tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19310217217087138502012-02-16T07:58:19.621-05:008thdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17139355263412766126noreply@blogger.comBlogger4631100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-16312688032815734352012-02-14T08:15:00.000-05:002012-02-14T08:15:35.616-05:00

Last year, Sasha Dichter, Chief Innovation Officer for Acumen Fund, converted his month-long "Generosity Experiment" into a global Generosity Day. The idea was simple: to celebrate Valentine's Day as a day of "sharing love with everyone, of being generous to everyone, to see how it feels and to practice saying “Yes.” Let’s make the day about love, action and human connection – because we can do

8thdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17139355263412766126noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-72474014379089486622012-02-10T11:54:00.000-05:002012-02-10T11:54:14.487-05:00

It’s been a long time since I have been in a church. So long I can’t actually remember. And then I attended two funerals in two weeks. Both celebrated with masses at a Catholic church. I have never been comfortable at a Catholic mass. All the stand up, sit down, kneel, confuse me. The incense gives me a headache. Christ, in agony, staring down from a cross. Ugh. The genuflecting, bowing and

8thdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17139355263412766126noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-21974608780200274832012-02-07T07:18:00.001-05:002012-02-07T07:18:19.727-05:00

1. Taxes done and e-filed.  Nice return expected. 2. Being able to share grief. 3. Reconnecting with a great childhood friend. (And we did it without facebook!) 4. Cappuccino brownies. 5. Sharing the Superbowl with the same friends for 21 years.

8thdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17139355263412766126noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-13081913497900236622012-01-27T08:32:00.000-05:002012-01-27T08:32:09.250-05:00

Contribution.   This is my word/goal/resolution for 2012.I know,  it's kind of late to be posting resolutions.   I had started writing this much earlier but hadn't solidified where I was going with it so it languished in a 'later' folder.   This week has been a week of grieving for our family, which has me again thinking about what I want my life to mean.   I still don't know how I will

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-78892338829039469512012-01-24T08:17:00.001-05:002012-01-24T08:17:50.250-05:00

1.  Getting back (slowly) to the gym. 2. Being able to exercise with no bounce. 3. No sweaty, clingy sports bra to wrestle out of. 4. Finally being able to shave my armpits. Sort of. My right side is still numb and a little swollen. But I did manage a fairly good hack job. 5. Being able to sauna. (Yay!!! Fireworks !!! Happy dances !!!)    I do love a sauna.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-29656056363707975952012-01-17T08:32:00.001-05:002012-01-17T08:32:58.536-05:00

1.  The weather outside is finally frightful.  Not that I like single digit temperatures, but I do like the snow. 2.  A sweater that generously arrived from the pack mule of the universe, one of the few things my super sensitive torso skin can tolerate. 3.  Finally being able to sleep on my side.  4.  People who bring me food - turkey, apple pie, ice cream sundaes, pizza, wings, Peppermint

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-66273640991192428362012-01-13T08:21:00.001-05:002012-01-13T08:21:42.867-05:00

  A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future. -  Lewis Smedes I have been firming up my goals and intentions for the coming year. But first a look back at 2011 which was a monumental year for me. 2011. A year of healing. It was actually over two years ago when

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-49340407306116832502012-01-10T09:43:00.000-05:002012-01-10T09:43:04.815-05:00

1. Back to work. I love my co-workers, they are family to me. It’s like coming home. 2. Being able to button my pants. Barely. But still technically buttoned. Diet started yesterday. Today. Definitely today. 3. The steri-strips are finally all off the incisions. I am thanking the gods because they were some itchy little buggers. 4. Managed to pay two spring semester college tuition bills. I

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-76971429698314097882012-01-08T18:22:00.002-05:002012-01-10T08:18:47.292-05:00

I have been home for 2 1/2 weeks since surgery.  I would like to say that I have accomplished much in that time, but the reality is, I haven't.   I read one book.  One.   I have not even finished writing thank you cards.  I have not had the stamina to exercise except for a daily walk around the block with the dog.  And then I need a nap.  But I have had a lot of time to think about my new body

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-56844207230800154522012-01-03T09:01:00.000-05:002012-01-03T09:01:35.804-05:00

1.  New Year's Eve kisses 2.  Kaleidoscopes 3.  Flannel sheets 4.  Finally being able to reach the microwave.  5.  Albert Einstein hair - I can point a hairdryer at my hair but still can't get my arms high enough to style it.   The new look is keeping me humble.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-11287857270935384342011-12-29T07:01:00.000-05:002011-12-29T07:01:15.180-05:00

Warning:  I have included a picture of my new, boobless chest.   It is very bruised and might be disturbing/triggering to some. Yesterday I had the drains removed. Holy effing ouch !  That's all I'm going to say about that. Having the majority of surgical tape removed has given me a much greater range of motion but I have a long way to go before I will be able to raise my arms over

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-81246423159440416202011-12-26T18:17:00.001-05:002011-12-27T07:15:55.422-05:00

This week it would be very hard for me to limit my gratitude to just five items.  It has been an amazing week so here goes: - For my sister who left her family on their major holiday to come and help me get through my surgery - About to be wheeled in to the operating room, the nurse who said "I believe in good luck kisses."  My sister kissed me, then Martha kissed me, and then the nurse kissed

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-52729503250935116202011-12-26T08:51:00.001-05:002011-12-26T08:51:59.391-05:00

First couple of days were a little rough but every day I have a small victory. Every day I gain a little more mobility in my arms - it is very frustrating not to be able to reach the toilet paper, comb my hair, scratch an itch, get dressed or get anything out of the fridge.  This morning I could finally reach the toilet paper.  Yay!  Up til now it might as well been 3 miles away. My

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-41839861192147351782011-12-23T15:11:00.000-05:002011-12-23T13:44:07.096-05:00

 I am so happy to be home.   I was in recovery for over 4 hours so that wasn't so good but I am past it now.   I am up and walking around although laying down is the most comfortable for me.   I am managing with just Tynelol.   Whoever gave me the suggestion for a camisole with the pockets for the drains - it is a god send.  The drains are really gross and I can't even look at them. 

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-32669886607592800842011-12-20T17:52:00.001-05:002011-12-20T17:52:33.857-05:00

Surgery time is set for 10:50 am. EST.    Should take about 2 1/2 hours. And then recovery for as long as it takes. I had the nuclear dye inserted today.  My boobs are not glowing.  I am disappointed. But my sister and my daughters are going to decorate them tonight.    I'm ready. Hopefully I'll be back here soon.   Thank you again for all your support.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-82172452697404639802011-12-19T14:31:00.000-05:002011-12-20T08:10:33.477-05:00

1. Having my daughters home for a 5 week winter break. 2. Making Christmas cookies with them (always the jokesters) 3. Having Beanie make me cry when she shared her birthday wish with me. 4. Brown paper packages tied up in love. 5. My home overflowing with well wishing cards and chocolate. I am blown away with the love.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-2051558912232478262011-12-15T11:37:00.000-05:002011-12-16T19:16:34.280-05:00

Today I am feeling a little bummed. Not depressed or anything, just a little melancholy.  I think it started when I got a lovely card from a friend that said "I'm sorry you're sick." Sick? I have not really thought of it in those terms. I am very rarely sick. In fact, most people are surprised when they learn how old I am because I stay pretty active - back packing, skiing, kayaking. If

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-77801627033095741202011-12-12T15:09:00.000-05:002011-12-13T08:08:24.254-05:00

1. All the wonderful and helpful advice I got from my last post. Wow, you guys really came through.   And with each problem solved I feel a little less anxiety. 2. Holiday presents all bought/made, wrapped and shipped. 3. A partner who will have me for better or worse. 4. A ridiculously lazy day. 5. The frozen grapes I found buried under some other unidentifiable frozen thing -  a surprise

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-22784590618864085502011-12-08T14:48:00.001-05:002011-12-08T14:53:29.779-05:00

Surgery date for the bilateral mastectomy is set for December 21st and I have been using this time to get myself prepared. 　 - Copies of health care proxies and power-of-attorney documents. ( I will never be caught in a "you have no right to visit your partner" crisis again) - Zip up hoodies and button up shirts. I have been told it will be a long time before I can put something on over my head

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-84431766145340068262011-12-05T18:57:00.001-05:002011-12-06T08:21:20.158-05:00

1. Health insurance. This bill is for only one of the three biopsies I had. $4,575 !!!    I can’t imagine what the surgery itself must cost.   My total out-of-pocket cost will be $75.   Yes, I’m very grateful for health insurance for which I have never paid a penny. 2. Finishing all my outdoor work before the snow flies. 3. A day that started with a friend and a big bunch of laughter

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-61389679460728571872011-12-01T09:22:00.001-05:002011-12-01T10:04:39.219-05:00

A friend recently gifted me with a certificate to a spa. I have never had a professional massage so I am very excited by this. Also, the gift was so generous that I can do massage and something else. I can’t stand to have anyone touch my feet, so a pedicure is out.  I thought maybe a facial since I have been a sun worshipper since birth and my skin is more than showing it. Anyway, the brochure

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-30131351439974238502011-11-28T15:42:00.001-05:002011-11-29T08:04:14.343-05:00

1. Celebrating 3 holidays - Martha’s birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas tree and house decorating - all over this past weekend with the whole family together and friends in and out.   My heart was bursting with happy. 　 2. A distant relative giving Martha a box of photos of her parents, including their wedding, vacations and Martha as a baby. (Her parents died when she was very young and she

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-60686172482056076122011-11-22T09:27:00.001-05:002011-11-22T09:47:09.104-05:00

1. Having both my daughters home, together for the first time since early August, to celebrate all the abundance in our lives. 2. Sweater weather. 3. Finished Martha’s birthday shopping with 24 hours to spare. 4. Nutella by the (very large) spoonful. 5. Hugs. I have received so many hugs lately. One can never have too many of those. and then I just found this, posted today on Dorothy

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-35193471707457920712011-11-18T11:12:00.001-05:002011-11-18T11:18:14.118-05:00

The last two weeks have been a blur of doctors’ appointments. Routine mammogram. Call back mammogram. Ultrasound. Cyst biopsy. Ultrasound biopsy. Cancer diagnosis. Stereostatic biopsy. Breast surgeon. Choices - lumpectomy with lymph removal and constant monitoring or bilateral mastectomy. Run around get all the reports. Second opinion. Breast MRI. I think I am FINALLY done with all the tests.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-77939804420486938952011-11-15T08:15:00.000-05:002011-11-15T08:18:48.230-05:00

I usually write a list of things I was particularly grateful for during the week, but I've been completing these questions, as seen on Making Space,  and it sums up just how happy I am with my life.  Not a perfect life.  Not without it's challenges.   But oh so good.   If you could… 1) live anywhere in the world, where would it be? I'm very happy right where I am.   I can be in three major

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-35682389447333265722011-11-10T13:24:00.001-05:002011-11-10T13:51:39.468-05:00

I have suffered from claustrophobia ever since my assault. It was like a switch going on - I never felt claustrophobic, and then I did. But I learned to adjust to it.  I live and work in wide, uncrowded spaces. I am healthy enough to take stairs instead of elevators. I always get theater tickets on an aisle. I always sit on the outside of a booth. Most of these things have just become second

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-28700474009158088652011-11-08T08:17:00.000-05:002011-11-08T08:17:50.608-05:00

1. "You have great pecs"   That is what a doctor (who looked like the love child of Hillary Swank and Natasha Richardson) said to me during one of my biopsies. That’s what she said. But I heard sooooo much more . . . 2. Peachie coming home for an impromptu weekend - shopping, chatting, baking cookies, snuggling.  I do miss that little one. 3. A friend dropping by with a basket of banana

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-35232339933531780392011-11-04T08:34:00.001-04:002011-11-04T10:14:59.347-04:00

In her memoir "Before the World Intruded" Michele Rosenthal writes: When you survive a life-threatening experience you become another person justlikethat. It happens in an instant. If it's happened to you, you know exactly what I mean. One minute you're minding your own business, aware of who you are and what it means to be you - and then, Wham!, all of a sudden that self is gone. I spent a lot

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-79155086100325533842011-11-01T07:13:00.001-04:002011-11-01T08:09:02.874-04:00

Last week I was once again diagnosed with breast cancer, which was not great news to hear. Yet still there is much to be grateful for: 1. 11 years of remission which made me ultra aware and grateful for every single healthy day I’ve had. 2. Early detection has hopefully caught it the early stages. The next two weeks are a blur of medical appointments and tests to determine exactly what I’m

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-58012829241365734392011-10-11T08:29:00.000-04:002011-10-11T08:29:10.873-04:00

Finishing all my acts of atonement (I hope I didn’t leave anyone out) and having every apology accepted. 　 Receiving fun packages in the mail 　 The doctor who stitched up my finger after an unfortunate carpentry accident. 　 Clean crisp sheets. 　 An absolutely stunning weekend at the lake.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-66325772584671226112011-10-07T07:23:00.000-04:002011-10-07T07:23:04.552-04:00

Tomorrow Martha and I will celebrate our 22nd anniversary together.  It seems impossible that we are old enough to be celebrating a number that big. Of course, I use the word "celebrate" rather loosely. Martha does not have a romantic bone in her body. I doubt she’ll even remember, unless she gets the mail when my mother’s card arrives. My mother always remembers. We are expecting phenomenal

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-75679089177209162512011-10-04T08:00:00.000-04:002011-10-04T08:01:45.311-04:00

Gratitude for some of this week’s texts: - sending hugs and kisses (Peachie) - miss and love you (Peachie) - if you are home for dinner tonight I will make shrimp scampi  (Martha) - miss you like crazy (Peachie) -can you send me extra money this week? (Beanie)

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-66569703066614861612011-09-30T09:48:00.002-04:002011-09-30T16:28:13.136-04:00

On the Jewish calendar this is the season of atonement. It is traditionally a period of asking for forgiveness and seeking opportunities to repair wrongs and harms that one has caused. If you have known me for any length of time, you have probably received an apology from me this time of year. I tend to screw up. A lot. Last year I decided to write to Daphne’s parents asking for forgiveness for

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-32816827664133917212011-09-27T08:05:00.000-04:002011-09-27T08:05:41.849-04:00

Tomorrow will mark the 25th anniversary of the assault that took from me the woman I loved and changed my life forever. I am amazed to say that. Twenty five years. Sometimes the memories are so devastatingly raw it feels like I am still reliving it, and sometimes it feels so long ago that it must have been someone else’s life. It is a day I have traditionally marked by holing up and listening to

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-19744823155794023632011-09-19T19:15:00.002-04:002011-09-20T08:09:24.221-04:00

I was in New York City for a long weekend:- going to the urban design week conference and having my brain pinging with wonderful new ideas and challenges.- spending time with my sister, niece and my nephew’s new fiancé who is just adorable (and knows more lesbian jokes than anyone I know)- delicious dinner at The Strip House. Naked ladies, great food.- seeing The Book of Mormon and laughing so

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-20087413005072237382011-09-15T09:53:00.003-04:002011-09-15T09:59:42.126-04:00

Alone at last. No kids. Its funny, both our daughters kept asking us what we were going to DO once they both left for school, as if we were going to turn to dust when they walked out the door. And we kept telling them that we did actually have a life before they came along and sucked every ounce of energy, every second of time, and every nickle of money out of us. We used to go out all the time.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-49308391568586403652011-09-13T08:06:00.001-04:002011-09-13T08:06:38.628-04:00

Great conversation while driving six hours to see Peachie’s team play.  And having a wonderful picnic with her afterward. Returning to find Beanie had come home to surprise us. Well, she actually came home to support a troubled friend, but we got her most of Sunday. The rain finally stopping. Sexy time. Apple picking on a crisp, sunny, Sunday morning. The fruits of my labor

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-90193874960659937582011-09-07T20:29:00.004-04:002011-09-08T07:34:30.012-04:00

Trigger warning: this post contains references to sexual assault and violence which may be triggering to survivors. While I was in therapy, Lauren and I spent a lot of time defining my goals and working toward them. My goals were always these big, amorphous things like “I want the flashbacks and anxiety to stop” or “I don’t want to be afraid to go to sleep.” Or “I want to remember the good things

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-5572321008770249562011-09-06T08:10:00.000-04:002011-09-06T08:10:43.397-04:00

I sat down to write my weekly Full of Grace post, where I intentionally recall some of the things I was particularly grateful for during the week. I had started a list which included the incredible crop of heirloom tomatoes in our vegetable garden this year. And going to see Peachie's first game at college and being able to hug her again - the thing I have found I miss the most about her being

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-68048372514090660832011-09-02T11:09:00.005-04:002011-09-02T11:14:56.377-04:00

Please tell me that this is true - More sex than anyone is comfortable admitting . . .

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-5761957803185023982011-08-29T20:39:00.004-04:002011-08-30T17:05:22.553-04:00

We knew the hurricane was coming. I was leaving for a short, over night backpacking trip in the mountains before the storm, so before I left I took care of those miscellaneous things - packed up the lawn furniture, put all the deck flowers in a secure area, let down the water in the pool, etc. Our house was as ready as we could make it. Martha called as I was returning from the trip and

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-38656815004826022502011-08-26T05:47:00.001-04:002011-08-26T06:17:49.213-04:00

Every once in a while the universe gives me something that totally changes my perspective and suggests a whole new set of possibilities. Earlier this week I was talking to Lauren’s daughter, telling her about how her mother had helped me finally push that f*cking boulder up the hill and how I felt like I am back at the bottom having to push it back up a f*cking mountain, alone. And she said to

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-77741457095022937452011-08-23T08:12:00.001-04:002011-08-23T08:15:40.543-04:00

Gardening barefoot and mushing my toes into the warm moist dirt. Having no money in the stock market. Feeling so very supported by friends. Having a woman in the supermarket give me an up and down look and then wink at me. Really? Homemade ice cream. Yum.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-90888871794624187252011-08-22T11:00:00.002-04:002011-08-22T12:01:24.362-04:00

You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-3049815822586931602011-08-17T21:20:00.005-04:002011-08-18T08:35:18.063-04:00

Yesterday we took Peachie to college. Because she is going to play a fall sport, she had to report two weeks early to start practices. Which means we had to leave her in a near empty dorm. No roommate. No one else in her hallway. No food service until Friday. No TV service. No security. I was not happy. I am much closer to Peachie than I am to my older daughter Beanie. There are many reasons for

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-28042138004402056022011-08-16T08:10:00.001-04:002011-08-16T08:17:18.860-04:00

1. Feeling the bittersweet sadness of my baby girl leaving for college tomorrow. 2. Taking a delightful walk in a warm summer rain with her. 3. Having her tell me that there has not been one day that she has not felt loved. 4. Her friends all crying in the basement together, and still laughing through the tears. 5. Appreciating every day how much my children have given me.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-68965534328306818902011-07-29T10:37:00.001-04:002011-07-29T10:37:38.258-04:00

The day after marriage equity passed in New York State, our town’s marriage officer quit stating it was against her Catholic beliefs to perform same sex marriages.  This was a shock to me.  We had been friends for years and years.  I told her that although I respected her decision, I would have difficulty continuing a friendship with someone who thought I did not deserve the same rights and

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-38684823277559362562011-07-26T13:52:00.000-04:002011-07-26T13:52:12.991-04:00

Surviving the traditional annual swim across the lake (and back) with my daughter.  Next year I may need swimmies. Blueberry picking during a warm thunderstorm and getting totally drenched. Cookies made with nutella. Cooking a frittata, which my family said was very edible. Probably the highest praise I have ever received for my cooking. Knowing that I can, and will, push that boulder

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-8933441125462991232011-07-25T14:34:00.000-04:002011-07-25T16:08:40.878-04:00

In Greek mythology Sisyphus was a king punished by being compelled to roll an immense boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down, and to repeat this throughout eternity.I am beginning to feel the same way.Twenty five years of rolling the PTSD boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back down and start again.Only this time, this time I thought I had finally reached the top. Over two years

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-59502944011570013062011-07-21T15:33:00.001-04:002011-07-21T15:33:49.902-04:00

I often feel like one of these punching clowns.  I get knocked down.  I pop back up.  Someone punches me.  I rebound.  Life sometimes completely flattens me.  But I always eventually stand back up. I realize that it is not me doing all the work of getting back up.  I am keenly aware of the support system around me who come and help me right myself.  Every.  Single.  Time. A couple of weeks

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-74364848844458571362011-07-06T11:05:00.000-04:002011-07-06T11:05:21.149-04:00

Lauren, my therapist died.  I should have checked my messages.  I have been up to our lake house where we get no cell phone reception.  This morning, while in the shower, I was a little curious why Martha was hanging out in the bathroom so long.  When I stepped out of the shower she just hugged me.  One of those hugs when you know something is wrong.  Her obituary was in this morning’s paper. 

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-89892234934302904512011-07-05T11:58:00.000-04:002011-07-05T11:58:38.161-04:00

1. Taking a mental health day even though my work calender advised otherwise. 2. Four totally relaxing, PTSD symptom free days at the lake. 3. Amazing fireworks I could watch from my deck.. 4. Grilling pizza.  Yum. 5. Deeper levels of intimacy.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-51336495984827496412011-06-30T07:13:00.002-04:002011-06-30T15:57:39.092-04:00

This is one post I have looked forward to writing. For all the angst and pain and work I put myself through this past year, this is what has made it all worthwhile. Sometimes the universe gives us amazing things.After the assault Daphne was in the hospital for quite a while. Her parents, from who she was estranged because they could not accept her queerness, had come up to oversee her health care

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-11701620684093136722011-06-28T13:17:00.002-04:002011-06-28T13:18:44.970-04:00

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-4820346286208062132011-06-28T05:48:00.001-04:002011-06-28T06:19:52.862-04:00

1. Watching my baby girl, who had learning disabilities and confidence issues throughout elementary school, stand and deliver the class address in front of 4,000 people at her high school graduation.2. That she kept this a surprise, which kept me from worrying for her weeks ahead of time.3. That the woman sitting behind me had brought extra tissues. And shared them with now incredibly choked up,

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-35157987273693783652011-06-25T05:45:00.002-04:002011-06-25T09:25:39.718-04:00

Last night the New York State legislature finally passed a bill allowing same sex marriage.   Martha and I watched it live on TV.  Not 5 minutes after the vote my mother called congratulating us and wondering when the wedding will be. And then my sister called too. Seven emails/texts already from friends asking the same thing.  And I'm sure we will get the same congrats and inquiries as we

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-55475722817028851402011-06-23T06:07:00.001-04:002011-06-23T06:10:26.445-04:00

After the assault I walked around for a couple of years totally unaware of life. I affectionately refer to this time as my black hole years. I thought I would be ‘cured’ when I was finally able to move to a new location. But that didn’t help. I was still suffering from debilitating flashbacks and extreme anxiety. I don’t remember when I met my current therapist, but it was shortly after I made

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-10514998330486425412011-06-21T08:09:00.003-04:002011-06-21T09:38:04.847-04:00

Having my fashionista daughter quickly find me a really cute sun dress to wear for an outdoor wedding this weekend, thereby saving me from wandering aimlessly around the mall for hours. And even better, I needed it smaller than my usual size!Central air conditioning that still lets us snuggle under a duvet when it’s a 90 degree morning. Participating in a Mudmania obstacle course with my

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-27875299107322801072011-06-20T08:32:00.004-04:002011-06-20T10:03:58.088-04:00

I have now reached the end of my therapy. Well, at least the intensive stuff. I have learned a lot about PTSD and myself. And I have healed more then I thought would ever be possible. This is the story of that journey.In the beginning . . .I grew up the youngest child in a lower middle class family. I had a carefree childhood, spending my free time with friends at the beach or NYC. My family went

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-78350375316274493222011-06-18T06:07:00.000-04:002011-06-18T06:07:00.859-04:00

by Tina Fey First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches. When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with Beer. Guide her, protect her When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-76564971835377709592011-06-16T06:14:00.002-04:002011-06-16T06:14:00.403-04:00

It seems that when you have children everything is marked by firsts. Their first smile, their first word, their first steps, first day of school, first sleep over, first date, first time driving, first prom, etc. All their milestones are marked and photographed and celebrated. As they should be. Then they grow up and things are marked by lasts. Last school concert, last basketball game, last

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-72512740604250554802011-06-14T06:25:00.000-04:002011-06-14T06:25:00.371-04:00

A therapist who cared enough to accompany me into my private hell, held on to me whenever I started to sink, and pulled me safely out to the other side. For friends who did not let go, even when it got ugly. And for one friend who did let go, I am grateful for the time we had. Sleep. Finally. Remembering to breathe Catching a small glimpse of me.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-18505121435127027022011-06-10T06:42:00.002-04:002011-06-10T06:42:00.094-04:00

This weekend is going to be one hell of a ride. Tonight a couple of Beanie’s friends are coming in for the weekend. Saturday is Peachie’s senior prom. This will create much activity and chaos in my household. Last year she was voted best dressed at her junior prom so she has set the bar very high for herself. Hair. Makeup. It will all be high art. I plan to work out in my garden and stay out of

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-24280617855850913122011-06-07T06:04:00.002-04:002011-06-07T06:07:34.630-04:00

1. A huge ego stroke - 17 out of 17 very positive evaluations from the students in the class I helped teach at the local university. 2. A man with the walker and oxygen tank stopped to wish me a good afternoon just when my afternoon was not so good 3. I have use of all my arms and legs.4. Long newsy emails from friends.5. Peachie’s senior prom, the after prom party at our lake house, her 18th

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-11153130596050464222011-06-06T13:49:00.002-04:002011-06-06T18:43:09.178-04:00

Fulfilling a promise I made to my therapist, I attended my very first Group therapy session. I have avoided this for months because, well, I really don’t like to do anything in groups. And I have enough difficulty talking about my trauma with my closest of the close, much less a group of strangers.But a promise is a promise.And so this morning I sat in a room with a woman who had been in the One

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-23409659266991582522011-06-03T07:23:00.001-04:002011-06-03T07:23:45.493-04:00

Over the course of my PTSD journey there have been many well-meaning people who have called me brave. I’m never entirely sure what they are referring to, but each time I say, no, no, no, I am not brave. Sometimes people will argue this point with me. One friend got really upset with me over it. Once someone told me that people need to see me as brave as a reflection of their own needs. Brave is

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-14978057505234221442011-05-31T08:44:00.000-04:002011-05-31T10:57:42.174-04:00

One of the many, many strategies I use for staying one step ahead of PTSD depression is gratitude. For surely, anyone who looks at my life now is envious of the love in my life and the many gifts the universe has given me. And so, as I come into the home stretch of therapy and dig deeper than I ever have, I am going to try to formalize the practice of gratitude to hopefully keep me from falling

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-80257776400965891632011-05-26T07:31:00.001-04:002011-05-26T07:46:32.338-04:00

As part of my therapy I have been encouraged to write about the impact of living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This post is about one of the biggest impacts - losing the sense of safety. For those who are new readers, years ago my partner and I went to a secluded place to enjoy a picnic and each other. We were assaulted by a group of 5 men, 4 of whom raped me, and then when Daphne tried to

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-69709674841618762642011-05-24T08:18:00.000-04:002011-05-24T08:18:11.437-04:00

From the website The Burning House If your house was burning, what would you take with you? It’s a conflict between what’s practical, valuable and sentimental. What you would take reflects your interests, background and priorities. Think of it as an interview condensed into one question. Participants then take a picture of what items they would gather together from their homes and explain the

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-90093997390171286562011-05-23T10:31:00.005-04:002011-05-23T10:44:32.561-04:00

I have been in a funk. Deeply sad and very frazzled. As a gift, one of my closest friends rented a cabin for the weekend, deep in the Adirondack mountains. We arrived in an unseasonably chilly rain on Friday and settled in to this little hunting lodge - no TV, no radio, no WiFi, and no telephone reception. By night fall a huge storm settled in, thunder rumbling through the mountains, which had us

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-64096147239891598622011-05-20T08:35:00.000-04:002011-05-20T08:35:45.852-04:00

My daughters watch MTV. Jersey Shore, 16 and Pregnant, Teen Mom. I used to block the channel but they are now 17 and 19 and can make their own decisions if they want to waste their time with such puerile, worthless crap. Not that I’m judging. Anyway, yesterday Beanie and I had this conversation: Beanie: Wouldn’t you want to be on a reality show? Me: No Beanie: You could make a lot of money.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-36207482158048434252011-05-18T11:53:00.000-04:002011-05-18T11:53:14.456-04:00

I have a bookmark that says: "My friend is one who knows my song and sings it to me when I forget." The month of May has been hard. Loss of a friendship. Loss of a neighbor. Loss of a grumpy old man.  All of whom I came to love. And therapy. Opening up those long ago sealed and buried boxes of memories and emotion has been soul shredding. Lately I feel like I am crawling naked through

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-17631007496405830072011-05-12T09:19:00.000-04:002011-05-13T16:46:40.631-04:00

I hate to lose people in my life.  And lately I have lost quite a few.  I find it very hard. I grieve for a very long time.  Even when I lose people that are not healthy for me.  Or a relationship that has gone south.  Doesn’t matter.  I always feel like I should have been able to make things come out better. I volunteer for an organization that matches people who can help with people who need a

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-45136226634594560042011-05-09T09:46:00.013-04:002011-05-09T10:59:07.780-04:00

I woke to the sound of Peachie making a pot of coffee for us. She must have set her alarm to pull that off. She then asked if she could sleep for a little awhile longer.Beanie, who arrived home from college Saturday, got up and made pancakes. Yum. I found myself spontaneously and constantly hugging her. It was Mother’s Day so she tolerated it.Then the girls started on the list of chores we made

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-44205291429701419762011-05-06T11:27:00.003-04:002011-05-06T11:41:00.270-04:00

A little over 20 years ago Martha told me she would like to have children. I remember the conversation as if it were yesterday. I was ambivalent. On one hand, I never particularly wanted or needed children. On the other hand, I really had no objections either. And so on that less than enthusiastic note, we began the amazing journey into parenthood. I remember crying when I saw the

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-26642008083400404112011-05-04T08:22:00.002-04:002011-05-04T08:27:48.831-04:00

Last week I finally had surgery to repair a torn meniscus and other damage in my knee. Surgery was scheduled for 2:30 and I couldn’t eat or drink after midnight the night before. I was seriously hungry and dehydrated when I arrived at 12:30 for pre op. (I am used to my 3 meals plus constant grazing) Martha and I chatted while I waited my turn. She was joking that we should do this more

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-57203538223113185702011-04-25T08:40:00.000-04:002011-04-25T09:40:51.878-04:00

You with the dark parts and the dark art Whose dark heart once ripped apart Gets smart and finally starts to grow And the new flow where you roll shows soul no control, and I know Beyond your skin deep down below There are shadowed places you don’t even go Open wounds that won’t close Upon the page within your prose I want to know where it goes at night When you’re lying in bed under

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-62576602588034908572011-04-21T11:41:00.003-04:002011-04-21T12:20:04.086-04:00

As directed by Telling Secrets - please go read the sermon posted here.Seriously, even if you have no religion - go read this.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-86214011808299554262011-04-20T08:18:00.004-04:002011-04-20T10:27:12.219-04:00

One doesn’t discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time. ~Andre GideThis past weekend I went back to the university campus where my partner and I were attacked. It was something I did not want to did. It was something my therapist thought was critical to do. Exposure therapy - losing sight of the shore for a very long time.Things had changed on campus

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-89116596424189265322011-04-15T06:57:00.001-04:002011-04-15T06:59:30.857-04:00

This weekend, as part of my exposure therapy, I will be returning to the place where my partner and I were attacked. I have not stepped on that university campus since that day. Not to defend my thesis or receive my degree. Not to visit my favorite niece when, a few years later, she attended school there or her graduation. Not when my own daughters played in tournaments there. I once

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-3155956870486255612011-04-13T07:23:00.001-04:002011-04-15T07:00:19.841-04:00

I have learned much during this past year about PTSD. I have written here numerous times about my recovery attempts, this year trying exposure therapy. The problem with this therapy however, is that the crux of the treatment is to be able to talk about the details of the trauma. I have never been able to talk about the details of that day. Not with my closet friends. Not even with Martha. And I

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-45243233870178291642011-04-04T08:03:00.003-04:002011-04-05T11:24:00.811-04:00

The Layers by Stanley Kunitz I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-16992144027627580112011-03-30T07:23:00.000-04:002011-03-30T07:23:29.633-04:00

I have been wrestling with control. For years I had heard that the key to conquering PTSD was control. Control of my emotions, control of the triggers, control of the symptoms, control of my life. And I learned that control. I have controlled my emotions and memories by putting them all into little boxes in my head, and then sealed them up, tight. I have learned to control my life by forcing

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-18466430831396114042011-03-20T20:38:00.000-04:002011-03-20T20:38:19.852-04:00

I never played sports growing up. I surfed and played beach volleyball, but just for fun.   I now live in a household filled with athletes.  Very, very competitve, driven, focused people.  Did I mention competitive? Martha played basketball in High School. When I met her she coached a girls’ High School varsity team. She still coaches a 5th grade travel team, is the director of a travel club,

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-16871221417929361612011-03-14T12:58:00.003-04:002011-03-14T14:13:51.125-04:00

The last few weeks have been a blur of too many commitments, too much travel, and way too many emotional jolts. An exhausting school and work schedule, some serious issues with Martha yet to be addressed, a horrendous lunch with Daphne’s mother, Daphne’s extremely emotional journal, my mother’s health concerns, and the seemingly endless grind of therapy. This past weekend I put on the brakes. I

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-44385696591154213642011-03-04T08:21:00.000-05:002011-03-04T08:21:14.847-05:00

I have started quite a few blog posts in January and February, yet never found the time to finish them. Now it is March. So here is a summary of some of those posts and a quick catch up of what’s been going on in my life: - I wangled an invitation to see President Obama speak locally. He is the first sitting president I’ve ever seen. It was required to show up at least 3 hours early to clear

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-90522563204893139602011-02-26T08:38:00.003-05:002011-02-26T11:45:25.659-05:00

This is a picture taken from my driveway. This is a snowman in my neighborhood I love the snow and don't mind the cold.  I ski and snowshoe and love to be outside in it.  But really, this is enough. More snow predicted for tonight.

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-42257364631117929392011-02-18T06:56:00.000-05:002011-02-18T06:56:58.476-05:00

A couple of weeks ago I received a letter from Daphne’s mother. I was almost too scared to open it. Inside was a handwritten note. Short, but certainly much more cordial than her last curt response to me - she simply and politely said there were some things she would like to discuss with me if I would be so kind as to call her, then listed her number. So kind? This woman who was so inhuman to her

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-68853089495603576232011-02-10T07:50:00.001-05:002011-02-11T09:51:09.829-05:00

A few weeks ago I talked to a resident, Sandra, looking for some affordable housing. Our conversation extended over a couple of days and revealed that she, and her son, were victims of some very serious domestic abuse - her ex serving 5 years for felony assault.    I invited her to lunch in the hopes of getting to know her better. When I picked her up she invited me into her house. The outside

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-49217963164543153682011-02-01T07:22:00.002-05:002011-02-01T09:10:07.252-05:00

I realize that I have not written here in quite awhile. I am doing what I need to do, moving through my days, just trying to avoid the mine fields. January in a nutshell - I have returned to therapy to face my final darkness. It is hard and scary work and difficult to write about here. Work has become a nightmare with a major project about to die because they can no longer get financing

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-3161062372915104402011-01-04T09:35:00.000-05:002011-01-04T09:35:06.926-05:00

CLICK HERE  to tell Etsy to Remove Rape Congratulations Cards from Website

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-70928679150482322042011-01-01T10:09:00.012-05:002011-01-03T08:09:44.605-05:00

2010 was not my best year. Not my worst either. I have come to think of it as a year of challenges. Here are some:Beanie - my first born graduated High School with amazing academic and athletic honors (she definitely didn’t get that from me) and went off to college. She is loving it, so that has made the separation easier. That, and she manages to come home at least once a month. With her

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-45151951630924731012010-12-30T11:44:00.003-05:002010-12-30T20:54:23.159-05:00

On Christmas eve, Martha’s niece J. had something slipped into her drink, didn’t feel well and went up to her apartment over the bar. She woke hours later to find herself naked, her sheets wet with semen, and all her money and jewelry stolen. She called Martha who is a retired cop. Martha told her to call the police and she would meet her.The male State Trooper who met them took down the basic

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-86706194041166351432010-12-27T10:26:00.002-05:002010-12-27T10:36:57.433-05:00

For the past 20 + years, Martha and I have developed a calendar of traditions to be able to celebrate the season with all our friends and family. This year almost everything crumbled.The season usually begins with a feast at our elderly neighbors home. But she is now at her daughter’s in Virginia while her house is being reconstructed. (A car hit the house and moved it right off the foundation)

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-61877443586491567122010-12-21T06:15:00.001-05:002010-12-21T06:15:00.249-05:00

19 years ago today I was handed this bundle that changed my life forever. We brought her home on Christmas Eve.  Best present I ever got. Tonight we will all go out to dinner to celebrate and then to a girl’s high school basketball game where Beanie will meet up with her former teammates, all home from college. They will be coming back to our house to celebrate, over night. Tomorrow her

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-57405079405629143342010-12-19T06:34:00.005-05:002010-12-19T06:34:00.466-05:00

Celebrating the spirit of the season,and the technology of the times...

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-78993822395921809432010-12-17T07:02:00.005-05:002010-12-17T07:09:27.698-05:00

I volunteer for a community organization that links people who need a little help with folks who can provide a little help. This year I was asked if I could give a little girl a ride to dance class because her mother is blind. They live very close to where I work, and she goes to dance studio where my girls went, right around the corner. So once a week, I pick up 5 year old Becca, walk her into

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-19863107553445232952010-12-13T12:46:00.005-05:002010-12-13T13:52:43.690-05:00

Saturday night we had a small party at our house. Peachie also invited a group of friends, although they stayed downstairs. For the most part, our dog was confined in a bedroom because otherwise she would go up to everyone with those pleading puppy dog eyes begging for food and licking everyone to death. All the guests had left around 11:30, the dog and cats reclaimed their house, and Peachie

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-67116156428447330122010-12-09T07:16:00.001-05:002010-12-09T08:18:09.557-05:00

This weekend I attended a regional sports banquet honoring my daughter, among other athletes. Standard affair - about 80 girls with their hetero normative families - Italian buffet, long winded emcee, some alumni telling the girls to give back to their sport, yada, yada, yada.  I have been to dozens of these. The program also listed a speech by the guest of honor. I’m already yawning. But when

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1931021721708713850.post-85297943968717223972010-12-06T06:00:00.001-05:002010-12-06T08:15:04.153-05:00

and you held me and there were no words and there was no time and you held me and there was only wanting and being held and being filled with wanting and I was nothing but letting go and being held and there were no words and there needed to be no words and there was no terror only stillness and I was wanting nothing and it was fullness and it was like aching for God and it was touch

8th Daynoreply@blogger.com4