The Month That Was August

Image credit: http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/assessment/2001/07/august.html

Another month has breezed by. Farewell August, you contradictory creature! You provided us with lovely days, then changed your mind and brought out blustery, bitterly cold days. There were days suffused with sunshine, interspersed with days spent with feet and hands like blocks of ice. I'm glad the latter is over. 

Reflecting upon the month of August makes me realise something: I need to get out more. I certainly don't have an action packed schedule to report.

However, one very exciting and fabulous thing happened. I had my tits crushed. Also known as a mammogram. Okay, so that part wasn't exactly fabulous. The results were! It was all completely normal! I am totally cancer free! YAY! Happy dance. 

Image credit: http://www.reactiongifs.com/crazy-dancing/

I reckon the only times I left the house during August were to go to grocery shopping, do the school pick up, go to a Weight Witches meeting or to have my tits crushed. Additionally, I went to the library. I like to be cutting edge.

Oh, and I got jabbed the other day. Meaning I had a blood test. While we're on that subject, it's pretty disconcerting to realise that I'm 45 years old, I've given birth four times and beaten cancer, but I still get freaked out and nervy having a blood test. What the...? Of course this phenomenon is now multiplied by a billion, because I'm even more paranoid about test results now. Brilliant.

The blood test is simply a routine thing to check my cholesterol, thyroid, sugar and hormones. Because I now have menopause thrown into the mix. Fun times. I see my GP next Wednesday to get the results. In the meantime I haven't had any urgent phone calls, so I hope that's a good sign. 

Meanwhile, today I am back to see my specialist/surgeon. My GP already informed me that my mammogram was all good. It's hard to believe that I'm already having my first six-monthly check up since my diagnonsense. So basically that is the highlight of my very ordinary August. 

I also became quite wistful and reflective. On the 24th it was the ninth anniversary of the day I gave birth to my deceased baby boy, Daniel. It's weird. These days I don't always think about him on the exact day, but at other random times. It's been nine years, which seems bizarre. On the one hand it seems like yesterday, but on the other, a billion years ago. So much has happened since then. Anyway, I can think of him with a smile and only a hint of sadness now. I imagine what he might have been like, and wonder if he'd be as cheeky and gorgeous as his brothers. I wonder how he would be different from them, too. My boys are all different. 

Oh yes! I finally got my very own laptop. As a result I think I've blogged a bit more consistently throughout August. Well, for me anyway. I'm always so ad hoc here.  

In other news, I now possess a full head of curly hair. Consequently, I finally understand curly hair problems. Related: I am going to be the whitest woman ever with a 'fro.  Except it doesn't look cool and cutting edge. I just look like a Nanna with a bad perm. Sigh. Well, my GP reckons I have a young face. So ner! A young face with Nanna hair and a double chin. Different. 

What else can I tell you about August? I could report that Weight Witches isn't going well. Oops. In fact, I am going to retire my broomstick. It isn't working out for me. Even though I admit some of it is my own fault due to lack of commitment, it also irks me somewhat that they keep changing it. Just when you have become used to one way, it's all changed. This means you have to purchase a lot of stuff all over again. I find this rather annoying. I don't cope with change. But that's a whole other post. I'm still aware that I need to shift some weight and stay healthy, so I'm going to discuss some other possible options with my GP. Wish me luck! 

So that concludes my rather lacklustre August. But if there's one thing I've learnt in the past year it's this: boring is GOOD.

Bring on a boring September!

And I can't resist going out with yet another happy dance!

Image crhttp://www.reactiongifs.com/seinfeld-happy-dance/edit:

Linking up with Sanch for 

The Month That Was and Grace for FYBF. 

How was your August? Any happy dance worthy moments? 

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T'is The Season To Be Jolly...Worried Part Two Plus Further Tales of Woe

I have been asked how I coped with everything at the time, when Micky Blue Eyes had Cancer. I can never really come up with an answer.

When you really have no choice but to cope, somehow you do. That's the best I can come up with. Sometimes it seems as if I cope on automatic pilot at the time then fall to pieces later. That does seem to be my tendency.

As I mentioned, Mick had to have chemo which would be ongoing for six months. 

Then we found out his brother had Cancer. Only for him, it seemed it was an even more extreme situation. The cancer was in a bad position and quite advanced.

So began a three year battle for him that ended when he passed away on May 13th, 2008. 

Previous to this we found out that the Cancer was, in fact, hereditary. It was caused by something called HNPCC which is short for Hereditary NonPolyposis Colorectal Cancer. This means the person (ie Mick) already has genes that would predispose them to certain cancers. 

We also found out that I was pregnant again. Something we hadn't really expected, but were thrilled.

Until, at the routine 19 weeks scan, they were unable to find any heart beat. The pregnancy was too advanced so I would have to deliver the baby.

Once again we were having to experience the unthinkable. I delivered our stillborn son, Daniel, on 24th August, 2007. The cord had wrapped around his neck.

I have to admit I've struggled rather a lot in the following years. Paranoia pervaded my every thought and I became fearful and anxious waiting for the next terrible thing to happen.

I was convinced we were cursed or jinxed. I tried to remember if I'd ever broken a mirror or a black cat had crossed my path. And I'm not usually superstitious. But suddenly I was.

Which wasn't extremely helpful because I was pregnant again. But of course this time all went well.

A blessing after a lot of heartache on November 2, 2008

After a shaky start (I was horribly sick for the first trimester) and a dramatic finish (emergency cesarean)  Mr 4 was born on November 2, 2008.  I'm assuming we just don't have girls for whatever reason. But that's fine, all I wanted was a healthy, living, breathing baby.

I love having boys. 

However, I am still trying to cure my paranoia after yet another family member now has Cancer. 

I'll also be holding my breath until December 14th, when Micky Blue Eyes has his colonoscopy.  Hoping to be boring.

"It's all very boring," the doctor informed us a year or two ago after the procedure.  Immediately we decided that we love nothing more than being boring. Boring is the best.

Bring on boring. 


Have you ever felt cursed or jinxed?  Are you superstitious?

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Driving And Other Tragedies

Linking up an earlier post with My Home Truths for I Must Confess. A little late, but better late than never as they say.

I  Must Confess: I am a 41 year old P-Plater.


As I am now the mature (ie over the hill)  age of 41, you could be forgiven for assuming I am an experienced driver.  Wrong.  Embarrassingly, I am in fact, still a P-Plater. 

At age 16, when most adolescents are clamouring for independence and consequently a driver's licence as a means to that independence, it simply never even occurred to me.  Then again, it never occurred to me to have a crush on Jon Bon Jovi, like most girls my age either, so I guess I really was an odd one.

At age 21, it did somewhat belatedly dawn on me that perhaps I ought to get moving on it.  So I dutifully procrastinated for another two years before finally obtaining my learner's licence at age 23.  Then I began driving lessons.

Nervously, I approached the car in trepidation on my first lesson.  There she was.  The Instructor From Hell.  This woman would have scared Satan.  A miserable, hard faced bitch who proceeded to chain smoke throughout my lesson.

She would occasionally remove the cancer stick to snort with derision at my (lack of) driving skills. I turned left when she said right.  Right when she said left.  Went too fast.  Then, too slow.  Got muddled at roundabouts.  Terrified, changing lanes.

 Let's not even talk about reverse parking.  Even the most competent drivers struggle with this one.  Try doing it as a novice driver under Satan's supervision.  I lost count of how many times I hit the curb while she sat scornfully puffing cigarette smoke in my face.  I couldn't say anything.  I was too shy.  She was too scary.

Mrs Satan had no mercy however, and promptly booked my test, before I was ready, eager to be rid of me and my nervous driving. 

Fail.

Uncaring, she booked it again.  Fail again.

"You're hopeless," she informed me bitterly, echoing the nagging voice in my head,  "you'll never pass."   At this stage, getting a driver's licence was the equivalent of sprouting wings from my back and flying.  Impossible. In my mind anyway. 

Third time.  With these helpful thoughts swirling in my head, it was just as Mrs Satan predicted. 

Epic Fail.

So humiliated was I by my hatrick of failures  I gave up and put it all firmly in the too hard basket, never to be spoken of again.  There it remained for a good 12 years.

Then, I started  seeing a counsellor during a particularly stressful period for our family, when Micky Blue Eyes had cancer (that's a whole other story).  She prodded me into action and I finally got my learner's licence again.

Micky Blue Eyes, obviously deciding that once you've beaten cancer, nothing is scary anymore, happily took me out for some lessons.  The 'happily' part was rather short lived.   After several arguments, nearly leading to divorce and an alarming incident where I hit the accelerator instead of the brake nearly smashing into our front gate and into the back of the old 1961 EK Holden that had been in Mick's family since it was brand new (sadly, now departed),  I once again booked an instructor.

Fortunately this one wasn't scary, even managing to smile and be encouraging.  I plodded along to lessons getting closer to sprouting my wings.  Then, I was also Up The Duff again.  Another tragedy struck.   I lost the baby at 19 weeks.  Suddenly,  driving didn't seem that important to me.(That's a whole other story).

Some months later, I managed to pull myself from an abyss of grief, and attempted my driving test.

 Fail.

Second try. I did it!  I finally sprouted wings!

 The first time I drove the car by myself, it nearly felt like it.  It was only a short trip to the local shops, but I came home, triumphant, beaming.  I pulled up and flew to the front door, exhilarated.  Then abruptly, I stopped, deflated, like a popped balloon. People your age have been driving for years, the nasty voice in my head informed me.  What a fool!  I felt small and pitiful.

I shouldn't have though.  Now  that I know I have Aspergers, it has caused me to re-assess lots of things.  Driving is one of them.  No wonder I struggled with it.  Lots of Aspie people do apparently.  It just took me longer to grasp it.  But I did.  Now I have officially sprouted wings and flown.  Something I need to remind myself whenever I am facing things I think I can't do or cope with.

Just don't ever ask me to reverse park however.  Despite finally acing it in my test I've never attempted it again since.

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