Step out of your normal

I am by no means what someone would call "normal".  Guess what? No one else is either.  There is no normal.  There is no set pattern or standard that makes normal. Normal is actually just another word for typical. We are all unique. Not one of us is the same.  Our life experiences, choices and circumstances whether negative or positive will help build the person that we will be tomorrow.  We are so very different from each other.  I think that people in general are like chameleons. Stay with me for a minute on this one. When we are young, we learn to adapt to our living arrangements.  Some kids grow up with only one parent which seems "normal" to them.  Kids that grow up in poverty feel that is "normal".  Life circumstances are what surround us everyday to form a comfort zone.  That comfort is what you would call your "normal".  The same thing happens when we date, make friends, get married, work, have children.  In all of those instances, we are intruding outsiders to our "normal".  We conform to a new normal to include the differences in the new person coming into our normal.

There was a movie called The Runaway Bride.  It had Julia Roberts and Richard Gere in it.  In the movie. Julia Roberts character, Maggie, has left several fiancés at the alter.  A New York reporter, Ike, played by Richard Gere, comes to do an interview with Maggie.  He meets with her ex-fiancés to find that with each person, Maggie has adjusted her interests to please the fiancé she is with at the time.  She is engaged again and set to get married.  When Ike digs deeper into learning who Maggie really is, he also fall in love with her.  Ike poses as the groom to help Maggie with her fear of getting married.  They end up kissing at the wedding rehearsal and pouring out their feelings to each other.  The groom punches Ike.  Ike and Maggie decide to get married since it's already set up, and of course Maggie leaves Ike at the alter.  After Ike's findings for the interview, he tells Maggie that he thinks that she is conforming to someone else's interests and therefore not really knowing who she actually is.  After leaving Ike at the alter, Maggie spends time figuring out who she is.  See, during the interviews of the ex-fiancés they each told Ike how Maggie liked her eggs...only the answers were all different.  The part that I remember most vividly is Maggie sitting at the table with like 10 different kinds of eggs trying them all.  She was trying to figure out who she was.  She was trying to figure out which eggs she actually preferred.  I think in a way that we all do this to some extent.  We have to when we combine two people's "normal".  We do it whenever we bring a new person into our normal. 

My childhood was not amazing.  It wasn't what should be called normal.  I think that I have made some life choices because of my childhood, and I also think that I made some life choices in spite of my childhood.  I think we can all agree that life is hard.  We get lost in this world and forget who we are, or maybe we never figure out who we are.  I have rescheduled my Mastectomy and oophorectomy for 2016.  I have one year before I do that.  My divorce will be final in January of 2015.  My daughter is an adult, and my son lives with his dad now.  This will be the first time I have lived alone.  I have always either had children or been married.  I want to figure out who I am. I want to try new things.  I want to figure out my likes and dislikes.  I want to do things that I've never done before.  I want to do the things that bring me joy.  I have decided to spend the next year of my life working because I enjoy both of my jobs.  I am going to take one weekend off each month to just not work.  I know, that's crazy for me and totally out of character.  I am going to actually write down my bucket list and mark things off. I am going to go to my son's baseball tournaments.  I am going to volunteer at the food bank.  I am going to volunteer at the soup kitchen in Austin.  I am going to hand someone a $100 bill for no reason.  I am going to do some traveling, nothing over the top. 
This is a list of things that would like to do (most of these I've never done):

• hot air balloon
• go to New York
• skydiving
• zip line
• go on a hike
• snow skiing
• take pictures of lightning
• water skiing
• drive a boat
• wear a tutu
• ride a city bus
• ride on a train
• ride a subway
• see the Redwood Forest
• fly to Washington and see my friend Sarah
• take my sisters to Vegas
• go on an Alaskan cruise
• see Niagra Falls
• go camping
• kayaking
• dance in a rainstorm
• see the Grand Canyon
• go to a major league sporting event
• do a 5K
• go on an off shore fishing trip
• pet an alligator
• explore Texas sites

These will take years and years to mark off of my list, but I have written them down.  I want to encourage anyone who reads this blog to make a bucket list.  Write it down.  Learn new things about yourself.  Step out of your normal. 

Judge me if you feel the need

     I haven't blogged in a while because I really didn't know what to say about things going on in my life.  I spent quite a bit of time crying, analyzing, and being consumed by work.  When I get upset, I tend to hide.  I have several things that are typical of me when I'm having a tough time.  I bury myself with work.  I sit in the floor of my kitchen and cry with my back in the corner of the cabinets.  I pray a lot.  I sit and look at the picture of my mother that was at her service.  I talk to it.  I have friends, but they're busy, and I don't want to burden people with my life complains. I try to keep in mind that tomorrow is another day. It's hard to remember that each chapter in your life does have an ending.  As humans, it is in our nature to worry and fret.  It's so very hard not to.  That's when I feel that the praying, crying and burying my self with work will help until the moment, day or life chapter is over.

     This is not the place for this, but I am an open book.  I always have been.  I am going to blog about the chapter in my life that is closing.  This will shock people, and this will upset some.  I just think that if my life story can help one person that It was all worth it.  I don't necessarily think that my life is anyone's business, and I certainly don't think that my life deserves anyone's judgment. I am not a judgmental person.  People have to answer for their own actions.  I care about people and want the best for them, and I don't have to agree with their choices.  No matter what choices a person makes, I have no right to judge them.  God has plans for each of us.  When we make poor choices we have to believe that we can turn to God and the he can make good things out of it.  He can redirect us.  He can guide us back, but we have to keep our eyes on Him. 

     November of 2013 I was told that I have a BRCA2 gene mutation (Google it or read my previous blogs).  When that happened, I took my time deciding what was best for my life.  I opted to schedule a double mastectomy (removal of breasts) and an oophorectomy (removal of ovaries).  I've had many doctors appointments in the past year.  My grandma went to one with me.  My husband went to one.  I went to the others alone.  I really wanted my husband there.  I wanted him to want to be there.  I felt that he started distancing himself from me.  Emotionally and physically he became withdrawn from me. I would cry, and he would not respond.  In the beginning he did, but something changed.  I would cry and he would get more distant.  I was having such a hard time doing this without my mother.  I would have days that I missed her so very much.  I've cried knowing that she won't be there to hold my hand before I go into surgery.  I needed my husband to be there for me.  I needed him to try to understand.  I needed him to hold me when I was sad. I couldn't understand what changed.  I even wrote him letters telling him that I really needed him, and explained how.  I work in the automotive industry, so my work friends are mostly guys.  I talked to two of them about my surgery...I shouldn't have had personal conversations with people at work.  I know better than that.  Work and home are to be kept separated.  These are not my friends, they are coworkers.  That's hard to remember when you spend 10 hours a day with people.  I messed up.  I had an affair. I could sit here and type out why.  I could tell each step that happened that led up to, but there is nothing that justifies my actions. I could tell you how he actually asked about an appointment that my husband forgot about.  I could tell you that he hugged me when I began to cry about missing my mother.  I could tell you about the conversations we had in which I thought I was just venting to a friend.  I can tell you that I had no idea it would become what it did.  I can't justify that I had an affair.  I can't.  It was wrong.  I cried a lot from guilt.  I felt horrible.  When our spouses found out they both wanted a divorce.  I believe his wife filed before it happened. Our spouses started talking to each other.  They even met for drinks one night.  My husband filed for divorce shortly after finding out.  I was 100% in the wrong.  Our one time affair wasn't worth damaging two families.  I can't take it back.  I am so very sorry.  I know this will shock people.  I am not a cheater.  This is so unlike me.  I know my mother would be disappointed.  I know that I have shamed my family.  I know that I hurt my kids.  I think about it EVERY day. I know that I am a horrible person, and made an irreversible and destructive choice. I know that.  I understand my husband wanting a divorce. I broke him.  I destroyed his heart. I feel awful.  I love that man so very much.  Things were already getting rough with us with the emotional and physical separation.  When my son moved out in July we (ricky and I) realized that we have nothing in common.  Nothing.  Looking back, it's possible that we got married out of convenience.  We wanted the best for our children and I feel that we did that. Our children have close relationships, and will remain that way for the rest of their lives.  I know that we didn't make a mistake getting married...I think that we could have been married forever.  Ricky said recently that he didn't think we were happy.  He said that he thought we were comfortable.  I feel like that's the same thing.  I could be totally wrong. 

     You are welcome to judge me if you feel the need.  I have beat myself up about this for 2 months now. I can never take it back.  I can never right my wrong. I admit that I messed up.  I admit that I ruined all of this.  You can judge, you can email me, you can text ugly things to me.  you can do whatever you feel necessary to "give me your opinion" on my life. I am not proud of what I did.  I assure you of that.  I really hope that this blog helps someone...I don't know how that's possible.  I also think it's good to just get this off my chest.  It's a horrible secret to keep.  I live in a tiny town where people know every time I pass gas, and they insist on letting everyone else know.  I am sure this won't take long to make to the front page of the local paper. But, I'm not going to sit back and pretend to be perfect or without sin.  Not one of us is perfect. Again, feel free to tell me what a horrible person I am.  I actually deserve whatever befalls me.

     I am not going to lie and say this is not the most uncomfortable blog I've ever written.  I'm so very sorry for hurting people.  I am sorry for those of you I disappointed, and let down.  I have failed many people with my action and my choice.  I decided to cancel my surgery.  I will reschedule for January 2016 in hopes that my life will not be as chaotic then, and I can plan better for the surgery. My divorce will be final the beginning of January, and that's a week before the surgery was scheduled.  I'm just not prepared to take all of that on at the same time.  I so very sorry if you are one of the people that I let down and disappointed. 

    I have no idea what is next for my life, but this chapter is closing.

Shank them like it's a jailbreak attempt

     Today I meet with the plastic surgeon at 4:00.  She said the next time that I see her to bring pictures of good boobs and bad boobs according to my Google searches. :)  I have them in my phone. I am not gonna lie it was awkward when Brian (my 12 year old son) went to use my phone, and the web pages that were up were boobies.  He said, "Uuuhhh, mom, there's a lot of boobs on here."  Hahahahaaa! I told him why, and he understood.  I showed him some of the "bad" boobs so that he understood what was scaring me. I remember the day I first told him about being BRCA+ and what it meant. I let him ask what questions he felt he needed the answers to.  He asked a couple of questions, and that was it.  It's been 18 months since the "spot" was detected in my left breast.  It's been 10 months since I was diagnosed as BRCA2+.  About a month ago, when Brian saw the boob images on my phone, he decided to ask some questions. 
     It was so much easier to explain the surgery to my 20 year old daughter.  She's a grown up (sort of) and she's a girl.  Trying to explain this to my 12 year old son...whole different ballgame (this was about a week before his 13th birthday). He asked if I was scared.  He asked what they do in the surgery.  He asked what happens after the surgery.  He asked if it would look like the pictures on my phone.  My first response to him was, "Brian, this is all medical.  This isn't about boobs. I can explain this to you.  Are you okay with hearing about your mom's boobs? I understand that might seem weird."  He thought for a second, "and said yeah, I'm fine.  I want to know what's going to happen".  My next question (so very awkward for me) was, "Are you oaky with me using the word nipple?". I couldn't think of a way to explain this without using that word.  Maybe I'm the weird one, but that's just not a word I have grown up hearing in conversation. His response: Mom, every body has nipples.   He wasn't weird.  He wasn't grossed out.  I explained each step of the surgery, why I chose to have it done, that I didn't want to the possibility of seeing me go through what Nanny (my mom) did.  He had questions, and we chatted for about 45 minutes about it.  I'll admit that I had been nervous for some time about talking to him about it.  I just wasn't looking forward to trying to have a mature conversation about boobs with my 12 year old boy. He didn't giggle even once. :)
     I was accepted to a private FB group for BRCA positive people. The support of others that understand has been so good for me.  I have learned that the mixed emotions, the rollercoasters are totally normal.  Other women are experiencing doubt in their decisions for a day or so.  They experience days with lots of cry fests. They experience anger, confusion, and blah days.  It's private, so we all just throw it out there, our fears, our experiences.  It's nice to be part of a group that will be honest, and support you, and wont say "well, at least you'll have perky boobs when your old".  If I have to hear one more person say that...I'm going to shank them like it's a jailbreak attempt.
     I have my appointment at 4:00 today....I don't get as much work done as I'd like to on the days that I have appointments. I just have a lot on my mind on those days.  I have a lot of quiet time those days. Today will not be any different.  I will work getting some old stuff off my desk.  I will barely speak. I will leave work an hour before my appointment.  I will arrive 30 minutes early and read magazines in the lobby.  I will feel better when talking to the doctor.  I will go to my car and cry for about 15 minutes, wipe my snot on my shirt and drive home. I will spend the evening editing photography stuff and staying to myself.  This is what happens on the days of my appointments.  It's a routine I have fallen into.  I have no idea why.  I really like the doctor that I will see today.. She is the one that I mentioned in a previous blog that was my height, so I felt an automatic connection to her.  And yes, I realize that is strange, but so am I. :)  She makes me feel like no matter what, she gonna give me some boobs that won't later plot against me. She's great.

Learning to dance in the rain...

     One day I will have it all together!  I seriously thought this during my childhood. HA!  Wow... What does that even mean?  Having it all together...that's an interesting phrase.
     I do not and probably will not ever have it all together. I've had a hard time with my mother's death in the past few weeks.  I know that people think "she should have moved on by now", "Darla is taking this harder than she should", "I can't believe she's still grieving".  A piece of my life is gone. Gone.  Mothers don't judge you. Mother's are the only ones that have your childhood stories in their head. Mother's are the ones that patch your BooBoos no matter how old you are.  When my first husband left, my mother held me (more than once) while I cried.  When I told my mother that I thought I had a drinking problem, she didn't judge me. I have so many things I really need to talk to her about.  I know I know.  I have friends that will listen to me ramble on. I have family that will too.  But they're not my mom. The last movie I watched with mom was The Lake House.  The last thing I ate with my mother was Chinese that we brought into the hospice hospital.  The last words she said to me were "I love you, Baby".  I can still hear her voice. I wonder so often what she would think right now.  Would she be proud of the photography stuff I'm doing?  She always liked to look at them.  Would she be disappointed with my work habits right now?  Would she support my decision for the double mastectomy? Would she pet my head before I go into surgery? Would she be holding my hand at each appointment?  What would she say if I just put my head on her shoulder to cry?  You don't move on.  You don't ever finish grieving. You learn to live with a piece of your heart, and your life gone...missing.

     I got the date of my surgery set.  That was nerve wracking and a relief at the same time.  I'm still nervous.  I'm having so many mixed emotions. One minute I'm sad, and the next I'm frustrated and mad.  I can't seem to find a happy medium. I think it's just that there is so much in my head...so much running through my mind.  I have so many tough things that I'm going through right now.  So much more detail than I feel comfortable blogging about.  I have a friends sister that committed suicide last week.  One of my friends is an affair (she's single).  One of my friends is having an affair that is destroying her emotionally.   One friend is in the hospital.  One friend is going to marry a man that she doesn't love. One friend is having severe depression and having a hard time separating herself from her past.  One friend is financial trouble and seems so very depressed.  My sister has a drinking problem.  My dad's been coughing up blood for 2 years and won't go to the doctor. I have so many appointments.  I'm working 12-17 hours per day at my day job.  I'm actually down 3 employees right now. I miss my son. I miss having the kids at home.  One of our girls is thinking about moving out of the state. I'm buried at work.  I have a friend who's girlfriend is battling breast cancer and doing chemo. I have a friend who's thinking about divorce. I've needed a hair cut for months. I'm worried about all of this.  And when one thing seems fixed...some other chaotic thing replaces it. This again is why I wish I had mom to talk to.  Don't misread my emotions.  I have a ton of things to be thankful for as well.  Please do not assume that all I do is complain.  It's not like that.  I have a ton of things in my life that I am so thankful for. I really do. :)
     I think life is like that for everyone.  There are always life storms.  Learning to dance in the rain...that's the hard part, and the fun part. :)

~Darla

Who's gonna wipe my hiney?!?

     I am really thankful that I am able to blog.  I know this isn't everyone's thing, but it is such a release.  When you have no one to talk to...blog.
     Last week I had a follow up appointment with Cassie.  She is the surgeon that will be removing the breast tissue during the first surgery.  As I have said before, she is fantastic!  I love her demeanor, her calming voice, and her ability to explain things in a way that I understand....minimal medical terms.  She even draws pictures if she needs to. :)  The appointment went well for the most part. So far after each appointment I have walked to my car with a smile, and then I sit in my car and cry.  I let it all out. I just sit there pray and cry.  No one knows this.  This is the first time I've admitted it. It's not because I'm sad.  This is just a lot.  It's a lot of information.  It's a lot to understand.  It's a lot to accept.  It's a lot to carry everyday. It usually takes me back to my mother.  I saw a video the other day on The Pink Ribbon FB page.  It was a girl the day of surgery and a few days following her double mastectomy.  I always have so much respect for those people who document their journeys.  Anyway, I cried.  Not because of the pain she in, not because I was going to go through that same pain, not because I felt sorry for her.  I cried watching her mother hold her hand.  It's selfish, and it's jealousy.  I know it's wrong to be jealous, but she had her mom. My mother won't be holding my hand when I go into surgery.  Don't get me wrong!! I have plenty of people who love me and will be there with me.  There will be way more people than need to be there, but none of them are my mother.  I wonder if they will let me keep my pocket angel in my hand during surgery?  I'll have to remember to ask.  I have really gotten off topic....back to my appointment.  Sorry.  So,  Cassie explained to me that the incision will not be under the breasts.  It will be in a () shape around the nipple.  It will be two incisions one above the nipple and one under that  connect on either side and make a rounded diamond shape.  They will remove all of the breast tissue through this "hole".  When they begin removing the tissue on the second breast, the plastic surgeon will come in and install the "bag" (it's called a tissue expander) on the first breast.  There will be three people working at the same time to get done as quickly as possible so that I am not under anesthesia longer than necessary.  This process will take 4-5 hours. When the "holes" are sewn together it will be a straight line.  It will be 5-6 inches across each breast. The drains will be located on the outside of the incisions. There will be two tubes from each breast.  One is a drain tube, and the other is a tube in which the fluid will be injected each week.  It's quite possible that the surgery will be the first week in January.  That's only 14 weeks. 
     The first week following surgery will be very difficult.  I will be unable to use my arms.  The bandages will need to be changed.  I will have to wear a special cami-shirt that fastens in the front.  I will have to wear front buttoning shirts as well since I won't be able to do over the head things with my arms. This is going to so very difficult.  Who's gonna wipe my hiney?!? One of the first thoughts I had.  I know that I shouldn't have a problem with this, but this is a big deal for me.  Other than my mother, NO ONE has ever had to clean my goodies!! I don't even pee in front of my husband.  How do I think that I am going to let him help me with this task? This is a very big concern for me.  I know there are people that will do it...I can name several: my grandma, my husband, my sisters, my daughter.  I know these people will do it.  I don't want them to.  I want to go pee alone, and wipe myself! Uhg!!! How awful.  OH my gosh!!! It just occurred to me:  what if I'm on my menstrual cycle?  *blank stare*  I am done with this paragraph.
     I have so many things in my head. There are so many concerns.  There are so many ideas bouncing around.  I can't keep focused on one thing.  I replace all of these thoughts with work.  I have started working more hours.  I get up at 4am with my mind running a hundred miles per hour.  I get to work by 5am, and work work work until 6,7,8pm. When I get home, I edit.  I keep my mind busy. Lately we have been going to dinner a lot which gets me out of the house and away from editing & working for a little bit.  It's good for me.  I know it is.
     It's so hard to be at home.  A while back my son (Brian) decided that he wanted to go live with his dad. We waited until after the spring season of baseball because our lives revolve around baseball.  I moved him to his dads this summer. That was a very tough day for me.  Now I walk by his empty room, and sometimes I stop to cry on his bed. I miss him so much.  I still talk to him.  I get him every other weekend, but after having him for his entire 12 years of life...it's hard to not have him at home. He was honest with me in this decision.  He said that he had prayed for a long time before the topic had come up, and he was certain that this was what he wanted to do.  I know it doesn't mean that he won't come back home.  I hang on to a glimmer of hope that one day he may decide that he wants to come home, but I also realize that's not fair to his dad who has missed so much in Brian's life since we separated in 2006. This too runs through my head all the time. 
     I am worried about so much that is going on in my life. I am not a worrier.  Not typically.  Some days my brain is in over load.  Most days. Some days there is so much in my head that I don't voice, and that makes me feel so alone sometimes. Do not get me wrong...I know that this is one of the many times in my life where there is only one set of footprints. I am so thankful for a God who loves me so very much. More than I can possibly fathom. That is comforting in itself.
~Darla

Everyone's "dream body" is different.

     Let's talk about my weight history.  Let's talk about personal goals.  I love blogging all of this stuff...because one day I may want to look back and remember these things.
     I have always been firm in my belief that if you want something bad enough, you can obtain it.  I realize there are exceptions to this belief.  Let's say my goal is to have a date with Dwight Yoakum. That's not gonna happen.  For one, I'm married, and that's completely inappropriate.  Secondly, he's doesn't know I'm alive nor will he ever.  I suppose if I wanted it bad enough I could be a groupie, and travel the country to be at his every concert. I could stand outside his house, and wait for him to meet me...or wait to be arrested.  The fact still remains.  If you want something bad enough, you will anything to obtain it. Make sense?  You can pick just about anything and figure out the order of events that would need to happen to obtain it.  If you want it bad enough. :)
     So, now lets talk about my weight. *rolls eyes*  Through high school I was always 120-125lbs.  I am 5'1", so that's not rail thin.  I wore a size 5.  I've always had large thighs. Always.  I'm not pear shaped, just evenly proportioned.   I, like a lot of people, gained weight after high school.  I was still a runner as an adult.  I love to run.  I love winter runs with the cold air in my chest.  I love the way my legs feel like jelly after a long run.  At the age of 23, I got married to my first husband (we don't all get it right on the first try).  I weighed 130.  I didn't run as much, but I still ran.  I've been a vegetarian as long as I can remember, so I eat mostly healthy. My enemy: rice and pasta.  I love rice.  I super love pasta. Pasta is the easiest way to make a vegetarian meal and be full. Starches in general are not healthy unless you are really exercising.  Running 3 miles a couple of times a week was not burning it off.  I was not a soda drinker.  I have never been a big fan of sweets, so I was able to maintain a healthy weight without a lot of exercise.
     Right before our first anniversary, I was in a pretty bad car accident.  I rolled a Ford Explorer on a gravel road on my way home.  I hurt my hip really bad.  I had no seatbelt on because I was only driving a few miles from the post office in town to our house out in the boonies. I remember the first few flips.  I held the steering wheel as tight as I could.  The first flip broke all of the windows on the drivers side.  As I was holding the steering wheel my whole left side hit hard on the gravel road.  I did not have skin on my left side from upper hip bone to my knee. There was no way I could run.  It was months before I was able to.  I put on weight. Not a ton, but it happens slowly.
      I got pregnant with my son right after our first anniversary. I weighed 143.  I was so sick with him through the entire pregnancy that I only gained 7lbs.  I weighed 150lbs when I gave birth.  I left the hospital weighing less than when I got pregnant.  When my son was 5, my husband left me.  No hard feelings.  We were not terrible together, but we had our problems.  All these years later, we are still friends.  He's a great guy, but we just couldn't make it.  No, this is not what I wanted, but I understand why he left.  It takes two people to make a marriage work.  Both people have to want it.  It is NOT a one sided commitment. Enough about that.  So, I was hurt and angry that he left me.  I'm not sure why I was shocked, I wasn't a good wife.  Cleaning and dusting are not my strong suite. :) When he left, my eating habits became horrendous. I was eating anything I wanted.  I wasn't trying to be healthy.  I didn't care any more.  I had no one to impress.
      In the first year after he left I gained weight. Not terrible.  I was 155ish and wearing a size 11. My weight was still evenly distributed...I was just bigger all over. Again, don't get me wrong. This is not a bad size.  I knew lots of people that would have liked to be a size 11.  This was my first time in a double digit size. I wasn't particularly concerned.  After all, I was a vegetarian.  Pssssh.  Vegetarians are some of the most unhealthy people because they don't do in a healthy way. I wasn't a vegetarian because I just love Bambi, cows, and chickens.  I really just don't care for the chewing part.  I know that's weird. It's the fleshy tearing part that bothers me.  I periodically like a hotdog if I'm in the mood.  I've been known to eat sausage wraps after a couple beers and a Red Flyer wagon ride.  That's a wild story...for another time. :) 
     So, I was 28, single, eating crap, not exercising, and not caring.  By the time I was 30 I weighed 195.  I didn't realize that I had put on that much weight.  It was around Christmas time, and my mother insisted on a picture of all of us girls and our partners on the front steps of the house.  In the picture I was big.  I was the biggest sister.  There are 6 of us girls, and I was the fat one.  I know that 195lbs doesn't seem like a lot.  I know there are people out there that would love to be 195.  I know this.  I do not think that heavy people are gross.  I see the beauty inside and out.  Little known fact about me:  I am a chubby chaser.  I date heavy people.  I love them.  I love the way weight looks on people. I am not the only one out there that is like that. This is not an absurd obsession.  I love sexy rolls on men and women.  I love heavy people.  I really do think that curves and rolls are sexy.   However, looking in the mirror, I didn't like them on my self.  I did not feel sexy.  I felt that couldn't pull off clothes that were in style.  Girls that were bigger than me were wearing these cute clothes, and looking fantastic.  I didn't feel good about my self.  I started wearing clothes that were big and flowing. I wore baby doll shirts way after they went out of style.  When I met my second husband he was 300lbs.  I love every single pound of it!! 195lbs is not a bad weight.  It would be a fantastic weight for someone 5'7".  At 5'1" I was not carrying the weight well.  I started noticing things that were more difficult to do.  I hadn't even tried to run in at least 2 years. I was still eating crap food.  Lots of fast food, vending machine cuisine, tons of soda, and lots and lots of salt. Mexican food was my go to.  Oh yes, cheese enchiladas, rice, beans, guacamole, and a basket of chips and salsa.  This alone is about 2,000 calories. I would eat this for one meal.  So, it's possible that some days I was easily taking in 5,000 calories. I was eating 2 breakfast tacos each morning.  Potato and egg breakfast tacos...200 calories each.  Mexican food for lunch because that was really the only restaurant in the town I worked in at the time.  Dinner was whatever.  A large can of Ravioli, Pasta salad, usually Italian food because it was cheap and easy to make. I maintained 195 for a while.
     I met my second husband when I was 33.  Actually we had known each other since the 5th/6th grade.  He was a year ahead of me in school.  We will skip all of the details on how we met up again.  I'll blog about that at another time.  :)  When we met, nothing had changed with my eating habits and exercise. I weighed 190.  I was wearing a size 18. We dated for almost a year when he asked me to marry him.  We both wanted to work on our weight before we got married. He lost almost 40 pounds, and I lost 15.  We were both using the My Fitness Pal ap.  That was huge for me.  I really had no idea how many calories a person was supposed to eat.  I certainly had no idea that I was eating 3-4xs my daily caloric allowance.  I had a really hard time with this. Pasta is 200 calories for one cup.  I could easily sit down and eat an entire box of Mac and Cheese by my self. One box is 1200 calories. My problem was not just what foods I was eating, but also my portion intake.  It was a real bummer to only lose 15 pounds in 8 months.  I felt again like a failure. My weight through the first 3 years of our marriage fluctuated between 170-185.  After my mom died last year, I was eating crap again.  I was really fed up with life, my body, just everything. Depression was probably not as far off as I'd like to think it was.
     Sometime late last year, I mentioned to my daughter something like "blah blah back when I was a size 7".  She said, "I don't ever remember you being small".  Ouch.  My kids only remembered having a heavy mom. I don't care for the word heavy...I prefer chubby, but whatever.  This year, 2014, was the year.  I was done. I was not going to live like this anymore. Ricky was fed up with his weight as well.  It's hard to be intimate when you feel disgusting. We were being intimate in the dark only. No daytime hanky-panky. Hiding away from intimacy and avoiding affection because you are uncomfortable in your own body is damaging to a relationship. I can understand how one could become depressed being overweight and hating it. So, in January, we went to the gym and bought a one year membership.  Oh yeah, big commitment.  January 1st 2014, I weighed 187 lbs.  I was wearing a size 16 at the time. We were going to the gym and working out at least 5 times a week.  I was still using My Fitness Pal.  I was really really careful with portions and food choices.  This time was different.  I had weighed more than I did nine months pregnant for the last 7 years. I was determined to get under my 9 month pregnant weight.  I was almost 30 lbs heavier than I was at 9 months pregnant!! This was going to be hard, but I wanted it bad enough.  I wanted it really bad. I was talking to a friend one day about wanting to lose weight.  She is heavier than me.  She actually got upset with me for talking about being overweight, and how I needed to let it go because a lot of people would love to be my weight.  She told me that I was not overweight, and I needed to let it go.  She said that I actually "piss her off" when I talk about it. I had no idea. I seriously had no idea. I was actually a bit in shock.  All people are different.  Everyone's "dream body" is different. I quit talking about my weight to anyone that was bigger than me.  I certainly didn't mean to offend anyone.  I would never intentionally offend someone. Well...not about that.   Anyway, back on topic.  So, by March we had really been working out almost every day. We were eating better, and reasonable portions. Ricky drops weight faster than me.  I think males in general lose faster than women. He was really slimming up.  In late March I weighed 173lbs. I was doing it!! I was losing weight!! I had lost 14lbs in 3 months.  Not really as fast as I was hoping, but hey! It was happening. 
     It was in April that we fell off the wagon.  Lovely.  We quit going to the gym.  Life was crazy.  I was working 70-100 hours per week. I was eating out of the vending machine.  I guess I didn't want it bad enough after all.  In June, I had put some of the weight back on.  I'm not sure how much because I wasn't recording it at that time on My Fitness Pal.  In July, I tried to put on a pair of my bigger jeans.  They were a size 16.  They were too tight to be comfortable. How could I have not wanted it bad enough?!?
     In early August, I was done (again) with this weight problem.  This time I did something completely different.  I prayed.  I cried and prayed. I told God that I was sorry that I was not respecting His temple.  If my body is a temple of God's then I was shaming His temple.  I felt terrible about it.  I asked him to take away my want for crap food, fast food, and vending machine cuisine.  It was an entirely different outlook on my weight. I started going to the gym without Ricky.  I was working out harder than ever. I started taking B12 on a regular basis (which my mother always said I needed to take). The first few days I noticed an increase in energy, and loss of appetite.  I chalked that up to stress at work and lack of time to eat.  I remember a time that I had gone to the vending machine and nothing looked good. Nothing. I instead had a huge thing of water. For the first week, I couldn't figure out the loss of appetite.  One night really late at work probably 9pm or so, it hit me.  Maybe it was the B12??  I searched loss of appetite with B12. BINGO!! Apparently at weight loss clinics, they actually inject patients with B12 to help with weight loss and hunger.  Really?? Duh!  Should have totally researched it before popping those things like TicTacs. I was taking 3000 micrograms per day. Prior to this I was drinking 10+ Diet Cokes per day for energy.  The need to have sodas was gone. I love the taste, but no longer needed them for the caffeine boost. I drink maybe 1 a day now.  I haven't had on in three days, and haven't needed the caffeine. I feel fine.  The energy is level and healthy.  I know about the loss of appetite now, so I have to actually think about eating.  It's unhealthy to NOT eat.  I am eating small portions, still going to the gym, and taking 2,000 micrograms per day of B12.  I am spreading it out through out the day.  I start the day with 1,000 micrograms.  Then I take 1,000 more after lunch.  I am still hitting the gym hard. My eating choices are so much healthier. I don't want fried foods. At all.  I don't want pasta.  I don't like the way it makes me feel. If I do have pasta, it's a very small amount. I've only had one cup serving of pasta on the last month.  I eat vegetables.  I actually crave them.  They are fantastic for energy, and easy for the body to burn.  I quit eating salads.  The salads I was eating were high in salt and calories. If I want a salad I eat some lettuce leaves and a few tomatoes.  I really feel that God heard me and is helping me.  He has taken away my craving for all of my favorite foods, potatoes, fries, rice, salt, butter, soda, fried anything, bread, and so many other things.  I almost feel swollen after I eat bread. I had a half of a biscuit yesterday at lunch.  It didn't even taste good. It tasted like...dough...or flour. It wasn't good.
     My husband is not happy with this.  I think he feels that I am starving to death.  I'm not. I am eating.  It's just not what he is used to seeing me eat. I am by no means suggesting that anyone try this.  I am not a doctor, and I am certainly not a health expert. I did talk to my doctor, and I am not overdoing the B12.  Someone else at work started taking B12, and has discovered the same thing.  He actually has to remember to eat something during the day.  Another person said that it did not change anything for them.  They mentioned it to their doctor during a routine physical in which the doctor told them that B12 is good for energy but only for those who are B12 deficient. So, it's not for everyone.  Last night I went to the gym.  For the first time in as long as I can remember I was able to wear a shirt that was snug on my body.  I've been wearing tee shirts, but they are all way to big and hard to work out in.  I was wearing a fitted tank!!! I can't ever remember a time in my life when I was able to do that. 
     I was not going to blog about this in fear of offending someone because I felt big at 187.  I figure that I write this blog for myself and my life experiences.  I want to make it very clear that I am not PC.  I speak what's on my mind without a filter.  I have always been like this. I just speak what I feel.  I hope this doesn't end up on some media page where it goes viral and people bash me for my choices and opinions. Who is anyone to judge my opinions? Yeah right, it happens all the time...to all of us.

I would like to finish up with saying that today I weigh 157lbs.  My size 14s are too big, but I'm not in a 12...yet.  I do not have long term goals...I am just marking my goals at 5lbs at a time.  My goal is 5 more pounds by Friday of next week.  Small goals are so much easier to work towards...for me.

My apologies for this being the longest blog I've ever written...I just like to talk.  :) I can talk on here to myself for as long as I want to. :)

He's gone.

          Last week I got the call that my grandpa was not doing well and was in the hospital.  I had a shoot that day in downtown Austin, but went to the hospital immediately after. When I got there it was just me, my grandma, and my sister, Danielle. My grandpa was laying there with one of those breathing machines on trying to sleep.  I always remembered him as a big guy, but this time he looked very thin.  He wasn't rail thin or what I would call skinny.  He was just so much smaller than I remembered him being.  His hands looked frail and soft, not the big, hard working hands I remembered from my childhood. He was sick and it showed. We sat there and visited with my grandma.  We call her Granny Sue. She looked tired.  We talked and chatted for about an hour or so, and then I headed home. On the way home, I wept.  How could my big strong grandpa be so thin and sick?  This was a man that was always moving around doing stuff, tending to the chickens, building furniture, working on ATVs, planting and so many other things.  He was a moving around kind of guy.  He also loved watching westerns. All these memories poured through my mind as I watched him lay there trying to sleep.  The hum of the machine would periodically bring me back to current and to the conversation with my Granny Sue and Danielle.
     He was moved to hospice center in Austin called The Christopher House.  He was moved there 3 days ago. I hadn't been to visit at that facility yet.Yesterday I got the call around 2:00 that they were giving him about an hour to live. I was finishing up some stuff at work so that I could leave.  It was pouring down rain very heavy for about 30 minutes, so I also wanted to wait for that to pass. I was just about to leave when Danielle called me to tell me he was gone. I wept a bit and then left work to head up there.  I turned the wrong way down MLK Blvd and ended up on campus.  Oh what a terrible time to be on campus.  College kids Everywhere.  In Austin a lot of streets are one way, so it's hard to get turned back around.  A 10 minute drive took me about 45 minutes. When I got there, I walked right passed my aunt.  She didn't recognize me.  We went totally opposite directions as adults. We are only 11 months apart and we were VERY close to each other when we were children.  I remember at the family reunion this past summer when I saw her, I had to walk away so that I could cry.  I hadn't seen her in probably 10 years.  She looked unhealthy.  I could tell she was on drugs.  She was dirty.  Her hands were dirty, and her fingernails were jagged and had dirt under them.  How did my very beautiful aunt turn into this adult?  As I walked past her yesterday, I felt that she was probably on drugs.  She looked directly at me as she lit her cigarette.  I made eye contact, but continued walking. I went in the room where my grandpa was lying on a bed.  Family was all around in chairs, and no one was really talking much.  As I entered the room I hugged 2 of my aunts, and then went directly to his bed side. He looked pale which is to be expected. I put my hands on his arm.  He was cool to the touch, but not yet cold. I knelt down beside the bed, still touching his arm.  I looked at his face a wept.  I cry without making a sound, not always, but most of the time.  Tears streamed down my face as I remembered so many things about him that I would miss.  He looked so much older than he did when I was a kid, but it was still him.  We spent a lot of time over at their house as kids, but as we grew up we didn't visit as often as we should have.  I regret that now. Knelt beside his bed, it was now real to me. He's gone.
     I sat around the room with my Aunt Mackie, her brother, Randy, his wife Melissa, Mackie's kids, Chase, Cole and his wife, Heather, and my Granny Sue. We chit chatted, reminisced, and then one of my cousins (either Cole or Chase) busted out in song.  My grandpa would always sing the craziest songs. We couldn't remember all of the words, but together we were able to piece together most of a song he would sing about meeting a giant who has a box about an acre square...he kept his money in there...come a time come a tippy time a day.  I have no idea if he made that up or what.  We sang the chicken song as well.  Oooooh I had a little chicken and he wouldn't lay and egg so I poured hot water up and down his leg. Oh the little chicken hollered and the little chicken begged and the poor little chicken laid a hard boiled egg. The tune that the ice cream truck plays is to the tune of that song.  I think of him every time I hear and ice cream truck. :) He was quite the prankster and jokester. We talked about silly things he'd done. We talked about the whoopin' Shelly (the aunt I passed on the way in to the building) and I got because we were jumping off the pool house into the pool.  We had been watching Randy, my uncle do it.  He was only a few years older than Shelly and I.  He had been jumping off the pool house, but we are the ones that got caught doing it.  And that may have been the only whoopin' I ever got from him. We talked about old times, good times, memories, and butt whoopin's.  We tried our best to sing his crazy songs. It was good.  He won't be forgotten. He was a saved Christian, and he was sick.  I know where he is, and that he's no longer sick.  What more could I possibly ask for? 

Will I have nipples?

     The one thing that people should tell you when you are sick or having surgery: don't Google it. OH what a horrible idea. If you've have ever Googled a symptom, you are pretty much gonna die.   All of the horror stories and worst case scenarios are there.
     When I found out that I was BRCA2+, I decided to Google what options there were. I was overwhelmed with the options.  There was just way too much information.  When I talked to my doctor, the only option I felt was right for me and my family was the choice of a double mastectomy.  If you have read my previous blog, you know the details on this.  Well, that just provoked me into Googling mastectomies. Don't do that. Just don't do it. When I went back to the doctor (Cassie) I was really scared to death, but couldn't let her know I had been Googling this. She did put me at ease, but I really had a lot of questions.  She suggested that I meet with the plastic surgeon that would be putting me back together and reconstructing my breasts. However, what did I do before I went? Oh yeah, you know it! I Googled it. *rolls eyes* That made it worse.  I joined a FB group for DIEP Flap surgeries.  People post pictures on there that scared me even more.  I would bawl knowing that I was going to have these horribly mutilated breasts and terrible scars.  The DIEP Flap procedure is where a section of your lower abdominal is removed and used to rebuild the breasts with your tissue. The scar on the tummy is hip to hip.  They like to tell you that this is kinda like a tummy tuck with your breast reconstruction.  Ummmm, no!  It's certainly not. A tummy tuck scar is about 4-6 inches just above your...goodies (for lack of a more appropriate word).  This DIEP Flap scar on the tummy doesn't look like you can hide it.  I was not wanting this procedure.  The pictures that people put on the FB page are horrific.  Everyone on there is super nice and supportive.  They are a team, a family.  Its a fantastic support group, but after hearing the stories and seeing the pictures, I was hoping there was another option for me. 
     As dumb as it sounds, my other serious concern was: do I get to keep my nipples.  I think my concern for my nipples is solely based on the fact that...we've been together for a while.  Me and my nipples, well we've been through a lot together. :) We're close like that. So, in my head I'm potentially going to have these mutilated breasts, a scar from hip to hip, and no nipples! Fear. I know, how selfish of me?  That would go through my head.  ANY breasts no matter how mutilated and nippleless are better than getting cancer, right? Maybe?  Maybe I shouldn't get reconstructive at all.  Maybe being without breasts would be easier.  I could lay on my stomach comfortably.  I would be easy to hug.  I would never have to wear a bra again! All the thoughts in my head and on Google boggled my mind. I was a mess.  I would just break down and cry in random places.  Several times at work I have gone to the bathroom to weep.  I'm almost 40 obviously my breasts are not where they once were, but they're mine.  I once wept in a dressing room.  I've broke down and bawled at home.  The nasty kind of cry where you are sucking in weird breaths, snotting, making the ugly cry face, and wiping your face on your sleeve. Yeah, it's ugly, but we've all done it. I still had so many questions.  I would talk to my husband, but I could tell that he had no idea how to react.  He can't relate at all.  I know it's weird, but I am concerned that with ugly breasts, what if he's not attracted to me? What if he's actually grossed out by what he sees?  I understand that he didn't marry me for my breasts (if he did, we have bigger issues to address).  I also understand that he'd rather see ugly breasts than to have to stand by and watch my battle breast cancer, go through chemo, and possibly die. To breast or not to breast, that is the question.
     Yesterday I had my appointment to meet with the plastic surgeon. LOVE HER! I was nervous all day at work.  I ended up getting there 30 minutes early.  My appointment was at 3:30. I had to sit and wait a while because the patient before me must have had a lot of questions too. :) I patiently waiting.  I even got in a quick little nap which was nice. The nurse came in and asked a few questions, and then took me into another room.  The doctor was in shortly after that. I immediately liked her simply because she was about my height.  I feel an immediate connection to short people. *shrugs* Not sure why. She drew pictures to show me what the procedure would actually entail. Basically, I will go in and they will cut from underneath the breasts, remove all of the tissue and then insert a flat bag with drain tubes. I will go each week to get 100cc of fluid put into these expansion bags.  This will occur for 6-8 weeks.  I will start out with smaller "lumps" that will increase when they put fluid in each week until I reach the size of my current breasts (or close to it).  The expansion bags will actually be placed under my chest muscle to help mask the round shape of the implant that will be put in at a later date. She explained to me that the "round" fake breasts that you see are when the implants are above the muscle. I really want these to look as natural as they can.  I have now accepted the fact that they will never look like mine.  They will not look natural.  She explained that she is going to give me breasts that won't try to kill me.  She also does NOT recommend the DIEP Flap procedure.  *huge sigh of relief* I like that. It was comforting to hear her say that. I told her that I had been Googling stuff, and that there were some scary breasts out there. She said, "Bring me the pictures of the ugly breasts, and I'll tell you what was done wrong.  I can tell you if the surgeon made a mistake, or if the patient didn't do what they were supposed to.  I can tell you that.  Also, if you see some that you like, bring me those pictures as well.  I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that this is one procedure and done.  It will take several surgeries to get them how you want them, but I won't stop until you're happy with them."  I felt better.  I now know that this will take more than one surgery.  I know that she is going to work on them until I'm happy (boy does she have her work cut out for her). I finally asked the big question: will I have nipples?  She looked at my bare breasts and said that she felt that she could salvage the nipple, but they would be in the exact same spot that they are now, and that it is possible for the nipple tissue to die which would mean I would have to remove them anyway.  Sometimes part of the nipple dies so you have a partial nipple.  She said she would recommend removing them to cut out any risk, but that it was up to me. So, I decided right then and there.  I will be having my nipples removed as well, and its MY choice. Oh, what a relief! What a huge relief.  I don't know the technical term, but the raised part in the center of the nipple is something that can built, and then later I will go to have the colored part tattooed to look like a real nipple.  There is a guy in New York that tattoos nipples.  I think I am going to journey up there, put my Taylor Texas pin on the map in his office, and get me some Vinnies. :)  Watch the video. You'll understand. Click here -->  Vinnie, 3D Nipple Tattoo Artist
     Six months ago I would not have dared to say the word nipple.  I most certainly would not have blogged about it!! Are you kidding me, that's so very personal, and frankly you just don't talk about it.  My view on breasts in general has completely changed. I'm blogging about a part of my body that will not be mine.  I will never have sensation in my breasts ever again.  They will be a foreign thing to me.  I can talk about them because they aren't personal.  They aren't mine. They are just replacements so that mine don't try to kill me. This is still a hard decision, but at this point in my journey I am positive that I will have the double mastectomy.  I am positive that I will have reconstructive surgery. I am positive that I will not have nipples.  I am positive that my doctors will do the best they can.  I am positive that I will survive. I am positive that I will not live in fear of developing breast cancer. What else matters? 

Peeing in the Ficus tree

Sometimes I feel utterly alone.  Sometimes I'm surrounded by people and feel alone.  This doesn't happen often, but I'm thinking that it's when I have so much going on in my life that I can't focus on my surroundings.

Right now I have 10 photography sessions that I need to get done and edited.  I have end of the month to finish closing at work. Brian moved to his dad's, so my mothering skills are not needed at home.  I work so much that my marriage is will probably suffer. My mother's death is still heavy on my mind...maybe even more so since my diagnosis.  I've had a double ear infection for a few days, and I started my period this week. I also received two traffic tickets by highway patrol...same officer.  It's just been an emotional week.

 I've also come to the realization that we're not perfect. WHAT!?! Shocker, right?  We all sin.  We all fall short of perfection. Try it.  One day sin free.  You can't even do that.  You will lie, have impure thoughts, be envious, over eat, whatever.  We are sinners.  Do we disappoint God every day? How horrible!! God loves us anyway.  How about this: you walk through the living room to find your 3 year old son peeing in your artificial ficus tree.  You don't stop loving him.  You don't disown him.  This is how God feels when we sin.  As Christians we want to walk perfectly with God.  We don't want anyone to look at us and not be able to identify that we are Christians.  We don't want to be stumbling blocks for other people.  It happens.  We are NOT going to walk the walk perfectly.  We ARE going to be a stumbling block for someone.  It's comforting to know that God doesn't love us less during these times. We were are peeing in the ficus tree,  remember that God loves us anyway.

I reread this post...i'm a bit of a weirdo. :) Meh, who cares. No one reads this anyway.

Being the exception.

     I have oh so many stories from my life.  I vent to a very good friend of mine.  We live far apart, but having her to talk to is like blogging, a release of some sort. I think if I die...she needs to get our emails from the last few years published. :) If I don't vent through email or to people, I will write myself an email just for a way to release feelings through words. No one reads these blogs on my blogger.  I feel that this is a semi-safe way to release thoughts and concerns that I can't get out of my head. When I blog, I'm able to let things go, stop worrying and let God do His thing.

    Today I was at my computer editing some photography sessions. I play all kinds of weird music when I edit. Today was Women of Country on Pandora. A song came on that I had never heard before.  It was by Martina McBride. Here is the link.  http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/martinamcbride/imgonnaloveyouthroughit.html  The song hit me unbelievably hard. I cried.  I signed on the Facebook to get my mind off of it only to find the "the Pink Ribbon page had posted a picture that said "Don't be ashamed of your story. It will inspire others".  I have several people at church that I feel are my prayer warrior friends.  I think God puts core groups together, people that pray the same, people that can pray together. There are some people that I do not pray with and do not feel comfortable praying with.  Recently I emailed two of my church friends. 

This is the email:

I am sending this email only to the two of you. I care for both of you so very much.  I don’t always know why God sends people to be in my life, but I’m thankful for both you.  I feel a special connection to you both for a multitude of reasons that I can’t always grasp. You are my brother and sister in Christ.  God does not discriminate, and regardless of our wide array of life experiences, He has brought us together.  I think that we were all brought together to love on each other, learn from each other, and pray for one another.  Our God is so cool. J  The Fonz ain’t got nothin’ on our God.

 

I wanted to share something with you both.  I have felt lead to share in Sunday School a couple of times about this, but I can’t get the words out.  I know on several occasions I have started or mentioned a tiny piece of this and stopped.  During these times, Ricky has gently reached over and grabbed my hand just to let me know he’s there.  He has been unbelievably supportive.  I can’t thank God enough for sending that wonderfully amazing man to me.  I also can’t imagine making this walk without him.  He helps me to be a better person.  He calms my heart when I have fear.  I know that God is in him because when I cry, he just hugs me.  I can feel God holding me, and there is no need for us to exchange words.  God is with me…with us.

 

When I lost my mother, my whole world was torn apart. It wasn’t just because I didn’t have a mom anymore.  It was a million different things.  It has been a rough couple of years for our family.  Watching my mother try to breathe with the “death rattle” and seeing her last breathe in this world torn my heart out of my chest.  I miss my mother dearly.  She was so very difficult during the last year or two, but I miss “mom”.  I miss the advice, the person she was, dancing to oldies while cleaning house, seeing her hug my children, listening to her stories…it’s those things that exist only in my memory now. When my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, I was in shock, disbelief.  How could this be?  My father’s mother died from breast cancer at the age of 52.  She met my sweet Chelsea only once. How could my mother have this terrible disease.  It just couldn’t be.  Period. For months I avoided the conversation.  After a year, me and my sisters wanted her to get treatment, but chemo was not an option for my mother because of her MS (multiple sclerosis).  She was already in so much pain with the muscle spasms that she unwilling to do chemo.  My mother attempted suicide several times in her last year.  It was in the last few months that she seemed to be “mom” again. I assumed she was getting better.  She was convinced God was going to heal her.  October of 2012 was the last time I saw my mother walk on her own.  In November she was using a cane and sometimes a walker.  By January, my mother could not walk alone even with a walker.  Her risk of falling was too great. I watched her struggle.  When we got the news that the cancer had spread to her bones, we were devastated.  My mother had known for some time and had refrained from telling us kids.  For about 4 months before she went “home”, she had an open wound on her breast where the cancer was so large that it had literally broken the skin.  The hospice people would change her bandages, but Mom liked to do it herself.  She was very modest. My mom’s life was always so very difficult for her.  She crippled very quickly with the cancer in her already very tired body.  She had been diagnosed with MS about 7 years before the diagnosis of breast cancer.  It was so very hard to watch this disease tear her body apart.  She actually got a hairline fracture on her hip from sitting on a toilet too hard.  My mother was born to be a mother.  She got pregnant with me at 15, shortly after her father committed suicide in their home. She ran away with me.  She could have aborted me.  I think sometimes about how much easier her life would have been without me. After my mom died I regretted things I had said, things I had done. I made her life so much harder than it had to be. It was not a purposeful hardship that I caused…I was merely growing in life, in Christ, and as a child with a very difficult childhood. The woman that I had caused so much strife, was dying. My mother was dying. My mother was leaving me.  How dare her get sick!  I was more mature.  I was an adult, this was the time when I was supposed to be her best friend.  The list of emotions goes on and on, from anger to pity.  I know that God took my very sick and very tired mother “home”, but the hurt is still so very real. 

 

I always told my sisters and my mother that I would never go in for a mammogram.  I would just die of cancer if I got it.  I recalled this later.  I lost my mother on February 10^th 2013.  On March 10^th 2013, I sat alone at Scott and White Hospital in Taylor waiting for my name to be called to go back for my first mammogram.  I was an exception.  My doctor had told me that they don’t do mammograms until you are 40, but I was an exception because of my paternal grandmother and my mother.  Lovely. I sat in the waiting room. Alone. I wept.  It had only been 30 days since I lost my mother. I wasn’t scared.  I was a grown up, but my mother would have been with me if she could have.  I may have caused a scene at the front desk because I really did not want to do this.   The machine was down, and I may or may not have told the lady at the front desk that “that is not my problem. My mother died a month ago from breast cancer and she would want me to do this stupid mammo, but if the machine isn’t ready when I am then I guess I won’t come back”.  Ah yes, I pity the people who have to deal with me in an emotional state. The machine was magically ready after a call to my physician. *shrugs* My name was called.  I walked back to the horrible machine that tried to make pancakes of my breasts (Louis, I would NOT be comfortable telling you any of this if you had not been in the medical field so long).  It was a horrible experience, but I did it.  My chest muscles were sore the next day, but I did it.  I had successfully had my first mammogram.  The following day, I received a call from a doctor at Scott & White in Round Rock.  The doctor was so wonderful.  Her name is Cassie.  She didn’t go by Dr. So and So.  She used her first name. She informed me that there was a small spot they were concerned about and wanted to do a second mammogram. Really?  I wanted to wait a few weeks, but I was told that it needed to not be avoided.  I was encouraged to come in the next day.  I had another date with that horrible machine that was surely invented by a man.  They did another mammogram which was more painful since my chest still hurt from the last one.  The spot was definitely present, so they did an immediate ultrasound of that area.  It was small.  1-2 cm in diameter.  I was instructed to come back in 6 months.  They wanted to “watch it”.  *blank stare*  Watch it?  What does that mean?  Uhg!  If there was any changes in size or shape they would order a biopsy.  So, I was free of the breast torture device for 6 months! My next appointment was set for September 2013.  When the time came, I decided to not go.  Out of fear? Possibly.  Cassie (the doctor I had previously spoken with), called to ask why I had missed my appointment.  I didn’t have an answer.  She said that she would like to see me in person.  She would like to do a test.  I went in the next day to do a genetic test.  She wanted me to swish mouthwash and spit in a cup.  I thought maybe my breath needed attention.  That was not the case, as she informed me that she was sending my saliva to the Mayo Clinic to test for a BRCA (breast cancer) gene mutation. She said that about 95% of these come back negative, but she wanted to test anyway.  She informed me that it would be 6-8 weeks for the results. A few weeks later the Mayo Clinic called me to let me know that my insurance would not cover the test.  I needed to have 2 members of my family from the same side (maternal or paternal) that have been diagnosed with breast cancer. I only had one on each side, one maternal and one paternal.  They informed me that if I wanted to do the test anyway, that it would be $3,000. They gave me a number to call once I had decided. I had a limited amount of time.  I don’t recall now what that time frame was.  I talked to Ricky and he said that we could go ahead and do it, but I didn’t want to spend that kind of money.  We decided to not do the test and to just pray that God would be in control.  A few more weeks passed and Cassie called to let me know that she wanted to do the test again.  Apparently there are “rules” regulated by the American Cancer Society, and one of those rules had changed which would put me in a “testable” category forcing my insurance to pay for the test. Oh yippee. *rolls eyes* I went in again to spit in a cup, and again narrowly avoiding my fate with the boob deflation machine.  Very shortly after that, I want to say a week later, I got a phone call on my cell phone.  This is the conversation:

Me: Hello, this is Darla.

Cassie:  Darla, this is Cassie. I am on vacation this week recovering from surgery, but the office got your results back from the Mayo Clinic.  I wanted to call you personally with the results.

Me: Oh thank you! How very kind!

Cassie:  Darla, you have tested positive for BRCA2 gene mutation.

Cassie: Darla, are you there?

Me: Yes (small squeaky voice)

Cassie: Do you understand?

Me: I think so.

Cassie:  You carry a mutated BRCA2 gene which is a breast cancer gene. It is hereditary.  It was passed to you. I would like to see you in my office when I get back.  I have set your appoint for _____(whatever time she said).

That was as much as I remember of the conversation, though we talked for a bit longer. This was mid-November. How was I going to tell my family?  How could I possibly tell them that I was BRCA2 positive?  We just lost Mom.  It hadn’t even been a year.  This would be a tough blow to my family, my kids, my husband. They are going to imagine me dying the way my mother did.  It was too soon to have this information. It was too much.  I took a few minutes of personal time in the bathroom.  I was at work.  I looked into the mirror with all of the questions.  I prayed for strength. I called Ricky.  He was silent for a while.  I whispered, “what do I do now?”.  He said, “We. I don’t know what we do now.  We will wait to see how your chat goes with Cassie on your next appointment.”  I felt better.  I had Ricky. I didn’t have to carry this alone. I told my family at Thanksgiving. My grandmother (Laura Townsend) insisted on going with me to the appointment.   It hasn’t been very long, but I can’t remember if I told Granny before that.  I can’t remember if the appointment was before I told everyone.  It a blur. I just don’t remember.

 

Me and Granny went to the appointment to talk to Cassie. She told us that being positive for the BRCA mutation meant that I would have an 87% chance of developing breast cancer before the age of 70.  I had 3 options.

1. I could wait and see if I developed breast cancer and deal with it if it arose.  This would be continuing mammograms every 6 months. 

2.  I could take a breast cancer pill which would reduce the risk by 50%.  That would bring it down to 43% chance before the age of 70. 

3.  I could have a double mastectomy (plus another procedure that I’ll explain below) which would reduce the chance of developing breast cancer to less than 2%.

I cried. She also informed us that this was hereditary and that my sisters and my children (including Brian) had a 50% chance of having this mutation as well. I could have passed this unknowingly to my children. Devastation set in. What kind of options are those?!? None of them involved rainbows and butterflies. My life would change forever from this point forward.  I could sit and wait which was not an option for me.  Taking a pill for the rest of my life to reduce my chances by 50% didn’t sound like a plan.  I would still have a 43% chance of developing breast cancer.  I would worry at every mammogram if this was the one where they’d find cancer. My mother died at 52 years old.  How fast would cancer get me? What age would I be when cancer reared its head prepared to battle for my life? The odds weren’t good enough.  A double mastectomy was the other option?  That’s not an option.  That’s owning defeat against a disease that took my mother’s life. My head was spinning. If that wasn’t enough, she also told me that regardless of what I decided to do that she wanted to removed my ovaries before I turned 40.  Ovarian cancer and breast cancer are best friends…same mutation from what I understand.  Since ovarian cancer is harder to detect, it’s safer to remove them.  Without removing them, I could still not be in the clear.  I could see the remorse in my granny’s eyes as she told me, “I wish I could take this from you.  I wish I could do this for you.” Those words touched me so deeply.  That’s what Christ did for me.  He took the death I deserved.  My grandmother wanted to take this from me, wash me clean.  I love her so dearly.

 

After debating this, and getting mad about it.  Ricky and I talked about it so many times.  I talked. He listened. I went over all of the scenarios in my head what seems like a million times. Granny prayed for peace in my heart.  Ricky and I prayed for peace and for God to lead us.  I have had months to decide.  I also managed to escape my March mammogram *whew*.  Those things are really terrible. I did have my very last mammogram last week.  The spot has remained the same which is excellent news.  It will be the last mammogram of my life.  I have decided to have a double mastectomy and have my ovaries removed. This decision was not based on the horrific experiences I had with the diabolical Boob Smasher. I am doing this because I will not lay down and let this disease take the quality of my life away.  I will not stand still and wait to see if cancer develops.  I will walk proudly knowing that my chances are less than 2%.  I won’t have to dread every mammogram wondering if this is the time that they will have to tell me that I have breast cancer.  The chances are so slim that I feel that I can live my life free of the fear of  breast/ovarian cancer.  The decision was easy to make when I decided that I did not want my children to see me the way I had to see my mother slip away.

 

Because of photography, my full time job, and the cost, I will be having this surgery done in January.  They will cut from the bottom of the breast, and remove all of the tissue.  They will insert bags of air with drain tubes under the skin.  I will have these for 3 weeks (if I remember correctly).  After that, I will go back in to have the bags and drains removed. That part will be done by Cassie.  I feel good knowing that she will be the surgeon.  I feel that she was sent by God.  I’m not even sure how she became my doctor for all this. HA! Once the bags and the drains are removed a plastic surgeon will do the reconstructive surgery.  I have not met her yet.  I will meet her in November which is when all of my last appointments are before surgery. There will be another doctor (he’s kind of a nut) that will remove my ovaries while I am still under from the reconstructive surgery.  I believe the words he said were, “and I’ll be in to pluck those babies out”. He seriously said that.  His face was way too close to mine as he wheeled his chair into my personal bubble to explain the procedure. Weirdo, but nice guy nonetheless. *shrugs* I will be down about 2 weeks for each surgery.  I think I’ll be down a week…they’re doctors, what do they know? J

 

I am not sure why I felt the need to tell y’all this.  Just led to.

Thanks for listening.  Emailing is just my way of venting, blogging, journaling…whatever you want to call it. J

I love you both, and I’m thankful to have y’all in my life. You’re my friends.

 

That was the email I sent out...It's easier to copy and paste that then to start from the beginning. Very few people know this. I think less than 20 people. Today after hearing that Martina Mcbride song, I cried.  I think that I try to keep my brain so busy that I won't think about it.

 

 

      Someone recently asked me if I was scared.  Wow. What a good question.  I had to think about it. Am I scared? Simply put: yes. There are so many questions that I have.  Will I be able to keep my nipples?  I know that if I do, that they will not have feeling.  I won't have feeling in my breasts.  Is that worth the exchange of lowering my risk? Oh heck yeah, without a doubt it's worth it.  My chances will be less than 2% chance of developing breast cancer, and I'm whining about whether or not I'll have nipples??  Will my husband still think I'm sexy with mangled breasts that may not have nipples?  I have never had a surgery.  I am guessing it's going to be painful.  I am sure it is. I will begin menopause when they take my ovaries.  I am going to try it without hormones.  Menopause at 37?  That's scary.  I read awhile back that there was a local support group for women who have had any experiences with breast cancer.  I haven't.  I don't fit in there, do I?  I only have a mutated cancer gene and a high risk of developing breast cancer.  My double mastectomy is just preventative.  I will have mangled breasts because of the option I chose, not because cancer destroyed my body.  I feel a little guilty of that.  How do I know that the decision I am making is the right one?  What is I don't do the surgery and I just wait?  What if I never develop cancer?  I have a 13% chance of not developing breast cancer.  Do I take that and run with it?  I feel so selfish asking these questions.  I think of all the women that never had a chance. The mother who found out she had stage 3 breast cancer while she was pregnant.  My mother who found out too late to do anything.  The ladies (and men) who have to endure countless chemo sessions.  How selfish am I??? Who cares what I have to go through?  Who cares if I have nipples? So what if the surgery hurts? I need to put on my big girl pants and stand strong.  This is the story I got.  This is my life.  This one is mine.  I am thankful for each path I have ventured down to get to this point in my life.  It hasn't always been pretty, but God was holding me the whole time.  Comparing my story to other people's makes me feel selfish with my questions, and makes me feel insignificant in comparison.  This is my story.  This is the story that I got.   I wouldn't change anything.  I will never have an amazing story about how breast cancer tried to kill me, I will never be a heroic breast cancer survivor.  I will just be me.  The girl who was able make a choice before cancer reared its nasty face to me. Maybe that's exactly who I needed to be.  I will not stand and wait to see if I'm strong enough to battle breast cancer.  My mother was much stronger than me, and she didn't win. 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

God will lead me.

     I don't know if I mentioned in my last blog that I met a veteran photographer.  I think he was just being nice, but he very lovely things to say about some of my photography.  It makes me nervous to have another photographer look at my stuff.  I start reevaluating my choices, my aperture, shutter speed for that shot, what the lighting was like, could I have posed the people differently, could I have told a funnier story to get them to laugh, the focal length chosen, the lens that I used...I just start doing that all over again (which is what I do while I edit as well).  Over the past few years, God has given me a more relaxed demeanor while I'm editing.  Any who, this guy, let's call him George for this blog.  So, George has really offered to mentor and help me.  I have shared all of my financials from last year, let him look at my work.  I have learned oh so much from him!  I just know God sent him to me to learn more stuff which I'm thrilled about.  I love learning more.  I will never know everything. Ever. And I'm okay with that.  I just want God to make my brain a little sponge to absorb as much as I can.  I am so very passionate about photography.  It's the most rewarding and fabulous job I have ever had.  Saying it's a job makes it sound like work.  It's work, but it's a pleasurable work.  I thoroughly enjoy it.  I still can't believe God gave this to me. :)

     After talking extensively with "George", and much resistance from me, I am going to restructure the pricing for Photography with Darla.  I'm a little bit of a worrier, so I immediately began questioning this.  What if my clients leave?  What if they go to someone cheaper?  What if someone gets mad?  What if no ever books with me again because they can get it done cheaper elsewhere?  Can I justify this jump?  The answers have answered themselves with help from friends, clients, and George.  I couldn't have answered these questions.  I am not confident enough in my work to do so.  God gave me the answers from other people's mouths.
What if my clients leave?  Then it's possible they aren't looking for the quality that I produce, just looking for a good deal.
What if the go to someone cheaper? They may just be shown that you get what you pay for, and return later.
What if no one ever books with me again?  several clients have voiced their opinions and they loved their session, and the results and will be back no matter what I charge.
Can I justify this jump? Yes. I most certainly can.  After figuring gas, props, lenses, camera maintenance, time editing, time to drive, time to shoot, time researching, webinars, and so much more...it was brought to my attention that I made almost $6/hour.  Where in the world would I be willing to work for $6/hour?  Can I live off of $6/hour, only if I did 833 sessions per year.  Yes, that's an accurate number. This made me sad. 
    
     But wait, God tells us in Isaiah 41:10 Be not dismayed, for I an your God.  I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you.  I will uphold you with me righteous right hand. 

     Wow!  He is going to help me.  He's going to walk right beside me.  During my prayer time on the way to work this morning it was made more clear when God reiterated in my heart what he has very clearly told me before (I have told this beginning of that God story many times)  God sent me each and everyone of those clients.  I didn't advertise.  I didn't rent a billboard, take out an ad, nothing.  He just sent them.  Why do I fear that a price increase would change that?  God will still send the people.  He did not give me all of this wonderful photography stuff to see me fail.  He doesn't work like that.

     I will Let Go, and Let God.  I will wait for His lead.   I could get used to this blogging stuff. :)

It's been a while...

I'm not even sure where to start this.  I wrote my first blog shortly after getting my first DSLR camera. This is my second blog...3 years later.  Whoa, what a ride!!!  I am going to try this again. It would take me 3 weeks to update you on what all has been going on, so I'll keep the blogs minimal. :)  I will try to do all sorts of things, photography tips, God's gifts, my personal journey in life, business and such.   This will be a chance for you to get to know me.  I'll probably laugh, cry, and blog things that no one should know.  God kind of created me like an open book.  I have very few secrets...just how He made me.

Business:  The last 3 years have been a whirlwind. Since my last blog, I have grown so much.  God has really shown me and given me so much in the last 3 years. I  have doubled in sessions every year since I began this journey.  The last few months have been such a change in where I thought I'd ever be.  I had someone contact me and offer to do a website for me for free!! Are you kidding me?!? Awesome awesome people, and I'd highly recommend the people at Accelerated Web Studios.  Amy, one of the owners, took time out of her day to talk to me and even listen to my rambling.  I had been shooting newborns in my house in our spare bedroom, but I am excited to say that I have rented a little office space and now how a little studio!!  I am still in the process of decorating and such, but it's fantastic to have a space to use and to store all of my props and lighting.  I know that my husband is glad all of that is no longer at the house. :)
I remember that I prayed years ago that God would make me not proud or boastful.  Be careful what you wish for.  I feel like I have a hard time accepting compliments.  I am not willing to ask God to change my heart.  When people compliment my work, I simply tell them, "it's all God.  I am totally not that cool".  I'm not.  I pray before every session that God will have complete control over my camera, put me at ease, create a connection between me and the client, and provide the perfect scene.  He does that.   I prayed for this.  I want this.  I want to be a photographer.  I know that I still have such a long way to go.  I am sure thankful that I am a Christian and that God walks with me during these sessions, and He sits with me through the hours and hours of editing.   One day photography will be my profession.  One day I will quit my day job.  One day someone will ask what I do for a living and I'll be able to say, "I'm a photographer".

Personal:  My goal with this blog is to voice my thoughts, my feelings, my journey, and my faith.  I don't have many friends since I'm usually shooting sessions or editing them until super late at night.  I want to say that I've lost a couple friends during this journey of becoming a photographer.  Truth is, I've lost almost all of them.  I have 3 girlfriends that I have dinner with once a month to vent, laugh and cry with.  I have a best friend...I haven't talked to in a month or so.  We're both so busy.  It's tough, but I do find joy in photography.  I love talking to new people, getting to know them, sharing stories and such.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not a lonely cat lady or anything.  In the evenings my husband sits with me when I edit just to talk.  I enjoy our talks. I enjoy talking.  Period.  Which is very strange since I haven't blogged in 3 years. :)  Oooooopsie. 

Guess that's it for now.  I'm excited to start blogging again...
This blog will be all kinds of stuff.  Don't be scared. :)