unless explained, they mean nothing to everyone but everything to us.  Through it all we remain best friends.

We are both now married and living in different states. Sadly, our visits are limited to just a few times a year.  However, on the eve of all our visits, I can’t help but relive all the moments that defined us and our direction.  Tonight is one of those nights.

Tonight I will lay awake excited. The next 48 hours we are not wives or mothers or career women or sisters or daughters.  We are those two little girls sitting in pew #4 giggling our hearts out.

Peek a Boo. I See WHAT!?!?!

Fat Lady Weighing In

There is no hiding now.  Here is photo proof that everything will change today.  After a traumatizing realization that my mental image of myself is nowhere close to how I really appear, I took to this blog and came clean.  Ironically, it was a photo that triggered this realization and it will be this photo that will begin the change.  I weigh 176 pounds as of this morning and I will lose 30 pounds.

Almost immediately after posting the entry via my facebook account, something quite remarkable happened.  One response.  Then two responses, three, four….  Agreement, sympathy, encouragement, resolution, committment and within 24 hours, a group of 10 women (led by the multitalented working mother extraordinaire, Arlene) came to life.  Together we will motivate and inspire.  Together we will find a way to become healthy again.  In a day and age when everything is supersized, we refuse to have our asses, bellies and thighs be supersized.

Beginning today and for the next 12 weeks, I will post a weekly update of both my scale and my progress in achieving not only weight loss but to show the power of women, friendship and resolve.  Together, we will be healthy and together we will be accountable.

A special thank you to Rachel for posting the photos,  to Arlene for giving this group life, to my husband who is P90x-ing with me in the morning and to my fellow team mates who made me what seemed at the time a terrible moment to be a defining moment.

Home

When looking for a place to call Home, my husband and I prioritized our criteria. Good schools.  Good neighborhood.  Taxes that wouldn’t send us to the poor house. The neighborhood we chose was tree-lined and quiet and the house, charming.  Yes, I thought, this is a good house.

Soon our oldest was boarding the bright yellow bus.  As the year progressed, our daughter flourished.  She learned. She made friends. We befriended the parents of these friends.  Yes, I thought, this is a good community.

Weekends quickly became mornings of soccer and afternoons of t-ball amidst birthday parties, recitals, ceremonies and family nights.  Yes, I thought, this is a good place.

We have been living in this house, in this community, for almost six years now and despite the way this town seemed to surpass our expectations, something felt amiss.

Several days ago, a friend who lives in our town lost a very close loved one.  Within minutes, a flurry of emails ensued among a group of women – the women whom I befriended through my children.  Together we banned our thoughts, resources and know-how.  We would try to bring comfort to our friend in her time of need.

Suddenly, I was overcome with emotion.  Yes, I thought, I am Home.

What makes my community Home is knowing that these women I call my friends are raising my children’s friends. We do not know each other a lifetime and we share very little history together.  However, what we do have is that common bond to make this community our home, to know we are more than just another family on the block.

I feel fortunate to have befriended these women and I am proud to be among them.