Your Sista's Havin' a Hysta - Part 8

Benevolent Tote

It's interesting to see who offers what during times of need. Each friend is so creatively different that it's a bit like Let's Make a Deal whenever time the door bell rings. The week after I had surgery my brother and sister-in-law dropped off dinner with a few gifts. The picnic basket was carefully packed with enchiladas, rice, and brownies, while the gift tote weighed heavy with a host of goodies. I was so impressed with her thoughtfulness I thought I'd share it with you!

Treats for the body:

• Blistex: Rasberry Lemonade Blast
• Pocket size facial tissue
• Johnson's Body Care lotion: Melt Away Stress Lavender & Chamomile
• One box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (one of my childhood favorites)
• Bag of plain M&M's with snack size zip lock bags so I could ration my portions
• One small bag of FritoLay Deluxe Mixed Nuts (protein to counter the sugar rush)

Food for the mind:

• Polka dot journal that's cute as a bug's ear
• Word search games (I'm not smart enough for the crossword type)
• Book: Mentalpause...and Other Midlife Laughs, by Laura Jensen Walker
• Book: The Lighkeeper's Daughter, by Colleen Coble
• Book: Twelve Extraordinary Women, by John MacArthur
• Book: Redeaming Love, by Francine Rivers
• Game: Sit and Solve Frame Games (you can't miss this one, it's shaped like a toilet seat)
• Three retractable ball point pens
• Movie: Pride and Prejudice with Coline Firth and Jennifer Ehle

Sustenance for the soul:

• 3x5 index cards for scripture memory verses
• Booklet: A Sketch of Things to Come Based on God's Promise to Abraham, by Dr. Stanley V. Udd

My brother and his wife also brought a daisy plant which contained something we'd never seen before, a Siamese daisy bloom. These are not two daisies squeezed together but actually two in one, a fine freak of nature that gave us all a kick.

The day my brother and sister-in-law brought the meal and goodies happened to be during my second week post-op and a time I was a little down. Life had ground to a halt and I was a bit lonesome. Their visit not only lifted my spirits but also reiterated the importance of remembering those who are ill and out of touch. I hadn't been far from the couch and certainly not out of the house for over a week, leaving me dependent on whatever came my way. Every email, get well card, phone call, and visit was so precious during that time, leaving me to wonder how many forsaken souls are out there in need of care, compassion, and company.

Whether it's surgery, chronic illness, the birth of a child, someone going through a divorce, missionaries in another country, or a friend you have not heard from in a while, consider reaching out to someone today. Put yourself in their shoes and ask God how you could brighten their day. After my recent experience, I now have a whole new appreciation for those who sit on the quiet fringe of society.

Now it's your turn. What are your favorite ways to encourage a friend in need?

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Your Sista's Havin' a Hysta - Part 7

Post-op Week 4: Great Reads

While recovery from surgery has been taxing on the body, it's been a wonderful vacation for my brain. I've had opportunity to learn how to navigate Netflix, write blogs to my heart's content, and read some really terrific books. It's been such a blessing too because every book I've picked up has taken me to another place or time, all to drop me back home with a boat load of things to ponder in my heart and mind. Here's a few choice picks.

Scarlet Thread, by Francine Rivers - I began reading this before my surgery because I couldn't wait. It had been sitting on my "yet to read" shelf for about a year, then suddenly the urge to pick it up struck. It's a great story about following God when and where you might not want to go, the tough but rewarding lesson of submission, and the deep healing and restoration that only God can accomplish in stubborn sinful hearts.

Heaven is for Real, by Todd Burpo - One day, about three months ago, Jimmy told me he'd recorded a short interview he thought I'd enjoy. Having no idea what I was in for, I perched my patooty on the edge of the couch, thinking "this better be good", and commenced watching an interview of a four year old boy who had visited heaven during an extremely serious surgery. No longer teetering at the rim of my seat, I settled back and listened to this boy's testimony which gave me goose bumps. With my own surgery pending in the wings, I knew I wanted this one on my list, not because I thought I'd die on the table, visit heaven, and be able to compare stories, but to add to my collection of post surgery to do's. I read this little gem in two days and have to say it's changed me in a good and eternal way. It's a superb read and great gift idea.

Riding the Bus With My Sister, by Rachel Simon - I was exposed to Rachel on Family Network TV and knew instantly hers was a story I wanted to read. She writes of her endeavor of riding the city bus for a year with her high functioning special needs sister, who spends each week day riding the city bus transit system. While most of us load into planes, trains, buses, and cars to get from point A to point B, Rachel's sister does it for sheer entertainment.

Rachel is a clever and gifted writer who had me laughing and crying often in the same sentence. She has a new book out called The Story of a Beautiful Girl, which now sits on my "yet to read" shelf for the not so distant future.

Redeeming Love, by Francine Rivers - This is one my sister-in-law gave me and one I just started. While the cover didn't look familiar, the title sounded oddly familiar. I honestly thought I'd read it before, but a quick scan of the back cover revealed I either have read the book and have no recall of that time spent or the title simply resembles another and it will indeed be a new read.

I'm happy to say that even though the title seemed to ring a rather loud bell, I'm half way through this novel and can attest to the fact my eyes have never passed over this particular sequence of words. Bases on the Bible's book of Hosea, it's a touching story of an example of God's unfailing love lived out through a man named Michael Hosea. Taking place in the mid 1800's, this one is a great escape as it takes the reader back in time to another place far different than our modern day.

I can tell I'm getting better because yesterday I didn't get a chance to read anything. My day included lunch with a dear friend for a few hours followed by a quick run through Macy's and Penny's to see summer's newest selections. It was my first stab at driving since the surgery and it felt great to get out. Once home I had enough energy to bathe Dani and wash a few dishes, a far cry from even a week ago.

I have two more week off before returning to work and still have several books to be read, a few movies waiting in queue, and several department stores yet to trod. Countless people advised me before hand to take the time to recover slowly and not push too hard or too fast during the first month. So far the tips have worked and now I'm strong enough to begin truly enjoy my last days off.

I hope you are getting your well deserved rest as needed too. Summer is a great time to stop and smell the roses. Thanks for stopping by and see you soon!

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Your Sista's Havin' a Hysta - Part 6

Not-So-Superwoman

My recovery from this "hysta" has been better than I thought it would be. The pre-surgical dread was far worse than convalescence itself. The first couple of weeks extended a kind hand offering some sort of advancement each day and I gotta say I'm a tad proud given the fact I'm no spry spring chicken at 51. Perhaps like many of you I test my limits, not so much out of bull headedness but more striving to wring the most gusto out of each day. If I can accomplish even a tiny hint of a mite more than the day before, you can bet your last penny I'll try. Sometimes it cost more than I bargained for, as I learned the hard way last week.

At two weeks post op, my sister asked me if she could come over, to which I replied, "Can you come over? Yes! I'd love to see you. Just name the day and time. Lord knows I'll be here." We eagerly set up the date which just happened to be the day I was to see my surgeon for my two-week post op check. Figuring I'd have plenty of strength by then, I threw caution to the wind.

When the date rolled around, Jimmy and I headed for my 0845 doctor's appointment. Since the doctor's office is attached to the hospital where I work, I suggested we stop by to visit the girls in my office. I sensed I was pushing my limits because by the time we walked down the glass hallway from the medical building to my office, I was officially out of gas. After 30-minutes of catching up, I'd begun to wilt like a Violet in the Sahara Desert.

By the time we arrived home I had about one hour to rest before my sister would arrive, or so I thought. A half hour into my "beauty rest" the door bell rang. Jimmy was nowhere to be found, so with my eyelids at half mast I commenced hoisting myself off the couch, careful to use all arm and no abdominal muscles. By the time I made my way to the door, the exhaustion that clung to me like a heavy cloak flew out the door as my sister, her daughter, and two grandchildren came in. It was so refreshing to see family I was down right pumped instantly.

After a quick visit we set off for lunch, the tradition we used to enjoy when dad was alive. We'd meet at his place, clean his apartment, and take him to lunch and Wal Mart. Those were the good old days.

KFC was our craving for the day, so we hopped in her Jeep Wrangler, drove 1 mile, ordered a $5 meal each, and sat down with our feast. It was so good to see my family I guess the adrenaline dulled the pain, because after lunch I didn't want to go home. That's when we set sail for Wal Mart as per family tradition.

Looking back I was foolish to pack so much into one day. The doctor's visit, walk to the office, climb into the Jeep, and prowl through Wal Mart was equivalent to what I'd do on a regular day let alone two weeks post op, not to mention the added taxation of laughing hysterically with my sister, something we do when together without fail. It a comedic curse that comes from my dad's side of the family and utterly impossible to suppress. In fact, knowing how much it hurt for me to laugh, she'd inadvertently make me laugh all the more by trying to be serious. And she says the craziest most unexpected things. Like when I was looking at teeth whitening strips she said, "Your teeth are so white. Don't whiten them any more. I don't trust people with really white teeth." I was so dumbfounded at the comment I grabbed my belly and burst out laughing. Who would ever say such a thing but my sister, and she wasn't trying to be funny.

I had the best time that day two-weeks post op, but I paid for it dearly. Overextending myself for one day set me back the next five. Exhausted and hurting I laid on the couch, unable do little else. Even the pain medication couldn't compensate for what I had done. As careful as I've been during this time of recovery, I over stepped my bounds, only to discover I am not superwoman and must continue to take it slow and steady. No spurts allowed.

That was a week ago and now it's the third week post op. I'm much stronger and weaning off the pain medication, but have learned to divvy out my energy with extreme caution. Yesterday Jimmy and I ran a few errands and I even shopped a little. I am no worse for the wear today but since Dani is off to work and he's shooting a wedding all day, I plan to piddle around the house by reading and watching a movie. I have a hankering to watch "Peggy Sue Got Married" which is patiently waiting for me in the queue on Netflix. God sent rain so I think He's doubly supportive of my efforts to rest and relax this fine day.

I hope you are doing well and are listening to your body's language too. Have a restful weekend!

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Your Sista's Havin' a Hysta - Part 5

Two-Week Post Op Check

It's been a little over two weeks since this sista's had a hysta and time to visit the doctor. As a nurse by profession, I can attest to the fact that being the patient is a far cry from providing the care. It's so different, in fact, that when on the receiving end I try with all my might to hide the reality I'm in healthcare so my caregivers won't be tempted to hold back on education. My theory is if they know I'm a nurse, they may inadvertently opt out on certain instructions, thinking I already know all there is to know. One of my biggest fears is hearing the embarrassing words later down the line, "You should have known that. You're a nurse." Granted I'm not an idiot, but there are times when I'm honestly surprised how dull I can be. Remaining incognito is a great back up.

Nurses tend to be list makers because they have so much to remember. We document, record, and log every imaginable thing. It's what we're trained to do from the get-go and for me, after all these years, a checklist is a cozy warm blanket that protects me from the cold icy feeling of having to confess "I forgot."

About a week before this first post-op appointment, I began assembling an inventory of questions for my doctor. I'd been given discharge instructions at the hospital which helped me in general but I wanted specific instructions from her related to me and my healing process. Things like, When can I drive? (Instructions said at two weeks but since I'm still on pain medication I can't get behind the wheel. I'm so glad I asked.) Can I swim? How about bathing in a tub? I know I can't begin now but when's it ok to do aerobics or walk my sweet Labrador who tugs the first quarter mile? When can I give my husband more than a kiss and last but not least, my legs are dying to exercise. Can I at the very least get on my stationary bike and peddle lightly like an old lady?

Since I still can't drive, Jimmy chauffeurs me hither and yon. It's a whole lot of fun because we love being together, we always have. He's the kind of guy I can drag to a fabric store and it doesn't faze him a bit. He'll invariably find something to keep himself busy and best of all, he never complains. He's like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day that never melts, I couldn't ask for more. Given his easy going personality, I knew he wouldn't mind going to the OB/Gyn with me, so off we went, itemized list in hand.

Noting the note in my hand, my doctor listened to my litany of questions like the sweetest of hearts. She knows I'm a nurse and is always kind to accommodate my finicky ways. She knew which question was most pressing on my heart and was sad to tell me I'd have to wait another two weeks before bathing in the tub. Prior to surgery we had a good giggle about my fetish of shaving my legs every single day, without fail, no exceptions. I shrugged and sighed at the thought of another two week tub drought, then decided I might as well adopt a positive attitude. Lifting my chin a dash higher, I shared with her how I'd found a way to shave in the shower.

"Oh! That scares me. You might fall" she said with caution. "No, it's really ok." I reassured. "I've figured out if I stand like a pelican, resting one foot on the opposite knee, I can do it without much pain at all." With that, she swiped her hand up my shin to confirm I had indeed reassumed my daily obsession, shook her head, smiled, and said... absolutely nothing at all.

I can talk to my OB gal about anything. Our relationship, though totally professional, is also extremely intimate, that's just the nature of gynecology. She has a gift of making me feel like she's not only my doctor but close friend as well. She's calm, kind, attentive, gentle, and at peace in all she does. I trust my health to her and have the utmost respect for her and her practice. I did, however, have one beckoning question on my list that stuck in my throat like a clump of baby powder, "Can I have another prescription for pain pills please? If that's ok."

Fearing I'd look like a drug seeker, something that haunts the medical field like Mexico's drug cartel, I could barely bring myself to ask for a refill. Having never had major surgery I didn't know if it was time to wean off the pain meds or if it would take more time. After mustering the courage to broach the topic, she seemed to sense the jitter in my request and light heartedly replied, "Nancy, more pain medication is perfectly fine given your surgery. Now, people who are asking for it three months down the line are the one's we begin to wonder about. This, however, is fine and I'm happy to give you more."

Whewww! What a huge relief. Now I can continue to increase my activity each day knowing I have a cushion for my aches and pains. I have only one regret however. I wished I'd peaked at my scar when she ok'd the refill because, though I can't prove it, I think my 8" scar smiled end to end at the good news.

Hope you are having a blessed week.

Your Sista's Havin' a Hysta - Part 4, Hidden Treasure

I'm not sure which I love more, watching a movie that's won a boat load of awards or stumbling across a sleeper that prompts great reflection. While an award winner peaks unparalleled curiosity in the beginning, it can be very disappointing if unable to meet hoopla's high expectation.

A sleeper, on the other hand, has nothing to lose. It in fact holds the upper hand by not being bound with preset expectations. With this in mind, I am always looking off the beaten path for a good movie or book, especially during this time of convalescence. I've been stocking up on a few hidden treasures and the first gem that's gifted me with great joy is Elaine Olsen's "Peace for the Journey."

I've been visiting Elaine's blog for several months and one thing that stands out like a beacon in the night is her enormous love for the Lord. It's simply amazing given her current battle with cancer and the fact it's the real us that comes forward in our most severe trials. I had a sneaking suspicion that God had some special things to teach me through this fellow sister, that's why her study was my first choice during my time of recovery.

Acquiring her study was a snap. I popped her a quick email requesting her literary baby, and in two shakes of a lamb's tail she dispatched an autographed copy. The day it arrived Jimmy plucked it up off the porch step and handed it to me along with an inquiry as to what I'd ordered. "It's Elaine's study!" I exclaimed, assessing the package for its most vulnerable point with which to begin digging in. "She's my blogging friend and I can't wait to begin her study. It's the perfect thing to do while I'm off after surgery."

Once the parcel was open, we stood in awe of the gorgeous cover. I read her endearing autographed note, scanned the back cover and table of contents, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was going to be a special study. The excitement was overwhelming. A new fresh author with different experiences, new perspectives, and her own unique writing style. It couldn't get any better, so with a sense of Clint Eastwood victory tucked under my belt, I took in a deep breath and said to myself, "This has made my day!"

With book in hand, I abandoned the packaging debris on the kitchen table and scuttled out onto the deck. Sinking into the swing, I commenced leafing through her pages as if savoring the menu of a five star restaurant. The more I sifted, the more I smiled. It was going to be a great study, my heart told me so. As the title pledges, sweet peace began to ooze from the pages like honey from a honeycomb and I couldn't wait to meet more of Elaine in days to come. What a privilege to discover this hidden treasure.

I'm pleased to say I have in no way been disappointed with Peace on the Journey. Each study is short, sweet, and packed with God's truth. Elaine knows how to write too. She isn't wordy, flowery, or insincere. Every word is perfectly placed, leaving each tidy message packed with power. Each lesson begins with God's holy word and ends with a prayer. She offers questions to contemplate and scripture for added reflection. I truly love every square inch of this thing, so much so I plan to buy more as gifts for my favorite people.

If you enjoy discovering big surprises in unexpected places and traveling off the beaten path to drop in on new authors, visit Elaine's blog or search her book on Amazon. To get your own autographed copy contact her directly through her blog. I don't know about you but I just love that personal touch.

So, how about you? Has a new author blown a fresh breeze into your life recently? If so, please share. I'd love to hear more.

Your Sista's Havin' a Hysta - Part 3

Maiden Voyage ~ 10 days post-op

Healing from a total hysterectomy is long and arduous journey, unless you are fortunate enough to have it done laparoscopic. As one who's had to take the longer route to recovery, I cherish even the smallest advancement and can attest to the fact I see improvement every day, and I think I know why.

Having had time to plan for this surgery, I decided before hand to increase my exercise. Lifting weights, doing aerobics, walking, and taking stairs throughout the day were all in the mix. My theory was to go into the procedure stronger than normal so that my point of recovery would begin at a better place.

Then, once surgery was complete, I dedicated to increasing my protein intake. When weight lifters lift weights and runners cross the miles, the first thing they do after each workout is replenish fluids and protein. Extreme workouts break down muscle fibers, allowing them to heal and grow stronger as a result. Rebuilding muscle requires protein though, and since my abdominal muscles underwent maximum assault, logic dictates that they need plenty of protein to heal and restore. I was so determined to take in at least 30 grams of protein each day, I brought premixed protein drinks to the hospital, adding them to my diet immediately.

Last but not least, I implemented the advice of fellow hyster sisters and made special effort to begin moving immediately after surgery. A mere 12 hrs after surgery, after the foley catheter was removed, Jimmy would help me get up to the restroom, but before heading back in bed, we'd walk (creep actually) to my hospital room door, then to the window, and back to bed. Given the fact my room was the size of a small studio apartment (two T.V.'s, couch, recliner, bookshelf, counter with sink, and desk by the window) it was no short hike. Each time I'd use the restroom I'd walk a little more, and continued this tradition at home where I'd walk small laps, adding more each day. For me it was most helpful to focus on doing a little more each day rather than the discomfort or exhaustion. It's a good thing too because without a doubt each consecutive day proved better than the one before, a recipe I highly recommend.

Saturday (yesterday) was my first outing. We loaded Dani and the pups in the car and took off. Jimmy ran into a few stores, while I saved my energy for my favorite destination, a quaint mercantile east of home in the country.

My chauffeur and honey

Ecclesiastes was way in the back

while Cocoa enjoyed Dani

as a pillow

Old country store off the beaten path

Cockrell Mercantile

Salt and pepper shakers galore

Dips, sauces, and jellies

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Your Sista's Havin' a Hysta - Part 3 (cont.)

Dozens and dozens of dazzling dishes

Colorful cookware

Separate cottages that sell bath soaps, lotions,

oils, and anything else that might feed your fancy.

Another cottage. This one had darling

knick knacks.

I was pooped by the end of our excursion but it was well worth it. What a beautiful spring day to be out and about with the family diligently working on recovery.

Your Sista's Havin' a Hysta - Part 2

After nearly four months of testing, assessing, and planning, the surgery is complete. Joining thousands of other women around the world, I too am a sista who's had a hysta. Once word of the surgery got out, an onslot of dear Abby advice drifted my way, which proved quite helpful. Many ladies who've undergone the same procedure kindly offered pointers drawn from personal experience. I was advised to begin moving immediately after surgery, deep breathe and cough, take the full six weeks off, and rest, rest, rest. One gal informed me of the unexpected tid bit that, believe it or not, I'd always remember the date of my surgery, much like I recall 911, the day my children were born, and what I was doing the day Elvis died. Her words were prophetic and in fact came to life as we waited in the surgical holding room.

It had been only two days since the Joplin Missouri tornado struck 150 miles from our home in Kansas City. It was the worst twister since 1940 something and considering the recent tornado outbreaks in the U.S., we were concerned weather might be an issue come surgery day. I awoke thirsty, hungry, and anxious to get a move on, so I took a bee line for the TV to check for severe weather. The meteorologist was my buddy that day as he shared the good news that the risk for severe weather had moved to eastern Missouri. By all accounts we were in the clear and things should have gone off without a hitch.

Per pre-op instructions, we arrived at the hospital on time, checked in at the admitting desk, and was soon escorted to the surgical waiting room. I'd barely warmed up my half of the two-seater leather chair when a nurse, clutching a small bundle of papers, made an entrance. Propping the door open with her foot, she paused, looked down at her documents, and called out in a clear succinct voice...Nancy Douglas? Impressed with the timing, I claimed the name by raising my hand, and heading her way. My flip flops gave sound to what would be my last few painless steps this side of surgery. Time was drawing near and soon this would all be over. I wasn't sure if I was happy or sad. At least things were moving along as planned and soon I'd be on the road to recover.

I first weighed on a rather untraditional scale. Obviously designed to accommodate wheelchairs, it struck me funny as it looked more devoted to cattle. Nearly flush with the floor, the three foot square stainless steel platform offered a plethora of spots to stand. I picked what I thought was most middle, stood still as a statue, and watched the digital display climb like an elevator's ascent to the top of a tall sky scraper. Still snickering at the vision of me on the scale like a black angus cow, I was then escorted to a holding room that was surprisingly bigger than all the rest. Unlike the others it had no sliding glass doors. It appeared to be a room that, when the department was first designed, was too small to make into two rooms, so converted into one that was a large master suite of sorts. Labs were drawn, all sorts of questions were asked from allergies to abuse, and an IV was started. That's when the unexpected happened. The operator on the intercom called a Code Gray.

Hospitals call various codes, many of which aren't difficult to remember. Code Blue means a patient either isn't breathing and/or their heart has stopped. Since this condition causes them to turn blue, the name is obvious. Code Red means fire, which isn't a stretch either, and Code Gray means tornado. Since tornados kick up a lot of dust and debris, gray seems obvious as well. I didn't have to search my memory banks long to realize severe weather was making another untimely visit.

My nurse and I were rather shocked to hear the code since the weather forecast called for a nice day. We turned on my TV all to discover that the tide had indeed changed. Soon there was a knock on the door and Jimmy and Drew were escorted into, since rooms near glass were being evacuated. All surgeries in process were being completed and surgeries yet to be done were placed on hold until the weather cleared. So, there we sat waiting and wondering.

By the time my doctor came in to assure me surgery would be carried out as soon as possible, five tornados were dropping out of the sky around our vicinity. I was relieved to hear the surgery would be done but began to wonder if it would closer to midnight than noon as originally planned.

Then there was Dani. She wasn't with us because she had gone on to her day hab. What was seh doing? Was she in danger? Was she on an outing with her day hab or safe at the facility? About the time our concern hit full force, the Lord sent word through Jimmy's iPhone in the form of a picture of her crouched in the bathroom shower with a text that said, "Your baby is fine. The sirens are going off and we are all in the bathrooms." What a comfort to know our baby was in good hands.

Once the tornados receded into the sky's black carpet over head, warnings were lifted, and the surgical crew came into the room like a swarm of bees. As the anesthesiologist asked the final pre-op questions, three nurses stood around my bed tucking, repositioning, and medicating me for the procedure. Before I knew it I was on the OR table confirming that yes I was having a hysterectomy and desired to keep my ovaries if at all possible. Slipping off to sleep, I don't recall anyone saying good bye, I just drifted off to wherever surgical patients wait for their own surgery to be complete.

As of today it's been one week since surgery and things are going very well. Each day offers a little more independence and strength, and though I have a long way to go before reaching normal, even a little progress lends hope. At least I can get up and down by myself now and don't have to tap Jimmy on the shoulder in the middle night and whisper, "Honey...I have to potty."

Thanks for all your prayers and we'll talk soon. Lord knows I have plenty of time to putter out a few notes.

Pre-op instruction #1 - No make up.

I was in compliance...ugh.

Storm news

Clouds approaching

More...

Drew picked up Dani

and brought her to the

hospital to wait on mama

Your Sista's Havin' a Hysta - Part 1

I recently went in for my regular "lady's check" only to have my doctor peep her head up over my draped knees and proclaim, "Nancy, your uterus is huuuuuuge!" I'm not sure which caught my attention more, the news itself or the look on her face when she told me. Lifting her slim tall frame to standing, she positioned her index fingers about 8" apart and said, "We're gonna have to make an incision this big to get it out."

"Well...how big is it?" I inquired, grasping for a tangible visual. "About this big" she motioned as if holding an invisible ball. The light mood in the air turned a tad serious. With only one minor bladder symptom, neither of us expected the findings.

I left her office dazed trying to absorb the news. All this time I'd had some stealthy thing growing inside me and was totally clueless to its presence. Now surgery with a six week recovery was on the docket. This was a lot to assimilate. Pulling out my cell phone to call Jimmy, I paused to search my mental dictionary. How shall I describe to him what she showed me with her hands? I got the visual I needed from her but now had to convert it to words for him. Where could I begin?

My first inclination was to scan the world of sports, since nearly all games involve balls. Jimmy loves golf but a golf ball is far too small. Her hands held a much bigger sphere. Hmmm...baseball? No. Softball? Nope. Bigger yet. Basketball? Ugh, thank goodness that's way too big. Soccer ball? Naw, still to big. I was at a loss to come up with any more balls to describe my huuuuuuge uterus, so I left the arena and headed to the grocery store.

Walking down the glass corridor of the medical building, cell phone still poised and ready, I set off on a mental voyage to the produce section of the grocery store. I was convince beyond a shadow of a doubt I'd find a fruit to fit my doctor's grip. Ok, let's try this again. Strawberry? No, that's smaller than a golf ball. Apple? Negative. Pear? Nope. Watermelon? Well, that's bigger than a basketball but I could sense I was getting warmer. Ahhh hahhh! That's it. What else is round, grows on a vine, and has seeds you have to dredge out of the middle? Cantaloupe! Yes, yes, yes! I have a cantaloupe sized uterus. Perfect. That will be his visual. Now I can explain the finding to him in a way he'll understand.

I gotta say I'm not thrilled about having surgery and came a hair's breadth from keeping it all private. But then I wondered if maybe this experience might help someone. I have no idea how but I don't know a lot of things. I do trust that the Lord can use it in some way if He chooses to do so. That's why I've decided to chronicle the journey. It won't be about me or my scar but rather what I learn through it all. After all, nothing comes to a child of God that is not first sifted through His hands. There is a good reason why I must stop life long enough to allow my doctor to pluck this fruit and there is some rationale as to why He's allowing it at this time.

Surgery awaits me tomorrow and while I'm not fearful, I am dreadful. I don't hurt at all right now, I never have, but tomorrow things will be different. Life will grind to a halt, leaving me to slowly recover and regain the strength that is so abundant today. I don't look forward to the discomfort but I do look forward to a harvesting of this cantaloupe. My doctor assures me I'll feel better once this thing's gone. My pants will fit better and I will be able to bend over without feeling 4 months pregnant.

We'll chat again soon. Until then you may hear from Jimmy a time or two. I've given him permission to be my right hand blog man.

Much love and blessings to you all.

Be good!

Envelope Therapy

I kid you not, it takes only a few minutes to make a lined envelope. You can Google the craft and get ideas that'll keep you busy from here to eternity. The sky's the limit and though I'm not the most creative soul perched in the Lord's quiver, I come up with enough to keep me plenty busy. I have no doubts you can do the same if you put your mind to it.

Here's a few creations...

Diamonds are a girls best friend

Ditzy dots are playful and fun

Flowers are a blooming

Results from only a few hours of fun

Now it's time to tackle some coordinating stationary.

Let's Make an Envelope!

I confessed my fetish for paper in Paper Passion, now let's see what it can produce. Some of you showed interest in learning how to make envelopes and stationary that exhibit your own personal flare, so here's a quick and easy how-to.

Paper Source carries an

impressive assortment of decorative paper sheets

that are big enough to accommodate envelope templates,

which depending on the size of the envelope can require

a fair amount of space.

If you don't wish to purchase large sheets of paper,

you can make smaller envelopes using 12"x12"

sheets available at most craft stores.

(Sheets below were $2.50 each.)

Envelope liner template (left)

Envelope template (right)

Supplies needed: scissors, Lick & Stick glue, bone folder,

wall paper roller (does same as bone folder),

and tape dispenser that dishes out two-sided adhesive.

Envelope and liner after cutting and before folding.

Fold and glue envelope flaps, insert and affix the liner,

press envelope edges with bone folder or roller for crisp edges,

and you are done!

For about $26 you can purchase envelope and liner templates. It's the perfect personal touch to any gift for that special someone. The options are endless and for me provides great relaxation therapy. In fact, this morning I made two cards but forgot to take pictures along the way. I wasn't sure how they'd turn out but when all was said and done, regretted not taking you along for the ride.

If you are interested in paper therapy, I hope this helps you get started.

Mother's Day: Then and Now

It used to baffle me when folks, who were not my child, wished me happy Mother's Day. Clerks at the grocery store would confidently bid this salutation at the end of a transaction, void of any knowledge as to whether I had a mother or a child. I couldn't get past the fact they were wishing me Happy Mother's Day and they weren't my child. I viewed the day as one reserved for the family party's involved, not every Tom, Dick, or Harry. (I get hung up on peewee pressures in the world, bare with me.)

Time, however, has changed and so has my life's season. When I was younger life was simpler. Mom was alive, our children were young, and I had oddles of energy. Mother's Day involved fine tuning my observation skills months in advance, listening closely to even a whisper's hint of something mom might enjoy. Years ago she was into frogs, so I snatched up every frog item I could scout out for her. She ended up measuring rain with frog rain gauges, propping reptilian jumpers in her garden, entry hall, and living room. Her knack for decorating made it all come together in good taste, but I assure you if even one of those figures had been the real deal, I'd have never set foot on her property. She had a platoon of frogs.

Mom's been gone for 4 1/2 years and a new season is in bloom. This year in particular I've noticed two distinct traits come to surface I've never before exhibited. First, for some reason, I want to visit mom's grave. As a youngster I thought I'd visit her grave every week or more when she passed, but after six months of caring for her as cancer's squeeze gradually carried her away, the grave has been the last place I've wanted to visit. I suppose it reminded me too much of the pain of her last days. This Mother's Day, on the other hand, is different. I've had time to recover, I want to commemorate her life, and I'm ready to visit the cemetery.

Then there's the second trait a bloomin' in my heart and who'd have thunk this could ever pollinate in me of all people. Can you guess? I think you might have an idea. Dare I say? Should I reveal? Here she blows...I'm wanting to wish other ladies Happy Mother's Day too! Can you believe it. Have tables turned or what. The notion snuck up on me like a freight train. One day, before I realized metamorphosis had occurred, I found myself rehearsing a checklist of who I wanted to wish you know what to. On what I envision will be a sunny bright Mother's Day, I'm going to call my sister and sister-in-law (that's two). Then I will text my three co-workers and bid them the same salutation of grocery store clerks past. That totals five women of whom I did not come from or give birth to, surely this is one for the Guinness Book.

I have a lot to be thankful for on Mother's Day. I don't have a mother here on earth anymore, but I did for a time. Our relationship wasn't perfect but I learned a lot of good things from my mother, the value of faithfulness, the importance of remaining steadfast, how to work hard in all I do, and keeping life simple and family first, just to name a few. I try to pass these attributes on to our son, Drew, just in case one day he finds himself looking back on how he was brought up and deciding how to raise his own children. Who knows, maybe one day he'll find himself wishing Happy Mother's Day to women folk who aren't his mama.

May the Lord bless you this Mother's Day and whatever life's season you are in at this time.

Mom's last visit to our home

before she died.

I knew she'd never return.

Her and dad are both with the Lord.

"Starry Night" Prom 2011

"Jeremy has a crush on your daughter. He thinks she's cute and wants her to be his date to the prom"

My eyelids fluttered rapidly trying to comprehend the thought. What could any young man see in our daughter? I mean really, as cold as this may sound let's be frank, one of Autism's primary features is an icy aloof manner. Affection is not one of their strong suites, leaving the odds of receiving palpable affection rather unfavorable. Trust me they experience hurt, love, joy, fear, and anxiety like everyone else, but the good stuff is often bottle up inside, making the whole package an enigma, riddle, and conundrum rolled in one.

Which points me back to the dubious question, what does this young man see in her? Furthermore, is this really real or something the workers at her day hab unconsciously concocted to make the experience more mainstream and normal? With eye lids still a flutter, the mystery refused to subside. One thing was for sure, I had to see this for myself.

Now, I'd met Jeremy before. He and Dani were king and queen of the prom last year, to which Dani cried most of the time because she didn't like being the center of attention or in the camera's sites. Jimmy always photographs these events so she keeps her eye on him and develops a fuss whenever he turns her direction. (Lately he's been sneaking photos of her using his iPhone but she's learned it takes pictures too. Autistics are smart as can be. Never underestimate their observation skills.) Whenever she was happy at last year's dance her primary interest was the cookies and punch on the refreshment table. She couldn't have cared less about participating as queen posing with the king and I vividly remember being a bit disappointed she didn't have a better time, so the thought of her being a date this year was too slippery to grasp.

Taking a half day off work to attend the event, I ran home, met up with Jimmy, and arrived at her location just as everyone was getting dressed for the prom. With her long pink dress draped over my left arm and bag on my right shoulder loaded with her black paten leather shoes, white frilly socks, and matching hair bow, I traipsed room to room looking for the reigning queen. With all the hustle bustle of pre prom prep everyone was out of their usual spot, leaving me no clue to her location. It took one of Dani's friends pointing me in her direction to get on track. With a few other assists, I zeroed in on her location all to arrive in a room filled with special adults primping for the prom.

My first sight was that of a Down's Syndrome lady who had on what I believe was a donated dress. Outdated in color and style, the garment was not only clean and tidy, but fit her pumpkin shape rather well. She grinned ear to ear as Bekah applied her eye shadow, blush, and lipstick. With a curling iron at her side, the final touches were made to the hair, her pearls were positioned just right, and she lifted up from her metal folding chair for all to admire. She no doubt felt royal all gussied up for the dance and I smiled watching her delight grow by the second. Then, all of a sudden, time stood still as my mind spun back 2,000 years. It was completely involuntary and near overwhelming. Sure as shootin' the realization came to light, not five feet in front of me I was witness to a modern day illustration of John 13 when Jesus washed the disciples' feet. A stronger one's love lending aid and encouragement to one weaker and in need. The scene touched my heart in a spot rarely ever grazed, the forever sensitive scar of sacrifice I've carefully tended to since God called Jimmy and I to serve our own sweet baby.

I'd no sooner traveled back in time when paged back to the present as one of the workers eagerly approached showing me a picture on her phone. Apparently before we arrived Dani was holding hands with her last year's king and upon doing so asked the worker to take a picture to show me. I wouldn't have believed it but the photo was evidence and even as we hovered over the tiny screen in her palm, Dani walked over to Jeremy and took his hand. She knew what she was doing, she clearly enjoyed it, and was sincere to boot. A far cry from last year's focus of foraging off the snack table.

I saw Dani in a new light at the 2011 prom. Her father and I look forward to the day in heaven when we'll meet our little girl whole and complete as God originally intended her to be. But this day, out of the blue and by His grace and mercy, we were allowed an early glimpse of our child living behind Autism's door. She has the sweetest spirit, most kind heart, and great taste in men.

That's my girl!

Paper Passion

If there is one thing I love it's paper. I don't know why or when it started, all I know is I have a passion for paper and all that goes with it. I save, craft, admire, and love the feel of all varieties of paper, especially top quality stationary. The bigger the array, the faster I ascend to cloud nine.

Last week, Jimmy and I went to the Paper Source on the Plaza here in Kansas City. It was there I stumbled upon templates to make envelopes and matching liners. Now I'm in hog heaven. I had no idea I could make my own envelopes and liners, why...with this knowledge the possibilities are endless. I'm pretty sure my eyes grew big as saucers when I saw the store owner, who's cute as a bug's ear, make an envelop using a sheet from an old 2010 desk calendar. The creativity stoked my already consuming fire to a whole new level.

For a week I've been churning out lined envelopes trying to perfect the craft. This past weekend we returned to the store to get a few more supplies only to discover another crafty gem, heat embossing. The owner showed me how it's done and I was sold, prompting me to walk out with all fixins' needed to add this to my repertoire. If you love paper and have a Paper Source in your area, I encourage you to visit this delicious place.

Here's a mini tour of our venture.

Dani loved the walls lined with stampers.

Racks of gorgeous paper.

The rest of my loot was on the cashiers counter.

The young man who checked us out reminded me

of our son Drew. It was all I could do to keep from

giving him a big hug and kiss before departing.

Dani got a kick out of the paper bunnies in the window

Perhaps I'll share some of my creations here soon, but before I do, how about you share what hobby drives your passion!

John 4:1-26

Jesus Talks With a Samaritan Woman

“Now Jesus learned that the Pharisees had heard that he was gaining and baptizing more disciples than John— 2 although in fact it was not Jesus who baptized, but his disciples. 3 So he left Judea and went back once more to Galilee.

4 Now he had to go through Samaria. 5 So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6 Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon. 7 When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” 8 (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)

9 The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.) 10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

11 “Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? 12 Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?” 13 Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

15 The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.” 16 He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.” 17 “I have no husband,” she replied. Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband. 18 The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”

19 “Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet. 20 Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.” 21 “Woman,” Jesus replied, “believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. 22 You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. 24 God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.”

25 The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.” 26 Then Jesus declared, “I, the one speaking to you—I am he.”

~~~~~~~

"Let's get in this line. I want you to meet someone."

Conforming to his wishes, I piloted the buggy into the checkout lane like a race horse at the starting gate. We had a mini-cart full of odds and ends, leading one to believe exiting the grocery store would be a cinch. Jimmy was eager to introduce me to his most recent photo client, the checker of that line, while Dani eyed the tantalizing potpourri of sweets surrounding us on either side. Glancing ahead at the checker, I recognized her even though we'd never before met. As with many of his clients, I hold the advantage of getting acquainted with them as he edits their images on our oversized monitor at home. She was cute as a bug's ear and I couldn't wait to tell her how pretty her photos turned out, if only our dog gone line would get a move on.

I'm generally impatient with slow lines but hadn't given our wait a second thought until the lady customer ahead of us sheepishly mouthed, "Sorry, this is going to take a while." A glimpse closer revealed that her daughter was paying with food stamps, a far cry from a fast swipe of a credit card. I smiled back at her with an it's ok smile to put both our minds at ease. My heart went out to them both as a warm wave of sympathy pulsed through my veins. At least her daughter had family to help her, I theorized in effort to comfort myself. About that time I saw an infant in the cart, melting my heart all the more.

As I pondered the situation of the crew in front of us, unbeknownst to me, Dani was striking up a conversation with a lady to our rear. Zeroing in on a cheery young blond, sweeter than the candy on our periphery, Dani was attempting to communicate. Since Jimmy and I translate for her, we soon boarded the merry-go-round conversation only to discover her son had Autism too. We talked about everything from soup to nuts in the world of Autism and ended up leaving her at the counter as her precious boy underwent a melt down over his torn chip bag.

By the time the automatic doors ushered our exit I was frazzled. Having been bordered, even for a short time, by the poverty and pain, I was perplexed as to the the meaning of it all. The Lord exposed great need in both families, yet the opportunity to help was snuffed out on each account, leaving me to wonder why were we ever there in the first place.

At one point I was about to mention to the blond lady my book Freedom until she specifically mentioned she didn't like to delve too deep into Autism. A little here, a littler there was all she could handle. We had a great conversation, she was a wonderful mother and I told her so, but I never shared my book out of respect for her wishes. I wonder now if I missed a prime opportunity. Then, in the parking lot Jimmy informed me he noticed the mother and daughter ahead of us had to put food back because they didn't have enough money. By this point I was offended. I can't tell you how many times I've asked God for opportunities to help others, and I do but in very small ways, but never in such perfect circumstances as this day. I would have been thrilled to help pay the ladies groceries and delighted to offer my book to this young struggling mother, but for some reason circumstances didn't allow.

Our passage today in verse 4 states Jesus had to go through Samaria. In a day where Jews went out of their way to avoid Samaria and what they felt were its filthy inhabitants, one has to wonder why Jesus had to go through this region. It wasn't conventional and certainly no one's first choice, yet He chose this route to fulfill a mission. Meeting a woman at the well who was a societal outcast, He shared the good news that He was the long awaited Messiah, summoned her to turn from her sin, and accepted her in a pure and loving way. As a result, her transforming testimony brought many Samaritans to believe, making this subtle encounter with humanity's lowest rank one that steered salvation in a direction no one could ever imagine.

As the little Autistic boy at the checkout counter ramped up into a full blown fit, our checker, Jimmy's client, appeared an equal mix of peeved and perplexed. To her credit, she was a young teen with little exposure to disabilities, so Jimmy lovingly campaigned for the child and mother by mouthing over the counter, "it's Autism." Like a cool breeze from the sea, this whit of insight reshaped her demeanor as a glint of acceptance and understanding bedazzled her smile.

In retrospect, now that I think about it, maybe the moral of the story is even though we did not help pay for groceries or offer a book at the grocery store, perhaps this young teen gained greater awareness into the rougher edge of society. Maybe she noticed our patience as we stood in line while the food stamps were being processed, which is out of character for me, or our compassion for the little boy struggling with Autism. Could it be the experience was not in vain but God desiring to show His love through us as He did the woman at the well, with understanding and compassion. No money, no product, no conditions, just genuine loving kindness.

Whether it's at a desert water well or suburban grocery store, you can be sure God is always at work. Sometimes it's tangible and profound, while other times more subtle and unseen. If given a choice I'd rather witness the kind of work He does that blows my hair back and takes my breath away. These scenes are rare as hen's teeth unfortunately and I think it's because to trust in His muted more subdued work, is to challenge and ignite greater faith. Stretching us to live each day, no matter how spectacularly mundane, as if He is working a supernatural miracle. We may find ourselves simply standing in line at a checkout counter, but He is at work and others are watching. That thought alone messes up my hair.

~~~~~~~

Application:

When was the last time you felt God did not use you as you thought He should have? Have you ever taken the time to reevaluate the situation to see if He indeed used you but in a subtle more powerful way?

How do you view and respond to "women at the well" of our society today? Do you turn away, keep them at arms length, or reach out to them?

Take a moment to ask God how He can use you to touch someone today. After you've done this, ask Him to open your eyes to the subtle more artful ways your work will be extended to those around you. Then, sit back and trust you are a beautiful thread in this tapestry of life.

For "Crying" Out Loud

I couldn't wait to run my fingers tips across the key board bright and early the next morning. It was a no brainer, as soon as the sun gave rise to the new day, I was going to tell him. He'd get a kick out of this one, no question about it.

It's a thing our son and I have done since the dawn of texting and we rehearse it every time we observe or experience something a beat off the norm. Like the time I feverishly tapped to him a description of what looked like a very old grey haired lady, maybe in her 80's, driving a mammoth Hummer. The paradox was stunning, her small old conservative frame in that modern gas guzzling super-fly. It left me speechless but not textless. Drew knew about it within seconds and I felt great satisfaction just telling him, kind of like paying off a bill.

Oh...and his stories. They are hilarious. He has a way of describing things that always whip up a giggle. Having the same taste in humor, he knows precisely what strikes my fancy, his escapades of late are no exception. Seems he's become a real babe magnet, just not the marrying kind. The women after him are not in his age range or looking for an intimate relationship. To the contrary. They are my age or older, lonely, disabled, and seeking the help of trustworthy young man. Since he's too nice, or shy, to say no, he quietly offers his assistance and then spills the beans to Jimmy and me.

Sometimes it's like a soap opera. Like the time he drove a disabled older lady to her boyfriend's apartment when she thought he was being unfaithful, only to later de-wedged another woman's scooter from the door frame of her sliding glass door. His forte goes beyond transportation too. He's been summoned to move televisions, unclog toilets, and just listen to a lonely soul's concerns. It got to the point where he adopted a stealthier style to his comings and goings. He thought he was on to something until one morning, when he thought he was in the clear, a knock on his car window requesting help scared him out of his wits. He feels a bit stalked at times but the stories are priceless.

Since some accounts require more than a quick text, we've resorted to emails lately. That's why I hastened to the key board Tuesday morning and penned...

Drew,

I was sleeping so well last night until I had a nightmare. For some odd reason we still had the old hideaway couch in the front living room. Dad was sleeping in our bed but I was on the sleeper sofa, not sure why. Some blond lady, who was standing next to my couch/bed, turned into a little girl about eight years old. She crawled into bed with me and I let her because I knew she had no place to go. I knew it wasn't Dani because I didn't cuddle with her, plus she was blond and a lady the moment before. We just laid side by side.

Then...I heard something in the garage (we had no dogs to rely on). My ears perked and sure enough I heard another sound that proved someone was in the garage. Suddenly, to my right, the basement door opened. It was so real because I couldn't hear the door itself but felt the air pressure of the room change. I looked over and saw two men in black tee shirts come into view. I was terrified. That's when I tried to scream. My first call was miserable. All I could do was whimper. I knew I had to scream hard to get your dad's attention in the bedroom (cuz I was on the dumb hide away with a strange girl) so I bellowed...."Ja..Ja...Ja...Jimmaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy!!!!!"

I screamed it out loud in real life, piercing the quiet night air of our home. Your dad put his hand on my side to comfort me but the more I realized what I had done the more I began to giggle. About that time I thought I might as well go to the bathroom, so I got up. As I'm walking toward the bedroom door your dad says, "Did you wake yourself up to pee?" That's when I began to howl. I was laughing so hard I had to bury my face in a bath towel once in the bathroom. It was absolutely hilarious. What's even funnier is your dad had been having trouble sleeping so he was wide awake when I screamed his name!

When I came back from the bathroom I was still howling over the incident. I just kept hearing, ...."Ja..Ja...Ja...Jimmaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy!!!!!" Even your dad was laughing at this point. When I crawled back into bed I said, "Well if you'd protect me from intruders I wouldn't have to scream at you."

After all was said and done I got to thinking, if I was in bed with a strange little girl that was not Dani, what are the odds I could have called out another man's name? How would I have explained crowing another man's name in your dad's ear? After that I wished more than anything I could have seen Ecclesi and Cocoa's face at that very moment. Coke was behind the baby gate but Ecclesi never came to check on me. Stinkier. I will be laughing over this for a good long time.

Isn't it great to have someone to share the events of life with? I have no doubt God has a grand sense of humor and got a holy hoot out of my midnight outburst. Maybe in heaven He'll explain silly dreams and life's odd occurrences. Perhaps He'll reveal who the woman by my bed was, why she turned into a girl, and why older maidens feel an affinity toward our son.