A Year Ago...

A year ago the last thing I wanted was a Christmas tree.....this year we delighted in putting up a huge tree.

A year ago I was despondent because I saw no hope for my daughter...now I see Hope every day as she runs happily through our home.

A year ago I was fat and unhappy....now I'm not quite as fat, and I'm very happy.

A year ago my daughter was hospitalized for at least a week out of every month....now Brandi hasn't been in the hospital for 5 months.

A year ago my daughter sat me down to plan her funeral....now we sit down to discuss a trip to meet our dear friends in Florida.

A year ago I couldn't walk up a flight up stairs ....now I can RUN up the stairs.

A year ago I never left home unless it was to go to work because I was afraid to leave Brandi...now I have no fear about leaving for hours at a time.

A year ago my daughter was a walking skeleton....now she is at a healthy weight and looks lovely.

A year ago I couldn't zip up my coat due to my weight...now I can not only zip it up, I can zip it up while wearing a three layers of clothing.

A year ago I refused to make plans because I didn't want to think of the future...now I plan to walk in a marathon, ride in a 100 mile bike ride, and walk 50 miles to celebrate my 50 years of life.

A year ago I was flat broke....now, I'm working harder and have even less money because we bought a diabetic alert dog, but I know every day it was the best decision I ever made.

A year ago my son was a college student who was living at home because his sister was too sick to be left alone...now my son is graduating summa cum laude and making plans to begin his own life outside my home.

A year ago my granddaughter made the same wish every time she saw a star or blew on a dandelion, "I wish my mommy wasn't sick"....now, she wishes to be a mermaid.

A year ago our family struggled every day to survive what felt unsurvivable....now we are living...actually LIVING again.

There are times in life when you feel as if your standing on the edge of disaster and the slightest breeze will have you falling out of control.  Don't give up because sometimes miracles do happen,  sometimes dreams do come true, and sometimes sick young women survive against all odds.

As 2012 comes to an end our family wants to thank all our friends and family...all the people who have read about Brandi, prayed for our family, and given us so much love and support.  We wouldn't have made it through the last year without you.

Wishing you all a happy and HEALTHY New Year.

The Christmas Fish

We have never claimed to be a "normal" family, and nothing illustrates that more than our tradition of placing the Christmas Fish on top of our Christmas tree.

When Brandi was very little, kindergarten or first grade, her class made decorations for their family's Christmas tree.  I'm sure there were lots of angels and stars, perhaps a Santa or two, but my daughter decided she was going to make a fish to place atop our Christmas tree.

When Brandi walked into the house after school she was absolutely beaming with pride at the wonderful fish she'd made. It was bright orange (her favorite color at the time) and she proudly told me how she'd made it all by herself.

That night we decorated our Christmas tree and when I went to place the angel on top of the tree Brandi quickly told me to stop and ran from the room. She returned a moment later with her Christmas Fish and asked if we could place it on top of the tree instead of the angel.  I looked into her big blue eyes and saw all the hope and excitement in them, so of course I told her "Yes".

Over the years the Christmas Fish has taken a few beatings.  DJ decided to use it as target practice for his BB gun one year (hence all the holes in it) and a couple years ago the tail finally fell off...but every year without fail the Christmas Fish has sat proudly at the top of our tree, reminding me of my beautiful Brandi and the excitement in her young eyes.

This year Bella was old enough to hear the story of the Christmas Fish and she was excited to be chosen to put it at the top of the tree.

I imagine Bella one day telling her children the same story as she places the fish upon her family's Christmas Tree.

27 Minutes

For the last hour I have been battling a clogged drain in my kitchen sink.  It occurred after I decided to throw some old food down the garbage disposal and it was absolutely disgusting. Imagine a double sink full of remnants of spaghetti, chicken and dumplings and vegetable beef soup. It was stinky and greasy and I was so thankful that this was the worse thing I had to deal with this morning that I started crying.

Like most people I spent many hours in front of the television after the senseless slaughter of the children and staff at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown CT.  The day was made even more tragic after hearing of 22 school children stabbed in China and a police officer killed in Memphis, TN.  When I finally fell asleep last night is was with a heavy heart.

This morning my phone woke me up with an alert that my sister had made a post on Facebook.  I sleepily looked at the posting which was about a Washington County deputy that had been shot and killed.

I was out of bed in a flash, immediately calling my old friend Paul. Paul and I met when we took a written test for Jefferson County Sheriff's Office 30 years ago and immediately became friends.  We were hired the same day, went through the police academy together, worked together for many years and have remained friends to this day.  We have shared marriages, deaths, our children's achievements, divorces, heartache, joy...just about everything you could share with a friend.  Paul has been a deputy in Washington County for many years and I immediately fell on my knees praying he was alright.

For 27 minutes I called, sent text messages, called mutual friends asking if they knew anything, and posted on his Facebook page.  For 27 minutes I didn't receive any response. For 27 minutes I thought a dear friend was dead.

I was relieved to hear the deputy who lost his life was not Paul, but my heart still aches for the family and friends of the deputy who was shot, because they will not know the relief I found.

So I'll happily work on my clogged sink and I'll give thanks that it is the worse thing I'll have to deal with today, because there's a lot of broken hearts and shattered dreams in this country today and I realise how blessed my family is to have gotten good news this morning.

Feeling like a failure

Brandi and Hope

As I write this I'm sitting on my couch having a good old fashioned cry. Not a gentle little tear or two rolling down the cheek, but a red eyed, snotty nose, splotched face kind of cry.

After 10 weeks of consistently losing weight, this week I gained 1.8 lbs....but that's not why I'm crying.

This "Dieting for a DAD" that I've been doing has never been about losing the weight...okay, let me correct that statement, it's been a LITTLE about losing weight, but what it's really been about is keeping my daughter alive.

For three years I've watched my daughter fight for her life while I sat by and felt helpless. Do you have any idea what it's like to watch your child while they're unconscious for days at a time? Do you know what it's like to watch them go from a robust athletic child to a walking skeleton? Do you know what it's like to see them be so weak they can't get out of bed or in so much pain they can't put on clothes? Do you have any idea how heart breaking it is to tell your grandchild that they can't hug their mommy because it will hurt her too much? Do you know what it's like to check on your child 10 times a night and wonder as you were walking down the stairs to her room if this was the time you are going to be too late, if this was the time you'd find her dead? Do you know what it's like to have your child sit down and tell you what they want you to do for their funeral? 

I do.

I'm the mom, I'm the one who is suppose to help her, to make everything better...and when we got Brandi's Diabetic Alert Dog things were FINALLY getting better. Hope (our diabetic alert dog) has changed everything.  She alerts...constantly...so we're able to keep on top of the crazy changes in Brandi's blood sugar levels.  We've gone from Brandi spending at least a week or two of each month in the hospital to Brandi being home for 5 1/2 months. Do you know what a miracle that is for us...5 1/2 months with NO hospitalizations...it was beyond our wildest dreams and yet it's happened...and it's all because of Hope.

Hope is expensive...$20,000 for this miracle covered in black fur, but worth every single penny. Unfortunately I don't have a spare $20,000 to pay her off, hell..I work my ass off just to be able to pay the co-pays for the 26 medications Brandi takes everyday, so we diverted our fundraising focus from Brandi's pancreas transplant to fundraising for her D.A.D., because while the pancreas transplant will help her live many more years, there's no guarantee that one will become available in time. That's why her doctor recommended we get a D.A.D. - to keep her alive long enough to actually get the transplant.

From time to time one of the other families raising money for their D.A.D. will post that they received notification that someone heard their story on the evening news or read about it in the newspaper and donated the money needed to pay off their D.A.D.. I'm happy for the families have been blessed with such generosity - really I am -  but I know it's never going to happen for us.

While Brandi is a beautiful young woman with the heart of a warrior, she is not a cute little 5 year old in pigtails whose picture tugs at people's heartstrings. We've tried and tried, we've called, we've written letters and press releases, but the news agencies in our area just aren't interested in doing a story on her fight, which means her story doesn't get out, which means no magical donation will ever happen. 

I'm okay with that, it just means that I need to work harder to raise the money...and THAT'S why I'm crying. I feel like I've failed my daughter.

Our last two fundraisers have been dismal failures. We lost money on the carnival, and barely broke even on the Little People's Gift Shop. We''ve learned important lessons, but lesson's don't pay for a diabetic alert dog.

Dieting for a DAD was a fundraiser that didn't cost me anything but would raise money to help pay for Hope, and all I had to do was eat right, exercise, and lose weight.  It sounds easy enough, but it's not, it's actually really hard...much harder than I thought it would be when I started.

I know why I gained weight this week. I gained weight because I ate crappy food and didn't exercise. It's that simple. I convinced myself if I didn't go over my calorie limit that I could eat anything I wanted and that's not the way it works. I've learned my lesson and it won't happen again...but my renewed determination doesn't gain back the week I've lost.

So I'm going to finish crying, take a shower, and get back on track. I'll lose the weight I gained this week and continue my weight loss fundraiser, but I also need to figure out fundraising ideas that will actually make money because I have to raise another $15,000 to pay off our D.A.D....and no matter what, we can't lose Hope.

Brandi is counting on me and I won't let her down.

Parenting

Tonight I totally pissed a mother off...so much so that she felt the need to tell me exactly how upset she was. I'm okay with that because I tend to have pretty thick skin...I also tend to say EXACTLY what I think...which is probably what pissed her off more than anything.

Tonight was the first night of an event where we had two booths to raise money for Brandi's transplant fund. The first was selling crafts we'd made (which by the way are -in my humble opinion - REALLY good) and the second was making balloon sculptures.  My niece Courtney makes some pretty amazing things out of balloons, not just animals and swords, but monkeys in banana trees, wreaths with candles and bows, candy canes, trains, helicopters...really cool stuff.

ALL of the kids who came up for balloons where exceptionally well behaved and waited in a very long line patiently for their turn...except one little boy who I shall call Red.  Red came to the balloon table 5 times and each time he was loud and obnoxious, yelling over other children we were talking to, butting in line..just not very well behaved at all. He had no parent with him and kept yelling that he wanted a gray sword. Finally, I broke down, made him a sword but warned him that if I gave him the sword he absolutely could not hit another child with it and made him promise to follow my rule. He swore he'd not hit anyone with it and went on his way.

About 20 minutes later I was walking outside when I saw two kids by a wall.  One little boy (about 8 years old) had his body turned toward the wall and his hands over his head trying to block the blows of another little boy - Red - who had let the air out of his gray sword and was repeatedly striking the other kid in the face with it.

A little sidebar here...balloons are made of rubber, and when they're being used as a whip they hurt..a lot!

So I watched Red hit the other kid about 20 times in the head..whack, whack, whack...and the other kid trying to block the blows, so I did what I would do if it where my kid...I walked up, snatched the gray rubber weapon from his hand and told him firmly that when I'd given it to him he'd promised not to hurt anyone with it and he broke his promise, therefore he no longer got to keep the balloon. Then I took it from his hand and walked away.

When I came back in Red and his mother where waiting for me, and mom was mad.  After she told me how I'd made her boy cry she started in on how he was such a sweet kid and so well behaved and how dare I speak to her baby like that.  She said that she was standing near her son and had seen him "playing" and saw nothing wrong with his behavior.

I apologized for making Red cry, but told the mother that he'd broken a promise to not hit anyone with the balloon, therefore he lost the balloon. She became more upset telling me I had no right to interfere and that's when I interrupted her explaining that is was NOT alright for her son to be hitting another child, especially when it was obvious that the other child was not enjoying being hit and was trying to block the blows to his head. Furthermore, I explained, allowing a kid to behave like that is what leads to children becoming bullies at school...and our school has a strict no violence policy.
If she was going to be a parent then she needed to actually BE the parent and make sure her kid didn't act violently towards another child. 

Yeah...she didn't like that response either and started saying again that I'd made Red cried and what kind of person would do that to a child, to which I replied that I was the type of person who wasn't going to let an uncontrolled, unmonitored child hit another child and get away from it...and if she thought that her son's behavior was okay then in my opinion she was a piss poor excuse for a mother.  She huffed up and walked away vowing to never let her son come to our booth again.

Really (I thought), THANK YOU...your kid is a brat!

So here's the thing folks, I'm not a monster, I just believe that kids need boundaries...and in my line of work I deal with a LOT of parents who don't want to be the "bad guy" and correct their kids when they act up. Their kids don't grow up having consequences for their actions and then the parents wonder why the kids won't mind. You wouldn't believe how many times a week we get calls from parents wanting us to send the police to their house to make their children...sometimes as young as 5 years old...get out of bed and go to school.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  You jerk the covers off the bed, tell them they have 5 minutes to get dressed or you're carrying them into school in their pajamas....and then you follow through with the threat. I guarantee you'd only have to do it once and the next time your child WILL get out of bed and ready for school when you tell them.

I don't think it's necessary to hit a child, but it IS necessary to let them know that YOU'RE the parent and THEY'RE the child and they DO have to obey your rules.  Ask Bella what happens when she acts up...her butt gets sent directly to the corner where she has to stand with her hands to her side for 4 minutes...and the timer doesn't start until her crying stops.  Ask her what she gets if she throws a tantrum and starts crying because she wants something after we've said no and she'll tell you...NOTHING.  Kids shouldn't be rewarded for bad behavior...EVER. 

In our house no means no...it doesn't mean ask me 15 more times until we give in. We don't give in...EVER.  We are, however, quick to praise good behavior, quick to give special treats for REALLY good behavior, quick to give out kisses and hugs, and tell her a hundred times a day how proud we are of her and how much we love her.  Kids wants attention, so make them crave positive attention and the benefits it brings.

I wasn't the perfect mother and I certainly wish I could get a do-over on some of the choices I made when raising my children, but I've learned a lot in 24 years of parenting and let me tell you, things are seriously out of control when your 8 year old runs the house.

So parents, don't be afraid to actually be PARENTS.  Your job is to raise a well rounded person who can make good life choices and be a benefit to society...your job is NOT to be their best friend.

Stepping down from my soapbox now.

Missy

I love reading all the posts people make on Facebook during the month of November where they tell things for which they're thankful. I think a lot of people lose sight of all the positives in their lives, only focusing on the negative, so for me these posts are like a ray of sunshine.

I have a lot to be thankful for and even with all the drama that finds it's way into our lives I try to never lose sight of the good.   I'm blessed beyond belief and so thankful for my children Brandi and DJ, my husband Milton and my precious granddaughter Bella.  I have wonderful parents (Burford, Joyce, Jim and Kay) and awesome siblings: Kelly, Jimmy (Oakley), Robin, Karen, Laura, Missy, Jimmy (Parrott) and Charlie.  That's right folks, I have 8 siblings - and yes, two of my brothers (and one of my fathers) are named Jimmy (well actually James and Jimmy, but I digress)  All of my brothers and sisters are wonderful, thoughtful people whose hearts are full of love and kindness. Any of them would - and have - stopped whatever they're doing to run to the aid of another family member...but nobody...and I do mean NOBODY has shown the depth of devotion for her sibling that my sister Missy has.

On March 9, 2010 my brother Jimmy (pictured above with Missy) was admitted to the hospital with what he believed to be bronchitis. Unfortunately the urgent care doc he'd seen had misdiagnosed him and he actually had a bad case of double pneumonia....I'm talking REALLY BAD...so bad that it almost killed him several times.

The small county hospital he originally went to immediately transported him to a large hospital in St. Louis and upon his arrival there he had a seizure and stopped breathing.  It's a long and heart breaking saga, he was put on a ventilator and was in a coma for a very long time.  He developed every complication you could imagine; his lungs collapsed several times, he contracted the MRSA virus, he developed a yeast infection in his blood, he went into kidney failure, and there was more...much, much more.

My family and I basically lived at the hospital for the first few weeks, but eventually my brother Charlie and I had to go back to work and my sister Missy stepped up to the plate.  For months she and Mom Parrott sat by Jimmy's bedside, nursing him back from the brink of death.  Missy educated herself on Jimmy's conditions and became a walking, talking encyclopedia of information, medications and treatment options.  She hunted down the best rehab center and got Jimmy a bed there, she fought with insurance companies, doctors, whoever she had to go up against to make sure that Jimmy got the best care available...and almost three years later she's still caring for Jimmy.

My brother is better, a lot better actually, but he's still not well.  There have been many hospitalizations over the last (almost) three years and she's been there every time. She and Mom P give Jimmy around the clock care and it's because of them that Jimmy is alive today.

A lot of people say they'd do anything for their brother but I wonder if the unthinkable happened how many actually would. Missy gave up her life, her job, her freedom...EVERYTHING...to care for our brother. For 2 years 8 months and 15 days her sole focus has been Hobb's continued care and recovery. She is personally responsible for every major improvement for him...and she continues this commitment - without hesitation - indefinitely.

So this month...and every day of every month, I'm thankful for my little sister Missy. She is a loving warrior and I want to be just like her when I grow up.

I love you Missy

Drowning no more!

When my son was a little boy he got a terrible case of food poisoning after eating old ice cream at his Grandma Moder's house.  In all my years I've never seen a child vomit so much and he ended up having to be admitted to St. Louis Children's Hospital for several days.  It was my first experience having one of my children in the hospital but my most clear memory of the entire stay had nothing to do with my family at all.

It's funny how our memory can take snapshots of moments and replay them over and over throughout your life. It's like your subconscious knows that this moment will need to be remembered so it burns the image into your brain.  In our case the image that was burned was that of an exhausted and obviously distraught mother and a very sick teenage girl huddled around something with another woman who was obviously a hospital employee.

I couldn't hear what they were saying but I was literally stopped in my tracks when I saw the mother. The look of total despair and being overwhelmed were so evident on this poor woman that it was all I could do to stop myself from walking up and offering to hold her while she cried.

When the nurse I was walking with realized I was no longer beside her she came back and looked at the family with me and said, "I feel so bad for that family, their daughter was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes last night and they're going through our training for diabetic families."

Little did I know that only a few years later I would become that mother and know first hand the devastation she was feeling.  I would also look as overwhelmed, exhausted and lost as she did.

When your child is diagnosed with Type 1 (Juvenile) Diabetes your entire life changes in an instant and from that moment on you live in survival mode.  The thing I remember most from our "Diabetic Boot Camp" 3 day training session in the hospital is Brandi and I sitting down with the diabetes educator and being told that Brandi could eat anything she wanted - in MODERATION - but that we would have to become experts at reading nutrition labels, determining the number of carbs she was eating, then doing the math to figure out exactly how much insulin we would need to inject to cover the carbs consumed. Thank God I had always been good at math, because it can get really complicated to figure the dose out at times.

Survival mode becomes your new normal when your child has diabetes.  You never really get use to it, but you go on...because going back to your old life isn't an option.

Unfortunately for some of us there's another level beyond survival mode...I refer to it as "Drowning Mode". Our family went into drowning mode four years ago when Brandi's body no longer responded to her daily insulin injections the way it should and she became so sick I knew she was going to die.

There is nothing worse...absolutely NOTHING...then looking at your child and seeing the life fading from them.  I know many of you are nodding your heads and saying, "I know, it's terrible" but trust me, you have NO idea what it's actually like until you live it.

We were lucky because eventually her doctor figured out why she had become resistant to insulin...complete adrenal failure... and although she was now able to take daily medications to keep the adrenal failure from killing her, we now had something much worse than diabetes to deal with, we had insulin resistant diabetes!

So for four years we've been in drowning mode where our lives have been nothing but a continual circle of dangerously high blood sugar levels, astronomical levels of insulin injections, DKA, more hospitalizations than I can count, seizures, comas, weight loss (Brandi...not me), doctors appointments, MORE doctors appointments, calls to 9-1-1 when she was too critical to be taken to the hospital by car, days of no sleep, vomiting...lots of vomiting due to high blood sugar, research for new treatments, being told Brandi needed a pancreas transplant, never ending fundraising for a transplant, hospital bills, medication bills, doctor bills...did I mention no sleep....oh yeah, working 80 - 100 hours a week to pay for all the above while trying to provide a good stable  home environment for a toddler.

We weren't surviving...we were drowning, plain and simple.  No matter how hard we worked, no matter what we did it was never enough, Brandi wasn't getting better - she was actually getting much worse. 

In hindsight it seems like things came to a breaking point for our family in March of this year during one of Brandi's multiple hospitalizations. Blood work showed that Brandi was severely malnourished....we're talking a reading of ZERO on the test, something that none of her doctors had ever seen before. Her endo described the reading as that of a starving Ethiopian child just hours before they die. Yep...THAT got our attention.

So now they had to figure out exactly none of the food Brandi was eating was providing the nourishment it should, and we prayed...and we asked EVERYBODY to pray for her. We received a miracle (there's really no other explanation for it) and Brandi's levels started going up again...but she still was a very sick young woman.

And then, in August our family received a miracle in the form of a diabetic alert dog named Hope. The moment Hope met Brandi for the first time she alerted to a high blood sugar - another picture that is burned into my brain...that first alert.

Life has changed a lot since Hope came to our home. Brandi's blood sugar levels are still all over the place (and due to an additional seizure medication we now deal with a lot of lows as well as highs) but Hope catches almost all of them. Hope alerts all the time, she alerts to Brandi, she's alerted to Bella (who was 200, which is above the 180 Hope alerts to for a high, but still within limits for a child of her age) and recently it was pointed out that Hope has been alerting to ME.  Okay, the truth is that Brandi's been telling me that for weeks, but I blew off the notion because I'm not diabetic. I finally listened when our trainer Dana pointed out the same thing during lunch one day and told me to check my blood sugar, which was 111 only 1 point above Hope's alert level of 110 - BUT I had just eaten so obviously my level had been below 110 when she had been alerting. I was encouraged to check each time Hope alerted to me (which I have) and she's been right every time, with my blood sugars ranging between 80-100 at each check. 

The other day Hope alerted to Brandi during a training session and Brandi told Dana that she knew she was really high, so I immediately felt the panic of how high? 500? 600?  Too high to register?
The glucometer showed 256...definitely high, but not "drowning mode" high.

I think it was that moment that I realized we were no longer in drowning mode and really hadn't been since we got Hope. Not one hospitalization since her arrival...not one bout of DKA.

So now I am deeming our family firmly back in "Survival Mode" and I must admit it feels great to merely be surviving again. I feel like I can breathe and am actually starting to enjoy life again...something I haven't done in years.

Besides the obvious joys of seeing Brandi more healthy, there's the added bonus of "me" time.  I forgot what it was like to take an hour a day simply for myself, but I do it now without guilt. I use the time to walk, which is not only making me physically healthier, but improving my emotional health as well.  I'm learning to relax...I'm not petrified at the thought of going to work and coming home to a dead daughter, which means I can give people calling in with emergencies 100% of my attention.

I would love to live a "normal" life again, but I know it's never going to happen...so for now I'm content to be back in survival mode, counting carbs and watching my D-Child the way every other D-Mom and Dad does.

The Grandma Tradition



I love to cook, I love everything about it.  I like planning a menu then shopping for everything needed to make a meal for my family and friends.  I like picking through all the fresh produce for the best of the best to put in the dish.

Probably my fondest memories as a child is sitting on a yellow stool next to the stove while my Grandma Parrott cooked meals. She explained everything she did with such patience and it never seemed like a cooking lesson, it was just spending time with my granny and even though it's been more than 40 years I can remember those times like it was yesterday.

When my daughter was born I had big dreams of teaching her to cook, but Brandi had absolutely no interest in learning. While I like to make everything from scratch she is perfectly happy opening a frozen pot pie and throwing it in the oven. To this day she prefers chicken and dumplings made from canned biscuit dough rather than rolled ones made from scratch...an art I only recently mastered.

My dream came true with Bella though, from the time she was old enough to sit up she has loved sitting next to me in the kitchen and helping me cook.  At only 4 years old she can tell you exactly how to make biscuits and gravy...from scratch.  Likewise vegetable beef soup, roast, and homemade pasta.  I have adorable pictures of her stripped down to her diaper, sitting on the counter and kneading dough.  I learned quickly that it was an absolute necessity to strip her to the skin because the first thing she always did was cover herself in flour.

Today I got to sit back while Brandi and Bella made the pasta from start to finish...it was such a joy to watch. About half way through the long process of taking those little clumps of dough and feeding it through the pasta roller - 10 times through the roller for each clump of dough, Brandi had to stop, but when I stepped in to help Bella finish she sternly told me that SHE could do it by herself...and by George she did!

As we sat at the dinner table we praised Bella on her masterpiece and I must say...it was really quite good!  I can feel my grandma smiling down from heaven as the tradition continues.



Rights, Rants, and Remorse

I am a big believer of the rights as set up in the U.S. Constitution.

I believe in the right of free speech - even when I don't like what some people say.

I believe in the right to bear arms so you can protect your family - because believe me when I say the bad guys will ALWAYS find a way to obtain weapons to harm those you love.

I believe people not only have the right, but an obligation to vote - because it's OUR country, OUR president, OUR representatives, OUR senators...I've always said if you don't do your part and vote then you have no business bitching about what our lawmakers do while in office...you have the right to bitch...but, well...(see item #2)

I believe that all Americans should stand united after the elections. Whether you voted for the (fill in the blank - President, Governor, Representative, Senator, etc) they are the ones representing all of us so while we should respect the office I also think it's important to keep in contact with those in office.  Go to your state capitals, drop into the offices, take time to meet with those representing you and tell them what you want.  Send them emails, tell them your thoughts, what worries you, your hopes for the future.  These people can't adequately represent you if you don't give your input.

Those are my beliefs that I have followed every since I've been old enough to vote, which is why I'm shocked at my behavior tonight.

When my husband came home from work I asked who he had voted for in the presidential race and was a bit surprised to find out it was not the same way that I had voted.  It doesn't matter who each of us voted for or the reasons we voted the way we did...it's our RIGHT to vote the way our heart and conscious leads us to vote.

Instead of acting the way I should have acted, praising him for getting up early so he could vote before work, I blew up...REALLY blew up.  I think my exact words were "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!"...and that was followed by a lengthy dissertation on why his vote was the wrong choice, how it was going to affect our family, Brandi's medical insurance...on and on my rant went.

My husband, being the kind, even tempered man he is talked to me in a calm voice and explained why he felt he had to cast the vote he did...and I still bellowed on.

So here's the thing....I HATE people who act like that...who react with narrow viewpoints and unkind words, who lash out at others who have opposing view points...and suddenly I was one of them.

I am chalking my outburst up to the massive dose of steroids I had injected into my body today...steroids have a habit of making me a bit emotional...and by that I mean I get a little nuts.  I'm not using the steroids as an excuse because frankly there is no excusing my behavior, but I do believe it's the reason...because that is not normal behavior for me.

I apologized to my husband...okay, it was about an hour later...but I did give him my most sincere apology...and of course he accepted it - because he's just that good of a man. 

So together we will continue to work together to improve - or at least maintain - life for our family. We will BOTH support our president because like it or not he IS our president.  We have each vowed to be part of the solution and not part of the problem, we will do our best - just as we have always done - to support our country and it's constitution.

This thing I call "D"

 

 

Today begins National Diabetes Awareness Day and I have been putting pen to paper (okay, fingers to keyboard) all day trying to write a witty yet interesting blog about diabetes in general and Type 1 diabetes in particular.  I've scrapped my first three attempts because none of them said what I really felt. Oh, they were full of myths and facts, statistics and antidotes but they didn't really tell you what I wanted to say...what I really think, what I really feel about diabetes and the impact it has had on our family.  I realized finally that I was writing what people expected to hear, not what I really wanted them to know, I was making it more difficult than it was because my true feelings about diabetes can be summed up in two words:

 

DIABETES SUCKS!!!

 

 

I'm not talking about a laid back west coast kind of "diabetes sucks,"  I'm talking about a rage filled, slam your fist into a wall, scream at the top of your lungs with tears streaming down your face "DIABETES SUCKS!"

 

I can't sit here and tell you what it's like to have diabetes, how it feels to stick my finger 10 times a day or stick a needle in my belly 5 or more times a day, because for some reason even though I've basically filled my body with nothing but food with almost no nutritional value and Coke (the soda) and lots of carbs and sugar over the last 20 something years, even though I'm a hundred pounds overweight, for some reason God has blessed me with a perfect freaking pancreas, perfect blood sugar levels and a beyond perfect A1C.  I'm telling you right now there's no justice in life because if anyone deserves to have diabetes because of the shit they've put into their body it's me.

 

What I can tell you is what it's like to see your child, the fruit of your womb, a person you love more than life, the joy of your soul,l stick themselves all those times and give themselves all those shots.  I can tell you what it's like to watch your child lay in a hospital bed in a coma, fighting for her life.  I can tell you how nobody is allowed within 50 feet of her if they have so much as a sniffle, because diabetics are more susceptible to all types of infections and if she gets sick it will mean another hospital stay.

 

I can tell you what it's like for her to be feeling fine in the morning and be hooked up to IVs that same night.  I can tell you what it's like to have your sweet natured daughter, who would cut off her own arm rather than hurt another person scream obscenities and throw things at you because her blood sugars have suddenly dropped and she has no control over herself. I have dozens of stories of conversations I've had with her where she's made absolutely no sense because her brain wasn't getting the food it needed to function.

 

I can tell you what it's like when a group of doctors tell you that she has a rare complication of diabetes and needs an organ transplant to survive, and I can also tell you what it's like to go from having money in the bank, a decent savings account and a 40 hour work week to working 80-100 hours a week and being flat broke because of the medical cost associated with diabetes.

 

I know what it's like to work back to back 18 hour shifts when I'm so exhausted all I really want to do is cry, or when I'm so sick I can barely keep my head up. I also know what it's like when there is no overtime but the meds are still needed so you have no option but to take out a payday loan (at 400% interest) to pay for the insulin that will keep your child alive for another 30 days.

 

I can tell you all about setting your alarm clock and sneaking into your child's room every couple hours while she sleeps to make sure she's not dead, or about the mornings I've woken up in a panic because I slept through the alarm and the terror I felt when I reached her room, afraid of what I might find.

 

I can tell you about selling everything I didn't absolutely need to raise money for a transplant, about planning fundraiser after fundraiser and never being able to take a break from it. 

 

I can tell you about being an advocate for my daughter, about going toe to toe with doctors and nurses and demanding the best care for her.  I can tell you what it's like to sit in a car in the middle of the night and listen as my daughter tells me exactly how she wants her funeral.

 

I can tell you about the inner strength these kids have in general and that my daughter has specifically, about how in spite of having this vicious disease that keeps trying to kill them they just keep on living life to the fullest.

 

And lastly I can tell you how I and every other D-Mom and Dad I know are devoting our lives to not only keeping our beautiful children alive, but to finding a cure so your family never has fully understand this thing I call "D".

 





Walking, Winds, Wrecks and Worrying

Yesterday was a bitch of a day.

I've been sick with a nasty upper respiratory infection for the last couple of days. I had every intention of staying in bed since I was off work, but I woke up bright and early and my first thought was to get up and walk.

"Absolutely NOT!" I reprimanded myself, "you're sick, you need to stay in bed!"  So I got up, made breakfast and went straight back to bed. I tossed and turned for a a while before it finally dawned on me that my body was use to being up during the day and sleeping was not an option.  My mind yelled "WALK" but I beat the thought down and turned on the TV, telling myself that I needed to spend a lazy day in bed...at least until Bella got home.  As soon as the TV came on there was an intro about a woman who lost 160 lbs in a year and had documented her loss by taking pictures of herself in dressing rooms as she bought new clothes.  I listened to the woman talking about her weight loss experience, trying to silence the nagging "walk...walk...walk" playing over and over in my mind, but I had no luck. So giving up to the inevitable I got dressed, asked my son to accompany me, and we went off to walk my favorite trail.

I only intended to walk the first 1.5 miles of the trail then turn around and come back which would make a 3 mile walk (my goal is 3 miles a day for this week) however when we got to the 1 1/2 mile mark I decided to finish the entire trail. Bad decision on my part.  By the time we got half way done on our return trip it was really a challenge to get air and my right foot was hurting so badly I was limping.

We finally finished the walk (4 miles in a little over 1 hour...not my best time by far!) and my son invited me to lunch at Cracker Barrel...I inwardly groaned because although their food is delicious it is not necessarily diet friendly. Since they have no nutritional value menu I settled for something safe - pinto beans.  High in nutritional value and not horrible for calories.

After lunch I was ready to go to bed, but DJ said we had one more quick stop he had to make. Then he pulled into a shoe store and surprised me by buying me two pairs of GOOD walking shoes.  He said he saw how committed I was and it was obvious that my current $19 shoes weren't giving my feet the support they needed. He then followed the purchase up by having me stand on some kind of weird machine that scanned my feet and said I have very low arches and lots of pressure points that were problems. He bought special inserts for my shoes that promised to fix the problem and we were off.

When I got home Hurricane Sandy was just getting ready to hit the east coast so I turned on the TV and started watching the news updates, worrying about all of my friends who were in it's path.
I said many prayers of safety for the millions of people affected, especially those who I loved.

I decided to look through Facebook to see if any of them had posted updates only to see a post that my best friend of 30 years had been in a horrible car accident and had been taken to Barnes Hospital where she was awaiting surgery.

I immediately called her husband who assured me she was okay, but her left heel was badly broken and they were going to have to do surgery to get it back into place.  My first instinct was to get dressed and rush to the hospital but he told me to stay home and he would give me frequent updates. NOT what I wanted to hear, but considering how sick I'd been feeling and the amount of goo I've been coughing up I knew he was right.  So I sat and cried, worried to death about Lynda.

I stayed up late waiting from word on Lynda and my friends in the hurricane, but apparently fell asleep waiting.

By this morning I'd heard from those nearest and dearest to me, and I've been able to talk to Lynda twice. I would have laughed when I talked to Lynda because she was obviously under the influence of some heavy duty pain killers, but she sounded so pitiful I couldn't find anything to laugh about. Our friendship is so much deeper than that of "best" friends, we're each other's yin and yang, we're co-mothers to Brandi...we are ALWAYS there for each other and I feel terrible that I'm not there sitting by her hospital bed. In two weeks she will have a second surgery to put a steel plate in her foot to hold everything together, and you can bet I'll be well and will be there to hold her hand.

So I ask all of you to pray for my friend as she starts to heal. Pray for her family because this is going to be a big financial blow to them.  Pray for all those affected by Hurricane Sandy, and pray that I am able to make it through the next three nights at work...because I still feel like death warmed over.

My Girls

Top Row: Heather, Russo, Brandi
Bottom Row: Amy, Bella and Elma

 

 

 



I believe that your family is not necessarily those with blood ties. I have dozens of aunts, uncles and cousins that I haven't seen in years, in fact some I've never even met, that I have no emotional ties to. However I have sisters and a brother that have no biological connection but are no less my family. I would do anything for them, I would die to save them. I love them with my whole heart.

I was lucky, neither of my biological parents believed in labels such as "step" or "half". Both my biological parents married people who also became my parents and in turn brought me more sisters and brothers. Combined I have a large family which included 5 sisters and 3 brothers (funny sidebar, I have a father and two brothers named Jim or Jimmy)

There is no better example of how this has held true throughout my life than with my children. I gave birth to two children; DJ and Brandi, but I have 4 other daughters that I love as much as if they'd come from my body.

Brandi is my biological daughter and has the strongest spirit and determination of any person I've ever met. She was not a planned pregnancy but I remember taking a pregnancy test at home and then falling to my knees in the bathroom and praying the entire five minutes I had to wait to find out it was positive, and then I just cried tears of joy for another five minutes.  I had a difficult pregnancy with Brandi and was hospitalized often due to hemorrhaging. But even in my womb she was determined to survive and she made her appearance after 60 hours of labor (24 hours at home and 36 hours in the hospital.)

Brandi is a mini me...she looks like me and has my temperament, which has often led to us having heated conversations and more than one door being slammed.  She's 22 now, but she's still my baby.

The first bonus daughter is Amy.  I met Amy when my first husband responded to a call at her home. She was so young, barely a teenager but he knew immediately that I should meet her. I knew the moment I met her that she would be in my life forever and 23 years later she's still here.  Amy has overcome so much in her life but she never lost her determination to be someone I would be proud of...and I am overflowing with pride in Amy.  She served her country in the military, she is a fabulous mother to five children, and she owns her own private investigation company. She's strong and confident...the complete opposite of what she was like when we met. I wish I could take a small portion of the credit but I can't. Amy has worked her ass off to get to where she is today, she's done it all on her own, sometimes falling but always picking herself back up and moving forward.

My second bonus daughter was Heather.  Heather's family moved in just down the street from us several years ago, long before Brandi became ill.  It seemed like if Brandi wasn't at Heather's house then Heather was at ours. I use to sit downstairs and listen to them giggle when Heather would spend the night and it always made my heart smile. I think I realized that Heather had become my bonus daughter the night she and Brandi were getting ready for a school dance at our house. As I helped them get ready and took pictures I looked at the girls and knew that Heather was my girl as surely as Brandi was.

Heather is smart...REALLY smart, and will be graduation from college before long. She's a hard worker, often working two jobs to support herself and pay for school, but even more important she has been a loyal friend to Brandi.

My third bonus daughter is Russo, whose name is actually Alexandria...but she'll always be Russo to me. Heather introduced Russo to Brandi and before long they became best friends.  Brandi and Russo are more than best friends, they're sisters of the heart.  They both lost their fathers when they were young, they were both raised by fantastic, fun mothers (love to you Shelly) and they both are wonderful mothers. Russo just gave birth to her first child last week, little baby Peyton who is absolutely adorable.  From the moment I found out Russo was expecting I laid a grandmother claim on the child.

Russo has the type of loyalty to Brandi - and our entire family - that you only read about in books.  I have no doubt that she would physically rip out her own pancreas and donate it to Brandi if it was possible, their love and bond is that strong.

And finally my fourth bonus daughter, my beloved Elma.

When I first met Elma I didn't like her...at all. As a matter of fact I believe I referred to her as that "crazy Bosnian chick".  She dated my son for over a year and before long I realized that I actually kind of liked having her around, we'd just started off on the wrong foot.  About 6 months into their relationship I started praying that this was the girl DJ would marry, but it wasn't meant to be. I made sure that both she and DJ knew that just because they weren't a couple any longer didn't mean that I loved Elma any less or was any less devoted to her.  I love this girl, with my whole heart I adore her. I knew she loved me too, but I don't know if I understood how deep her love for me was until I was hospitalized with a mini-stroke earlier this year. The minute she heard she rushed to the hospital and the moment she saw me laying in the hospital bed she started sobbing...deep heart wrenching sobs.  It took me about ten minutes to get her calmed down and realize I was fine, but I knew she had reacted exactly how any daughter who loves her mother would react when they fear they're going to lose their parent. She's as devoted to me as I am to her. 

It's funny how life works out, I always wanted six children and thank God, it looks like I got them.

What the heck is going on?

Strange things are happening...VERY strange things!

For example, for the last 20 years or so the moment I woke up I craved a Coke. I'm not talking wanted one...I mean CRAVED one...the same way coffee drinkers have to have that first cup of coffee before they can function in the morning. 

But that's not all....I'm craving bananas...and unsweetened tea...and lean meats like chicken, steak, and turkey.  When I want a snack I immediately reach for fruit instead of chips or candy.  Better yet, I've started checking my nutritional check list (6 oz grains, 2 1/2 cups veggies, 1 1/5 cups fruit, 3 cups dairy, 5 oz protein) when I'm deciding what to eat and choosing foods from the categories where I'm lacking!

Instead of sitting on my butt when I'm home, I'm constantly trying to think up new activities that include lots of walking or other exercise for me and Bella. Go to a movie? Nope, lets go to the zoo or take a nature walk through the woods instead. 

Today I woke up and saw it was raining. The old me would have cheered and said, "Yay, I don't have to walk today!" but instead I felt disappointment...REAL disappointment, because I knew it would be too busy at to get any walking done. So I hauled my big old bottom out of bed, put on my walking clothes and headed to the mall where I walked laps around the upper level....LOTS of laps...3 miles worth of laps.  Then I came home, showered and went to work...and you know what...I felt GOOD, really good! The muscles in my legs no longer spasm and ache after my walks, and even though my right foot still hurts with every step, I've discovered when I'm in my "walking zone" I don't feel the pain. Gotta love those endorphins!

And the best part is I feel happy, happier than I've felt in years.  Sure, I'm still fat and out of shape, but I won't be forever because I'm working my ass of to get healthy...NOT thin...HEALTHY! I've only lost a little over 10 lbs so far, but I've lost 9 inches...NINE FREAKING INCHES!!! My pants are all baggy, my shirts that did fit are now baggy and several that were too tight only three weeks ago no fit well.

I have goals, goals which all involve physical activity by the way...I want to do my 50/50/50 walk...50 miles in 50 hours at 50 years old.  I want to ride in the JDRF Ride to a Cure...and you know what, I have no doubt I will do both!

I still eat things that aren't necessarily healthy for me, but in moderation.  When I'm craving candy or chocolate instead of eating a bag of licorice or a couple candy bars I eat 3 midget Tootsie Rolls (35 calories for all three) or if I'm wanting a bagel slathered in cream cheese I eat a bagel thin with 1 wedge of Laughing Cow cream cheese...and I still allow myself 1 Coke a day, but there's been several days when I didn't have any soda because it never entered my mind to drink one!

Yes indeed...strange happenings are afoot...but I'm loving all of them!

10,000 Steps

I think I may have become addicted to walking during the last three weeks. I've always liked walking, but the more weight I gained the less I walked because, lets face it...hauling this much weight around is hard work.

When I was a young girl my dad use to say you should never stand when you can sit and you should never sit when you could lay down. At the time I thought he was serious, but in hindsight I know he was not because my dad walked...a LOT.  We lived in a very rural town in the middle of 65 acres, so when bad weather hit and the road leading to the highway had too much snow to drive through he would walk several miles to town and back to pick up whatever supplies we needed.  He never complained, even when it was freezing cold...he just did what he had to do to take care of his family.

When researching weight loss and exercise for obese women the #1 thing listed on each site was walking.  Walking fast, walking slow, uphill or down...it didn't matter as long as I got off my butt and WALKED!

So I've been walking, every single day without fail. As suggested I started slow, 1 mile per day (2000 steps) and I've upped it each week. Most days I did a little more than I was suppose to, one day - quite by accident - I did a LOT more and ended up walking over 6 miles...but I have met my goal every day.  I've noticed that I'm actually doing things to walk extra steps, like parking in the farthest parking space from the door rather than the closest, walking down flights of stairs rather than taking the elevator (admittedly I'm not walking up the stairs, but I will eventually), having races with my granddaughter instead of watching television.

This week's goal is 2 1/2 miles (5000 steps) each day.  I don't have to walk it all at one time, I keep a highly rated pedometer in my pocket at all times and it keeps track of my steps for me.  In the evening I simply see how much further I need to walk and hit the road.  I tend to be pretty competitive so for me NOT completing all my daily steps is not an option. 

I realised this week's goal would not be easily met so yesterday I hopped in my car and plotted a route that was exactly 1 mile from my driveway.  I didn't make it easy either, more than half of it is uphill, which still leaves me gasping for air, but I know if I keep it up eventually it WILL get easier.

My goal is to walk a minimum of 5 miles a day (10,000) steps. It will take me another 6 weeks to get there, but you can bet that I will.  I won't just be walking either, this week I'm raising the bar a notch by walking at a brisk pace for 3 minutes, then running for 1 minute, walk/run, walk/run...eventually running more than I'm walking.  Trust me when I say that's not going to happen anytime soon...but it WILL happen!

But for now I'm content to walk...and walk...and walk.

My Beliefs

I am known for being outspoken…and I am, but if something does not directly affect me or my family I try my hardest to keep my mouth shut until I’m asked for my opinion. Then, depending on the circumstance, I often ask, “Do you want to know what I REALLY think or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?”

Like most people I have an opinion on just about everything, unlike a great deal of people I try not to share those opinions unless I have educated myself enough to make an informed statement.  I think it’s important to distance yourself from the situation; to look at all sides, to try to understand the views of the opposition – even if you don’t agree with them.  I believe in acting, not reacting. I believe in freedom of speech, freedom of religion and equal rights for EVERYONE.

People have a right to their opinions, they have a right to voice their opinions, they even have a right to act like little children, stamp their feet, have temper tantrums and call each other names.  I don’t like it, I won’t be a part of it, but in the United States we have a constitutional right to free speech.

I belong to a group whose “leader” is being attacked, being called terrible names and who is having many false accusations hurled at him.  I did my research before joining this group, I educated myself, I made an informed decision.  Do I agree with every single thing this person has said? Of course not, but I also don’t agree with everything my parents, siblings, or friends say.  We agree to disagree and move on, our relationship secure because of the love and respect we have for each other.

I have friends who are part of the other group, they were my friends before all this nonsense started and they will remain my friends long after it’s over. We have not discussed the situation, nor will we discuss it because it has no bearing on OUR friendship. We have an unspoken agreement to agree to disagree because that’s the mature way to behave. NO ONE will tell me whom I can and can’t be friends with, whose Facebook page I can “like” or whom I can associate with in my “real” life.

I’m a grown up, I have lived on my own, worked my way through college and supported myself since I was 18 years old. I’ve made many mistakes during the years but I’ve learned from them and tried my hardest not to repeat the behavior.

I have a past, so do you…everybody does. I’ve done some tremendously stupid things in my life and paid a heavy price for them. Luckily none of these ever resulted in my being thrown in jail…but some could have. I have hurt people with some of my actions, never intentionally but that doesn’t excuse the behavior.  Some of these things I would undo if I could, others I would not because the lessons I learned were necessary so I could grow as a person. I’m not perfect, I’ve never claimed to be perfect, and I know as hard as I try not to I will make more mistakes throughout my life.

Before Milton and I got married I made him sit down in a chair and I told him every single thing from my past I could think of, every person I’d been intimate with, every lie I’d told, every bad thing I could remember about myself. I wasn’t doing it to try to dissuade him from marrying me, I just wanted to lay it all out on the table so he could make an informed decision and so there would be no surprises for him down the road. He smiled when I was done, thanked me for my honesty and assured me none of it mattered, and in our 7 years of marriage he has not mentioned any of what I told him again. Not because he doesn’t remember, but because it doesn’t matter.  I am no longer that person, I’d sought out the people I hurt and asked for forgiveness, I’d move on.

I respect other’s right to their opinions and beliefs even if I don’t share them. I am pro-choice not because I believe in abortion but because I feel no one has a right to tell a woman what she can and cannot do with her body. 

I support the gay and lesbian community and believe they should have the legal right to marry. If God has a problem with their choice in a life partner then He can take it up with them.  Personally I think if you can find one person in this screwed up, hate filled world who loves you, TRULY loves you, then it shouldn’t matter if they are white, black, Hispanic, or purple, male or female…just be happy that you found them because true love is a rare and beautiful thing.

I have friends who are Christian, Muslim, Catholic, Jewish, atheist and agnostic. I am a Christian, that is the faith that is closest to my beliefs, but I also respect my friend’s beliefs and have made every effort to honor them.

I know this blog may seem “preachy” but I don’t understand all the discord that has been all over Facebook lately. If you don’t like somebody stop being their friend. If somebody has wronged you then take it up with that person…don’t make it your life’s mission to hurt them.  If people put 1/10 of the energy they use to make people miserable to make others happy this would be a much better world for everyone.

We all need to play nice, be respectful of each other, and get along.

Challenge WON!

Today was the first challenge I made for myself since beginning my weight loss journey.

The Challenge: Attend my great-niece Marleigh's birthday party, eat the wonderful food being provided (one of my all time favorites - homemade chicken and dumplings) and NOT go off my diet.

I've been planning today's meals all week because there's a LOT of calories in just a little bit of chicken and dumplings. I knew I couldn't skip any meals or snacks because if I walked into my mom's house hungry there would be no chance of staying on track.  Originally I knew I could walk an extra mile or so if I went over my calorie limit, but yesterday's walk up the giant hill in my subdivision ended up being a giant pain in the butt...literally...the muscles in my butt have been hurting all day!

With my meals meticulously planned out at work I had 888 calories I could eat at dinner. Long story short I kept to my plan, ate (and savored) 1 cup of chicken and dumplings (juice included in the measurement) and completely skipped the cake and soda.  That's right...I skipped SODA!  I did allow myself one teaspoon full of their amazing homemade vanilla ice cream though.

After all the calories were logged I still had 406 calories left over.  YAY ME!!

I even broke my tradition of sitting and chatting with adults and actually went outside and played with the kids, not sedentary games either...I'm talking Red Light Green Light, racing to a tree and back (several times), and a no holds bar Duck, Duck, Goose! 

And even though I didn't meet my two mile goal tonight (giving the old backside a day off), I did walk/run 1.55 miles!

Oh yeah...I almost forgot... I lost 4.8 lbs this week bringing my total weight loss for the last two weeks up to (drum roll please.....) 10.4 POUNDS!  That's right...I MET MY GOAL FOR THE WEEK!!!

Feeling pretty proud tonight.

Lift Assist

                                      Bella and me taking our nightly walk


I know many of you look at a person who is fat and think, "How did they let that happen to themselves? Why didn't they just stop eating when their clothes started getting tight? Don't they see how fat they become when they look in the mirror?"

At the risk of sounding flippant I'm here to tell you that it is possible to gain weight, to get morbidly obese even and not really know. Of course you know you've gained some weight, but I can truthfully say I had absolutely NO idea I weighed as much as I did.  As a matter of fact, I was about 37 lbs more than what I thought my weight was. When I saw that terrible number two weeks ago I literally sat down and cried...but probably not for the reason you think.

Sometimes when we send an ambulance to someone who is sick or injured the paramedics have to request the fire also respond for a lift assist.  That means that the person is so overweight that the two medics on the scene can not safely life them by themselves, and looking at the number on the scale I knew that if an ambulance were ever called for me the fire department would have to tag along to lift my fat ass up. Just the thought of needing a lift assist was humiliating for me because then EVERYONE would know how fat I'd become...because apparently I thought people didn't see pass my quick wit and sparkling personality to the large woman I'd become.  Yeah right...in my dreams.

Let me say right here, right now...I WILL NOT BE A LIFT ASSIST!

Tomorrow I have my second weigh in and I'm praying I'll hit the 10 lbs weight loss mark. I have worked so hard to lose this weight, I haven't cheated on my diet, not even once, but I won't be satisfied until I hit that first 10 lb mark.  I know, it's silly, but it's the way I feel.

I splurged and bought myself a good pedometer to help me keep track of how much I walk every day. The one I bought had the highest consumer ratings and hundreds of great customer reviews.  My husband was kind enough to measure my strides and program it for me and for the first day I wore it and checked it every twenty steps to make sure it was accurate...is was.  When Bella and I went to the zoo checked to make sure not a single false step was counted as we rode the train and carousel...it wasn't. 

My goal over the last few days is to walk a minimum of two miles a day, and I have. 3.68 miles Thursday, 2.18 miles yesterday, and 2.73 miles today. It's not hard to meet my goal when I'm not working...I simply load Bella up and we walk, however when you work 12 hour days at a job where you sit in front of a computer it becomes a bit more challenging. So now during our quiet time at work I walk laps in the radio room, and when I'm on break I walk up and down the parking lot...whatever it takes I'm going to get those two miles every day.

I'm going to keep at my two mile goal for another week, then each week I'm going to increase the goal by 1/2 mile a week until I'm walking 5 miles a day.  Luckily my husband bought me a tread mill last year for Christmas, so it's about to be taken out of it's resting place and put directly in front of the television.  I don't watch much TV, but when I do I'll be walking while I watch. 

Winter will be here soon so I plan on spending time every day on that treadmill getting my leg muscles strong and toned, then in the spring I'll be able to start training for the 2013 Ride for a Cure fundraiser for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. I don't have all the details on the ride yet, but a dear friend of mine is riding in it this year...105 miles through Death Valley.  I don't know if the ride I'll be participating in is that far, but I'm going to do my best to complete it no matter how far it is.

Freddie

When I was about 8 or 9 years old my best friend Lori Luther introduced me to one of her family friends. Frederick Hanson was his name but all of us kids just called him Freddie. Freddie was an older man, about 65 or so when I met him. He'd never married but had always loved kids, not in a bad or dangerous way...he genuinely LOVED kids. He liked helping them, he liked doing things with them, he liked spending time with them, and kids genuinely loved Freddie.  He was like the grandpa every kid wished they had.

Freddie drove an old white station wagon, the type that had a seat facing there rear in the very back of the car. Several times a month Freddie would show up in our neighborhood, load his car up with kids and set off on a new adventure. Sometimes it was going to the park, sometimes we drove all the way to Elephant Rock (which is a state park in Missouri that's basically a huge pile of boulders that you can walk up), he even took us to the circus. We always had fun when we were with Freddie, but the best times were when we got to spend the night at his house.

Freddie's house was in DeSoto. It was kind of small but we thought it was the best house in the world because you could run a complete circle starting in the kitchen, going through his bedroom, into the living room and ending up back in the kitchen...and boy did we run.  The minute we hit the door we would chase each other around and around until we got dizzy and fell down in a fit of giggles. Freddie never told us to settle down, to stop running and screaming...he just let us have fun.

Freddie encouraged us to be creative, to use our imaginations and explore everything that interested us.  I loved to cook, even as a little girl, so I asked him if I could make everyone a special treat one night. He tousled my hair and told me to use anything in the kitchen I needed.  That was the night I created my first recipe, Chocvanoco! 

In my memory I can see myself slowly cooking vanilla pudding then adding chocolate chip and stirring until they all melted. Next I added a hand full of coconut flakes and proudly watched as he dished up a small bowl for everyone to enjoy. I don't remember how it actually tasted, but I do remember how much he complimented it and how he told all the other kids that it was the best pudding he'd ever had in his life.

Freddie was like that, he always knew how to make a kid feel special without going so far overboard that it felt like fake praise.

All of the kids he took under his wing came from poor families, but he never made us feel like less than a prince or princess. He would find chores that we could do and then would proudly pay us so we had money which we would then get to spend on ourselves.  Earning a couple dollars was a big deal to all of us and we would proudly walk the two blocks to the stores on Main Street and make our purchases.

I often think back to those times with Freddie and try as I might I can never find even one second of unhappiness. I remember the way he walked with a shuffle, the way he would get tired while driving, pull over and sleep for 5 minutes and then be wide awake and take off down the road again, the way he would comb his thin gray hair before putting his hat...a REAL hat, not a baseball cap...on so he would be presentable in public. I remember his laughter and his hugs, and him telling me I was special and would grow up to do great things.

I think one of the biggest problems in the world today is that we don't have many people like Freddie anymore, someone who is good to his very soul, who is patient with everyone, and who loves and devotes their life to making others happy without asking for anything in return.

Freddie died in 1978 at the age of 71...a little over 34 years ago...but he continues to live in the heart of every child who ever had the privilege of knowing him.

I love you Freddie, I appreciate all you did for me and I look forward to seeing you again one day.

Letter to my friend

My Dear Friend,

I've been texting you for days to see how you were feeling, if you needed anything, if Gary was taking care of you. I've been reminding you that you're old and need to take it easy and just take whatever time you need to heal.

I've been telling you that everything is fine on our crew, assuring you that I'm not really going to cut off Tommy's fingers because of his non-stop tapping, even though we both know that I threaten him on a daily basis.

I've assured you that my trainee is progressing well, that Adrienne has everything under control and that we all are playing nice.

I wasn't overly concerned when you stopped responding because I know how much you hate your cell phone and the habit you have of turning the damn thing off when you get home. I wasn't concerned at all because we all knew you'd be okay. This was a bump in the road, a warning that was recognized and acted on before something terrible happened.

Saturday when I went to work someone asked if I knew how you were doing. "She's doing great!" I cheerful replied, joyous in my ignorance.

This morning I found out that I'd misunderstood the question, I wasn't being asked how your surgery went, they were asking how you were since you went back to the hospital on Friday. What? You went back to the hospital? What happened? No one knew how you were doing so I called your house...no answer.  I called your cell...no answer. I called the hospital and talked to your nurse, who could tell me nothing but gave the phone to your daughter.

My heart broke when I heard what happened. It's still breaking.

When I got off work I went straight to the hospital to offer my support for your family, but they weren't there. The nurse said they had just left and might be getting something to eat. Perhaps I wanted to search them out in the cafeteria. "No", I told her, "I don't want to bother them." Instead I wrote them a letter offering my help with anything they needed.  I remember so clearly what it's like to sit day after day in a hospital waiting room, to hold the hand of your loved one as they fought for their life.  I remember eating nothing but hospital food for a solid month, dreaming of a home cooked meal. I remember trying to figure out who could watch Bella while I was away. I remember feeling so alone, so fearful to leave for even 10 minutes to eat.

I wanted your family to know I was there for them, I could cook meals and bring them to the hospital, I could watch your grandchildren so your children could be with you, I could do laundry so Gary could have clean clothes. Whatever they needed I would do. I would take care of your loved ones as you'd offered to take care of mine.

As I sat in the waiting room I thought about all the times we went outside to talk, all the times I would break down in tears over Brandi's tribulations, all the times you would hug me and tell me it would all be okay.

I remembered you teaching me how to crochet the beautiful baby blankets I made for Bella, and how you promised to teach me how to can fresh vegetables for my family.

I remembered how only a few weeks ago you were telling me about items you planned to make for Brandi's next fundraiser.

I remember how each day we would show off new pictures of our grandchildren and how we talked about the joy their births brought into our lives.

I remember the last night we worked together before your surgery, how you poured out your fears to me while I lightly brushed them aside with a "no worries, easy peasy...you'll get through this without a hitch." I believed what I said, I really truly did. I remember hugging you tightly, rubbing your back and telling you that I loved you, how much I valued your friendship, and promising you everything would be okay.

You know what else I thought about while sitting in the hospital waiting room? I thought about my birthday and how I didn't want a normal birthday dinner but instead wanted nothing but appetizers. I remember how you bitched for days trying to get me to change my mind and how I stood my ground. It was MY birthday and I wanted what I wanted.  I remember watching you wrap dozens of little smokies in dough so I would have exactly what I want, bitching and moaning the entire time but the twinkle in your eye and the smile on your face telling me you where happy to do it because it's what I wanted.  I remember how I suggested the same food for your birthday dinner, with you making the Lil' Smokies because you had sooo much experience. I remember your immediate response of "BITCH" and the way we both cracked up laughing.

I have years of memories with you but I need more. I need to learn how to can, I need to learn how to crochet better, I need....I just need MORE.  I need to hear your voice again, I need to hear you laugh and say "Well, BOCCIE BALLS!" when something didn't work the way you wanted it to. God, I love your laugh!

I'm scared, I'm so terrified that the fear has a numbing affect. I can't imagine not seeing you everyday, not sending you stupid pictures with sassy sayings about your coffee addiction. I can't imagine never tasting your homemade salsa again.

Please get better, please, please, PLEASE don't stop fighting. You can come back from this, I know you can. Your friends need you, your family needs you. Just FIGHT your way back to us and we'll all be here waiting to share the fight with you.

Just...come...back.

Thoughts on Week 1 Dieting for a D.A.D. results

Tonight I did my first weigh-in for my Dieting for a Dad fundraiser. Just to refresh your memory, I'm trying to lose 100 lbs in the next year and have 30 people who have pledged to donate $10 for every 10 lbs I lose to Brandi's Diabetic Alert Dog fund at Warren Retrievers.

Although my overall goal is to lose 2 lbs per week, my secret goal was to lose 10 lbs the first week. I know, that's a LOT of weight in a very short time, but I have a lot of weight to lose and I knew going into this that you normally lose the most weight during the first week. Honestly, I wanted to end my first week by having everybody sending in their $10 donation.  I knew the upcoming weeks would be a much slower weight loss, so I really wanted...NEEDED...that first 10 lbs to come off quickly.

So tonight after we got home from our JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes I climbed on the scale only to find I'd only lost 5.6 lbs...over 4 lbs less than my goal. I was so disappointed in myself. I've worked so hard, stayed under my calorie limit each day, hell, I even did a three mile walk today.

With a heavy heart I posted the results on our Facebook page and wrote an apology for only losing a little over 5 lbs...which I quickly deleted before posting.   As soon as the weight was up for everyone to see I started having people congratulate me on a good job...and it WAS a good job, just not as good as I had hoped.

So there will be no donations this week, but you can bet your sweet bottom that there WILL be one next week....oh God PLEASE let there be one next week!

As I begin Week 2 I am as committed as ever to reaching my goal. I will continue to log every single bite that enters my mouth, I'll drink water until I think my eyes are going to float away, I'll do whatever it takes to be successful in the quest....not just for the money I'll raise, but because my daughter needs me to.

Hope at the 2012 JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes

Today was the second year we have walked in the JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes and I figured it was going to be a crazy day of alerting for Hope. After all, there were probably a thousand people there and you've already heard stories of how she alerts to people everywhere we go.

I was wrong.

We had a lot of people who came up and asked us exactly what Hope could do...lots of people who asked if their blood sugars were out of range, but she didn't alert to a single one of them.

Then, as she was sitting under the table waiting for the walk to begin Hope began alerting. First the paw, then the whining, then trying to run away...which she has never done before.

I finally grabbed her leash and let her go, wondering what in the heck she was doing.  Hope initially headed across a field and went where Bella was playing with her grandpa, so I (mistakenly) assumed she just wanted to make sure Bella was okay, but then she sniffed the ground a couple of times, made a sharp turn and right up to a boy playing ball...and alerted...REALLY ALERTED.  She pawed, she licked, she tried jumping up on him, with me yelling SIT as firmly as I could.

I asked the boy if he was diabetic and he said he was, so I explained what Hope does and told him his blood sugar was probably off and should be checked.  He immediately ran to his family to check.

I didn't see the boy again during the walk so I have no idea what his blood sugar level was, but I have no doubt it was off...Hope hasn't been wrong yet.

What really amazed me was the fact that this was the first time in public that Hope has ever alerted to a person in a crowd then physically hunted them down to give them a personal alert. I wish you could have seen her..she was like a dog on a mission!

Guilt

For weeks Bella has been begging me to take her to see the movie Hotel Transylvania. Like me (and her mommy) she was born with a love for watching movies on the big screen. I think it must be something in our genes because my mom and sisters have the same love.

For our family every trip to the movie theater began with a trip to the concession stand where I would always get the same thing: a medium bag of popcorn with extra, extra, EXTRA butter, a small plastic cup in which I would pour about 1/4 cup of popcorn salt, a package of dip n dots chocolate ice cream, a large coke with extra ice, and often one additional snack - like twizzlers or cookies.  

If you're keeping count that comes to about a kazillion calories.

I've been putting off taking Bella because I was afraid of the concession stand. I know it's pathetic, but I really, REALLY love theater popcorn and I wasn't sure I was to the point where I could handle the temptation.

It ends up I was right...sort of.

Yesterday afternoon Bella and I went to see the movie and just as expected the popcorn started screaming my name the minute I stepped through the door. Armed with the small container of fruit  I had in my purse (shhh, don't tell anyone I was bringing food into the theater) I felt strong enough to make our purchase.

My inner self was saying, "Shoulders back, chin out, deep breath...walk nonchalantly to the concession stand...you can do this!" but the moment the theater employee asked what he could get for me an evil demon took control of my body and I blurted out, "I'd like a medium popcorn with extra, extra butter, a bag of twizzlers, a large coke with extra ice and an empty small plastic cup." followed immediately by "WAIT! Stop....I need to change my order!"

Taking a deep breath I asked the man to go to next customer while I thought for a minute.  Breaking out my Lose It program I quickly started looking up calories.

When it was my turn again I calmly placed our order of a small popcorn with light butter, a bag of twizzlers, a cherry Icee (for Bella) and a LARGE bottle of water...and an empty plastic cup and two cardboard serving trays.

Then Bella and I went to smaller counter where they keep the popcorn salt.  I meticulously measured out two cups of popcorn on each tray and sprinkled just a small (yes Lynda, small..minuscule even) amount of salt on it, ripped open the twizzlers and placed 6 of the licorice treats on my tray, 2 on Bella's then immediately threw the rest of the candy and popcorn in the trash.

Okay, it was still a lot of calories..550 to be exact, BUT I decided it would be my cheat day and I still ended up 487 calories under what I could eat for the day.

I'd like to take a small break to point out that I didn't have a single soda yesterday...unheard of for me!

Anyway, I made my choices and ate the popcorn kernel by kernel instead of shoveling it in by the handful. I was feeling pretty good about what I did....until this morning.

This morning I feel guilty.  The moment I walked up to that counter I forgot about the fruit in my purse...completely forgot it even existed.  And although I stopped myself from eating all I normally do and managed to stay under my calorie limit, I still made some poor choices.  I should have chosen popcorn OR twizzlers, but not both.  I should have had chosen butter OR salt, but once again...not both.

I'm not beating myself up...but I do feel guilty. So I'm going to take that guilt and learn a lesson from it. Next time we go to the movies I will bring enough money for the tickets and nothing else.  I will bring in healthy snacks (hidden securely in my purse.), will take control of my urges. I will remember how I felt this morning and will not let history repeat itself.

At least that's the plan.

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Today was not a good day, not a good day at all.

I try to surround myself with warm loving people, they give me peace and serenity. I find solace in the goodness that surrounds them. They make me happy.

However there are times when you have absolutely no say in who surrounds you, and that just pretty much sucks.

I tend to be pretty outspoken. If I have a problem with someone they know it, because I tell them. Not in a mean way, but a "Hey, this is becoming an issue for me and I was hoping we could come to a compromise" kind of way.  It's hard for me to sit back and say nothing, yet that's what I was asked to do...so I did...and as the day wore on it was like a negativity spewing demon was sucking the air out of the room and filling it with a putrid acid vapor. I won't mention names because it's not helpful to the situation. I will say it was none of my friends or family.

Instead I'll say this...

If you spend hours talking about people behind their backs then nobody will respect you because we're wise enough to know if you do it to them you're most likely doing it to us.

If you can not find one positive thing to say for hours on end then perhaps the issue isn't with everyone that you're finding fault with...it would appear that you are the common denominator so perhaps the issue is YOU.

I don't want to hear you talk negatively about anyone, whether I like them or not is not the issue, it's not right, it's not fair, and it certainly isn't professional.

Making snotty comments under your breath doesn't make you smarter and being rude to people doesn't make you better...it makes you a bully and I have no tolerance for bullies.

And finally, a piece of wisdom that my father instilled in me when I was a small child....

If you don't have something nice to say, then sit down and SHUT UP! It is better to be presumed a fool  than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt.

Mawmaw Boots

As I sit here typing tonight's blog entry I am watching my mom at her computer catching up with all her friends on Facebook.

I love my mom...adore her. She has not had an easy life and like everyone else who has ever lived she has made some mistakes.  She raised three girls as a single parent, put herself through nursing school while working a full time job as a waitress.  She took charge of her life, pulled herself up by the boot straps and made something of herself.

We really bonded while we cared for my beloved Pop during the last several months of his life. Although he isn't my biological father I loved him absolutely as much as I do my dad, and he was hands down her soul mate, the love of her life. When he died a part of her died with him.

They had a big blended family, 5 daughters and 1 son, 17 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren...and mom is truly the glue that holds us all together. Every holiday brings us all together in her small house. It's crowded, and loud, but there's nowhere else we'd all rather be.

My mom is so much more than a mother to me, she's become one of my best friends. We can (and do) talk about everything. She's dried my tears and calmed my fears throughout our journey with Brandi's illness. Her house is Bella's second home, she spends at least two nights a week there while I work and when Brandi is in the hospital it is the only place she wants to stay.

My mom is a rock, but tonight she's scared. Tomorrow she has surgery to remove a growth on her vocal chords. We don't know if it's cancer yet, although the doctor has told us if it is she will have to get radiation treatments. The worse part of all this will be the wait, it may take up to two weeks to get the biopsy back telling us what the future holds for her.

I'm trying to not be scared, but I am. I deny it when I talk to her, but I can't imagine a world without her in it. I love my mom, I NEED my mom. I need her to be okay.

You'd think by now our family would be use to these medical bumps in the road, but we aren't. We'll get through this, by the grace of God the biopsy will come back showing no cancer, but if it doesn't our family will do what it always does...circle the wagons, search out the best doctors and do whatever we have to do to get her through this so she is once again healthy and happy.

Please remember my mother in your prayers tonight. We believe in the power of prayer and we believe that lifting a person up to God makes a difference.