Birthday Blues

I am 47 today.

In the words of Anne Lamott, born tomorrow, an Aries who has been put on this planet just to remind me who I want to be when I finally grow up, “God, what a world. What a heartbreaking, terrifying freak show.”

I open the news every morning and I cringe, I shrivell in a little tiny ball, ready to crawl back into bed and not ever open my eyes again. There are people torn apart  by bombs, ethnical cleansing in Africa and Asia, and who knows where else. I had coworkers who grew up in Venezuela and told me stories about putting mattresses in the windows to shelter them from bullets. I read about women raped and submitted into bondage every second of every day, by the hundreds and thousands. A new book that just came out proclaims that we’re raising now “The Trayvon Martin generation: a generation of kids who face death every day. Kids who know about death before they start living.” How do you start your day and keep finding purpose with this?! 

We have white supremacy and terrorism at home. Forget fighting terror against America. Whatever happened to fighting terror right here, at home. Terror from our next door neighbor, our kids, our teachers. We have people smacking flight attendants for doing their jobs. We have kids hitting teachers in school with little more of a consequence than a slap on the wrist or a shrug. We have world leaders primitively and cruelly fighting just like we’re in the Middle Ages right in the middle of Europe. William Wallace of Scotland would be amazed how little we've come since his time. We have NATO and the EU, we have UNESCO and UNICEF and the UN; and we also have Putin. 

I have three friends fighting breast and head cancers. My own mother has been battling cancer for five years and she’s going and going and going - with what energy, I do not know. 

I have friends who sleep in high-rise basements and metro stations in Ukraine to shelter from the constant bombings, because they could not escape the country - no one wanted to allow them to stay with two dogs. I have friends who have loved ones in Ukraine who might be  stuck there - because they put off leaving thinking they’re enough away from the capital and they'd be safe; now they might not be able to escape because there are no roads left. Because they are not safe, even far away from the capital. 

I have coworkers in Armenia who are sheltering Russians running away from oppression. In our daily meetings we start with things that they need to be able to put these people up - things like pillows and blankets. They talk about the hatred the Russians see abroad, the way they can’t use their credit cards and how they cannot get jobs because no one hires Russians in Europe, at large, or in the former Soviet republics. Everyone forgets that they ran away from the same things we're sanctioning their leaders for.

A friend’s mom, from work, went to the hospital to treat a foot infection with a small surgery. She died of cancer (which she didn’t know she had) three weeks later. My family members, my loved ones are coming out of Covid and we don’t know quite yet what this means in the long run for them. I have friends from work who are battling long Covid and some who have 30 year olds in their families on dialysis for life because of long Covid. 30! And the CDC tells us we can unmask, the numbers look better. 

We have no current vaccine that fights the current variants. We have no treatment for Covid. Much of the world is not boosted yet. Some have never been vaccinated. They said in the news that the continent of Africa will not be all vaccinated till 2028! 2028, people! But Covid is over. Unmask! Unmask on planes! Half of the US Congress seems sick with it right now, but unmask away, I guess. They are 30! With 3 little kids under the age of 10. They were the only income earner in the house but now they are on dialysis and in need of a kidney all because of this stupid, unfair, unrelentless, smart virus we’re (still!) dealing with. (Sorry, not sorry, CDC!)

I adopted an older cat with a history. I wanted to do some good. I wanted to give someone who is hopeless some hope. It turns out she is sick. She will be forever sick and need constant care and medication just to survive. 

My husband went to the doctor the other day with a toothache. He came home after a “small surgery”. When is this pain going to stop? The cutting? The bleeding and all ... This world is breaking my heart. Chipping away at it every second. 

I woke up this morning, on my birthday, to go to a memorial for a dear colleague, another plucky Aries woman who made a difference in the world of journalism who I was lucky to work with a decade ago. Another one of those that came into this world to show me who I want to be when I grow up. We talked about death and God and how peaceful death is. And mostly we talked about life. Her life and what she left behind for others. It woke me up. It was truly the perfect birthday present, considering this world today and the crass awareness we all live in. 

I wake up every day and read the news and honestly, I am not sure where to start walking. I have hope that Elon Musk will find some ways for us to live on other planets, because I don’t think there is a safe place here. (Yes, I am only half joking here). I have two citizenships and I want neither one, truly. The human condition is no longer a safe place. 

Yeah, the world around me is pretty grim right now ... and has been for a while ... 

And yet, today, on my birthday, I feel very strongly that I made out like a bandit in this life. 

I am sheltered and there are no bombs flying over my head. For now, although close, there are no bombs flying over my family’s heads in Europe, either. I have had the good fortune to choose who I married. Twice. I have had the good fortune and blessing to be able to get a divorce and leave an abusive marriage. To make that choice, when millions of women can’t. How lucky is that? I am reading a memoir by Madeleine Albright right now. One of her daughters is an international lawyer whose one of her first customers was a grandmother of 26 years of age. Just let that sink in for a minute. A grandmother. At 26. 

I have been able to get an education. As a woman, I have been able to choose where I went to school and do something I loved. I can read. I can write and I can speak two languages. I can write this blog and I am not scared they will lock me up. I just want to cry with joy for all this! 

I have been able to travel on four continents and learn from other cultures how to look at this life through the kaleidoscope of possibilities and not just through one lens. How lucky is that, you tell me?! 

I live every day with so much love and understanding, so much respect and peace at home that it makes me choke up. I am so blessed and so lucky I feel grossly guilty! 

I have a hearth full of birthday cards staring back at me now. And my cat just sat down, leaning painfully into me with a sigh. Best present I can think of yet.

I have managed to see 47 years of age when everyone has been telling me for 39 of them that I will never make it past 25, and after I made it to 26, that I'd never make it much longer ... There is a blessing bestowed on me that keeps showering  me with bliss.

The reason I am not crawling back in bed after reading news or emails or Facebook posts every morning is because we're supposed to stay in the pain. We're supposed to go through hell, and let it hurt us, and let it change us. This is how we change, and how we grow, and how we learn, and how we get to come out on the other end stronger, and more complete, and maybe, just maybe, even better.

I am 47 and feel like going on 90. I swapped my reading glasses all around the house today (I went from 2.00 to 2.75 in a hurry!), I feel old and slow, but I am still here - and old or not, I am still living my life and trying to keep fulfilling the purpose I was put on this planet for. I hope I know what that is. But like I found from my friend’s memorial today, they might realize what it was when I am gone. And that would be OK. As long as that purpose is fulfilled. 

Also in the words of Anne Lamott: “I have warm socks and feet to put in them”. Today, in this cold, unfriendly, deserted day, the 9th day of April, and the 99th day of the year 2022, I am infinitely grateful for this! 

We drove past a billboard today that read “Hope is not canceled”, and I felt a twinkle in my eye. Hope is never canceled. I’ll live to that thought! 

My Heart Is Bleeding

People occasionally ask me, or ask generally in groups I am part of, “how is everyone?”. And today more than ever I am grateful for people like that who stop to ask. I am finding out more and more each day that it’s harder and harder to think of others, which is quite the opposite of what the world needs now. If anything, we need more compassion, more togetherness, less vile-ness and definitely, infinitely more respect. So, if you’re reading this: how are you?! Drop me a note, comment on this link – whatever you feel comfortable with … How are you?

To answer those who have asked: we are doing fine. Our hearts are bleeding and our minds are wound up with concern and worry and fright of what tomorrow might bring or how today might morph into something worse, but we are, generally speaking, in the scheme of things, fine. We have been grateful that we and our immediate families are healthy, protected from harm and those of us who work have kept their jobs. These are not small blessings.

But my heart is bleeding, a little more each day. I just cannot believe that all the evil of the world has decided to all come out at the same time all in one year. Every day I am more and more stunned by how everything, and everyone is falling apart. I knew the world needed “a  moment”, needed an inspiration, needed a hero, and a purpose, but  I never dreamed that that moment would be all evil, all dirty, all dark and inhumane, all hopeless, a big whirlpool of vitriol, poison, and desperation.

Tonight is one of those nights where I cannot stop my blood pressure from climbing because my heart is bleeding for everything around me … These are only a handful of things that I can think of right now that make my heart bleed. Every day. 

My heart’s been bleeding for the soul of the American nation, for the loss of the values they hold dear. For how our troubled past is following us into our present. A past that I thought we left behind for good.

My heart has been bleeding for the loss of humanity and respect in our country, at every level but especially at the leadership level. There are days when I see no end to it. My heart’s been bleeding for the injustices I witness every day, whether viewing them on TV, or reading about them, or hearing them retold by my friends. My heart’s been bleeding for all the innocent people being killed and gassed in our streets; my heart’s been bleeding for the death of the belief that “every person is innocent before proved guilty”, the policy of firing a gun to everything that stands in one’s way before better judgement is applied. My heart has been bleeding for the useless violence in our world. Every day.

My heart’s been bleeding for those who die or suffer life-long complications from Covid19. My heart’s been bleeding for not being able to see my family. Not being able to know when seeing my family will eventually be possible. When this exile will end.

My heart’s bleeding for all those who have kids to feed and lost their jobs to the Covid19 depression. My heart’s bleeding for every business owner closing their business, their dream, because they can’t pay the bills anymore.

My heart’s been bleeding for all those who take a knee.

My heart’s bleeding for all those killed in fires caused by a raging climate. My heart’s bleeding for all those who try to teach us to be better and get laughed in the face, dismissed.

My heart’s been bleeding for those stuck at the border, trapped in cages like animals, with no respect to their humanity. When all they wanted was to be free …

My heart’s been bleeding for all the babies dragged away from their parents …

My heart’s bleeding for all those who don’t read anything except for Facebook and Twitter … Especially those who also have the power to change things for good.

My heart’s been bleeding for the loss of our critical thinking. And of compassion.

My heart’s been bleeding after driving around in several counties this weekend and seeing 80% (my humble estimation, it could very well be more) of the electoral signs having the wrong person’s name on them. It’s not the wrong person because it’s wrong to me. I seldom, if ever, make an absolute truth statement, but this is an absolute truth statement: it is the wrong person, if you have one ounce of decency and humanity left in your body. 80%. My heart and eyes are bleeding ….

My heart is still bleeding for losing John McCain. My heart bleeds for losing RBG.

And tonight, I add my beautiful Armenian friends to this list of horrible tragedies that make my soul bleed and my heart stop … I have worked with the folks from our Armenian office for close to ten years now. They are beautiful, smart like I have never met before, selfless, and fragile people. The thought of losing coworkers or their families to their mandatory draft to fight the recent war against Azerbaijan there makes me scream … Some of these people are close friends, part of a larger family I hold dear to my soul. My heart bleeds for them tonight, too … Regardless of which side you're on, the civilians of a country, the ones who ultimately suffer more because they didn't invite the evil in, are always the wrong ones to pay the cost of it. And that makes my heart bleed ... 

I don’t ask “what else can go wrong this year”, because I know: a lot can still go very, very wrong. This moment, I don’t ask for much. I just watch everything helplessly and pray that humanity will find its way …

I was in an online seminar recently and they reminded me of something that I think about tonight, as I write this: “When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it--always.” (Gandhi)

Tonight, I think of this. And I pray that I one day, in my lifetime, I see this become truth …

 

 

The Wonders of Modern Travels

PS: and yes, I realize that the word 'modern' in my title has become outdated the second I typed it. 

How many times do you go through the day and think “Oh, brother! I wish I would have come up with that idea!”?! I know I do about half a dozen times! I had one of these moments the other week, when on a trip to DC, I had my first Uber experience.

My more worldly friends will chuckle, but yes, I am a provincial. Always have been and even now that I live in America, I still am. Provincialism is something that speaks to me, and probably runs through my veins. Sort of a weird melancholy that you only understand that you like to hang on to, kind of like the passe, moldy smell of country cottages.

So, although I am more worldly than most people living in Utah, I am still a small town girl. And yes, Uber has been around for a while, but I never needed it. Out here, in the West, we are in charge of our own driving, in the remote place we live. Anywhoo … forced by circumstances at the time, I had my first (and second) Uber experience.

The whole concept of the deal blew me away: you install this app on your phone, and you spot the “Ubers” in your area. You put in the address that you want to go to, and you are given several options of Uber vehicles close and far away from where you are (the phone detects where you are, you see, if you activate “Locations” on it). You choose one car, and you are given their distance from you, their name, and make and model of the car you are waiting for. It might be more, but I was not the one placing the request and this is all I was given when I asked how it works.

While waiting, you know exactly what car you are looking for, and you can watch on a map exactly where they are at the moment, how far, etc. I wondered, in one of our instances of using Uber, whether we'd all fit in one car, as there were seven of us waiting. The person summoning the Uber (I am still new to this: do you hail a Uber? Call (up) a Uber? Order an Uber?! Not sure.) told me to relax: “we are getting a Uber-X, they know we have 7, so we're all going to fit.”

Once you are picked up, it feels kind of like you are in a cab, only a cleaner, more comfortable cab. No weird and doubtfully working credit card machines strapped with duct tape to the back of the passenger seat, no faded ID picturing an angry chauffeur with an unpronounceable name hanging from the rear-view mirror, no antiquated meter, mounted crooked on the dash. It feels like you are in your friend's car and they're just giving you a lift on their way somewhere.

Our Uber-X was a GMC Yukon and yes, we all fit in it. The inside was pure luxury: all leather, smoky windows, nice smells, and incredibly clean – it was definitely a newer car, not your usual run down cab in a large city. The driver was wearing a suit and white button-down shirt, with no tie. Our passenger in the front seat was having a cold that day, so the driver promptly pulled out a box of tissues and gave her a bottle of water to take for the road. I have never had that kind of service from a cab driver in my life, in any country I have ever traveled.

Sonja, the driver of the second Uber (a Volkswagen Jetta), was super friendly. One of our passengers was from Raleigh, and Sonja talked about her cousin who lives there and how she probably should take some time off to visit her down in Raleigh. It was like watching old pals catching up. She was friendly, without being intrusive, which is my favorite kind of strangers, but hard to find.

We gave the wrong address first to Sonja, so, the person who called the Uber had to rectify that: with a few taps on her phone, she corrected our destination address, and the address updated immediately on Sonja's phone, sitting on the cradle on the dashboard. And I mean immediately: the second our friend hit “Update” on the map on her phone, I watched Sonja's phone refreshing and the map finding the new address. At the end, we all said good bye and moved on with our lives. I asked my friend who was going to pay for all this. She said “the app takes it out of my credit card.” No money, no tips, no dirt, no fuss, really. Just a ride.

I am sure you can worry about hackers breaking into the Uber database and stealing the credit card numbers, but I don't much worry about such things. After all, we're all Amazon shoppers, right?!

So, yeah, I was pretty blown away about it all: the convenience, the speed, the ease of the process, the courteousness of the drivers and the comfort and the politeness they offer with their service. And just the idea of this service, from the ingenuity of the app to the seamless process of knowing your driver, and what car you're getting into before it happens, the map system, and everything – would you have wanted to come up with that?!

And I must say: the phone has come a long way since Mr. Carson allowed it into the pantry. 

On Christmas Eve

Ever since I can remember, my dad taught us that a successful marriage, and every other successful relationship for that matter, is based on one thing and one thing only: respect. He never said love, or understanding. But respect.

This has been a year when at times I wished I was invisible. Maybe then, I would have hurt less, and my heart would sink less in despair. I have had days when I wanted to never look at a news feed, or hear another word from NPR in my life! But one cannot live in a bubble, no matter how much the world hurts. And we have to stay aware and awake. If we can do just one thing to help humanity is to stay aware.

I thought after The Holocaust, after 50 + years of Communism, after numerous genocides and civil wars, humanity has learned. But this year has proven that theory wrong. Very wrong.

This year has also been a painful year, personally, but from so much pain I have learned that we, humans, are stronger than we can ever imagine, and that there is incredible amount of goodness and love buried inside all of us. Sometimes it's way too deep to bring it up fast enough, but it's there and it will eventually bubble to the top. Stubbornly. Eventually.

I hope all of us find the strength and the decency to find our light tonight. I hope we find the peace, the love, the grace that the world and our worlds need most. And I hope we all find the respect into one another that we somehow lost this year. Even in the last hour of 2016, I wish for all these good things and for The Light to find our hearts and open them to goodness.

And, in our despair and aloneness, we must also remember what Anne Lammot says so many times over: “Grace bats last.” But she still bats.

Merry Christmas to all!

America's Better Half

“Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.” (Tenzin Gyatso, the Dalai Lama)

I don't know about you, but this week's been hard for me. Ever since writing this blog, 8 years ago (http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2008/11/past-due.html), till just very recently, I believed we live in a tolerant, loving, open-minded country. Not the best in the world, by any means, but striving daily to do better. The past year or so have come to prove me wrong, and it all culminated with this week.

I have read things people said, that I could not believe that they would actually happened. And then, there was the vote – which divides us like no time I remember before.

I am not going to belabor the point, here, because this is a hot topic and all of you have your own opinions that I know could not be changed. I just wanted to share a couple of experiences with you that happened to me this past Friday. I will just leave them here for you, and I just hope it will make you at least think …

I will make one more caveat: I usually do not mention race when I tell a story about people. But I think, given this week and the years to come, I will this time. Again – do with it as you wish.

I went through three experiences this Friday which reminded me of the human kindness that still exists. It is not a feeble, shy or unsure character trait in some people around us; it is loud, vibrant, clear, unconditional kindness. If we only are speaking low enough to be able to hear it.

I went to Target, first. I picked up a few things, among which a hand towel in the bathroom area. I did not realize this, but there was no tag on the towel. I came to the cash register, and this little older, white lady (she was easily in her early 70's and I kept thinking she should be home cradling grand kids or cats, not working the register at Target) asked me “ Ma'am, do you know how much this was?”. I didn't, and I felt horrible. I apologized and I told her to ring up everything else and keep the towel, and I'll go check, stand in line again and come back to pay for it. She stopped me and said: “Well, that's all right. How's $2 for it? Would that be a fair price?” My mouth just dropped. I said, knowing full well that there is no towel to be bought under $5 if you're lucky to find a sale, even at Target. I said, still shocked: “Sure, of course, $2 is more than fair. Are you sure you want to do that?”. She did not waver – she did not want me to go back and through all that trouble and she just gave it to me for $2. I was buying a lot of other things, up to $100, but still.

Then, I went by the mall. I have this medical bracelet that just broke – the metal just snapped, for no reason at all. I have been trying to find a jewelry shop to have them fix it, but no one would fix it, because it's just stainless steel, no gold and silver jeweler would take the time. But I have kept on trying. So, I go to the mall, and head toward Kay Jewelers. This Filipino young woman greets me and I show her the bracelet and ask her if it can be fixed. She examines it, like others before, and she says: “Well, to be honest, I don't know for sure if we can fix it or not. I would have to ship it to our goldsmith and then he's going to evaluate it, and then I'd have to call you and see if you want it fixed for the price he'll quote me, if he can fix it... sooo, I am just going to tell you 'no', we cannot fix it, because this is a LOT of trouble.” I gasped, with a sigh – nothing I haven't heard before. “But,” she says,”there is this jewelry repair shop by the food court right here in the mall, so it would be worth asking them if they can fix it, because they can fix anything.” I was so surprised and shocked at her kindness: evidently, I was not going to buy from her. I did not even ask her for alternatives, but she just came out and offered a solution pro bono-like, if you will. Kindness goes a long way, and now, that I felt so obligated, I want to go back and do buy something from her. I had no idea that the jewelry repair shop existed in the mall, if it were not for her.

So, off I went to the jewelry repair shop by the food court. This middle-aged, Middle Eastern man was running the store. He was chatting with this Indian woman about her kids, as he was taking in her jewelry to be repaired. After finishing up with her and her husband, he addressed me, all smiles. I showed him the bracelet and I asked him whether he can fix it. He looked at it carefully and he said he has no idea how a piece of steel can just snap like that. I assured him I could not figure that one out, either. He put the bracelet under a microscope and after assessing it for a minute or two, he said that, yes, he could laser weld it for $30, which will also include one year warranty. I was sold, of course. Then, the really kind part follows: “Ma'am, right now, we have a 10 day wait for work like this. But since this is a medical bracelet, I will try to get it done by Tuesday (that's about 3 days, if you're doing the math). Will that be all right?” Of course, it would be all right, and thank you, kind man, for noticing that it was a medical bracelet.

Random kindness is out there. It may be muted, closeted, shy, or it may be screaming out at the top of its lungs. We cannot label the content it comes in, we cannot be choosy about how it comes packaged. We can only be grateful that it exists at all, and reciprocate wholeheartedly. We owe these people that much.

In Honor of FH Awareness Day. And Because Media Lies.

Tomorrow is 2016 FH Awareness Day and in honor of this, I have a confession to make. To some folks this won't be any kind of news, but to others it might. I have not previously mentioned this on this blog: I have FH. That is short for 'familial hypercholesterolemia' and a lot easier (and faster) to spell. You can google it and choose your own source to find out what exactly it means, and I encourage you to do just that.

In short, it's a genetic disease that causes very high levels of cholesterol in your body. It does not matter what you eat or what lifestyle you lead; because of this genetic mutation, your body (your liver, most precisely) produces more cholesterol that needed. And there is no mechanism (as in normal people) for your body to get rid of the extra fat, so instead, it stays in your blood stream, and over time, it deposits inside arteries, or your organs' surface (like your liver and pancreas, or even inside your eye), or sometimes on your skin, in big, white lypomas. Whatever it deposits on, it causes havoc and malfunctioning.

This disease is not as rare as you'd think – it affects about one in every 250 people worldwide. Now, I have 270+ friends on Facebook, and some of you have triple that number, so you do the math. It's a genetically transmitted disease, so if you have it your kids and grandkids will likely inherit it. Even if they don't manifest it, they are carriers, and their kids might have it, too.

I decided to share this with you all, my extended network of friends, as I have not done so in the past, just to create awareness, and not to panic you or to cause you to run screaming for the doctor. I wanted to do this for your own knowledge, which I firmly believe is power, and for your lives and the lives of the ones you love.

Why now? Because a lot of things (good and bad) have happened recently. But let's not jump to it. I'll explain it all.

I have lived with this disease since I was born, but I didn't know about it till I was 8. Knowing about it that early in my life has helped me get to the right doctors and to the right medicine and has helped me be alive today, really.

Just to give you an idea – your normal total cholesterol maxes out around 200 mg/dl. Mine was 790 mg/ dl when I was 8. If your cholesterol is high (and if you don't have FH it can never be this high!) your doctor will tell you things like: lose weight, stay active, quit smoking, eat low fat, or “good” fat. This are all good things for all of us. Unfortunately, none of these things apply to an FH patient. Even eliminating all fats, not ever being overweight, not ever smoking, and being active would not help an FH patient at all.

One of the main reasons I want to speak about this is because of the bad rep that cholesterol has gotten in the media recently. I have come across uncountable articles, some of them from reputable sources where alleged medical spokespersons say that cholesterol is not bad for you, that carbs and sugar are bad for you, that it's all an invention of the food companies alongside pharmaceutical companies to sell us more sugary stuff and more Lipitor (one of the more popular cholesterol drug).

I agree that if you do have a normal cholesterol metabolism and you keep an active, nutritionally diversified and balanced diet and a 'clean' life, then cholesterol in the foods we eat is not intrinsically bad for you.

I have also read articles that try to convince people that cholesterol is not, in fact, one of the major causes for the number one killer in the nation (bigger than cancer), heart attacks, and of strokes. This is actually severely flawed. And I wanted to make sure you all know better than this.

I can only tell you what happened to me and my family, and that is: cholesterol kills. And before it kills, it messes you up! My grandfather on my dad's side died after 12 years of being paralyzed as a result of multiple strokes, all caused by cholesterol and plaque deposits. He died at 62. All his brothers and sisters died in their 60's or younger of either strokes or heart attacks caused by blocked arteries. My dad's sister has had stent surgery to open up blocked arteries in her legs in her early 60's. My dad needs to have the same surgery and has had coronary artery disease for many years now. He is 64.

As most of you know, I have had an overhaul of a surgery this year, that replaced my aortic valve, my ascending aorta with man-made devices and repaired four blocked vessels in my heart (that is a quadruple by-bass surgery, y'all). I also had a heart attack this year, after this surgery. I am only 41. My surgical team was floored at the state of my ascending aorta. Your aorta (and any artery, really) should be flexible and fibrous, like a soft cotton tube. Mine was like a PVC pipe – rock solid, and if they knocked on it, it would shatter. Two of my three leaflets in my aortic valve were calcified shut and the valve was narrowed. All because of cholesterol.

I have been on medication for most of my adult life, but with a genetic disease, they only can help so much. There is no cure for this. All you can do is hope, live your life to the fullest from one appointment to the next and follow doctors' orders, to help your body live with this. And stay informed on what is next. This is what I follow in my 'other' blog which I am sharing with you below.

What you should know if you have this disease, or if you're curious about finding out more:

There are some resources I'll share with you here, that will explain more, but basically:

if you have unusually high cholesterol that will not go down with regular diet and exercise, start getting suspicious and order a cholesterol check at your next physical appointment. Also, interview your relatives and find out if they have something similar going on. If you already have a factor that predisposes you for heart attacks and strokes, be doubly aware of your cholesterol level and intake of it in your foods.

I am not saying this now to panic anyone, I just want you guys to be aware, because you're all important to me.

And now, for the full disclosure:

I have written this blog, called “Living with FH (and Heart Disease)” for about 5 years now: http://livingwithfh.blogspot.com/ . You're welcome to follow it, or if it's easier to follow on Facebook, you can “like” the page and follow it there: https://www.facebook.com/Blog-Living-with-FH-and-Heart-Disease-859449370774490/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel . It's not terribly riveting, but it is a pretty accurate documentary of my 'medical' life, if you will.

Starting this year, my blog has been a feature feed for the FH Foundation's website, which is a huge honor for me. I encourage you to start your research on their site – they are doing an amazing job to raise awareness in our communities about this disease, and to save lives.

Their site is: https://thefhfoundation.org/ . If you navigate to their News & Blog section, you'll see my blog linked there, as well: https://thefhfoundation.org/news-blog/ .

I wanted to share all this with you, to celebrate FH Awareness Day tomorrow and to celebrate the new lease on life I have been given time and again only because I knew. I hope you will read but most importantly share this with people you know this information might help.

If you do have questions or don't know where to start, I hope you email me and keep me posted.

Happy FH Awareness Day, y'all! And happy health!

'Bonsai and Buddha'

I know this will seem trivial and useless to most people, but today is a huge milestone for me. 

For those who know me closely, they have known that I have been working on my second "complex" cross-stitch for more than 10 years. I venture to say, I probably have started it closer to 15 years than 10 years ago. I have worked on it around holidays, and vacation days, and on days when I was home sick, generally. 

My life has changed in so many significant ways during all this time - jobs, time zones, relationships, I have become an aunt twice, I have traveled the country and Europe, I have raised three cats and lost two of them because of old age, and I am grayer, much much grayer. 

This is a milestone for sure!
I had to stop for a second and record it for posterity - picture below. It's not framed yet, but I finished it today, so the day should be marked. 

Today is also the last day of my first ever medical leave. 97 days ago today I was taking time off from work to have open heart surgery. May 17 seemed like an eternity away, and here it is. It's how life works, I guess. I am glad that sometimes we manage to leave something behind to show for all this time past. 

 

It's called 'Bonsai and Buddha'

My Heart

"For in the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning as is refreshed." (Khalil Gibran)

I am sitting here, writing. I can almost hear my heart, almost as loud as the fridge in the kitchen. Beating. Very clearly spaced out, beat after beat, after beat.

I think this is what gave away for sure that I existed in my mom's womb - the heartbeat. My heart has since then been the rascal of my being: mom tells me all throughout her pregnancy with me, the doctor (who did not have access to an ultrasound machine back then) always heard two heartbeats in her stomach. So, he always thought she was carrying twins. She didn't. It was just my show off, loud heart.

As I grew up, I have learned I have a condition that will eventually damage my heart, as well as my brain, as well as many other vital parts of my body. But the heart was always the number one concern for all doctors - the heart goes first.

Almost all of my life, since I was 6, I have known that one day my heart would give me trouble. Well, that day has come. I am scheduled for open heart surgery in just a bit over a week.

Ever since I can remember, I have looked up to open heart surgery patients! The concept of it is no less than Frankensteinian! To crack your chest open. To stop your heart. To cut your heart. And replace parts in it ... who does this?!?! What kind of stomach does a doctor need to muster?! And then, the surviving, the moving on. The acceptance of a life on the watchout. Forever. For as long as you are lucky to breathe after that. The scare of maybe repeating the surgery, again. Oh, Lord!

Although I have known this for what seems ever to me, I am still in semi-shock. I have been lucky to have known about this for months now, and it's still hard to swallow! For 40 years, there was always "something else" they needed to try and surgery was not mandatory. There was a pill. A lifestyle change. Another test to be done. Now, there is no going around it anymore. No more delays. No avenues. No path not taken. Just a wall. A big, huge wall. A mountain to climb, and on the other side, hopefully ... life.

I pray. I beg. I cry "why me". I cry "forgive me, Lord". And I take one day at a time. And I hope. I am a big hoper these days.

I am not even in the least bit afraid of the recovery time - of all the pain, the forever meds I'll be on, the trauma, the light head, the nausea, the gore ... I am afraid of those 6 hours where my whole life, my rebel, crazy, stubborn, loud heartbeat, that first "me" of this world, will be silenced, and will only be placed solely in the hands of God and the medical staff I have only recently met. I am mortified.

I hope and pray that life will continue even better and louder than before. I hope I will meet my family, my friends, my future, on the other side. I have so much to look forward to. I miss my nephews. I miss my dad. I miss reading books I have not bought yet. I miss writing books I have not dreamed about yet. I will come back. I need to. I must.

Sick as it's been, and struggling, my heart has beaten fully, eagerly and passionately, for so many - my sister, to begin with, early on. My mom, with her blue eyes, always watching over me, beating for me, trying to make her proud of me, always. My grandma, maia, who raised me. My dad who made me tough. My aunt and all other grandparents who welcomed me, spoiled rotten, as their first born ... and not the least my husband - who keeps me together and re-stitches my broken self, daily. My cats. All the space in my heart is filled with them, overflowing.  I know all their love must keep me together because what else is there to?! So many others that never knew I cared for and about ...

I am afraid of not being the same at the end of this, the most. I am afraid that my mind will lapse and slip away, that my memory won't be all there, that my feelings will change and my outlook on life will be compromised. I am afraid of the post-op me, I guess, the most... I guess we're always afraid of what we don't know, what we don't see, and what we can't control ... but this is the ultimate in that. My dad jokingly said: "Honey, they'll pick up your heart, pull it out of your chest, wash it with some disinfectant, wipe it clean, and put it right back in". They might as well do that, or do that to my brain, and I feel just the same.

I have done some crazy stuff in my sick life. One should really not be allowed this much happiness, and gusto as I have known in my 40 years. Especially with a sick body like mine. To say that I have been blessed is to insult the word.  I have lived on impulse, spoken the truth, and never feared to look fear itself in the eye. But this time is somewhat different. Every time before, I was (although sometimes just seemingly) in control. This time, it's God and the doctors. I am just a guest at my own sorcery business.

I hope one day,  folks will remember me for one thing. And I hope that being scared out of my wits for almost the first time in my life won't be it!

I'll continue to listen to that beat. Every moment of every day. Every second. Every glimpse. For as long as God will allow. Love it and cherish it like my own first born. It needs to know it's loved and cherished. This beat needs to continue its march and stay the showoff rascal it's accustomed this world (and me) to be. I need to tell it, it's perfect just the way it is now, so it will come back promptly and carry me through many, many more winters ...

Older and None the Wiser

“Hey my next thirty years I’m gonna have some fun
Try to forget about all the crazy things I’ve done
Maybe now I’ve conquered all my adolescent fears
And I’ll do it better in my next thirty years” (Tim McGraw)

Just around the time I turned 30, I was really depressed. So, one of my older than me friends told me, at that time that “the 30’s are great. I met the love of my life in my 30’s, I got a real job and I started making real money in my 30’s. You’ll love your 30’s. Trust me”. I was dubious, then, but …she turned out to be right on all accounts.

I could have had the same reaction last month, when I entered  the last year of my 30’s, but it just so happened that Anne Lamott had something ready for me to sooth my apprehension about my advancing age – a blog right before turning 59.

What an eye opener and inspiration!

I am happy, or embarrassed, to report, that at 39 I don’t feel that old. I remember when my mom was 39 and that seemed old! And that’s another question: how are you supposed to feel when you grow old? You’ve been renting the same body for whatever long the time has been since your birth – and you have no “outside looking in” perception of what it looks like. I feel like not much changed for me, ever since I can remember.

I feel as short as when I was 4. I feel as awkward as when my grandma used to put my pig tails in huge silk bows. I feel as ugly as ever, with a big nose and coarse hair, unruly teeth in this sea of beautiful teeth Americans. I still think I have ugly legs and, as my dad points, “complicated hair”.

I behave like a complete child and spoiled brat when I want to, and I am as cold as the most frigid broad you ever meet, when I want to, as well. I still have the “stare” – whatever that is – to put one in their place with no words. Yeah, I still take myself way too seriously! Way, way so … All these moods are anything but “old and wise” – trust me.

I don’t do all the “right” things, wise, old people should do: I am not any smarter about taking care of my skin or not eating fried eggs on a weekend. I still hate icecream and chocolate, and I still love loads of mashed potatoes just the same, and I don’t take any vitamins nor my calcium and vitamin D. I am a timed bomb, you see!

I am still as paranoid as ever of people letting my cats out and them getting killed by cars! I also check the doors about 10 times before I go to bed, and I buy smelly plug-ins but I hate when they’re too strong … So I unplug them right away.

I still hate lies and liars and drunkards. And I absolutely abhor mornings! As much as I love my husband or my family, they all know to wear bullet proof vests around me at 7 AM.

I love cats and still feel that my arms are better suited for kittens than babies. I have no wisdom about how babies are born or should be raised. Really. I have opinions. Not wisdom.

I will say that not only I don’t find bad boys attractive anymore, I just have no patience for them. And I will tell them that to their faces, too. That’s the thing, I guess, with age, you’re not afraid to call the things what they are anymore. “No regrets and spit it out” summarizes me nowadays.

If given the choice of a bigger, better, more glamorous career and a short trip to the top of a mountain where I can shoot some beautiful vistas, I’d always choose the latter. Smoke of real wood in the piney crisp air of the foothills still messes with my brain, just like in my teen years.

I still love airports but I miss home more when I am away in hotels. I still like to see new places but I like coming back home, more. If my 20’s and 30’s were years of infinite quests, I think the 40’s will be the years of infinite quests for home.

When I was 6, they told me I won’t see my 20’s. Like in a good game of poker, I said “I’ll double that”. And as many times in my life, I was (almost) right, God willing. I have been living dreams and for that I am speechlessly grateful – I keep waiting, nervously, for the bubble to burst and for the lamp to stop fulfilling the wishes.

I have been lucky beyond belief and blessed beyond compare! I don’t wish anymore for much, other than for health to enjoy the good that’s given to me, and strength to handle the bad. With what I know now, I would make the same exact choices, including the “mistakes”, that I have made in the past, because they were all incredible lessons and priceless pieces of advice.

I am still learning new things everyday: after 16 years of America, I just had French toast for the first time the other day. And I still have not seen Mount Rushmore nor Yosemite. Los Angeles nor Venice Beach. I hope there is time.

16 years later, after a weird, strange, crazy, sometimes sick, American journey, I would still jump on a plane with no map, nor destination and go somewhere to start life over, if the trip promises a great reward “should things align”. As you can tell, 39 years don’t teach you much!

I have no friend who’d tell me what my 40’s would bring, but following  Anne’s example, looking back at what I have become and who I am now, things should not be that scary in the new chapter. All I can say is, just like the song says, “Lord have mercy on my next thirty years”. And with that, one foot in front of the other …