Monday, August 17, 2009

i want my mamma (gram)

i flat out refused to be nervous about it.

oprah's guru says, Always work with it, not against it. whatever it was: it was meant to be for my good, eventually. i was determined to hold onto my shit, even if it turned out to be something shit-losing worthy.

it's earlier than i'm usually out the door and i'm in a waiting room drinking coffee, whose aroma and color remind me of dirt. my ipod plays Superman by REM. the words come into my ear like someone talking to me, "i am superman. and i know what's happening. i am superman and i can do anything." i recognize that it's god talking to me. i almost start to cry.

about two weeks ago my gyno had been rooting around on the boob like she does every year. we were in the middle of our usual, meaningless annual well-woman chatter. "I found a lump," she says, looking over her shoulder as she washes her hands. my world flashed black. "You whah...?"
"it's squashy, i almost missed it," she wiped her wet hands and looked me in the eye as i lay there trying to shield my vulnerability with a paper sheet. "i would tell you if i had a bad feeling about it. I don't. It's not hard or immovable. but let's look at it. I'll schedule a mammogram."

so here i sit. drinking dirt. listening to god use michael stipe to mess with my head.
"i am superman and i know what's happening." i got this one, god was saying. i wasn't sure what it meant for the results and i caught myself choking on fear tears.

a woman sat beside me, studying credit-card sized jesus pictures, with a prayer on the back. she had a little stack of them and sometimes would hold a couple of them side by side and just whisper her prayers. then cross herself. her eyes were watery.

i was flat out determined not to be nervous.
she was freaking me out.
so i moved.

then i got called to the back. it is a surreal experience to sit in a waiting room topless with other topless women. all three of us in a row. in jeans. black lady to my left. older, gray-haired woman to my right; we sat in silence, clutching our open-in-the-front hospital gowns and staring at the little television.

this was my first mammogram and it wasn't as bad as i thought. i pictured the machine as a huge refrigerator door into which each of my boobs would be ceremoniously slammed. it wasn't nearly that violent or painful. but as i stood there, with the young tech maneuvering my breasticle between the plates, like a fresh-caught fish, i was aware that i was terrified. She gave no indication of what she saw except to say (after i asked), "yes, i see it. it's white. that could mean it's nothing. or it could be cancer." wow. thanks for that.

she took the scans to the radiologist and told me to wait.

i had no contact with the mysterious radiologist, but i had the distinct impression that he was much like the wizard of oz--somewhere behind a curtain, with the little techs coming to him like the citizens of the emerald city, asking for answers.

whatever he saw, the great radiologist ordered a sonogram.

the sonogram tech was not gorgeous. not plain. not write-worthy, really in any way except for the bollywood movie soundtrack she played and sang to while she rolled her sticky wand over my boob so hard i jerked back in pain up a couple times. "is that it?" she'd say. "um, yeah, can't you feel it?" i answered. like duh, you're hurtin me here. "yeah, i can see it," she said, "i just didn't know what it was." nice. isn't that the whole freakin reason i'm here.

from there, she cleaned me up and sent me on my way. by now, the initial terror had worn off with so much boob goo, stilted smalltalk and indian melodies.

i believe that words give power. So i didn't tell anyone (almost) about the lump. only one chick pal, who had gone through a lot of similar stuff and ... i told The Guy. The two days following the mamma/sono were surprisingly calm. What's done is done, i kept telling myself. The Guy comforted me in his no-bullshit way, which is the only way i can accept comfort. "It's just a picture," he said, "from there, you might do a needle biopsy. Then they might remove the whole thing to look at it. you might not know for a month. Don't waste your energy worrying about. not yet, at least."

The lump, it turns out, is a spectacularly unsexy calcium deposit. A degenerative calcium deposit, to be exact, which not only implies stony boob bumps, but OLD stony boob bumps.

when i hung up from the doctor's phone call, i felt my diaphragm expand. i realized i'd been holding my breath for two days. i haven't come up with a snappy ending for this one. maybe there's not one.

Monday, August 03, 2009

i totally got drunk with the dooce at blogHer and all i got was this crappy post

i know, right? made you click. i'm going to start titling all my posts with some reference that only the really truly cool blogees will know about and those minions will consistently click, driving up my hit counter higher. and higher.



First things first: i did not get drunk with the dooce. i mean: duh. she just had a baby. okay, that's when most women start the really serious drinking. but she's totally mormon. do mormons drink? i actually don't know any mormons. when i meet the dooce, i'm going to ask her if she drinks. and if she does, i'm totally gonna challenge her to a shot contest. or at least buy her a shot. i not only didn't go to the BlogHer conference, i'd have to google it to know where or when it was. and what it is. or was.



but you're here now and that's what counts.



this blog has become like a dorky little kid that follows me home from third grade.

pesky blog: hi jewels! you gonna write something soon, huh? you think you'll write something? i sure do like it when you write something. you wanna write soon, Huh? do ya? huh?

me: beat it kid

pesky blog: you're so funny jewels! you're hilarious. i like your new shoes. are those new shoes? they sure are nice. you think you're gonna write something soon? do ya? huh?

me: beat it kid. i got laundry to chastise. kids to fold. very important appointments to run late for.



it's been a long time since my last post (which i can't even remember, so i'm certain it was el lame-o. however: a very cool sidenote concerning my last post--and part of the reason why i'm writing now--i got a comment from (get this) BOSSY. i swear i almost peed a little when i saw her name in my inbox. Freakin' Bossy~ read my blog. and left a comment to prove it. Listen, i'm not cool like yall blogHer people. i don't have a badge on my blog. wouldn't know how to put it on this thing anyway. i'm just a writer. sitting in my living room. watching infomania. and out of nowhere Bossy reads my blog. so cool. wish it wasn't such a lame post. anyway... what was i saying? oh yeah, long time since last lame post. well get ready kiddies. here comes another one. sort of.



see, the thing is, i get a lot of great ideas for posts. all day. well, some days. but i can't decide what to write about. and they're starting to pile up. which intimidates me. and makes me not want to write even more. (makes me less want to write?) which makes this pesky little kid hang around my daydream brain. i told you about it. jeez. pay attention. so you decide. you're a cool unknown, random person at a screen. you know where blogHer was. you know i didn't get drunk with dooce.



or did i?



i'm not in the right clique to do one of those awesome random contests, where you get cool free stuff for leaving a comment at the right time on the right day. not that any company would send me free shit to give away on my blog. and let's face it, even if they did i wouldn't give it to you. i love free shit. mine baby. but like a little boy in mommy's nightgown, i can pretend to be beautiful. and i'm giving you a chance to tell me what to do.



so here's a list of a few things i'm mulling around in my blog-brain. take a look, and let me know what you wanna read about. and i'll write it. maybe bossy will read it. and if black hockey jesus leaves a posthumous comment, i may soil myself. with joy.



Blog Bit #1:

It was a surreal moment. i'd been lost in a flashback triggered by facebook comments from names i used to yell down high school hallways. watching johnnie carson. listening to flock of seagulls. barettes. the grassy wet smell of a football field about 7:00 on a friday night in october. sitting in the backseat. i look up and see my kid. "hey, who's the kid in my apartment" then it hits me: i don't live in an apartment. high school was like three big blocks of memory lane behind me. i'm a grown up. i've gone to the dark side. these are the days i used to tell myself about in college. this is : One Day.

remember?

one day i won't be able to lounge around and do nothing, so i think i'll skip class today and smoke pot.

one day i'll have a budget, so today i'm gonna go out and blow my last twenty bucks on a B-52s album and jack in the box.

Today is One Day. and that's a pretty scary day.



Blog Bit #2

i flat out refused to be nervous about it. accept: then act. it's what oprah's guru says, but i like it anyway. it's earlier than i'm usually out the door and i'm in a waiting room drinking coffee, whose aroma and color remind me of dirt. my ipod plays superman by REM. a lifetime fave, but the words come into my mind like someone is telling me something, "i am superman. and i know what's happening. i am superman and i can do anything." i recognize that it's god. i almost start to cry. god pumps on my faith. i got this one, god was saying. i wasn't sure what it meant about the results. a woman sat beside me, studying credit-card sized jesus pictures, with a prayer on the back. she had a little stack of them and sometimes would hold a couple of them side by side and just whisper her prayers. then cross herself. her eyes were watery. i was flat out determined not to be nervous. she was freaking me out. so i moved.

the sonogram tech was not gorgeous. not plain. not write-worthy, really in any way except for the bollywood movie soundtrack she played while she rolled her sticky wand over my boob so hard i teared up a couple times. "is that it?" she'd say. "um, yeah, can't you feel it?" i answered. like duh, you're hurtin me here. "yeah, i can see it," she said, "i just didn't know what it was." nice. isn't that the whole freakin reason i'm here.



Blog Bit #3

so what i'm sayin is: if you're married, stay married. dig in your heels, give it all you got. tomorrow will be better. stay connected with sex and laughing. it's worth it. if you can stick it out, you'll have something truly sacred to be proud of by the time you check into assisted living. love your spouse. accept him. tell her she's sexy. be faithful. relationship is the most rewarding, single most important investment you can make while you're on earth. and the payback is priceless.

but if you've made it this far without getting married, or by circumstances beyond or totally within your control, you've gotten out of a marriage: stay out. it's not as good as it looks. you wake up wishing he was someone else or going to sleep wishing you were. even though you're lonely every once in a while and it feels weird going on vacation by yourself, it's still better than having a three-day discussion of what television you're going to buy or enumerating the pros and cons of mexican vs chick fil a.



Blog Bit #4

so as a willing, anonymous pool of intelligence, i ask you, exhalted reader: what should i be when i grow up?

1. Private Investigator: i'd name my company 'Confidential Observations' with focus on cheating spouses and match.com background checks.

2. Quirky Home Chef Guru: my recipe-laced memoir and irreverant blog build a buzz. I lead the 8 o'clock hour on the Today Show (oh Matt, you're just a big flirt, aren't you?) and i'm the last guest of the night on Jimmy Fallon (well of course i brought the wine, silly boy) . eventually Food Network offers me my own show which i tape from my spacious hill country kitchen along the Frio River.

3. Music Publicist / Restaraunt Critic: both require a huge ego and taking delight in the unwarranted criticism of others. check and check. my lifelong experience as a good ole boy bullshitter only enhances my resume for this one. a strong contender.

4. Stand-up Comedian: not sure if i have the balls for this one, but like bungie jumping, i'm thinking i'm gonna have to do this at least once before i check into the assisted living.

5. Secretary. oh wait, i already am this. if i had it to do again, i wouldn't. assuming i first didn't kill the brain cells where the memory of this crappy job live. and let's face it: these are the first i want to go.



Blog Bit #5

So even though i didn't have venereal disease, it's still an uber-embarrassing story with a high gross factor. i try not to think about it, but i don't know which is worse, knowing The Guy will always have this little gem to "pull out" (so to speak) when he needs a good dig or the fact that i had to tell my father. ugh.





Okay folks, there they are. i don't have any fancy software to randomly choose the winning comment. based on past experience, i'll just have the two of you giving me your opinion. which you would anyway. because you're my friend. and you read my blog even when it's lame. especially when it's lame. and i love you for it.



and bossy, if you read this. call me. we'll do shots.