What are you doing New Year's Eve?

I am preparing for a quiet New Year's Eve at home with the folks. My family does the festa dei sette pesci on New Year's Eve; because we are usually too busy wrapping gifts & going to church and whatnot on Christmas Eve to cook.

This time last year dad was in the hospital and we didn't know what was wrong. Mom did the whole elaborate 7 fishes thing and brought it to his hospital room along with a small deli platter, & sparkling cider. I think she was afraid it would be his last NYE. Yes, he was that ill. He went in the hospital 12/27/08 and came out 3 weeks later and 30 pounds lighter. He was home 4 days and then had a relapse and ended up in a physical rehab for 2 more weeks. It's been a rough year healthwise for me and him; and I am ever so grateful he is here for another New Year's Eve.

The festa dei sette pesci menu:
1. Mussels Marinara
2. Alaskan Snow Crab legs
3. Lobster tails and drawn butter
4. Cocktail Shrimp
5. Shrimp Fettucini Alfredo
6. Clams Casino
7. Fried Catfish (hey we're black not Italian)

To Whom it May Concern:

To Whom it May Concern:
I am not responsible for the banning of CigarBabe or anyone else on that site. I do not have an 'in' with the moderators or the administrators of this site. As a matter of fact, I feel fairly confident in stating that many of the current mods don't even like me. They are NOT at my beck and call and never were.

If I were to hazard a guess as to why CigarBabe was banned she probably did to a few other people what she did to me. She has a bad habit of gaining peoples confidence and trust online and then anything said to her on the phone or in a text message, IM or e-mail goes into her liquor soaked memory banks. She then thinks nothing of posting private information about you, your mate, or your family in a thread.

This is kinda ironic to me. A few years ago she lambasted everyones favorite Arliss, for posting her personal information on a site; and he was banned immediately. Maybe it's like when kids are beaten or phsyically abused some grow up to beat their own children and physically abuse them. She had personal info posted online, so now she does the same to others.

FWIW: She told me things about her life, health, and marriage that I would never dream of posting here or anywhere else. Then again I'm not much for drunk posting.

Nashville Christmas

I was afraid the trip would be a nightmare because my dad has a lot of trouble walking now, cause of his Parkinson's. Steps are all but impossible for him. Since this was a bus trip run by the Senior Center I was dreading getting him on and off the bus. But the bus driver was really patient and helpful, so the only bad part was when I had to lift his 6'2". 185 lb. body out of the bus seat. Now, my back is killing me.

The lady who planned the trip did a decent job of it; but we didn't have a lot of information before we got there. So I was very pleasantly surprised to see that we were staying at the Gaylord Opryland Hotel! We got there about 3:30 Friday afternoon, took a nap had dinner in one of the 6 restaurants in the hotel and then we got back on our bus to go to see the Rockettes Christmas Show at the Ryman Auditorium. It was beautiful! I have always loved the live nativity and all the pretty costumes. It always makes me tear up with joy and I am not one of those girls that crys all the time.



Saturday, we got up early and had the breakfast buffet. AWESOME FOOD! I ate like a refugee. Then we went to a craft show which was in the hotel and the Hall of Trees, Christmas tree display. Mom was kind enough to buy me a nice, little dress with bling on it to wear to the Opry that night at the craft fair.






While waiting for the shuttle bus to the mall I browsed one of the hotel gift shops and found myself a pink cowgirl hat for only $20! When we were at the mall I saw almost the exact same hat for $49.98. I love a good bargain and I was so happy I did a little happy dance.

Then mom and I took the free shuttle to the Opry Mills Mall and shopped! Mom has been on a quest for black flats for months and she finally found a pair she liked and that fit. She wears a 7.5N so finding shoes for her is always a chore. The mall was packed tighter than I don't know what. There was a Subway in the mall so we picked up a foot long FEAST and some chips and took it back to the hotel so we could eat dinner with dad, before boarding the bus to go downtown to the Grand Ole Opry!

I've seen the Grand Ole Opry on tv a million times, but it was such a thrill to be there. I didn't realize it was such a small venue, but the acoustics are excellent and there isn't a bad seat in the house. BONUS: They not only allow but encourage you to get out of your seat and take flash photos of your favorite performers! There were a bunch of acts but the ones I enjoyed most were Jean Shepherd, John Conlee, Ricky Skaggs, Connie Smith, The Whites, and of course Trisha Yearwood. I love her! She sang: She's in Love With the Boy, How Do I Live?, and Your Cheating Heart. Back on the bus and back to the hotel.

We packed and loaded up, and were on the bus by 10:30 Sunday morning and headed back for home.

I didn't see a single motorcycle the whole time we were in Nashville, which I thought odd at first. However, it was unseasonably cold and some areas east of the city actually had 1-3 inches of snow Friday night, into Saturday morning. I've never been on a motorcycle when it's under 50 degrees so I'm guessing riding in the snow and the cold is less than fun.

All in all it was a good trip, mom and I bickered a few times but we do that at home too.

Just Ranting About the Usual

Dad fell twice last Thursday (12-3-09), the 2nd fall landed him in the ER with a mild concussion. His first fall was when I was at my shrinks office. Apparently he fell walking from the driveway into the garage with his 4 pronged cane. He gets nervous about steps. Fortunately, we live in a ranch house with no steps. He got all nervous & shaky due to the 1.5" elevation in the concrete from the driveway to the garage. Mom got hysterical and started crying cause I wasn't there to pick him up, as I did the previous week when he did the same thing. Finally she ran next door to our neighbors house and one of the guys there was able to come and help get daddy up and into the house.

The 2nd fall happend maybe 4 hours later at Captain D's. Mom had decided she didn't want to cook dinner that night so they went out. Dad fell walking out of the restaurant with his cane. The floor in Captain D's was not wet, it's just how he is now that the disease has set in.

I wasn't there cause I had to take the handyman home. I hired a handyman to help me get the 8' Christmas tree that mom prefers out of the shed in the backyard, and into the house. There is also a 6' tree but she doesn't like that one. At this point my life revolves around keeping mom happy so she doesn't bitch at me. Actually that's pretty much the story of my life.

The handyman also had to disconnect the old broken tv in the folks bedroom, take it out of the entertainment center, move it to the garage; and hook up the new 27" flat panel, LCD, HDTV to the cable box. Mom had purchased a new TV on black Friday. Dad as you know has Parkinson's Disease and is unfortuately all but useless to us around the house. I just didn't have the strength necessary to lift that large old television up and out of its perch.

Oh, the handyman is also a bit of a computer geek and he was able to install my new soundcard. He also sharpened my pocket knife. All that for $20! God Bless America.

Mom fell Sunday, getting off the bus, in the parking lot, at the senior center. She made it through the entire trip w/o a mishap and falls getting off the bus 5 miles from home. Her knee went out on her, this happens often . . . like daily. Usually if she wears her knee brace she doesn't fall all the way to the ground like she did on Sunday. She was lucky her only injury other than her pride was to her left elbow. It's a little bruised and the skin was scraped off in about a 2" area. I have been putting Neosporin on it and a clean bandage daily. It is healing nicely.

Tomorrow I have to schlep all the Christmas decorations out of the shed and into the house. Then I have to start writing out moms and my Christmas cards and get them into the mail.

Friday, I have to do the grocery shopping, start decorating the tree and do a host of other junk.

It's National Family Caregivers Month!

Top 10 Ways to Celebrate National Family Caregivers Month 2009

There are many ways to celebrate family caregivers and to take action and communicate the important messages of NFC Month. The following are ideas and guides to help you create a successful National Family Caregivers Month in your community:

* Offer a few hours of respite time to a family caregiver so they spend time with friends, or simply relax.

* Send a card of appreciation or a bouquet of flowers to brighten up a family caregiver’s day.

* Encourage local businesses to offer a free service for family caregivers through the month of November.

* Participate in the National Family Caregivers Association’s FREE national teleclass: Safe & Sound: How to Prevent Medication Mishaps The free one hour teleclass/webinar will be November 12 at 2 p.m. ET. For more information visit: National Family Caregivers Association.

* Help a family caregiver decorate their home for the holidays or offer to address envelopes for their holiday cards.

* Offer comic relief! Purchase tickets to a local comedy club, give a family caregiver your favorite funny movie to view, or provide them an amusing audio book to listen to while doing their caregiving activities.

* Find 12 different family photos and have a copy center create a monthly calendar that the family caregiver can use to keep track of appointments and events.

* Offer to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for a caregiving family in your community, so they can just relax and enjoy the holiday.

* A United States postage stamp honoring the more than 50 million family caregivers in America is officially “under consideration” by the U.S. Citizens' Stamp Advisory Committee for introduction as early as 2011. Sign the petition at National Family Caregivers Association and ask others to sign the petition letter.

* Help a family caregiver find information and resources on the internet or to locate a local support group.

I know many of us are caregivers and the stress is sometimes monumental. For me the internet and blogging are a welcome respite from this labor of love.

Sister, Love Thyself!

This blog was sent to me by a good friend in Jersey. I'm glad she shared it with me; and in turn I shall share it with you.

Sister, Love Thyself

It’s the Rosa Parks syndrome.

We black women are taught to be martyrs, to lay our bodies on the altar of our community, in the well-worn tradition of our mothers, and their mothers, and so on and so on and so forth, so that our children—preferably, our male children—can go forth.

Before Mother Parks sat down that day on the bus, she had done all sorts of work for the community as a civil rights worker, but she wasn’t given time to speak at the historic March on Washington. Neither were other black women.

But I can bet you all that fried chicken the male speakers invariably ate—after the March—was cooked by black women.

Every woman of every complexion is taught–outright or by observation–to ignore her own needs for the good of others; I think that’s a universal woman thing. But I don’t know any white women who are taught that, white guys just have the right to listen to songs calling them “bitches and hoes” because it’s part of white male rage, the need to for them to blow off historical steam. Unless it’s Rush Limbaugh, nobody tells white women that white guys have had it so hard in this country, so let them play their mean-spirited, woman-hating music.

And though a lot of white people, men and women, don’t believe a white woman’s testimony when she accuses a white man of rape, a white woman doesn’t have the entire white community on her back, telling her to recant.

Even black women’s magazines differ from “mainstream” (i.e. white) women’s magazines. You never get articles in mainstream magazines advising white women to marry men who have less education than they do and/or who make less money than they do or even, to marry men who have been to prison. You don’t have articles chiding white women for being uppity, reminding them that they can’t really be too choosy about their romantic partners.

Tangent: I’ll never forget years ago, in the aftermath of that “other” march—the Million Man March—Essence magazine had this whole spread on the March. But black women weren’t even invited by Minister Louis Farrakhan to attend the March, which was billed as a “Day of Atonement.” I kept asking myself, if this is a March for men, why is it in a women’s magazine? And then there were my other questions: if a brother wanted to “atone” for what he had done to his wife and/or the mother of his kids, how come he spent hundreds dollars to travel hundreds of miles away from her to say so? I mean, he couldn’t get a babysitter and take a sister out to the Red Lobster within a twenty-mile radius or something?

The notion that black women should never occupy an uppity space means that she must feel responsible for saving the community in which she was raised; she must never get above that community, even if she hurts herself in the process. I’m all for doing the essential work to help black folks, but it’s time for us to find a way to keep this community going without destroying black women in the process, and one of the ways I’ve decided is just to tell other sisters, “You matter, to me and to yourself.”

In my own life, I try to give my sister-friends affirmation, what I call the “woo-woo,” a term I stole from Sinclair on “Living Single.” Remember that show? It was the precursor to “Sex in the City,” only instead of living in Manhattan, those four black women lived in Brooklyn before it was all edgy-like.

Sinclair was my favorite character, a quirky, strange-dresser woman who looked at the world the way she saw it: through nice, sweet, loving eyes. She was the quintessential, idealized black woman, only without the crack-addict relatives sleeping on her couch always asking her, “Can I hold five dollars?” And whenever one of her friends was feeling down, she would pat her and say, “Woo-woo. Woo-woo.”

Whenever one of my close friends has been depressed, he or she will call me. Most have to call instead of visit, because all but two live in other states, far away. On the phone, if I hear sadness, I will ask, “Do you need the woo-woo?” And then I’ll begin my litany: “You’re fabulous. You’re so cute. The world doesn’t know your power. You are touched by the hand of God.”

Or if I’m depressed, I’ll call up one of them and say, “I need the woo-woo bad.” In this way, I can cut through the preamble, and get right to what I need, which is reassurance that I am loved and accepted, just as I am. Sort of like an emotional quickie, without the need for condoms and such.

There’s one friend I have, Kim, who doesn’t even wait for me to tell her I need woo-woo. She just knows. Kimberly is the can’t-live-without sister I’ve been friends with for thirty years. She’s the one I’ve shared every cycle of my life with. And I do mean every, if you get my drift.

Kim was the one who insisted that I start this blog. Really, she pushed me to start it because she knows that I needed to say certain things out loud, in public, even if it makes other people uncomfortable to hear them.

She’s not in this crazy, writing world of mine, where the publication of a poem in a journal that only a thousand people read—out of the three hundred million people in the country—can define a person’s self-worth, and can determine whether your peers will speak to you at the annual Associated Writing Programs conference.

And because Kim and I go back so far, have grown up together, we know that when you’re a young girl, you say you are never going to ignore yourself for others; you promise yourself you’ll never be your mother. Kim and I talked about that–laughed about it– just a couple of weeks ago. It has been on my mind ever since.

If you’re a black woman, in your secret heart, you insist you’ll never sing your black mother’s blues song–but then suddenly, you are your mother, for better and worse. Sure, you’ve inherited the good things, like her great skin, her cute and (mostly) firm breasts, her love of God and her recipes for cream biscuits and peach cobbler. But you’re carrying her emotional loads, too.

You’re taking care of others who can’t or won’t take care of themselves. You’re waiting in vain for somebody to say “I appreciate you” for the work you do at home or the office. You have an inability to stand up for yourself because “ladies” just learn to suffer with grace. You’re depending on God to change the hearts of others because Jesus can work miracles on even the worst person. (We ask a lot of Jesus in this community, don’t we?)

Everyday, you’re driving yourself crazy while repeating that same “keeping it together” mantra as your mother did– and you’ve probably also inherited at least one of her health problems, too. The same extra thirty pounds. Her grapefruit-size uterine fibroids. Her high blood pressure. Or her diabetes.

Usually, I blog about something that strikes me that I’ve read about in the news, but this issue with black women and self-love is something I don’t need to read about, because it’s going on with me every day—in my body, in my life, in my family, or on my job. It’s also going on with all my black female friends, whether they are married or single, child-free or mothers, and I see it with sisters I meet when I travel or who email me because they read a poem I wrote somewhere.

As a black woman, I have to give the woo-woo to myself, if I want to do more than just survive–if I want to thrive. And I am determined to do that. No disrespect to the mothers of our past, because they’ve given us some real gifts. But I decided this year that the Black Woman Martyr Look ain’t cute for me. I want my reward now, not in heaven, and I don’t care who thinks I’m selfish or unloving or “un-Christian” or too loud or too pushy.

When I say “reward,” I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about peace of mind. I’m talking about health of spirit and body. I’m talking about self-love.

I understand now that sometimes, you have to fight for self-love. It just doesn’t get handed to you–not when you’re a black woman. I strongly suspect it doesn’t get handed to anybody. And people can stand in the way of your self-love. If you can’t be ladylike and just calmly walk around them, then sometimes, you got to learn judo in order to kick people’s you-know-whats. Then you carefully roll them to the side of the road, so you can walk peacefully on your way.

The lesson about claiming self-love and leaving some people or causes to the side is a difficult one, because we sisters want to help and maintain our community and also, honor our mothers who kept this whole thing going for so long. And also, let’s face it: co-dependence has been going on a long time in the black community under the guise of “No brother or sister left behind.”

The girl-children–even the grandchildren– of those black women from Mother Parks’s self-sacrificing generation are grown now, and some of us are even mothers. For those of us who still need to learn self-love–and that’s a whole bunch of us–we can’t say that we’ll start valuing ourselves only once we’re fully valued by others, love ourselves only when we’re fully loved by others, because that time may never come.

We can’t wait for God to give us our reward in heaven or for someone nice to hand us glory now. Remember what even the most self-sacrificing of black grandmothers used to tell us, back in the day? “God helps those who help themselves.”

I am Sick & Tired of Being Sick & Tired

Just to recap and get everyone up to speed:
5/26/09 Hysteroscopic Myomectomy
7/6/09-7/24/09 The painful & heavy period from hell!
8/25/09 Hysteroscopic Myomectomy. That's not a typo, I had 2 surgeries in three months time. If only my garden grew things as well as my uterus grows fibroids.
9/4/09 Deep Vein Thrombosis of lower right calf.
9/20/09 I was watching Mystery Diagnosis and realized I have Non-Classical Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia 9/21/09 E-mailed my Reproductive Endocrinologist to tell her I have NC-CAH.
9/25/09 Post-Op check up & blood work. The idiot endocrinology resident insisted I had Cushing's not NC-CAH.

They sent me to the lab and took 6 vials of blood. And I was given an orange jug for the 24 hour urine test.

10/5/09 Shockingly bad news
Renal Failure
Well I had a complete blood workup done and thats what the results apparently pointed to. My primary care physician told me that I was anemic, had no vitamin D, am diabetic, and apparently I have very poor kidney function. When I asked what that meant she said I was at risk for renal failure. Which I automatically translated to mean I would need dialysis and/or a kidney transplant. I think I went into shock at that point because although normally very vocal, my brain just sort of shut down and I couldn't speak. It was at this point that my primary care physician told me that I should forget about ever becoming pregnant because it would probably kill me and if I lived my baby would be put at risk of various birth defects, such as low birth weight, heart disease, and other things.

When I say I have no vitamin D I mean zip, zilch, nada. She put me on a presciption dosage of Vitamin D, 50,000 iu's twice a week.The average over the counter vitamin D caplet has 400 iu's.

Yes, that's right I am as mouthy and brassy in real life as I am on line. I believe in asking doctors questions. But I was truly stunned.

Not sure about the rest of that day. I know I called my mom on my way home; but she wasn't there. When I got home I just kicked off my shoes, curled up on the sofa in the den, tried not to think about Julia Roberts character in Steel Magnolias, and went to sleep until dinner.

10/10/09 My repro. endo's nurse called me at 2:00 on a Saturday afternoon to tell me they need to do more blood work. FYI - A call from a doctors office on a Saturday is NEVER a good thing.

10/15/09 I go into Atlanta for the bloodwork and this time I write down the test names so I can check them online. Guess what? They are just now testing for NC-CAH. Apparently the 6 vials of blood they took to test for Cushing's all came back negative. The 3 vials of blood they took Thursday were to test for Non-Classical Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia.

Son of a gun, turns out I do know my body pretty well. Imagine that? After only 43 years I know my body better than some young pup medical resident.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
This was of course in the midst of my computer dying and the Great Georgia flood of 2009. Meteorologists have said that this was not one of those piddly little 100 year floods; but a 500 year flood. Hence there being no previous record of a flood this bad. Seventeen counties have been declared a state of emergency including the one in which I live.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
Also during this time my dads neurologist put him on Mirapex for his Parkinson's Disease. Guess what? One of the side effects of Mirapex is visual, olfactory, and auditory hallucinations! Talk about the treatment being worse than the disease. Mom and I thought "OMG! He's gone senile overnight and it's getting so bad so quick." We didn't know what to do. We finally thought to call his doc as this was a new medication. Sure enough, he told us to cut dads dosage. Literally overnight his hallucinations ended.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
The really disturbing thing is my primary care physician, Dr. Sharon Haynes wait and see attitude about my kidneys and the diabetes. This is serious stuff! My doctor has NOT put me on any diabetes medication or insulin, has not recommended a change in diet AND has not laid out a treatment plan for my kidneys. WTF!?!?! Until a cousin who is a retired nurse, visited me on Saturday, I didn't even know that I should be seeing a nephrologist for my kidneys.