A limerick to lighten the mood...

Ode to my breasts
or
Farewell my fallen friends
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By: Melissa Moon
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Once long ago they
were perky and proud.
No bra could contain them,
no corset could shroud.

Bouncy and firm
whether covered or bare.
My breasts were just perfect,
yet now I despair.

For those once lovely orbs
went from diamonds to coal
after GALLONS of breast milk
and stretch marks untold.

No longer buoyant,
just droopy and sad.
My breasts hang defeated,
no victory had.

Once gravity finds you,
never loose hope!
Just tie them together
and learn to jump rope!

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Author retains copyright.
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A thought from Ben Stein...

If they know of him at all, many folks think Ben Stein is just a quirky actor/comedian who talks in a monotone. He's also a very intelligent attorney who knows how to put ideas and words together in such a way as to sway juries and make people think clearly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday Morning Commentary, Sunday, 12/18/05.

Herewith at this happy time of year, a few confessions from my beating heart: I have no freaking clue who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and Us constantly when I am buying my dog biscuits and kitty litter. I often ask the checkers at the grocery stores. They never know who Nick and Jessica are either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I know who they are and why they have broken up? Why are they so important?

I don't know who Lindsay Lohan is either, and I do not care at all about Tom Cruise's wife.

Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked if I am a subversive? Maybe, but I just have no clue who Nick and Jessica are. If this is what it means to be no longer young. It's not so bad.

Next confession: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are: Christmas trees.

It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, "Merry Christmas" to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a creche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.

I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution, and I don't like it being shoved down my throat. Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand Him?

I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too.

But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we knew went to.

In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a little different: This is not intended to be a joke; it's not funny, it's intended to get you thinking.

Billy Graham's daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson asked her "How could God let something like this Happen?" (regarding Katrina)

Anne Graham gave an extremely profound and insightful response. She said, "I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government and to get out of our lives.

And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?"

In light of recent events...terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found recently) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said okay.

Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school . The Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said okay.

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said okay.

Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves. Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with "WE REAP WHAT WE SOW."

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell.

Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says.

Funny how you can send 'jokes' through e-mail and they spread like wildfire but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing.

Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and workplace.

Are you laughing?

Funny how when you forward this message, you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it.

Pass it on if you think it has merit. If not then just discard it... no one will know you did. But, if you discard this thought process, don't sit back and complain about what bad shape the world is in.

I am the child...

I am the child who cannot talk.
You often pity me; I see it in your eyes.You wonder how much I am aware of...I see that, as well. I am aware of much:whether you are happy or sad or fearful, patient or impatient, full of love and desire to help me or just doing your duty by me. I marvel at your frustration, knowing mine to be far greater, for I cannot express myself nor my needs as you do. You cannot conceive of my isolation, so complete is it at times. I do not gift you with clever conversation, cute remarks to be laughed over and repeated. I do not give you answers to your every day questions, responses regarding my well-being, sharing of my needs, or comments about the world about me. I do not give you rewards as defined by the world's standards - great strides in development for which you can credit yourself. I do not give you understanding as you know it. What I give you instead is so much more valuable...I give you opportunities. Opportunities to discover the depth of your character, not mine; the depthof your life, your commitment, your patience, your abilities; the opportunity to explore your spirit more deeply than you imagined possible. I drive you further than you would ever go on your own, working harder,seeking answers to your many questions, creating questions with no answers.
I am the child who can not talk.

I am the child who cannot walk.
The world sometimes seems to pass me by. You see the longing in my eyes to get out of this chair, to run and play like other children. There is much that you take for granted. I want the toys on the shelf, I need to go to the bathroom - oh, I've dropped my fork again. I am dependent on you in these ways. My gift to you is to make you aware of your great fortunes: your healthy back and legs, your ability to do for yourself. Sometimes people appear not to notice me; I always notice them. I feel not so much envy as desire, desire to stand upright, to put one foot in front of the other, to be independent. I give you awareness.
I am the child who can not walk.

I am the child who is mentally impaired.
I don't learn easily, if you judge me by the world's measuring stick. What I do know is infinite joy in the simple things. I am not burdened as you are with the strifes and conflicts of a more complicated life. My gift to you is to grant you the freedom to enjoy things as a child, to teach you how much your arms around me mean, to give you love. I give you the gift of simplicity.
I am the child who is mentally impaired.

I am the disabled child.
I am your teacher. If you allow me, I will teach you what is really important in life. I will give you and teach you unconditional love. I gift you with my innocent trust, my dependency on you. I teach you of respect for others and for their uniqueness. I teach you about the sanctity of life. I teach you about how very precious this life is and about not taking things for granted. I teach you about forgetting your own needs and desires and dreams. I teach you giving. Most of all I teach you hope and faith.
I am the disabled child.

Author Unknown
from the International Rett Syndrome Newsletter
(800) 818-7388

Ducks and Rabbits...

OK.... My line of thought:

If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, I don't need to hear it quack to know that it is a duck.

Samantha's neurologist line of thought:

Yes, it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, but since I have no proof that it can quack it must be a rabbit.

I got a call from the neurologist. I am highly pissed off. He does not want to treat Samantha... He wants to treat the EEG. According to him even though Samantha's "episodes" look and act like seizure activity, if they do not look like typical seizure activity on the EEG, she must not be having seizures!

So, by this definition my daughter has been medicated, operated and hospitalized on the brink of death more times than I can count for absolutely no reason.

Wait....

I think I just heard the doctor QUACK!

He must be a duck...

A Tale of Two Mommies...

Our trip to Fort Worth was uneventful (thankfully) and Samantha’s testing went rather smoothly (as far as tests go). We are still waiting for all of the results to come back in so we can make the next move forward in her care.

Samantha’s step mom, Marlena, accompanied me on this particular trip.

We had our first REAL chance to bond over our three-day three-night trip.

Our relationship started out very strained because of my feelings (disgust, dislike, disappointment, anger, distrust, etc) towards Samantha’s father. We spent months tiptoeing around one another trying not to hurt feelings or start fights. Once we started to relax a little more, we discovered something quite amazing. Not only could we tolerate each other, we could talk for hours as if we had been friends for years!

I now feel like I can honestly call her my friend.

I think it is a very common fear for a divorced mother to worry that her child might one day refer to another woman as “Mom”. At one point in time, not so long ago, I would have very swiftly knocked the crap out of any woman who dared to even hope that “MY” daughter would think of her as "Mom".

However, somewhere along the line, my feelings have changed on that matter. I’m not sure exactly WHEN I became ok with the idea, but I do remember some very specific reasons WHY I am.

Marlena makes Joe (Samantha’s father) a better person. Don’t get me wrong, he is still far from where he should be, but he is much closer to it now than he has ever been before. She does not accept stupid excuses from him for why he hasn’t been to see Samantha for weeks. She does not pull punches where he is concerned, and that is exactly what he needs in a wife. (Some one to keep him in line as much as possible.)

She has an honesty about her that is wonderfully refreshing. I can tell by the way she interacts with Samantha that she genuinely loves her instead of just pretending to care like some stepparents would. She doesn’t pity my daughter for her disability; she can see the beautiful, strong child that sits behind that diagnosis. She asks questions openly with no hesitation because she wants to know more about Samantha and how to take care of her properly. (Those who ask questions about her as if they are ashamed to speak the words usually only ask out of morbid curiosity; as if my daughter were the top exhibit in a circus sideshow.) She volunteered to take Samantha to and from therapy every Tuesday, not because she HAD to, but because she WANTED to.

I can now say without any hesitation that I have absolutely no problem with someone referring to Marlena as Sam’s Mom. I have accepted the fact that another woman CAN have a major parenting role in Samantha’s life without it having any effect on MY relationship with her. I can rejoice in the fact that someone who has no blood relation to Samantha loves her as is she were her own child.

I am thankful for my newfound friend and Samantha’s other Mom, Marlena.

On the road again...

Hello again!
I wanted to drop a line to everyone before I leave town this morning.
Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers. We have a six hour drive ahead of us today to get to Fort Worth to see my daughter's specialists and have some testing done.
We have made this trip more times than I can count, but it is still very hard on my body. Samantha will be in the hospital for at least 24 hours for a video EEG. This trip could result in yet ANOTHER operation for my beautiful girl.
That would bring us to 13 operations in 6 1/2 years.
I have done quite a bit of research on seizure control options to prepare myself for this trip. Now the only trick will be getting her doctor to listen to me and be willing to work with me.
Please pray for us while we are gone, and my husband too. He is unable to go with us this time and will be stuck at home with our son. Grandma is going to help out during the day while Darrell is at work (because Grandma is just GREAT like that...) but Darrell will have the little monster by himself the rest of the time.
Auron is ALL BOY.
This could get interesting...

If you want to understand me...

I borrowed this letter from this web site:

http://www.angelfire.com/zine/fmsangel/let1.html

I wanted to share it with everyone so that you might better understand me and the Fibromyalgia that beats the crap out of me every day.

A LETTER TO THE HEALTHY WORLD FROM THE LAND OF CHRONIC PAIN AND FATIGUE by Avalon 103

If you were born with healthy genes, you may know me but you don't understand me. I was not as lucky as you. I inherited the predisposition to chronic pain, fatigue and forgetfulness. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia (FMS) after months, years or even decades of mysterious physical and emotional problems. Because you didn't know how sick I was, you called me lazy, a malingerer, or simply ridiculous. If you have the time to read on, I would like to help you understand how different I am from you.

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT FIBROMYALGIA.

1. FMS is not the newest fad disease. In fact, it isn't a disease at all, and it isn't even new. In 1815, a surgeon at the University of Edenburgh, William Balfour, described fibromyalgia. Over the years, it has been known as chronic rheumatism, myalgia and fibrositis. Unlike diseases, syndromes do not have a known cause, but they do have a specific set of signs and symptoms which, unfortunately for the patient, take place together. Rheumatoid arthritis and lupus are also syndromes.

2. The many physical and emotional problems associated with FMS are not psychological in origin. This is not an "all in your head" disorder. In 1987, the American Medical Association recognized FMS as a true physical illness and major cause of disability.

3. Syndromes strike life-long athletes as viciously as they do couch potatoes. They can be disabling and depressing, interfering with even the simplest activities of daily life.

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT ME.

1. My pain - My pain is not your pain. It is not caused by inflammation. Taking your arthritis medication will not help me. I can not work my pain out or shake it off. It is not even a pain that stays put. Today it is in my shoulder, but tomorrow it may be in my foot or gone. My pain is believed to be caused by improper signals sent to the brain, possibly due to sleep disorders. It is not well understood, but it is real.

2. My fatigue - I am not merely tired. I am often in a severe state of exhaustion. I may want to participate in physical activities, but I can't. Please do not take this personally. If you saw me shopping in the mall yesterday, but I can't help you with yard work today, it isn't because I don't want to. I am, most likely, paying the price for stressing my muscles beyond their capability.

3. My forgetfulness - Those of us who suffer from it call it fibrofog. I may not remember your name, but I do remember you. I may not remember what I promised to do for you, even though you told me just seconds ago. My problem has nothing to do with my age but may be related to sleep deprivation. I do not have a selective memory. On some days, I just don't have any short-term memory at all.

4. My clumsiness - If I step on your toes or run into you five times in a crowd, I am not purposely targeting you. I do not have the muscle control for that. If you are behind me on the stairs, please be patient. These days, I take life and stairwells one step at a time.

5. My sensitivities - I just can't stand it! "It" could be any number of things: bright sunlight, loud or high-pitched noises, odors. FMS has been called the "aggravating everything disorder." So don't make me open the drapes or listen to your child scream. I really can't stand it.

6. My intolerance - I can't stand heat, either. Or humidity. If I am a man, I sweat...profusely. If I am a lady, I perspire. Both are equally embarrassing, so please don't feel compelled to point this shortcoming out to me. I know. And don't be surprised if I shake uncontrollably when it's cold. I don't tolerate cold, either. My internal thermostat is broken, and nobody knows how to fix it.

7. My depression - Yes, there are days when I would rather stay in bed or in the house or die. I have lost count of how many of Dr. Kevorkian's patients suffered from FMS as well as other related illnesses. Severe, unrelenting pain can cause depression. Your sincere concern and understanding can pull me back from the brink. Your snide remarks can tip me over the edge.

8. My stress - My body does not handle stress well. If I have to give up my job, work part time, or handle my responsibilities from home, I'm not lazy. Everyday stresses make my symptoms worse and can incapacitate me completely.

9. My weight - I may be fat or I may be skinny. Either way, it is not by choice. My body is not your body. My appestat is broken, and nobody can tell me how to fix it.

10. My need for therapy - If I get a massage every week, don't envy me. My massage is not your massage. Consider how a massage would feel if that charley horse you had in your leg last week was all over your body. Massaging it out was very painful, but it had to be done. My body is knot-filled. If I can stand the pain, regular massage can help, at least temporarily.

11. My good days - If you see me smiling and functioning normally, don't assume I am well. I suffer from a chronic pain and fatigue illness with no cure. I can have my good days or weeks or even months. In fact, the good days are what keep me going.

12. My uniqueness - Even those who suffer from FMS are not alike. That means I may not have all of the problems mentioned above. I do have pain above and below the waist and on both sides of my body which has lasted for a very long time. I may have migraines or hip pain or shoulder pain or knee pain, but I do not have exactly the same pain as anyone else. I hope that this helps you understand me, but if you still doubt my pain, your local bookstore, library and the internet have many good books and articles on fibromyalgia.

Author's note: This letter is based on communications with people throughout the world, males and females, who suffer from fibromyalgia. It does not represent any one of the over 10,000,000 people with FMS, but it can help the healthy person understand how devastating this illness can be. Please do not take these people and their pain lightly. You wouldn't want to spend even a day in their shoes... or their bodies.

giggle for the day...

I am having a bit of a rough time with my kiddo's health right now so I have very little time to blog. This made me giggle today so I wanted to share it with you guys! I hope you are all doing better than we are right now...

Some people are like Slinkies.
Not really good for anything,
but you still can't help but smile
when you see one tumble down the stairs

Happy 4th!...

Faulty Elevator...

There are times in my life when the trials and complications brought about by having a child with a disability seem almost normal and mundane. Times when we have become so entrenched in our daily routines that we fail notice how different things truly are for us. During those times I can see nothing except my beautiful daughter Samantha.

And then there are the other times. They are rare, but they do happen.

The times when, just for a moment, I can see her as the world does.

It breaks my heart.

I struggle with the acceptance process during these times. You would think that the diagnosis of a disability would be shattering and then get better or easier over time. The reality of living with that diagnosis for the rest of your life, day in and day out, is often like riding a faulty elevator. Things seem to be easier for months at a time, but in reality you have simply grown used to what ever it was that caused the initial shock. You develop emotional calluses that protect you from that particular pain. And then the elevator shudders to a stop and suddenly begins to plummet towards the bottom floor again. You gasp for air as your stomach suddenly jumps into your throat making it impossible for your scream of terror to squeak past your lips. You cling to anything familiar praying for time to freeze before you crash to the bottom yet again.

Samantha is having such increased drop seizures that she is in danger of breaking bones in her face or head. I KNOW that she needs a helmet to protect her, but this is a callus I have not developed yet.

I knew for six months before she got her first wheelchair that she actually NEEDED one, but even that took an adjustment period.

It isn’t that an extra accessory or two changes who she is or how I see and love her. But I know that the more equipment she needs will change how others see her. I don’t know why ignorant people bother me so much after six and a half years of dealing with them on an almost daily basis, but they do. I want so badly for people to see her through my eyes instead of seeing “that kid in the wheelchair and helmet that doesn’t talk”. It is hard for most people to look past those THINGS and see my daughter for WHO she is. They see the equipment and the diagnosis while totally missing the phenomenal little girl they are attached to.

And I hate them for that.

My daughter is a fighter. She has survived TWELVE operations in SIX years. She has fought through more seizures daily than most people even OBSERVE in a lifetime. Her smile can light up a whole room and take your breath away at the same time. She has the ability to look into your eyes and see straight into your soul. She makes you notice the little joys in life all around you. She is a miracle.

I only wish I could make the world know that like I do.