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Monthly Archives: May 2015

A Simple Error

29 Friday May 2015

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Apparently, I have a defect on my #12 Chromosome. No one takes credit for this inheritance; no family member displayed the symptoms. Likely, it’s a version you get when one of your genes betray you; a private mutiny. Regrettably, as a mutant of the chromosome community, I can pass along this blunder. Indeed, a lamentable legacy. I reviewed issues that are linked to a botched Number 12; what a montage of abnormal anatomy and freaky physiology. Am I the human equivalent of Generation Loss; the loss of quality between subsequent iterations when one is making copies? I am a simple error in duplication.

Heart Valve Problems:
(I do have a sticky heart valve) Periodically, my heart races and every now and again, it tightens like a hard, clenched fist. I wonder; is this the bitter end? Am I having a heart attack? Has my heart gone mad? Sporadically, I’m short of breath, dizzy, and bone-tired. Everybody’s heart aches sometimes, right? In reality, these discouraging signs are all indicators of my diagnosed mitral valve prolapse. Fear not; courage calms a brave heart when it beats too fast or loves too hard.

Trouble with spatial visualization:
(what you need to ace math and be an expert at parallel parking) Eureka; I’m exceptionally inquisitive but in fourth grade, I had an Anti-Christ of a teacher. Since then, I’ve circumvented all subjects remotely requiring mathematics. Mr. Fuller was the diametric opposite of an educator. He was a bully; his belittling means converted each day into a long-division nightmare. To defend myself from that amount of negativity; I discounted him. I carry the remainder into all procedures involving division and multiplication. Additionally; into all areas requiring that any two objects have to be parallel.

Recurrent ear infections;
(underdeveloped Eustachian tubes) Did I understand? The doctor said I spent too much time playing underwater in the pool? At the visits to the ear, nose and throat doctor, were they talking swimming pools or gene pools?

Components of my skeletal frame are not entirely developed:
Following traumatic accidents, abnormal irregularities were incidentally discovered during emergency room MRI’s and Cat Scans. A passenger both times, the second wreck was more serious and semi-life-altering, but obviously, I lived. With all knowledgeable members of previous generations deceased, I had my DNA analyzed in an effort to unearth the source of my inexplicable abnormalities. I reluctantly agreed to additional diagnostic procedures. Verifiable evidence of my atypical inheritance was uncovered but no definite answers. More tests opened the door to more questions. I now graciously ignore queries from puzzled specialists. I prefer to remain an enigma.

Hemochromatosis;
(high transferrin saturation rate)
Translation; I have too much iron in my system. Caucasians of Northern European descent are at highest risk, and symptomless, silent carriers can pass the defect on to their descendants. My DNA test revealed that in fact; Mom’s, maternal side was Northern European. Intrepid Norsemen, they voyaged across the ocean from the Scandinavian Peninsula of distant Denmark, frosty Finland and the upper-most reaches of northern Germany. Fortunately, Dad met Mom and contributed his hot-blooded, Iberian Peninsula genes to the paradoxical mix. This select family formula balances the fire and ice equation and keeps me from rusting. The Danish birth certificates are bona fide and truly iron-clad.

At the bottom of the alphabetized list of “Diseases and Disorders from Chromosome 12 Defects” is Von Willebrand Disease. It is the “most common hereditary coagulation abnormality.” People with Type O blood have decreased levels of clotting factors. Naturally, I’d have Type O positive. It’s called universal, it’s so common. My #12’s ultimate, regular, irregularity.

Seriously, I am grateful. I scanned some of the other diseases you can get if your #12 is damaged. You don’t always live; you die early or suffer long with agonizing disorders. For sixty years, I’ve lived pretty well. I only have vWD Type 1. It’s named after the Finnish doctor Erik von Willebrand. He first described the disease in 1926. It’s the reason I ended up in the hospital after a miscarriage; I’d “bled out.” No pulse and no blood pressure, standard symptoms of my completely commonplace coagulation aberration. A quirky Finnish connection; does this confirm a Nordic root of my defective # 12? Most likely, it’s just a coincidence.

Finally; it has been clinically diagnosed and reconfirmed repeatedly so now I wear a Medical ID bracelet. It has the official name of my disease and the prescription clotting medication I require engraved on it. I carry my desmopressin; a handy nasal spray, all the time; nearly. With the aid of fancy pharmaceuticals I hope to stick around a few more decades with my defective # 12.

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Tell the Story

25 Monday May 2015

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I only saw it from the place where the mirror is cracked and only when the light from the morning sun hit it just right. I only heard it when I was wearing one of their old wind-up watches.

I eventually covered up the crack by tucking a carefully chosen photo into the mirror’s wooden frame.Then I stopped wearing the watches and reverently packed them away in soft, velvet boxes.

I had to give myself a break from the sights and sounds. Nothing was particularly frightening but the collective weight of their wordless pleading was overloading my daily responsibilities and my very being. “Tell the story.”

The images were like the ones I’d seen when I had my first, near-death experience. Mostly, sepia-toned stills like the kind you would see in cherished, old photograph collections, only these images would move a bit.

Polite tight smiles would relax into a slight grin. Piercing eyes would pause and twinkle. Everything, everyone would become more inviting and less intimidating than the original view.

I would remember being in that very location and feel the event that was holding them to that space and time. The cry of the dove cooing, or the smell of blooms would penetrate my thin, skin shell.

At first, I tried to not be pulled in their direction. I fought it; frightened that if I went along, I would not be able to find my way back to the life that I’d been living. I had three young children and I did not want to leave them.

A mid-pregnancy miscarriage had caused a frantic rush to the emergency room. No pulse and no blood pressure were the urgent problems for the medical team but I was only aware of a sensation of tumbling through a tunnel and seeing, and feeling the pull of deceased ancestors.

I was somersaulting and each time I came up from one full rotation, I would see another relative’s image. In all, I saw a dozen family members and then I was at the end of the tunnel.

From a crack flashed a blinding light that made me squeeze my closed eyes even tighter. An unrecognizable voice gently whispered, “Sorry, you have to go back. You still have work to do.”

Instantly I was back in my very own 32 year old, human body form. Hooked by lines and wires to the life saving equipment of the modern emergency room; alive but forever changed and charged. Tell the story.

How To Only Pack One Pair Of Underwear For A Long Weekend Vacation

22 Friday May 2015

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Have a great weekend everyone!

Hold Me, Don't Hold ME

1. Start packing. Lay out all the clothes you will need on your freshly made bed, like some kind of grown-up.

2. Stop packing so you can pour child third bowl of cereal for the morning.

3. Resume packing while child eats bowl of cereal.

4. Stop packing to clean up spilled cereal from carpet.

5. Resume packing. Discover you fit into pre-nursing normal bras. Do a weird dance. Walk around with your shirt up to feel the wind on your skin, as if you just had a cast removed. Adjust outfits accordingly since a moomoo is no longer required to cover up device holding up breasts.

6. Stop packing because child is requesting a nail trim.

7. Resume packing because child no longer wants a nail trim.

8. Stop packing because child has pooped.

9. Resume packing, but are confused at lack of underwear available in drawer. Consider wearing…

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Choose Your Own Adventure: Getting A Toddler Out Of The House Within 2 Hours

19 Tuesday May 2015

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Choose Your Own Adventure: Getting A Toddler Out Of The House Within 2 Hours.

To The Picasso of The Graffiti World

13 Wednesday May 2015

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Hold Me, Don't Hold ME

To The Thoughtful and Exceedingly Talented Individual Who Tagged My Car Yesterday,

Let me start by saying thank you. In a world drowning in gray, mid-size SUVs, your addition of the word “MIUe” is a special way to stand out from all the rest. Also, it doesn’t escape me that you have picked my favorite color, hospital scrub blue, to adorn our once Plain Jane car. Now, when driving around, I’m constantly reminded to be extra safe, so as to not end up in a hospital, surrounded by people wearing those aforementioned scrubs.

I would be remiss, however, to leave out a few thoughts I have on your piece, as no artist is ever fully developed without a little critique here and there!

For one, as far as I know, “MIUe” isn’t a word. I googled it, and nothing really definable came up. Perhaps I’m misreading it? Or perhaps…

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Goodbye, again.

12 Tuesday May 2015

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Goodbye, again..

An Open Letter To Internet Bullies via BLUNTmoms

09 Saturday May 2015

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An Open Letter To Internet Bullies via BLUNTmoms.

An Open Letter To Internet Bullies via BLUNTmoms

08 Friday May 2015

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It’s the birthday of the person who wrote this blog. As a way of honoring her and her birthday, I am re blogging. Oh yeah, and she is my kid.

Hold Me, Don't Hold ME

This week I had the pleasure of writing a post for the fabulous website, BLUNTmoms, regarding internet bullying, which has become an issue near and dear to my heart. I’ve included a short sample of the piece, but please do stop by and check it out by clicking the link at the bottom of the page. I’d love to hear your feedback!


Another week, another news story about someone saying something idiotic and having the Internet come down on them like the hammer of Thor. While there are plenty of examples to choose from, my new favorite celebrity turned Internet punching bag is Britt McHenry, the ESPN reporter who verbally bitch-slapped a clerk at an Atlanta towing company last month on camera. It wasn’t that she did it, but rather how she did it, with plenty of bragging about her status, a little weight shaming, and some uncomfortable usage of the phrase…

View original post 21 more words

The Gift Of Living Simply

05 Tuesday May 2015

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OK blog world, my daughter wrote THIS!!!

Hold Me, Don't Hold ME

This week is my birthday. For those of you in my neck of the woods, a.k.a. ‘Merica, it is also Mother’s Day, so for my husband, it’s a double whammy of gift-giving expectations. While there is a certain appeal to amassing more things, newer things, better things, to replace my other things, there is something I want even more. Something that is free, and easy, and can never be snatched off the counter by tiny toddler hands and thrown in the toilet. It is something I want to give to myself as much as I want it given to me. Above all else, it’s something I want to give to my daughter, so she never forgets what is truly important in life.

I want to live simply.

This idea came to me this weekend while visiting with family. It was the very best of visits, the kind that end with all of…

View original post 306 more words

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