Damn Awesome Woman

Feminism 101

April 12th, 2013 . No Comments »

I just got through reading several op ed pieces regarding women in the Mormon church etc etc etc. It gave me some inspiration to write. I’d just like to say that I’m not a feminist; I’m an equinist (and yes I made that up). I think idiots come in both genders.

Before you start recounting stories of Susan B. and her march for equality let me tell you a bit of my background. I come from a family of: German’s, Protestants, Muslims, Gay’s and an atheist or two…Some Thanksgivings it was a friggin Model UN. Drunk German’s, rowdy protestants (ok, we know that’s an oxymoron), constant and I mean CONSTANT talk about Palestinians and the Jews and then for good measure my Uncle would throw in an anti-God or anti-Mormon comment every now and then. And don’t even get me started on the time Meg was a flower girl at my Aunt’s wedding. To another woman. So before I’m labeled as narrow minded and ‘born and raised in the Utah bubble’, I’ll let you know that my bubble was broke about the time I was three. Which was about the time I started sipping the beer off of rim. Don’t worry, I didn’t start on any hard liqueur…until I was about 10 and that’s when Oma and I would take dips in her bottle of Cognac with our fingers. Just a little dab now and again as some sort of bonding experience only a girl can have with her Great Grandmother. We’d follow it up by cigars. JOKE! Seriously people….I did have standards.

So, I was reading with real intent and trying to keep my brain open for a bunch of ‘ah-ha’ moments as I read about how women want more clout in the LDS church and then I read with one eye open and kinda squinting for that matter as someone wrote about how they don’t have time to fight on the front lines or play football- they’re just glad to be a Mommy. I’ll be honest and say that I have no desire to enter this arena and fight for either side because I think they are both doing a disservice to their cause but I’ll remark on that later.

In my mind, the greatest force behind a women’s movement is the men they choose to associate themselves with. If you’re hooking up with a tool then you can rant all you want about wearing pants to church but in the end you are still HOOKED UP WITH A TOOL. I’ve been around the block (albeit a small block) enough to recognize that men who put their women on a pedestal of respect, admiration, loyalty, devotion etc ad nauseum are usually (I said usually- not always) not the ones crying for equality. They are too busy being taken on weekly dates and showered with love to worry about who gets to talk in church on Sunday and who is giving the opening prayer. They just don’t really give a rats arse. It’s not that they are feeble minded or love wearing pantyhose- it’s just that trying to topple the Patriarchal world in which we live is just not on their to-do list.

I will now address the women who have energy to spare. Bless you my dear Sisters. I am grateful that you are married to a good man who treats you like a Queen and as such, you have some extra energy and fire to address all of the tools your neighbors are married to. I too roll my eyes when I hear that she has no clue how to log into their bank account or how much their mortgage is actually for. I am in absolute agreement that the next time he says he can’t help watch the kids because he’s too busy advancing levels in Zelda we should club him like a baby seal. Let’s sign her up for some woman power classes (which are not like couponing classes except in encouraging aggressive behavior). You say you want to wear pants to church? Go for it. My Grandma wore pants to church on a semi-regular occasion and as far as I am aware Hell did not freeze over. Granted, we were Presbyterians so we thought that Hell may have been freezing over for some other religion but we were too busy with coffee hour after church to take considerable note of it. I, for one, have worn pants when I have attended Candlelight Christmas Eve Service and I don’t think God minded one bit. He was just glad to have me there. He’d like you to come with me this next year…he’s missed you.

Now I’d like to talk about the idea that women have no desire to play football or fight on the front lines or be a Prophet. Well, how many women did you ask? I for one love the idea of concussions, torn rotary cuffs, cauliflower ear as well as the idea of shooting my enemy with a semi-automatic weapon at close range. Don’t even get me started on the idea of collateral damage…. and as for being a Prophet. Well count me in! I’d like nothing more than to wake up almost weekly in anther hotel room and always be on my best behavior. Loads of Joy. Loads. I am especially resentful that I haven’t been fed dog or snakes and had to pretend that I like the taste. Damn men and all their fun. (Ok, when I was 12 I had a football. Granted it was Nerf but I can throw a mean spiral. Mean= doesn’t ever go where I want it to.)

My husband and I were discussing the impending zombie apocalypse and after about 20 minutes (and yes I am serious) I was fairly convinced that we had reached the next level in our relationship. He was willing to die for the family (although he contests that he’d have no problem staying alive) and I was then second on the chopping block having had to take the lead as he’s dead and it’s my job to care for the family. I have no problem taking head shots to zombies if the lives of my children are on the line. I have rehearsed it enough in my head that I would have no problem taking a head shot of someone who was in my home hurting my kids. However, I also have no desire to fight on the front lines but if need be I’d be there. I’d had to take frequent rests for my heart problem but damn if I didn’t do what I could to protect our great nation.

Switching gears here, stay focused…..

My Grandma considered herself a feminist and I’ve read some of her school papers from when she was a girl in 1940 and she was a force to be reckoned with. She was a woman of many talents as most of the men had gone to war and that left the women in charge of learning how to run a farm as well as household. I don’t envy her responsibilities or many women like her who also worked in the munition factories or held down full time jobs as well as the burden of being a mother while their husbands were away at war. Those are the true feminists in my book.

My thought is that women who are self proclaimed feminists do a disservice to their cause when their anger and venom is heard more loudly than their ideas. My thought is also that women who are self proclaimed anti-feminists do a disservice to their cause when their platform consists of variations of the theme “We are like yin and yang and girls don’t want to be combat veterans or hold high ranking church offices.” There has got to be a middle ground. Is it impossible to figure out what universal laws are protective of human liberty and dignity while at the same time accounting for our differences in how those laws should be expressed in a society or religion?

To be honest, I wish we would be able to unite against a common enemy, take that passion and let it fuel our love towards one another. Yes, yes…I know what you’re thinking and I’m in absolute agreement. BYU should not be allowed to play in that ridiculous sports league where they basically play against no-name colleges and/or really good private Catholic schools. I can’t even feel good about taking cheap shots at them. Something has GOT to change.

Posted in Peace, religion, Social Statement

Bruce Jenner, What Did the Kardashians Lace your Wheaties With?

March 6th, 2013 . No Comments »

What?! Explain to me why my kids wait until I have picked up the phone to initiate any type of bonding? “Mom, I’ve really got to talk to you. Now is when I want to pour my heart out to you. Now is when I want to show you my poem. My artwork. Can we talk about religion? What do you think about _____? Can you explain to me what the different pedals on the piano are?” I can be alone bored for 6.5 hours and at the strike of the next minute when Comcast calls to tell me my check was lost en route to India or I’m getting the latest dirt on one of my cra cra relatives (and don’t worry I didn’t expose anyone because that definition still leaves the field wide open. And I mean WIDE open) I’ve got three kids circling my bed like bees to a honeycomb. It’s almost creepy. It’s definitely obnoxious. Can’t they love me during normal mom hours and give me some space after 9 pm? Or can’t they even wait to make sure I am fully dressed until they rain their love on me? I’m convinced they hover by the door until they’re sure I’m comfortably ignoring all signs of life outside the room and then they wait for the phone to ring, they make their singular knock (and in the Childrens Rulebook they don’t wait for an answer), walk in and just start their motor mouths a runnin’. Mr. Card keeps telling them that he’s going to be ‘buck nekked’ one of these days and they’re in for a shocker- he thinks they’re joking. I do not.

Rant #2: My husband could be a polygamist if you could be married to a woman and a smartphone. In his defense, he lets me know via his talking in his sleep that I’m still the number one preference…at least I think that’s what he said. It sounded something like “Siri….I love you so much.” And I think Siri sounds a lot like Julie doesn’t it? (Mr. Card, this is just a little ribbing. It’s not your fault you married a woman who doesn’t even know how to turn on our TV. Granted, in the olden days we only had 1 remote. With like 10 buttons. And a VHS.) On the upside, I rarely watch TV anymore. I just think about episodes of Little House on the Prairie that I can remember and close my eyes at the same time and it’s basically the same, it’s just not in HD.

Rant #3: Bruce Jenner, what the hell were you thinking? Did I actually read that you’ve been married to that woman who spawned those Kardashian brats for 21 years? Correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t you go to the Olympics in running? From the photo’s I’ve seen of you in the press, it appears you still have your legs so I’ve just got to ask: Why haven’t you used them? TO RUN AWAY? Bruce, this isn’t rocket science here, you don’t even need a fancy car with a Hemi, you just need to stand up and Forrest Gump it and you’re done with this pack of cra-cra. No amount of money is worth this, no front row seats to your LA Clippers games are worth this so unless you enjoy seeing your depressed, forlorn mug smashed on trashy magazines rather than Wheaties boxes, you’ve got to put on your Reebok’s and man up. We’ve got some extra room at our home and if you’re into technology I’m sure Mr. Card can teach you how to use a smartphone or IPAD or Mac computer or PC (although he really is disgusted by those) and you’ll get along splendidly. Two of our kids have joined track and maybe you can help at their school- kinda keep a low profile for a while and reclaim your dignity while we nurse you back to health with love and acceptance of that ridiculous plastic surgery job you got per your evil Kardashian wife (gag may I say) . Also, since I’m not doing so well physically, you can be in charge of laundry and dishes so you don’t feel like such a mooch. It’s what Steven Covey called a ‘win-win’ situation.

Rant #4: Not so much a rant but more of a “Why me?” Why was I born in Utah- land of the arid and dry rather in Louisiana where I could have been precariously placed (perhaps already in the hospital nursery) alongside one of the Robertson boys. Maybe we could have grown up catchin’ fish, huntin ducks’, eatin’ crawfish and maybe, just maybe, I could sit at the foot of Paw Paw and Uncle Si and listen to them spin tales of mystery and awe…. but alas I am here. In the desert. With the dirt and some jackrabbits. Luckily Mr. Card has facial hair and owns a gun and he is constantly irritated with the government and he’s a good solid Christian so he’s practically like a Robertson boy as it is. He’s also one to buck conventional anything so that makes him Robertson material as well. We just need our own Dynasty, more camo clothing, more acreage and a hellavu lot more money. I’m blessed in that the Silverback of the family has wanted to maintain a Hanson compound for years to escape the idiots invading civilization and Mr. Card was just tickled pink to hear this plan. Unfortunately for us, the idiots happen to be actual citizens of the United States…..opinion only…opinion only…… Wink

Rant #5: Hard water and the havoc it reaks on my glass shower door. Trust me when I tell you that I have Googled every concoction known to mankind and it’s all a load of crap. Nothing works long term to keep the hard water stains off of my glass enclosed shower. And if you’re wondering, no, we don’t have a water softener and yes, I realize that would help but I wasn’t in the mood to plop down almost three grand for one. For those of you who are piously sitting there “tsk tsking” me with a “well, you should have purchased a softener and we wouldn’t be having this conversation” I’d like you to say that to my face and I’ll take your face and show it to my shower door. Then I’ll cry and hopefully you’ll feel bad for making fun of a woman who just wants shiny glass you pompous water softener snob. Too Sad

For those of you who read this blog, I’d love to know what you’ve done for any hard water glass issues and if you tell me “use vinegar” then keep that to yourself because I”VE TRIED IT!!

I’ve tried: CLR, Magic Eraser (to rub the vinegar around), scouring pad, soft scrub, after shower spray. My next purchase is going to be from China because I hear you can get illegal powerful magical stuff that works on anything.

Posted in Parenting
Tags: Bruce Jenner, children, damn awesome woman, desert, Duck Dynasty, Hard Water, Julie Ann, Julie Card, Julie Hanson, Rants, teenagers, teens, utah

Dr. Julie Card, Fake Doctor Practicing Without a License

March 2nd, 2013 . No Comments »

Advance Notice: This is absolutely the most boring blog post yet and I make an oath that next time I’m discussing Duck Dynasty only as well as my dislike for the Kardashian family. Period.

I met with Dr. J this week. He’s a specialist. It generally takes months to see him but through, what I like to consider, divine providence, the MG (Mean German and quite frankly you’ll just have to read prior entries to get the full oomph of why we call her that) got me in within the week because as we know you do not mess with a MG.

He was all that I had hoped him not to be and more. I had heard that it’s difficult to get into the auto-immune club and frankly I have better chances getting into Harvard or even wearing the green jacket signifying that I’ve won a certain amount of golf championships than I do getting into his club if he’s the gatekeeper. There was no way he was going to let me be a pledge. No way in hell. Even if I had agreed to run across the cancer or Parkinson’s disease frat or sorority house naked and half drunk he just wasn’t going to do it. You see, from what I’ve read on various blogs and forums they like to keep their club’s numbers down. Statistics show that the number of people being diagnosed with auto-immune diseases has skyrocketed within the last decade but for some reason the rheumatology community (doctors who specialize in auto immune diseases) is very very leery to allow you to be in their club and would rather you go away (or more like be wheeled away because you can’t even walk you’re so impaired) until you can perhaps crawl back using what little strength you have left, barely breathing and then they they will embrace you with open arms. ”You have now proved yourself true. Come into our arms. Oh, actually, let us get down on the ground because we see that you can’t actually get off of it.”

Granted, this is my perspective based on my interaction with Dr. J as well as a number of blogs and forums I have read from sufferers around the country who then go on for second or third opinions with actual doctors who they first verify have a beating heart and they then get the help they need. I’d love for you to tell me stories you or your family have had with doctors whose hearts have been cut out prior to them entering the room with you. No really, I want to hear them because I can’t be the only one who wants to charge them for my valuable time.

NEW DEAL

“Ok Doctor, here’s the deal, if you strike me as an idiot or if by the end of this first visit we determine that my ACT score was higher than yours, I remember more stages of mitosis than you do or you don’t even remotely try to validate that I feel like sh** then I not only want my copay back but I am going to double it? Does that sound fair because it does to me. Additionally, if you look at me like I am taking up valuable time that you could be using on the golf-course while you bill me $280.00 for your precious 30 minutes because you’re a ‘specialist’ then I’m going to charge you an equal amount because I’m a ‘specialist’ as well. I’m a specialist at knowing who’s a tool of a doctor. Kapeesh?

So I wanted to rant about why I didn’t like Dr. J and why I want to admonish others to advocate for their own health. Back in the day when I was young and the liver spot on my cheek was just a dot waiting to make it’s appearance on the stage of life, I was 13 and reading Freud’s ‘Interpretation of Dreams‘. Primarily because I was an uber-nerd but also because I had dreams of becoming a psychologist, I’d wander around asking anyone about what they had dreamt about last night and then using my trusty diagnostic manual (Freud’s book), I’d give them the low-down about what that really meant. ”Oh, you dreamt that your mother was riding an elephant to the grocery store? Well, it’s obvious you want to kill your father and marry your mother because you secretly love her. I’m sorry to have to break it to you like that but at least now you know the truth. Have fun in 6th period.”

And I’m pretty sure from there it just got worse as I love the psych field as well as the medical field and found myself volunteering at the psych hospital when I was 14 (and no, this is not typical but my Aunt was a psych nurse so I would go with her on her weekend shifts). I end up graduating in Psychology but also work as a medical clerk at LDS hospital and on my lunch breaks I do what most closet nerds do- I read the latest issue of JAMA (The Journal of the American Medical Association). I worked in the clinic with all of the physicians that were coming from the University of Utah and frankly what I saw pissed me off. Certainly there were some outstanding young doctors but by and large, they were just like you and me except they were able to pass their calculus class. Well…except that’s where they weren’t like me. I had thought about trying to go to med school several times but frankly, I can barely add 2 + 2. My geometry skills are par, my pre-calculus skills are uuuhhhhh, and the only reason I got a C+ in Algebra 3/4/5 is because of Mark Lockman and a really stupid teacher. And yet, isn’t it funny that when the kids need help with their Geometry I can NOW get the answers RIGHT? What the crap is THAT ALL ABOUT?

Frankly, I’m calling Mr. Whitman from 9th grade and I want a re-do on my tests because I’m sure I could do better than a B-/C+. For all of you out there that are wondering how smart doctors are, I’d like you to rest at ease. While I worked at the clinic, (and this is no lie nor exaggeration) I asked EVERY ONE of them what their ACT scores were as well as their grades in high school. Granted, I worked in the clinic in 1997 and I’m aware that competition is much different these days so you can assume that doctors older than this are just dumber (well really, can’t you?). In 1997, the physicians that I worked with that were in their 3rd and 4th year of residency and had ACT scores of between 25-29. Their high school GPA was between 3.7-4.0. When they had no clue what was wrong with a patient they would congregate in the backroom with their pocket reference manual and look up stuff. And then the savvy nurses would give them pointers. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with this picture. Under those qualifications, I should have been a doctor and then, at least, I could be taken seriously now. I have a friend, Dr. Baker (shout out to Amber) who fairly recently graduated from PA school and the minimum qualifications to enter school are incredible. Doctors these days who are entering school are expected to be five notches above what they were ten and twenty years ago.

Two weeks ago when I had the fortunate experience of being at the emergency room and having Tatum Channing’s doppledanger as my ER physician, I was astounded at his knowledge. First, he looked 17. Second, he was the first physician that even had heard of POTS (my first diagnosis that has to do with my heart not working correctly if I stand up) who is not a cardiologist. Third, well…duh..I won’t even say it but I’ll tell you that it ended up in Mr. Card telling me that I was fawning over my doctor and batting my eyelashes and I told Mr. Card that my eyes were just dry and that’s why I was blinking a lot. Which is true as documented by my cracked corneas so there Mr. Card. I only have eyes for you- cracked ones at that. I attribute it to the fact that these young bucks are charged with having to ‘know their stuff’ because the white coats aka Dr. J are hanging out on the golf course resting on their five iron and their laurels.

Let me get to the core of this problem and how it may pertain to your life and not just my pity party. I know enough about how my body should run to know that something is not running properly. When Dr. J calls me and says “I don’t think you have sjogren’s” I can say with firmness (also being friendly) “well I think you are wrong and here is why…

*This is kinda- mostly-ish-fairly verbatim:

“From what you discussed with me the other day, it is apparent that you don’t believe there is any legitimacy in any lab that is run by labcorp, is that correct?” (He also thinks it’s just coincidence that I can’t breath, have cracked corneas and can’t walk and no, I’m not joking.)

“Well, yes, that is true. I don’t think their labs are sensitive enough.” In his defense, he did say more but frankly, I have no desire to write it, he let me know that you can’t have sjogren’s if you have a negative ANA even if you have a positive SSA which is frankly not true but I won’t bore you more than I have…

“Ok, so I am aware that he ANA lab run by ARUP was negative although both ANA labs run by two different testing facilities of labcorp were positive but that is beside the point right now. You also ran the SSA correct and even by your ARUP standard it is positive, is that true?”

“Yes that is true but if your ANA is negative, it doesn’t really matter if your SSA is positive because you see, the ANA is like finding out of there is a car in the garage and if there is no car in the garage then it wouldn’t matter what make and model it was and the criteria for being diagnosed with sjogren’s would include a mucosal biopsy and frankly, if you insisted on having one I am fairly certain it would come back negative and it would be an inconvenience of your time and money.”

“I’ve already had the biopsy and it was positive.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Yes I have. Dr. Sondheimer did it and you should have the results. I know he sent them to you. Remember, I told you I had one the other day when we had our appointment? I told you it was positive for inflammation.”

“You must be mistaken, you haven’t had a mucosal biopsy.”

“Oh, I think I have. He cut open my lip and actually I was having a bit of insomnia this morning and was reading a bit from Rheumatology today, that is your organizations monthly magazine and there is a new diagnostic criteria from which sjogren’s is diagnosed and there are three criteria that need to be met. A person needs to have two out of the three. They need to have a positive SSA or SSB or a positive RA factor or a positive lip biopsy or a lacrimal tear stain with a certain number. And I meet all three. I shared with you the information about my cracked corneas and let you know I had the information about the tear stains, you should already have the biopsy regarding my lip and even by your own ARUP labs as well as both Labcorps facilities my SSA antibodies are elevated as well. I know it’s a moot point because you don’t trust Labcorp but my GP also ran additional tests and several more came back abnormal.

“Well see, that’s the problem with people who go seeking for information on the internet….”

“Dr. J, in my line of work I try to help people and when I believe in them I will move heaven and hell to help them and I would imagine it is somewhat the same in your industry. I don’t believe that you have a vested interest in helping me because I don’t believe you believe in me and if you don’t believe in me then you won’t help me find out what is wrong. It doesn’t seem a coincidence to me that my corneas are cracked, I can’t breath, I can barely walk, my lip biopsy is positive, my mouth is dry and my SSA levels are raised but you seem to still think that I don’t have an auto-immune issue. If you can’t get behind me and my cause then it would make sense that we need to part our ways and I can find a doctor who wants to help me.”

(Probably not the thing to say to a proud white coat but I’m sick of white coats)

“Well Julie, I think you are being a bit harsh. I’ve spent a great deal of time on your file today and had a long conversation with Dr. Timmons (my primary care physician) letting her know the route I think you should take. I just don’t think that your path leads you down the road of rheumatology. You’re entitled to get a different opinion but I think you are going to be highly disappointed….”

blah blah blah. He didn’t have my chart in front of him. He couldn’t’ say what any of my labs were, he didn’t validate any of the past labs. I wished him well and our paths parted. About an hour later I got a notice on my email that I had a new post from MY CHART which is the University of Utah’s system that gives you updates on when labs and tests post to your account. I had to laugh my pathetic new smokers hack kinda laugh because ironically it was my pathology report of my lip biopsy. As fate would have it, it was done by ARUP, Lab of the Most High, and even if Dr. J hadn’t gotten the preliminary copy, I know that the official copy is sent to him because I had requested it and in case you are wondering… I did indeed have a mucosal biopsy and yes, it showed all it needed to show. It tested positive for the number of lymphocytes I need to have for the disease he says I don’t have as well as atrophy of the tissue. More than that, it tested positive for something more important. It tested positive for “Julie, I know I was right and I wasn’t going to back down even though he has his MD.”

I know this has been long winded but the point being, we’ve got to become educated about what our medical right and responsibilities are. When is the last time you understood what your lab results meant? When is the last time you got a copy of what was in your medical file?

There were actual ERRORS in my chart. And not just one. Or two. Or three.. I just transferred to the U of U and there are ERRORS- it was news to me that I have Inflammatory Bowell Disease or have had a tumor in my bone. No wonder I feel so horrible ….;)

Food for thought: If we don’t take responsibility for our health, then people like Dr. J will, is that what you want? Dessert for thought- who wants to go to medical school with me because this is getting ridiculous…. (Is anyone out there a math tutor?)

Posted in Uncategorized
Tags: ANA, arup, auto-immune, doctors, labcorp, medical, pompous doctors, rheumatology, sjogren's, SSA

Cheekbones, Apples and Trucks- A Few of My Favorite Things.

February 23rd, 2013 . 1 Comment »

I usedtacould (say it fast) give you laundry list of all of the wonderful highlights of life, of Mother Earth that would make me giggle with delight. Topping the list or at least making it right after God, Family and other touchy-feel-good-supposed-to-say words would be my truck. That baby has been there for the last 7 years and for all of you who had lived with me through the divorce, you know that he/she (I had never really decided the sex of said truck unlike my gun which was instantly a man named Walther) and I had a relationship akin to a man and his dog. Have you seen ‘Where the Red Fern Grows’ or better yet actually read it? In the olden days, we had these things called books and they smelled kinda like a barn and you turned pages and I sat and leafed through the last hundred pages while Billy had to watch the demise of Dan and Ann (his hounds) and I cried like a baby unabashedly wiping the snot all over whatever shirt happened to be on me at the time. This last week, I had to wipe the snot once again as I said good-bye to my true and trusted baby. My truck. You see, I knew it would happen, I knew heshe was getting old but I didn’t think it would happen like this. She’d gotten me through the Mountain of Hell remember? Saved my hide on more than one occasion when I perhaps had gotten myself in a bit too deep of mud. On another occasion, granted, it was the one time she disappointed me and I had to actually call a-gasp- man for help. Luckily, that man was a gentleman I had just started dating and it was with head hanging that I dialed only after I called every other person I could remotely remember the phone number of. I think I even called Oma Uschi in Germany…. Luckily, Mr. Card was more than happy to rescue the damsel in distress and her two girls who had gotten themselves stuck in about two feet of stinky Utah Lake Mud Water and that, my friends, was the first time Meg and Grace met their brothers Sage and Connor who ended up getting all stunk up helping get my truck unstuck. I guess it was revenge time now that I think of it…..

I’m lucky my boys are alive. No parent should get the call “Julie, I just totaled the truck. I’m sorry.” However, as I told him later, I much preferred him calling rather than a policeman calling letting me know the truck was totaled and my boys as well. PS: If you haven’t talked to your kids about the absolute dangers of drowsy driving- take this as a firm command from a mother who could have lost her two boys- PLEASE KICK THE CRAP OUT OF YOUR KIDS IF THEY DON’T UNDERSTAND THE DANGERS OF DRIVING ON TOO LITTLE SLEEP. *I mean kick with words of love

It had tipped on it’s side and sprung back to life momentarily.

And before you want to be a well-wisher and say “it doesn’t look so bad” trust me- in real life it does. Both wheels are off the axle you can’t open the door, front windshield is cracked (you can’t see that because of the glare),driver window is hanging pathetically, back window is shattered and it cried out in a low hum although I think that may have just been the engine about to blow. On the upside…

now that we don’t have a vehicle that fits the whole family it really motivates everyone to do their chores because that’s the only way they can come anywhere. The first three who are done can come. The rest are locked in the house.

My sweet husband and I went to visit The Silverback last weekend in an effort to get away from the stress (yes, that’s the weekend when we got the “I totaled the truck” call. Ironic isn’t it.) So, besides the fact that my husband is just so cute and cuddly, I like the fact that he indulges me while we drive. This new illness has been in interesting one (code for: hell) and last Saturday life screwed me big time. I can no longer eat apples. Yup. You heard it. Injustice of injustices. I’m not sure which ruined my Saturday more- apples or my truck but at one point I think it was a toss-up. It appears that because of my lack of normal saliva it changes the taste in foods and apples now taste like they’ve been sprayed with agent orange. I took a bite, thought that he had poisoned me to get the life insurance and spit it out. He insisted “you just need to cleanse your pallet.” Fine. Whatever. Drink drink. Another bite. Holy crap, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? Obviously, as any wife would insist- I made Mr. Card take a bite. He did. And he said it tasted fine. I grabbed it back with disdain. I took another bite. %&$@@*#(. ARE YOU SERIOUS? THIS TASTES LIKE and if you know me, you can fill in the rest because I am not happy with the end result. Surely this is some cruel trick by the apple Gods. But alas, it has gone farther than that for the very next day when I asked to try some juice (cranberry of course), much to my surprise I was taken aback by the very same flavor demonizing my buds. I felt like the Job of juice. And apples. Damn.

Next rant: It went something like this, “Lance, have you seen my cheekbones lately because I have misplaced them?” You don’t get an opportunity for a full length mirror very often so this was my reality check to see that not only had I misplaced my cheekbones but apparently my knees had followed suit. “Lance, will you please look at this….where are my kneecaps? These aren’t my knees…these are the knees of 255 pound Julie…..not today Julie…..something is wrong….” To know Mr. Card, you need to know that I generally start having deep discussions about 7 am and anything before 11 isn’t going to get the kind of response I’m looking for so I got some sort of a mumble like “hmmmm…cheek….bones….knees….see em….” Lots of help he was. It wasn’t until he told me later that I looked like Tom Hanks at the end of the movie Philadelphia that I knew he was buying into how crappy things were getting. Granted, he still gave me a hug and kissed me on the forehead and told me I was beautiful so all was well in the world. However, things aren’t well.

I listened to a talk yesterday from a leader in our church about discipleship and he made an interesting point. I consider myself a religious person and rely heavily on my faith to sustain me through my trials and my joys as well. He said that true disciples who walk in the footsteps of Jesus will always end up walking into the Garden of Gethsemane. Have you walked in the Garden in your life? Have you walked there more than once? To be honest, I thought I had taken a trip in the Garden several times but it would appear I had only taken a guided tour around the outskirts.

I am a fairly crusty, ornery, jaded,non-trusting, controlling, really like a clean house really really person who has a lot of other character deficiencies that I need to work on. Honestly, one of my worst traits is my need for control and I could write a novel about why I think that’s the case but ironically, I’m in a place now where I have absolutely no control except how I respond. I thought I had done my time in bed with the pregnancies of Meg, Isaac and Grace and then the post-hysterectomy/uterine abscess from hell but apparently Life has different plans for me right now. Perhaps I haven’t learned my lesson

Lesson’s I Suck At:

1. Dirty Laundry is OK.

2. Dirty dishes are OK.

3. Kids with stinky hair are still lovable. Really? Fine then….

4. When the plumber comes over, he doesn’t care if the basement is clean. Even if you do.

5. You don’t need to go all Nazi OCD if you find a piece of paper in the regular garbage can. The recycling Gods will give you a pass. At least this time they will.

6. Somehow, someway the bills will get paid, the kids will eat, your husband will be there and the dog will still be alive even if you do run out of dog food.

This last week I decided to become an overachiever in the auto-immune industry. I got a call from the doctor this last week to let me know they’re not ruling out lupus as well as sjogren’s as well as a connective tissue disease and the heart condition. Luckily, the heavens opened and my file was reviewed by the Rheumy department at the U of U and I am being scheduled to see the specialists- no small miracle I tell you. I could be a triple medal contender. It gets very confusing when you’re looking at auto-immune antibody testing because you have a bunch of ANA, RNP, SSA, ZZTOP acronyms and frankly I just know that if I walk to the kitchen and then upstairs we’re in trouble. Back to Tom Hanks, on the bright side Tom Hanks is very well respected in Hollywood and he has a lot of money so I’m trying to embrace his backhanded compliment while I walk in the Garden for a bit. Sending my love to all of you today.

Posted in Gratitude, Medical
Tags: ANA, auto-immune, children, Discipleship, Lupus, RNP, sjogren's, SSA, truck

Blessed By Grace…and the Other Five As Well

February 13th, 2013 . 5 Comments »

I’ve been fairly silent lately and perhaps that’s a good thing. I’m sure the world can do just fine without the rantings of a crazy woman. What’s intersting is that when I started blogging again I really “felt” it. I had gone a whole year without nothing to say and then all of a sudden BOOM it started flowing. Like a mad river and just for me. See, I don’t blog because I think anyone really gives a rats arse what I have to say, I blog because for me it’s free therapy and I had this vision about getting stories of women who had done incredible things, made incredibly brave decisions and making their stories known so I could draw from their power and inspiration and then it happened. My own life just kinda went to crap. I guess sometimes that’s what happens. Is that what is called rolling with the punches?

I’m in that phase right now where I peruse Facebook and all I see is pathetic drivel about ______________(fill in the blank with random crap that means nothing to you at all). I haven’t visited Pinterest in about two months. I haven’t walked the mall in eons. I don’t even care that my bedding in the master room is ugly anymore. To top it off, I need a haircut and my color has grown out to the point that I look like I might as well be wandering Wal-Mart in my sweats and Birkenstocks stocking up on beer and potato chips.

Last month was hell. I lost two of my oldest and thought to be dearest friends because they let me know that in their eyes they thought that my medical issues were too crazy to be believable. They needed to detach with love. In love they let me know that they weren’t buying what I was selling and recommended I get counseling. How could someone have so many maladies? In their eyes it was simply not possible. Add to that all of the junk of blending a family and it’s a Ice Cream Sunday which includes flavors of crap and psychosis. No sprinkles please but certainly add nuts. Lots of nuts.

Have you ever had a situation where those around you doubt your credibility? How do you handle that? Do you start to doubt your sanity? I certainly have. I have withdrawn and questioned my own character. What in my personality or dealings with my fellow men has created doubt in two people who I thought knew me intimately? How have I handled others who were in similar situations? Do I trust blindly? (No)

Grace, my eight year old, has stepped up to the task of being the angel who I knew she was sent to be. On days when I have looked neigh unto death, she brings me notes in the morning, surprised Lance and myself with a surprise trip to the coast and Paris complete with exotic meal. She swam on the beach for me and looked for seashells-albeit it was in the tub and she stole the seashells from under Meg’s bed but whatever, we’ll give her points for creativity- and she did end up overcharging us for the meal and ran away with five bucks when the tab originally said “pay with a hug” but we’ll forgive her for that as well. Her current MO is breakfast in bed for me every morning as well as little cards, the most recent included a five dollar bill and a note which read “I think you need this. I want you to be happy because if you aren’t I can’t be. I love you. Please snuggle with me. Love Grace.” Bless her heart. She had overheard a conversation about medical bills and the fact that I’ll be selling one of the kids or one of my kidney’s…whichever sells first (although Lance tells me that in my case, I need to keep a kidney because knowing my luck we shouldn’t roll the dice) so I’d like you to know that one of the oldest is for sell and they have some meat on their bones and are fairly solid workers kinda. Sorta. If you give them a phone. And Ipod. And raman. And leave them alone. Nevermind, we’ll just set up a payment plan and keep them, it’s easier that way.

You hear stories about families banding together when one person gets sick and everyone pitching in, rallying around and it becomes some sort of Disney movie. I’ve got news for you. That happens for about…..three months and then the kids are like “are you friggin kidding me? So you’re telling me that you are STILL SICK? And you are STILL wanting us to clean the kitchen EVERY DAY AND do laundry?” Somehow in all of the Disney movies, they seem to leave this part out. Go figure. So, this is where it comes in very handy to be filthy rich, hire a maid or Maria Von Trapp to raise the kids so you don’t have to work a day job and continue to harass the kids and lay in bed and ring a bell. Currently we have the bell. We also have the bed. That’s about it for the moment. Oh, we also have cute kids and when you line them up they basically look like they move up in height so that looks similar to the Von Trapps except their mother was dead and not just looking like death warmed over.

To be honest, my dear children have graced me with their kindness in great ways and it is unfortunate that usually through trials we see the serving side of one anothers humanity. If only there was a way to tap into the soul sans affliction and draw out the divine nature of man but usually it is through that affliction that our nature is chiseled, ground down into a finer specimen of what we are sent here to become. Unless, that is, you are me. If you are me, you are just grumpy wondering who left the dishes in the sink. Damn. At this rate I’m going to live forever.

So, I bet you’re wondering if I’m nuts eh? (sure, that may have seemed a little off topic but I was planning on coming back to it at some point in time and I didn’t have any subtle way of approaching it.) Well, two days ago I got a call from Dr. Sondheimer who is a dermatologist I went to by accident but that’s a whole different story which basically includes:

called the department at the University of Utah for auto immune diseases, Dr. Sondheimers secretary was confused, booked me an appt, Dr. Sond only sees skin patients, he sees me because he’s not a d-bag like the doctors at IHC, he runs tests even though he perhaps thinks I think that I’m a know it all because I do way too much google research in my spare time but I’m sorry after I’ll I’ve been through I should basically just be given an honorary degree because I don’t trust doctors.

AND… he tells me I have an auto immune disease. Sjogren’s Syndrome. It appears from what I can tell that I’ve probably had it for almost 20 years because of some of the bizarro medical stuff I’ve had. Generally people have dry eyes and a dry mouth if you’re lucky. And then there’s me. We won’t get into my recent symptoms because you’ll just want to send your condolences and I don’t need the pity party but my unsolicited advice for the day is

listen to your body and don’t listen to your ignorant friends

*bumper sticker coming soon

Mr. Card will take me to get tested for lymphoma next week- almost a date but not quite as it includes a biopsy of my cheek (mouth not butt) in case you were curious. So, in the spirit of true voyeurism, I thought that since I am a sharer and since you may know of people in your life who suffer with health issues and who have doctors in their life who SUCK, I’d like you to keep your eyes and ears open for inspiration.

I’m going to share some of the symptoms (changed my mind) because they say Sjogren’s is highly misdiagnosed and perhaps someday something will ring a bell for someone you know:

Dry Eyes (my eyes started burning so bad I couldn’t put contacts in and even saline solution felt like it was burning), Dry Mouth (end up with lots of cavities but I always thought this was because of medication I was on), Weird sunburn reactions (I get convulsions from sunburns and it is not a pretty sight and if you put benadryl on me it goes even more downhill), chemical sensitivities (I have more allergic reactions to medications than you can shake a stick at- I am anaphylaxis to benadryl and percocet and have multiple drug allergies and recently after my tailbone surgery we found that I an narcotic resistant which means they don’t work on me anymore.), stomach problems (I’ve suffered from stomach problems since I was young but was told I had IBS but currently I am bloated and have lost 9 pounds in 5 weeks by doing nothing), disc disease/arthritis (bone spurs in my neck/lower back/tailbone/foot) and currently the arthritis is bad enough that they’ve done two RF ablations where they burn the nerves in the last four months but they didn’t work, kidney problems (not sure if I have this although I’ve had 2 kidney stones in the past and for the last two months on/off I’ve slept with a heating pad because my kidney’s have hurt), neuropathy (numbness and tingling in my toes, fingers and tip of my nose and this is due to nerve damage), pain across my neck/shoulders/back (I really have no clue as that could be from oxygen depletion or from nerve damage), arrhythmia, partial complex seizures, basilar type migraines, vasculitis (I’ve had a blood clot and I think this is what I had when I was thought to have had a stroke 8 1/2 years ago. It is actually an inflammation of the veins and I couldn’t walk or talk for a month.), current swelling of hands in the morning, recurrent sinus infections ( I ended up having sinus surgery because I couldn’t get rid of them), recurrent UTI’s (don’t worry- that was years ago, I’m all good now.) diaphragm spasms (this has only started happening in the last month and a half and frankly, I don’t care for it at all.)

*I am not a doctor, this is not advice, this is just a list of my symptoms past and present. If you suffer from these, it sucks to be you.

You might as well put me out to pasture and shoot me right now.

Looking over the list, what strikes me as interesting is that I don’t actually consider myself a sick person. I’ve been dealing with most of this stuff most of my life and this is just me. This is my body. Except for the seizures and migraines and the neuropathy and the cardiac problems this is the same ol’ me and I am grateful for the body that God gave me because it has gotten me through the birth of my babies, through all the living I have done and through the hell I have gone through. It truly has been my temple and I love it. As messed up as it is, I have told Lance that if the good Lord had wanted me back home, he’s had plenty of chances to take me and it would appear that he doesn’t want me yet. You know when you hear about those women who die in their early years they are always the ones who have their homes decorated with flowers and vinyl lettering and birds tweeting around their heads while the woman is singing and sewing and baking bread for the neighbors. Guess what I’m doing? Not. Any. Of. That. I’m as safe as it gets. I’m not sure he’s convinced but I am.

Alright, I’m signing off for tonight and sending my love and prayers to all of you and for whatever hardship you and yours are going through please know that your aches and pains are valid, your suffering is heard and God is real. Amen and goodnight.

Posted in Gratitude, Medical, Parenting, Uncategorized

MOVE OVER…I Am The Original Catfish

January 18th, 2013 . No Comments »

UHHHH….Excuse Me….What the Hell is Going On? I like the fact that some by-speckled documentary filmaker seems to have his own MTV show because he just happened to get into a relationship with a freakishly weird old woman and now he’s on ESPN offering his help to the crying angry Poly. Named Manti.

Um. Excuse me. I think we are forgetting something. I am the original catfish. I am the one to help Manti. I’m the one who took Howard the lying cheating “I just forgot I was married while I carried on with Julie for six months and pawned off my daughter as my niece and told you I was a Royal Marine which I still said I was after you found because you are clever and sent you you tube videos of missions I supposedly went on and told you I was going to move to Chicago so we could decide if we wanted to continue things and see if we wanted to get married and sent you numerous picures of my ‘niece’ and talked to you every day and even had you talk to my friends- some of who were in on this and some who weren’t and then got mad at you when you would ask questions to make you feel bad and then would pretend that that I was my cousin Allie and even videocam with you and I would mix fact and fiction and still to this day I’m sure you are trying to figure out what is truth or not and in the end I told you I loved you and that I was just confused” Millner and told him to rot in an everlasting hell along with some other choice words that happen to start with the letter F, S and that’s about all I can remember right now. Oh, and with a name like Manti I want to point out that I am LDS (except I put that on the shelf when I used those words that started with the F and S) so we could have a prayer before we talk about how to heal from the experience he’s just gone through…

And then of course it all worked out in the end because God brought Mr. Card into my life. And then I got heart problems. Not like the love kind although I obviously have those too but the real kind. I’m talking the kind where I have have a tube shoved in my nose giving me continuous oxygen and a woman standing over my bed giving me instructions in a stern voice all the while letting me know she’s not happy that I am home alone during the day and asking me if what happens if I leave the stove on if I have one of my spells and Dr. Dahl showing me how to hold my body in bizarre kamasutra positions which promote blood flow to the brain (nothing kinky here this is a PG site). Dr. Dahl is the cardiologist who was brought to me by Dr. McDreamy the assistant cardiologist. I have no clue what McDreamy’s name really is and really don’t care but he was just so nice that I”m sure he’s new in the profession because he actually sat down and asked questions and used his ears to listen and talked in completed sentences. This besides the fact that he smiled, shook my hand five times and made direct eye contact lead me to believe he hasn’t been turned to the dark side. Yet. I am going to put him on the prayer roll ASAP. Dr. Dahl keeps using words like “rare and unique” and “I don’t usually deal with this” and “you’ll have to see my partner because we just don’t see this problem very often” so when I quiz him about why they don’t see ‘this problem’ very often he says: it’s because it is rare and unique. Thank you Captain Obvious. What I mean is WHY? He tells me it is because they don’t see it very often.

Definition of a circular conversation: see above.

I have what is called POTS. If you want to feel depressed on my behalf follow the link: http://www.dinet.org/pots_an_overview.htm

Additionally to this load of crap, I have somehow screwed up my ability to breath or breathe. My phrenic nerve controls the diaphragm and it keeps having spasms and I stop breathing. In the scheme of things, it could be worse. I have a laminated list to remind me of that. Number 1 on the list is being a conjoined twin. Number 2 is being a Jew because they’ve really had a load of crap happen to them in the last 2000 years. As luck would have it, my Oma Lina and my Oma Haderek come from Ashkenazic Jewish heritage so basically this means I’m screwed. Really right now I think I can’t spell correctly and I’m sure there is some sort of medical condition for that as well besides stupidity but I can’t remember that either.

Ok, I had to take a bit of a break to GO TO THE HOSPITAL VIA AMBULANCE AGAIN but now I’m back. NOTICE TO SELF: I hate doctors (except my dear ol’ neighbor and Dr. Timmons) and today was no exception. I don’t even want to get into what happened today except to say that when they release you and say, “We would never release you if we thought this was a life threatening situation” and you look at your husband and look back at back at Dr. McIdiot and say:

“Really, well then next time when I stop breathing and my diaphragm doesn’t work, I’ll be sure to make sure that I keep NOT BREATHING THE ENTIRE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL FOR YOUR SAKE SO YOU CAN MAKE SURE THAT THIS ‘SENSATION’ I am having is legitimate. Oh, and next time why don’t you call the doctor who admitted me in the first place because she seemed to think it wasn’t just a ‘sensation’ when she saw it because she was scared enough she wouldn’t let me leave her office but admitted to me to the hospital immediately and why don’t you look at the cardiac notes from yesterday and just because you have never seen phrenic nerve damage that leads to diaphragm spasms doesn’t mean it doesn’t &%*(@#(*$ exist and I hope that when you read my %*$(@$&* obituary you feel good about releasing me and (I vaguely remember looking at Lance and saying) get me the %*@#(*%& out of here and I hate all doctors and maybe you can tell your neurologist on call that that she can Google breathing pacemakers because I did, so just because she has never heard of them Google has and so have I.” or something like that….

This segways nicely into how I got diagnosed with my actual diagnoses of POTS and Autonomic Insufficiency yesterday… so I went to my sweet Dr. Timmons (who I love) over at IHC in Saratoga Springs (and yes that is an endorsement and not even a veiled one at that) where I had one of my ‘sensations’ (gag) and my oxygen saturation went down to 84 (which is only a good number if you’re trying to get a suntan and then lo and behold I’m on my way to the hospital and then I’m hooked up to brain and heart probes and yada ,yada, given some cranberry juice (which has nothing to do with the story but I just really like juice when I’m at the hospital because I’m usually too cheap to buy it but if I’m going to be paying like $25,000 for a visit, I figure “what the hell”) and then they’re going to discharge me Thursday morning and I’m standing up while the neurologist (brain doctor) starts talking to me and explaining all of this stuff and I’m nodding and he’s trying to sell me swamp land in Utah and I’m nodding and thinking “wow, I hope I get some with gators” and finally he leaves and I lay down and the oxygen returns to the brain and then I’m like “what the hell did I just agree to? I’m not leaving here.”

This segways nicely into: OPERATION GO CRAZY AT THE NURSES STATION

POTS patients hallmark symptom is that our heart rate rises just by standing up. My heart rate will jump 50 beats within 20 minutes just by standing up and looking at a fly on the wall. In case you are wondering- this is not normal. Both the fact that it jumps 50 beats and the fact that I have nothing to do but look fly’s. Some of my other triggers are heat, stress, sleep deprivation, lack of food, illness, trauma, surgery, blah, blah, blah. Well, I had stayed up until 3 am so I could make sure to have some good episodes to record. Additionally, I didn’t feel hungry so I had barely had any breakfast or lunch. So, after I took a long hot shower to get the brain probe glue out of my head (mistake number uno), and hung out in front of the mirror for about oh, like a hundred years combing the residual brain probe glue out of my wet hair (mistake numero two), and then decided that I looked a bit frumpy so I wanted to flat iron my bangs (yeah…I’m serious…mistake number three), then I looked out the window for a while- I mean, I was on the fourteenth floor and had an incredible view- (mistake number four) and by then I was good and oxygen depleted. So what’s a woman to do who has talked her husband into leaving her alone at the hospital and who only has about five brain cells working at full capacity? Something like this:

1. Julie takes the pulse ox (machine that records oxygen saturation and pulse rate and sticks it on her finger) and unplugs machine from the wall.

2. Julie waits about 20 seconds to make sure the alarms start to sound (which means her pulse has gone to about 120-135 and then she starts her march towards the nurses station. S ….l…o…w…l…y…so allllll can hear

3. The nurses are doing what a lot of nurses do (not ALL nurses but a lot). They are huddled together talking. Finally one of them turns around because the alarm on my machine won’t quit. It is the heart rate alarm. By now I am shaking. I imagine I don’t look well. Plan is working.

4. “May I help you?” says nurse who is busily looking back and forth at me and the machine.

5. “Do you see this number” I say as I point to the 130 on the machine. By now all the nurses have turned around. The alarm hasn’t stopped. If a heart rate is above 120, the alarm sounds. “They want to release me today, as you can see, this is a high number and I’m not sure what you think but there appears to be a cardiac problem and I don’t think this is a good idea, what do you think?”

6. Nurse “I Don’t Want To Get Involved” tells me that I should go back to my room and I let her know that I am planning on standing there for just a few more minutes because by then I plan on passing out in the middle of the hallway to prove my point. She does not like this idea. I am shaking a bit more. I am hunched over a bit more. I imagine I look like death warmed over. Plan working me thinks.

7. She highly encourages me to go to my room. She’s going to get my nurse. Nurse Roxana (who by the way loves me and doesn’t think I look 38 which is sweet because I’ll be honest, I really look like hell right now) escorts me back letting me know that the cardiologist is coming to see me. I hit the bed in time to have one of my sensational episodes where my oxygen gets down to 78 (my new PR and since I’m not a runner this is the only way I can have a PR so don’t judge) and Roxana strokes my head and encourages me to breath (which I can’t because if I could I would but that’s ok, I appreciate the encouragement. We all need encouragement.) She bans me from leaving the bed after that and she is the one who brings me Dr. McDreamy who brings me Dr. Dahl and my diagnosis of POTS and Autonomic Insufficiency. (see how the circle of cardiac life happens eh?)

8. They release me with oxygen and a pill and let me know that I’m a lab rat and give me looks of “I’m sorry this has to be you.”

I give them looks back of “Don’t worry, I’m part Jewish and our people haven’t been wiped out in 2000 years, I’m not about to be wiped out now. ”

Posted in Medical, Reflection
Tags: doctors, oxygen deficiency, phrenic nerve, POTS

Brain Probes Give a Girl Perspective

January 17th, 2013 . 4 Comments »

Mr. and Mrs. Card

If I was to die right now, would my contribution to my family have made enough of a difference that I could rest in peace? Sure they would cry at the funeral and fuss about buying nice flowers but often that’s more about guilt rather than the quality of life a person leads. If funeral flowers were purchased based on integrity of life, how many more dandelion sprays would we see at cemetery’s rather than calla lilies and roses? See, when you spend a fair amount of your day Googling your symptoms and most of the prognosis’s end in the words “poor outcome” you’ve got to start thinking of what kind of an ass you’ve been to your kids and for that matter mankind in general.

In a very non-humorous way, let me explain what has been going on and if it doesn’t make sense, bare with me that I am off of oxygen, sleep deprived and am trying to induce a seizure while I sit here in the hospital trying to get my money’s worth. I haven’t posted on Facebook much in the last while, haven’t posted consistently on the blog and that’s because my brain hasn’t been working. After my tailbone surgery, I started having what appeared to be tonic clonic or grand-mal seizures that were uncontrolled. Many days were spent in bed fully exhausted not even able to bathe because even the heat of the shower would induce another episode. Dear Lance has been a trooper but I think he is even feeling the weight. I don’t see my husband “lose it” for lack of a better word but I told him that I needed him to go home and leave me at the hospital. I told him that there was no purpose in him staying here if the main reason was to do everything in my power to induce seizures- which means give myself oxygen deprivation by increasing my heartrate so I’ll end up passing out or my new form of excitement- some sort of diaphragm spasm where my diaphragm quits working and I can’t breath. It generally happens as a result of tachycardia (rapid heart rate which is not caused by exercise) but I’m lucky enough that I really don’t know when it will happen…like at the school board meeting last night….or at Mimi’s Cafe…or COSTCO…or the Timp Freeze…or at Noodles and Company…you get the drift.

I don’t share this because I want your pity nor do I want your congratulations for enduring anything. Not at all. In fact I feel quite blessed. I have a wonderful husband, we live in a wonderful place, I have a family I love, I have a firm faith and I have double medical coverage. I share this because a little over a year ago I felt perfectly healthy and one day after I had the flu, everything changed. I went from someone who was often dancing in the livingroom to being rushed to the hospital because I had passed out and ended up being unconscious for five hours and that is when the nightmare began. Sometimes life just throws us a curveball doesn’t it? We’ve just got to be prepared with the right mit to catch it in. I couldn’t imagine having any other spouse to support me through what I’ve been dealt with this last year. He has been my rock. Besides my reliance on my faith, my husband is stalwart. You know you are loved when your husband threatens to throw a doctor out of a seventh story window if they don’t figure out what is wrong with their wife. It made my heart flutter just a wee little bit….although that could have been a murmur now that I think about it.

Perhaps this is a gift from God? Perhaps this is an opportunity for me to fine tune my character. This could be my game changer. Now when I say “fine tune” that may lead you to believe that I am going to need small grit sandpaper to knock off those last remaining rough edges because I’m so close to exaltation I’m only but a small cloud away from knocking my head on the pearly gates. If by small grit what you are envisioning is sandpaper that Paul Bunyon would use to carve out the Grand Canyon then you and I are on the same page for two reasons: 1. You realize I am way messed up and I should live to be 1000 for all the crap I need to fix and 2. You hail from the Midwest or are descended from the Midwest and revere Paul Bunyon like any true American. God Bless You. We are almost extinct.

Julie’s New Gameplan 2013

1. Don’t die.

2. Maximize 401(k) contributions for Lance and myself

*If you are not familiar with the tax benefit of a 401(k) or 403(b), please talk to your HR advisor. Vesting schedules generally range from immediate vesting to a five year schedule and most companies will match your contribution up to 4%. This is free money people. This announcement was brought to you by the braintrust of Mrs. Julie Hanson Card Bankers Daughter Ex Banker Herself Who Probably Learned This In Utero.

3. Be nicer. Especially to jerks. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to be nice to a little old woman, it does take a Saint to be nice to a specific person I am thinking of in my head that shall remain nameless. Do you have one of those in your head too? Does that person almost make your head explode? Well, how about we just put that person in our little worry box and close that box and lock it and throw away the key? (Note to law enforcement officials: This is symbolic only)

4. Watch more Duck Dynasty and try to get adopted by Paw Paw Phil Robertson because I am damn sure he would love me if he just knew me. Mostly because I promise I would skin a bullfrog if he wanted me to and I’m not afraid of hard work and I love birds and I don’t consider myself a yuppie unless you count my uber awesome Michael Kors purse with matching wallet but that wasn’t really my fault that was the Silverback of the Hanson Clan John’s fault because he didn’t want me to feel bad that Mean German and Kris had one well actually Mean German has like 5 but I said I didn’t want him to spend the money and he was getting all “up in my grill” and giving me his Norwegian angry look so I was like “Fine, I’ll take this red one if I must” but besides that and the fact that I prefer to fly first class and enjoy Europe immensely I really like the woods. Oh, and Johnboy (that’s what we prefer to call him when we’re not referring to him as The Silverback) wants to buy land and live off the grid because he’s sick of all of the idiots he has had to deal with and he has a fair share of guns and ammo and lots of cammo and only buys his clothes at Cabela’s and the Harley store so he’s practically like Paw Paw Phil anyhow so it’s kinda like we’re like the Robertson’s anyhow except Johnboy wears a Rolex and rides a Harley on the weekends. Additionally, Johnboy is often sending Mean German property listings and for several years has been referring to what he terms as “The Hanson Family Compound so we can get away from the idiots” and although she rolls her eyes, I’ve decided she just hasn’t met enough idiots yet to make the idea enticing enough. Paw Paw Phil would be in agreement if he saw the type of property Johnboy was pitching to Katherine (as he calls her as that is her given name) as the acreage is large enough that I’m sure it would hold several duckblinds.

5. Get a portable oxygen container. There is something to be said about the craze of Oxygen bars of the ’90′s but there is even something more exciting about the mass of old people who walk around with their little oxygen bottles with them. Anyone who has oxygen deprivation on a regular basis understands the frustration of walking into one room, wondering why you are there, staring into space, looking around, folding some clothes that you see lying on the bed (are they dirty? do you even care? do they even belong to anyone in this house? who knows?) , passing out, regaining consciousness and forgetting that you don’t have pants on. Oh, that doesn’t happen to you? Well nevermind then….

6. Sending out more “thank-you emails and letters of appreciation.” I’ve got to work with what I have and frankly, I have about 20 thank-you cards sitting in my office and if I write those out I will probably die. No really, I will. I tried to visit a friend several months ago and walk to her home. An ugly vicious dog ran out (ok, maybe it was just ugly) from the garage and scared the ever living crap out of me, made my heart rate jump through my eyeballs and sure enough, the red-necks got to watch Mrs. Card hit the pavement and lay there for a while. Thankfully, it was a lovely summer day and Mrs. Card had a nice nap and when she did regain consciousness and hex the rednecks to hell, she picked herself up and merrily walked past them to her destination. Point being, scratched up knee and pride aside- wouldn’t someone rather receive a lovely email from you stating your thanks or appreciation or love or everlasting stalking behavior than nothing at all? Just do something. Stop thinking you have to give them the world- just write a damn note and press send. Do you realize how many batches of cookies I have made for others? Do you realize how many batches of cookies I have actually given to others?

Julie’s Math Lesson for Today*:

Batches of Cookies I’ve Made For others: 57

Raw Cookie Dough Batches I’ve Consumed out of those Batches: 35

Cookie Batches that Have Made It Out of the Oven For Others: 22

Batches that the kids or myself have eaten or Mr. Card: 11

Cookie Batches that have actually made it to their final destination: 11

*Please note that this is probably a gross overstatement as I’m sure that I’m not counting how often I’ve put cookies in baggies, put the baggies in the car and then forgot to bring them over to someone and then the kids find the baggies and eat them like they are a starving wolf. So basically, if I’m honest, in 20 years of being an adult I’ve probably brought 5 cookies to deserving needy people. Ever. What I’m saying is EAT YOUR OWN COOKIES, SPREAD LOVE VIA EMAIL RATHER THAN NO LOVE AT ALL.

7. I’m sending everyone I know the KLOVE challenge. Find KLOVE on 107.5 in Utah or Google Search KLOVE for your local listing and try listening to it for 30 days straight. Mr. Card was the only man I found through all of the men I perused that wrote that he listened to Christian music and he was also the only man who treated me with the utmost respect among other things. Mr. Card let me know a long time ago that he “traded in Queensryche for Jesus” and bless him for it.

Offtopic entirely because I’m not on oxygen (which is bizarre because I’m siting in the hospital with more wires stuck in me than a computer but no oxygen…..huh???)

What happened to all the 7-11′s and the popularity of the slurpee?

Does anyone remember drinking TAB when they were little?

I have an excellent recipe for homemade mascara on my Pintrest board if anyone is interested FYI- cheaper than MAC.

Am I the only one who abhors police drama TV shows?

Back on topic now…

I keep telling Lance that I’ve got so much to do in life that if God had wanted me there are so many opportunities he could have used to take me and this is just a bump in the road. Bumps give us perspective and what is nice is that often if we are wise we can gain perspective from others bumps (HINT HINT). I don’t see me going anywhere soon, not Heaven or Hell. I see me going home and making some cookie dough.

Posted in Gratitude, Medical, Peace
Tags: Duck Dynasty

I’m a Duck Dynasty Lovin’ German Super-Hero

January 5th, 2013 . 3 Comments »

Mr. and Mr. Card

Not that becoming a rogue Mormon is a resolution, it’s more of a fact. And now that I think about it, I’m not so sure that we’re “rogue” but more like old and cranky. And now that I think about it a bit more, we’ve really got to strike while the iron’s hot so to speak and take advantage of any day when I’m bathed and conscious. This last Saturday Mr. Card and I eloped to the LDS Mount Timpanogas temple to be sealed as husband and wife. All by ourselves. Kind of romantic. We topped off the day by getting take-out at his favorite Mexican restaurant, Costa Vida and watching Paint Your Wagon (which if I may include a rousing endorsement of this epic film- consider it done!)

This week we’re kind of batting 5/6 days on the seizure scale (and I’m not hitting in the positive if you know what I mean). I’m not even going to get in to the multiple number per days as that seems to put Mr. Card in a bad mood however, I put somewhat of a lighthearted spin on it today after #3 and let him know that I’m not convinced they’re seizures but more of a dramatic panic attack since I’m really not used to so many kids and they were making quite a bit of noise and I had rather preferred to be unconscious than deal with the racket. I then demonstrated how I could hold my breath and try to reenact the event but he wasn’t going for it. Rude. As a German, we laugh at many things. We’ve got to keep our humor, we live next door to the French. He’s mostly Scottish and they apparently have no sense of humor. I’m supposed to return to work this next Tuesday….hmmm…been doing a lot of deep thinking on that topic….this Sunday Deena from the Ambulatory EEG office is coming to hook brain probes to my head for 3 days in the hopes that I have seizures so they can figure out what is wrong with me. Please, no comments. Grace is concerned that it will be difficult for me to sleep and that somehow the probes will suck my brains out, I’m concerned that of all the days, nothing will happen and that I’ll just look pathetic, and my mother is concerned that “How the hell are you supposed to go to work? All you do is basically lay in bed most days?” Tis true Mean German, tis true…”

Isn’t it interesting this social media tool? I’d like to really see us put our absolute worst pictures up. I’d like to raise my arm to the square and let you know that Sunday evening I’ll be posting my brain probe picture up- just so if you’re having a fat day, or a crappy day or any day that just makes you feel like your life sucks in any shape or form, you can get some joy or satisfaction from looking at me. Merry Early Christmas/Birthday/New Years/Hanukkah, Arbor Day/Easter. In return, I’d just like you to think of Mr. Card driving me to Dr. Butt Kavorkian’s early Monday morning with my brain probes on because I’m banned from driving so he can take a look at his young Frankenstein and write me a note for another week of disability as it wouldn’t be too professional to TRY to be convulsing during work…would it? Think not. I miss work. I can barely remember what I did. Do they remember me? Like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of my life. Wow I miss Bo and Hope. These are the worries of my day. Gag, I need a life.

Alright, in the spirit of setting unrealistic expectations and then feeling bad about not completing them, I’d like to discuss resolutions. For the past 10 years, I’ve had several that are a basic carryover.

J.Card Resolutions That Actually Can Work. Maybe.

1. Increase my sewing skills (not going to happen but perhaps this is the year I remember how to thread my bobbin, I’m feeling lucky.)

2. Lose some weight, de-frumpify. (This does not include getting rid of my new hot pink Kevin Bacon t-shirt compliments of my sister because she bought one too and now we can be twinners even though we’re 3000 mile away twinners. What’s even the bomb is that if we move our stomachs a certain way, Rhenn (cuz that’s his Footloose name duh) will smile and wink at you. BONUS!)

3. Finally convince IHC to give me my own honorary parking stall because damn if I don’t deserve it. Or I’ll even take one of your lame bricks at one of your buildings. Whatever, I’m not picky but I know I’ve sure given you a crap-load of my $$$$$ over the last eighteen months.

4. If you have more than 1 child or 1 pet or even 1 husband, you deserve to take 2 days per weeks and ignore everything within the confines of your home. I’m not talking about pee on the floor nor vomit I’m talking about dishes, laundry, garbage etc. I can sanction this because I don’t do it and this leads to a little known American epidemic called “Xanax Consumption.” I resolve to ignore everyone for two days per week, let them eat cereal (with or without milk- I really don’t care), wear dirty clothes (even underwear I guess), let them cuddle with me, only scream about letting the dog out, politely ask to turn off the lights at night (I won’t even care when they go to bed because I am just glad they’re alive and getting nutrients from something they found in the pantry…even if it’s marshmallows or canned yams), and only focus on one homework item: The all important (drumroll please) Friday Spelling Test.

5. I commit to try to not swear. Mostly. At least not out loud. It seems to be causing Grace strife and I’m really getting annoyed at being chastened by an 8 year old or by my step-children comparing me to their mothers boyfriend with comments like “well, at least you don’t swear like him….you don’t say the F word…..” Thanks. I guess if the two of us were put in the Thunderdome, I would hope to have some bonus points…

6. I commit to ration my intake of Kneaders Bakery goods. My goal is that the people who work at our local Kneaders will not know me by name, or for those who already know me they will forget me without me having to use some sort of Harry Potter-like serum on them.

7. I want to go on a Honeymoon with my husband. I’m desperate enough I’ll even go to Salina. Or even Orem.

8. I want to not only survive this year, I want to thrive. I want to shed any grudges I have and really embrace my life with joy and gratitude. There are so many with so little who find such happiness in their surroundings and I want to be grateful because we have so much. So much includes an absolute stockpile of bullets for my Walther P22 so I can go target shooting in the desert before the Democrats come and confiscate my firearms. Besides that I have A LOT of brown sugar! Oh, I also have quite a few necklaces and narcotics because the doctor just kept dolling them out and since none of them work I’m practically Julieaid , or Juliegreens, or well…you get the picture.

9. I want to love my husband more, the kids more, feel more peace towards my situation, more gratitude for all that we’ve been blessed with and find ways to serve even if they have to be modified to fit my health. This does’t mean roll me around in a gurney this means, as much as I hate the kids getting up in my grill, I have to acknowledge that I’m not a spring chicken and if I was a spring chicken, I would be the one that was missing half of it’s feathers and probably had a second head growing out of it’s first head. Poor chicken.

10. Keep my mouth shut. Even shutting it by 10% more would allow a vast treasure trove of knowledge to flow my way. I really don’t have that much to say. I just am a yacker. You’ve got to get me right after a seizure and then you’ve got a captivated audience- I’m paralyzed. This would be the best time to pitch Amway or Mary Kaye or any type of MLM because I can’t complain. That being said, I highly recommend recording said conversations because I can not be responsible for anything said or any agreements entered into as I won’t remember anything and will claim the fifth. Consider this fair warning given.

10a. Journal, take it to God, take it to your spouse if you feel like that is a safe place, take it to a supportive women/mens group, find a workbook that works for you or a 12 step book, find a counselor or life coach- whatever void your heart is prompting you to look at I’m sure we’ve all got them, where are you being prompted to look for the answers on how to fill that void? Lance and I watched Fireproof and thought that the Love Dare was a great example on how to strengthen marriages. There are resources all over meant to strengthen families. Personally, before we can be strong in a family, we need to be strong individually.

11. Unfriend anyone on facebook that you could give a fig about and that includes me. If you friended me because you wanted to stalk me for a few days, or try to figure out why I got divorced or how I got so chubby to begin with and then how I lost weight well here’s a thought: ASK. If I am that offended, I’ll just unfriend you, If I’m not, I won’t and I’ll just answer. So, if in the next while I unfriend you, it means I don’t really care how many farmville animals you have, don’t care that you play farkle and don’t give a rat’s ass that you love the President. Oh, and I really don’t care that you just went to your Great Aunt Sally’s pickling and preserving party. Well, actually, I’m always up for some new recipes for pickling and preserving so I acted a bit hasty with that last remark.

12. Eat more leafy greens and that includes trying some ridiculous tea that is made from Parsley. Supposedly it works. If not, I’m throwing it down the drain. This was Meg’s idea and I’m looking at it as a form of Mommy-Daughter bonding.

13. Be a kinder, gentler German. You know how super hero’s sometimes get stronger when they are around different elements or weaker if they’re around others? Well, as I age I seem to become more German. It’s like my blood becomes more steel, my words become more acidic and my glare becomes more icy. It’s like I’m a superhero in my own right and these powers are passed down from generation to generation to generation.

Elements of a German Superhero

1. Housecoat (this is our version of a cape)- check

2. Packets of spices that we pickle our cucumbers in with vinegar for dinner- check

3. Ability to make schnitzel- check

4. Ability to make roladen- check

5. Ability to cut you to the core with our words- check (albeit we just think we are being realists)

6. Use of ”daggers of ice” that burst forth from our eyes when we’re not happy- check

7. Silent laughter that leaves us breathless at human events that are typically regarded as “dark comedy”- check

*Mean German has this down pat, my sister and I still use noise.

8. Index finger used as a wand to point out every article of clothing, or unfinished chore as I march around the house* with my housecoat and daggers of ice-check

*some may refer to this as goose-stepping but they would be wrong. And rude but mostly wrong.

So let’s wrap this up in a pretty bow- Ultimately, I just want to live and love this year. I want to walk around the block again. The whole block and without having to pause and fall down while the rednecks watch me convulse like they did in the fall may the rot in an everlasting pit but that’s another story and I’ve forgiven them. I wish you and yours peace and perspective because the older I get I’m beginning to believe more than ever that with those two components we can truly take whatever our mortal existence gives us and add to that our faith and a little episode of Duck Dynasty and it’s all good. It’s all good.

Please share with me what “ah-ha” moments you have had of late so I can glean some inspiration. No really, I’m serious. Don’t just read this damn thing and go away.

Posted in Gratitude, Parenting, Reflection
Tags: Facebook, German Super-hero, LDS, Leafy Green Vegetables, new years resolution, Social Media, Temple

I Bought My Daughter Stripper Pants

December 26th, 2012 . 2 Comments »

…so it would seem that in the gift giving department not all gifts are appreciated nor looked on with the same enthusiasm. In my defense, I thought I was being a hip and cool mom- I mean they are pants that Demi Lovato promotes. Lance, however did tell me they were ugly but almost all the clothes those young bucks wear these days are ugly so that means nothing to me. Yes they are metallic gold. So? Yes, they are tight fitting. So? I prefer to call them snug. I thought they were just rockin’. As we face-timed with my sister and Mean German in South Carolina, Kris let me know that the last time she saw pants like that was in Austin Powers, Goldmember. Whatever. I have the receipt so shut up. Sorry Meg. Her dad did buy her a Ukelele so all is well in the world and Lance did get her nice perfume so I guess stripper pants are the least of her worries right now. Oh, and we also gave her tools. And a work-belt. Granted, she opened up all of these before she got her girly gifts so I’m pretty sure she thought she had landed in hell or on an episode of Punked but I let her know that we were trying to provide her with a well-rounded upbringing and that if all of the men in the world were dead she needed to know how to do household maintenance. She and I have been having “if all of the men in the world were dead” conversations for several years now so she’s semi-hip on the idea of woman power but not so sure she was semi-hip to open a box which contained a hammer. Or an exacto knife. Or a measuring tape. You get the picture…

Just so you don’t feel so bad for her, Mean German had bought her Mek jeans with enough jewels on the butt that she could cause traffic accidents if she’s walking across the street in the summer and reflects the sun just right.

And then it would seem that either Santa or Lance and myself ruined Sequoia’s Christmas because she was certain that she was getting a parrot. A $1200.00 parrot. About a month or so ago when the parrot arrived on the wishlist, Lance let her know that Santa doesn’t do birds. This, in tandem with the fact that she didn’t like any of the clothes she got and the brainchild from Grace that “Well, then why don’t you just give them to me? We are the same size you know!” didn’t bode well for the spirit of the morn. I tried to give Grace the death glare but I was in a rather precarious position knowing full well that my tush had a long day ahead so she was oblivious (purposely or not we’ll never know…) Later in the morning when I sensed that the spirit of Christmas languished in Sequoia somewhat I had her come to me while I lay like a pathetic sick women on the couch. I felt somewhat like the women of old who sniff the oils every now and again and flutter their hankies over their faces although I am out of my oil and the hankie is in the wash. Anyhoo…. it went something like this:

Me: “Sequoia, I sense that something is wrong.”

Quoia: “No, nothing.”

(and we go through the song and dance yada yada until….)

Quoia: “Well, I really thought I was gonna get a parrot.”

Me: “Well, honey….”

(and then I’m stupid enough to try to explain budgets and costs of parrots and how I don’t work currently and blah blah blah and the like and how $1200.00 would be like me working for x amount of time and would that really be fair to the family? )

Quoia as she looks at me dead serious: “Well, I would do it. I’d work for that if it was me. And you know that thirty dollars you took and put into that college account (from last year), I didn’t really want it to go there, I wanted it to save to buy a parrot but now I can’t have it.”

Julie: “Sweetie, don’t you want to go to college?”

Quoia: “No. I don’t want to go until I’m my Dad’s age.”

Quoia 1. Julie 0

Julie: “Laaaaannnnnccceeeee, will you come over here?”

After his dismal attempt at explaining Santas bird policy, she lets him know that Santa does bring birds and if he doesn’t, she doesn’t know why we couldn’t provide and she’d like to figure out a manageable timeline for the purchase of said bird. When an arbitrary number like “2-3 years” is thrown out, you’d think we had killed all desire to live. With a gentle reminder that she did have two parakeets upstairs chirping away, she reminded us that there was money at her mothers house that she wanted to buy her brother a parakeet for Christmas and evidently that was our fault as well.

You know those kids in China, Africa, South America? The ones who don’t have enough to eat, don’t have clean water or shoes (except the ones who are fortunate to wear Toms?) I’m pretty sure it’s all our fault. Just Lance and I. No one else.

We didn’t screw up the boys Christmas. Except Caleb’s. So, when you have more kids than you can remember their names you get a bit confused about shopping. That’s code for: I had only been shopping once and just thrown a bunch of stuff in a cart and thought that I’d figure it out later. The problem is that later was Christmas day and later was too late. So everyone unwraps their load and Lance and I look at one another and this realization comes over us that Caleb has like A WHOLE LOT LESS than anyone else and then I remember that in the trunk of the car is a bunch of clothes we were going to take back ( because he needed those extra clothes as much as Meg needs stripper pants and Quoia needs a parrot) and oh crap I feel bad right about now because he’s wandering aimlessly and you see this expression like “hmmmmm…..why is everyone still opening presents and I am wandering around aimlessly?” So I try to pull it out of the gutter with a “Hey Caleb, come over here sweetie” and whisper in his ear, ” Your dad and I want to take you to buy your own megabloks. How does that sound?” Obviously that sounds great. Duh.

We would have had a lovely Hanson traditional breakfast of souffle and homemade cinnamon rolls but someone forgot to buy groceries. That would have been me. I’d like to share the blame with Mr. Card and the realization that he is intolerant of gluten intolerance. Christmas Eve was spent with his family who all suffer from Celiac disease and lance suffers from sufferers of Celiac disease. Their food makes him sick. Our food makes them sick. It’s basically a battle of who can kill who faster. Ironic isn’t it? By the time his intestines had exited and reentered his body all the stores were closed and since I’m banned from driving, we had eggs for breakfast. And pop. And junkfood. And I took some new narcotic Dr. Kavorkian gave me on the off chance it would work (it didn’t) but the side effect did- drowsiness. So I was dopped for much of Christmas which wasn’t that bad as it was a kind reminder that I had no turkey dinner to feed my family. Sniffle sniffle. We returned to the Card family in the afternoon for a Duck Dynasty marathon, I slept, Lance ate cautiously, I slept, we came home, I slept, Lance watched movies with the boys, I woke up, Meg and I bonded while she doodled in my bed.

At about midnight or so, when Lance slid into bed and I curled up next to him I asked him if we hadn’t discussed the idea that we were only going to give each of the kids three gifts this year to symbolically remember the gifts given to Jesus. He answered in the affirmative. “What happened?” He said he didn’t really remember but obviously things had not gone as planned. The kids had a great day, there were many laughs and family togetherness, they didn’t care that we had scrambled eggs, or that we actually didn’t eat dinner at all (whoops), in fact this was the first Christmas that all six kids were together which was incredible. Last year, farming them out to their other parent was difficult to say the least and even though Rob and I enjoy a good relationship and we got to see Meg and Grace, we only saw our other four for 45 minutes on Christmas day. Grandma and Grandpa Card weren’t even allowed to see their grand-kids last year. It was tough to say the least. This Christmas, Rob and I talk to one another and the girls go back and forth because we understand the importance of family- all family.

Lance and I have been married almost eighteen months and certainly have been schooled in this experience of blending families. We continue to learn and learn from our children. My how naive we were and still are. It’s a good thing we love each other so much and that all of us enjoyed such an extended honeymoon phase or I don’t’ know how we would have made it this far. Above and beyond that, however is our faith in God. Without it, I don’t know how families survive these days. Even as much as I share, I don’t share all of the struggles our family goes through but sufficed to say, without our conviction in God our family would have crumbled months and months ago. Prior to my husbands divorce he started coming back to God which was a lifeline for him and although we are LDS by faith, he does not strike most as an LDS man. His favorite music is from KLOVE, his favorite bands are Casting Crowns, Jeremy Camp, The Dave Crowder Band- all Christian rock.

Lance wears a necklace with a cross on it and sees nothing wrong with it. He has two tattoos. He is a Master Freemason. He has a solid testimony of the LDS church and he also is the man you will see sending his wife poems, drawing her pictures, pushing the cars stuck along the side of the road etc etc. Lance’s favorite places to shop are the Harley Davidson store, Hobby Lobby and Cabela’s. No, he is not gay. He is an artist and he only goes to the paint section. He was a biker for many years but wrecked several years ago when he blacked out and thought he killed Connor and he hasn’t ridden since. I offered to learn and he could ride on back but as any self-respecting man he said, “I don’t ride bit**” (in the biker world, this is not vulgarity, this is standard fare language…)

In the LDS faith, husbands and wives have the opportunity to be sealed in temples. What this means is that we believe the covenants we make in the temple go beyond the grave and that our relationship extends through the eternities. We believe that man in an eternal being- if matter can not be created nor destroyed, neither can man. We believe that after we die, we will live as families. Do I believe that if you aren’t sealed in the temple you are damned? Hell no. I come from far too many wonderful protestants to think such a thing. This being said, Lance and I are going to be sealed this Friday in the Mount Timpanogos Temple. I wanted to share some pictures for all of my friends who aren’t LDS so you would know that:

a- no virgin sacrifices occur in the temple. Ever.

b- no goat are sacrificed. (at least not when I’ve been there…)

c- I’ve been going to the temple for 17 years now and have only ever found it to be a place where I can ponder, gain understanding, meditate, leave the cares of the world behind, eat good food in the downstairs cafeteria.

If you have questions, I’d be more than happy to answer them unless they are stupid.

Mt. Timpanogos Temple

https://www.lds.org/church/temples/why-we-build-temples/inside-the-temple?lang=eng

Posted in Christmas, Gratitude, Parenting, Peace, Reflection
Tags: christmas, presents

Ho Ho Ho- Merry Christmas from Me

December 23rd, 2012 . 2 Comments »

Dear Friends, Family and Random Strangers who are Voyeurs,

*We are keenly aware this photo sucks, we need no reminders. However, it is what it is. It includes all of us, the tree and as much spirit as we could muster on that day.

Grace’s Birthday party, Post Surgery for Julie, Lance trying to have fun

Here is my Christmas Card. I generally don’t like to write Christmas Cards because mine are dismal and full of complaining, whining and basic crap. However, I have been under the impression that if my situation can sparkle a bit of cheer in your life then it may be worth it to share…

I’ve often heard that if everyone threw their trials in a bucket they’d pick out their own. I call BS on that. Several years ago at church I heard this followed by hushed whispers which included phrases such as “I wouldn’t take Julie’s. I absolutely agree with this lesson.” And I’m sitting there thinking, “Who the hell thought of this?” I’m looking around thinking, “I’d take her’s or her’s or even her’s.” There’s a double amputee over there or a blind person- good hell, that would be a cakewalk compared to what I’m going through right now. (Please if you are a double amputee blind person, please please do not write me a letter…it was just a poor attempt at showing how miserable and whiny I was. It was a rough time.)

Twenty minutes ago I took a narcotic and I’m patiently waiting to see if I am going to have an anaphylaxis reaction to it. I’m listening to Burl Ives which takes a bit of the edge of in case my throat closes in. I know I’m anaphylaxis to benadryl and percocet and have a laundry list of other allergies to medications so we just bide our time until the next emergency room visit where they rip my clothes off and pound my chest while spraying Narcan up my nose and screaming “BREATH!” What strikes me as ironic is that if I could breath, don’t you think I may just make an attempt to do so? Do I strike you as the type of modern Milly who enjoys their shirt cut down the middle and acid squirted up their nose just for the sheer hell of it? Silly me. Why don’t I just enjoy hot warm baths like the rest of you…..

Meg doesn’t have an Epi-Pen here so Lance assures me he’s seen the MASH episode where, if need be, he can give me a “trach” with a pen. I’ll count that as blessing #1. Listening to Burl Ives is blessing #2.

Like many of you who write out Christmas Letters, I’m going to give you a rundown of all the members of the family, all of their outrageous accomplishments etc. etc. and how they’re going to rule the earth one day.

Sage: Sage actually goes by Giddeon because that’s his middle name and I just don’t call him that because it confuses the crap out of me so this has (I’m sure) caused him some identity crisis (which I think is somewhat his fault) because who decides to change their name when they’re like 16? So, I call him Sage, other people call him Gid, some others call him Giddeon and when I’ve had a seizure I refer to him as #1. He’s been through a lot as all kids do after going through a divorce but he’s really come out on top. He can play basically any instrument you put in his hands- you could probably give him two blades of grass and he could make it sound good. He has become my new driver and I like to sit in the back and we pretend it’s “Driving Miss Julie.” I’m very proud of how well he’s done in school this year, how well he’s doing in life considering how much we are screwing him up. Depending on the day he wants to be an engineer, professional musician, writer, ruler of the free world….yeah, he’s your average almost 17 year old and we love him. Oh, and he thinks raman noodles are a food group. They are not. Sage got a 3.87 GPA this last term, I think he may have slept through most of his classes….I asked him if he felt challenged. He said no. I told him I’m taking this up with administration. He begged me not to.

Connorboy: Connorboy has no intention of ever moving out and would like to make weapons of mass destruction in our basement. This disturbs me because I actually think he has the capability to do so. Connorboy will be 15 on April 1st and until this last year it was a family rule that you weren’t allowed to torment Connorboy on his birthday. Who thought of this crap idea? I say torture away. Connor is a deep thinker, pacer and I’m taking a portion out of his grade allowance to replace the carpet he’s wearing through with the pacing. He is a peacemaker and is always willing (ok, always may be a stretch) to volunteer or pick up the slack and as such kind of gets the short end of the stick. We’re trying to toughen him up so we feed him Wheaties with actual bullets in them. His teeth are chipping off but we think he’s getting the point. Connorboy will be getting his learners permit in April (or so he thinks) and I am stashing away extra Xanax because the thought of this makes me ill. Connor got a 4.0 this last term. I am not sure he even tried. Gag.

Meggie Moo: Meg is our rockstar. No really. She’s the drummer for her school- and she is really good. Not like the “oh, you’re just her mom good” but actually good. She’s not Ringo Starr yet but she’s working on it- sans big nose. She is also the captain of her junior high basketball team and they’re not exactly Disney movie worthy unless you’re talking about the movie that is about the team with a lot of spirit that loses all the games but whatever… (however she did score 14 out of 20 points at the last game and I will admit I was proud- not proud like God will smite me proud but proud like “damn that’s my kid proud”) Meg is a good soul, I sense that she reaches out to others and befriends them. I have hoped to instill in her that we need to be instruments in God’s hands and listen to that small voice that will lead us to those who may need a kind word or deed and I hear back stories from others on the kind of young lady she is becoming so I think it is working. I don’t take credit for this because I truly believe we basically come how we come but I feel blessed to be her mom. I do not, however, feel blessed that she is currently walking around playing a ukelele all day.

Caleb: Caleb is our special kid. Caleb has a brain disorder called agenesis of the corpus collosum. Basically Caleb is 12 but emotionally only about 6-7 in most ways. He loves to hug and play legos. He loves to throw some very incredible tantrums. He loves to not do homework. He loves to love people. Especially strangers in reststops. “Julie, I just met an immigrant. He speaks spanish.” “Caleb, dear, we do not talk to strangers, especially at rest stops in Rawlings, Wyoming. They could kidnap you. And how do you know what the word immigrant means anyhow? You don’t even know how to tie your shoe?” Caleb is the one who reminds us during family prayers that he is happy that he comes from such a “big happy family” even after we have had a really rotten family day. He’s the one who lets God know what an “awesome planet” we are living on even after we’ve just had a rotten day on this planet. Basically, Caleb reminds us that we needs to be like a little child regardless our age. Thank you Caleb.

Sequoia and Grace: I am going to lump them together for the following purposes- they are kind of like twins for a number of reasons- they are only 6 months apart, they drive me equally crazy and they are redheads. How could I get SOOOO lucky to have two type A personalities who have come from divorced situations? Add in a dash of sugar, spice and attitude and migraines and I’ve got the perfect storm. Lucky me! I guess the icing on the cake is that as a Mormon I don’t drink and I’m even luckier that narcotics don’t work on me so I just get to enjoy their spunky little personalities.

If Sequoia had a superpower she would be able to glare me to death. If Grace had a superpower she would be able to chastise me to death. Both are equally as potent. It’s like the Wonder Twins but in an evil way. Both love their American Girl dolls. Both are highly intelligent. Quoia loves math, Grace loves reading and using the word “annoying and actually.” Is it illegal to put nice, pleasant pills into their water bottles at night? The girls let me know that if we forget to have our evening scripture study they often do it by themselves up in their room which shows me that this strong will, when turned for good, is a great force for good. I also know that Sequoia is deeply devoted to her father, as Grace is deeply devoted to me. These little ones have been through a lot in their young lives and as anyone who has been through a divorce situation- being put in a blender as all of these kids have- you come out with war wounds and it just takes time. Lots of time, grace, love and healing.

We arrive at the patriarch of the family- Mr. Card. Bless this good man. He’s had to put up with a lot. I am not an easy woman to live with. I thought I was. I was lying to myself. I came from a place where I was the decision maker and generally in control because I felt like I needed to be and so it is very difficult for me to give up power and control. I tend to think I am correct. He likes to say I am and then give me a friendly wink-I’m still trying to figure out if this is a sarcastic wink or if he’s admitting defeat… Lance is working on his bachelors degree through Western Governors University (and I want to give him a shout out because this is the man who dropped out of high school at 16 and has cruised through over a year of college in 7 months), works full-time as a web designer, takes on contract work for designing websites, contract work for commissioned art pieces, serves in our church and is still very proud to be part of the group that will topple the US Government- the Free Masons. And in his spare time, he drives me to hospitals for fun. He’s looking for a cheaper way to get me Lorna Doone’s as well.

Patriarch #2- Bear. Bear is now down to about 5 teeth and over the last month I’ve noticed they’re all jutting outwards. Like I mean at a 90 degree angle to his mouth. I’m a bit concerned and when you add this to the fatty tumors in his abdomen I’m wondering if this is his last Christimas…and yet he is just as plucky as when I saved his sorry butt at the shelter 9 years ago. When I asked his groomer to check his abdomen because I was concerned about him and she announced that he did indeed have tumors, she could see the shock and horror in my eyes. When I returned several hours later for my groomed little Bear Bo Baggins, she informed me that ‘He has a definite will to live!’ and I shouldn’t be discouraged as she hasn’t seen dogs have his age so plucky. I left with firm resolve that Bear truly is one of the dogs who helped guard the Holy Grail and somehow escaped and landed in the animal shelter in Murray, Utah….and yes, dogs have helped guard the grail. I’m sure of it so shut up.

Matriarch #1- Moi. Ya know, this year has kinda sucked, kinda been great. I was unaware that everyone thinks I have crappy health until Lance informed me of it several nights ago. I let him know in no uncertain terms that I’m just going through a small bout of “bad luck” and that my ex-husband thought the same thing and that they’re both crazy and if I hear it from him again, he’s sleeping on the couch. I consider myself healthy- with a side of mishap thrown in. Lance just winked at me. Really Lance, did I need the winking sarcasm? I’m working on my tush tolerance by sitting as much as I can daily until I want to cry, the neurologist is also ordering me a home EEG monitoring thinga-ma-jiggy which in layman terms means I get to wear a swimming cap with a bunch of probs sticking out of it and look like a weirdy for about 3 days so she can rule out if this new round of seizures is epileptic based or pain based. What this also means is that unless I want to leave the home and have half the human race feel sorry for me and hand me money or start tying ribbons around trees that I walk by, I should probs just stay at home. Some of my besties and Lance think that I should leave home because it will make Lance look even awesomer that he’s willing to be with such a pathetic woman who looks like she’s nigh unto death…nice. real nice. Which leads me to my MRI results- so I’ve got some white spots which I guess is normal for someone “like us as we age” says the ER doctor to me as I’m in the hospital last Sunday. He was about 60. I did try to smile through my age spot. Thanks Mr. Doctor. Merry Christmas. I have named my brain spots: Larry, Curly and Moe. I call it comedic relief.

Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock no doubt you’ve heard of the tragedy that has struck the elementary school in Connecticut. Doesn’t that put our lives in perspective? Or shouldn’t it? Isn’t it interesting how the loss or potential loss of a loved one makes all of your bills, bank account balances, health care woes, bad grades, fights with family members, nice shoe that you just stepped in dog poop with, sour milk you just chugged straight out of the jug (and yes, that’s another story for another time and I can thank my sister for that one), or any other here and now concern just feel like exactly that. Here and now. I remember several weeks after Isaac died going to church and one of the ladies talking about the power of prayer and of losing her wallet in the grocery store and her daughter and her praying to find it. Lo and behold a stranger returned it with all of the cash inside and she spoke of the sweet faith of her daughter and I sat in the back of the room boiling over. Did this somehow insinuate that my faith was not enough? Did God not answer my prayers? Time has given me some perspective on the matter, and I’d like your thoughts on this as well so please chime in.

I do believe God answered the prayer of that tiny girl and her sweet faith, and I also believe that during my deep trial and test I was comforted. I don’t believe God sits on his throne and points his finger and zaps hither and yon to smite us. I believe that oft times, life just give us what it gives us- either in the form of man’s inhumanity to man, Satan’s influence which runs rampant on this earth, our own consequences to breaking commandments, rotten damn luck or some small times God’s proving us like Job but that God is ALWAYS there with his arm outstretched to give ultimate comfort, grace, mercy and love in the form of his tender spirit, the love from others who heed that spirit and through the sacrifice of his son, Jesus Christ. This is what gets me through.

We often say that Jesus is the Reason for the Season but perhaps I’d like to say that Jesus is what Gets me Through the Seasons.

Love to All.

Posted in Gratitude, Medical, Parenting, Peace
Tags: children, christmas, divorce, God, Jesus

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