4.18.2011

:: 28 Completely Unnecessary (But FUN!) Facts About Yours Truly

It's Monday night and I'm trying to pass the time while finishing my breathing treatments and winding down to sleep. The basic guideline is to come up with as many random facts as you are years old. So let's see what ridiculous things you and I are about to learn about me....

1) I'm a textbook Pisces. Damn feelings.

2) I graduated from high school, got married, got divorced, then started college. I'd call it white trash if it weren't me, but because it is, I refer to it as "living backward".

3) I have to have volumes on increments of 5. I WILL correct yours.

4) Up until like two days ago, I despised shopping. I don't know what happened, but my mom got more shopping out of me last weekend than she has my entire life. And she was so happy to finally have a shopping buddy she was practically skipping through the mall.

5) I firmly believe that all color schemes should include black and white zebra patterns with hot pink accents.

6) I grew up on a ranch where my dad bred and raised Quarter Horses, one of which he brought to my school and let my entire class take turns riding around the parking lot for my 8th birthday.

7) I've been baptized twice. (My mom forgot about the first time.)

8) I'm happiest when I'm traveling, taking pictures and listening to live music. If I can wrap all three of those into a single occasion I'm one happy pup.

9) I'm beginning to realize that 90% of the time, I like animals more than people.

10) My dad was wrongfully sent to prison when I was 9 years old and died there when I was 16. The world has never known a better man. He is my hero.

11) Some might consider me un-American because of the sheer number of classic movies I've never seen.

12) Because of complications with my digestion due to CF, I drink goat milk. No, I don't salivate when I pass a goat farm any more than you do when you see a cow pasture.

13) I've played piano since I was 5. I'm fairly out of practice, but I can play better by ear than I can read music.

14) I hate talking on the phone, but I'll text for hours on end.

15) When I eat pizza, I eat the toppings and bread separately. I also eat only the toppings off of my last slice.

16) I type 120 words per minute.

17) I can't tell a joke to save my life. Delivering the punchline is always my downfall. That, or the fact that the joke sucked in the first place  and I was the only one who found it funny.

18) Fire fascinates me.

19) I had my license revoked at one point for too many speeding tickets. I'd like to think I learned my lesson, but I still average around 45 for residential and 80 for highway.

20) Back in 2005, my ex Justin and I went to jail overnight together on our first date. I was taken in for a speeding ticket warrant (see exhibit 19) that to this day I SWEAR I paid and him for being drunk in public. Of the 14 hours we were there, over half of mine were spent in the waiting area with our arresting officer who flirted shamelessly with me while Justin sobered up in the detox tank and overheard every word from, "So does he treat you right?" to "Let me take you out and you can play with my siren".

21) I hate hate hate math. I understand that to some, there's comfort in knowing there is one indefinite answer. My problem comes from not being able to figure out that frickin' indefinite.

22) My furbaby, Biscuit, is named after Family Guy's Brian's mom, not the pastry.

23) I'm a total closet 80's hairband fan. There's something about that cheesy, electrically synthesized excuse for noise that makes me smile deep down inside.

24) Some girls collect purses. Some hoard shoes. I heart panties.

25) I've had a recurring nightmare at least twice a week since September 11th that wherever I am is in danger and I can never get a hold of my loved ones to say goodbye.

26) My intuition is so accurate it's scary. I just never listen to it.

27) My full heritage is British, Irish and French. I adore London, which I attribute to my British side; The Irish are lots of fun, so I claim them too; But I don't usually acknowledge my French side because, well, they're assholes....

28) I'm a firework. Katy Perry said so.

4.11.2011

:: Forever Young

When describing my childhood, "sheltered" is an understatement.  Elementary school was accepting of innocence and naïvete, but junior high wasn't so forgiving. By sixth grade I was overweight...Because of how small my primary school was, I lacked the social skills and status to fit in at my pretentious parochial middle school...And above all else, I had something "wrong" with me. Something that made me different. Something that made ignorant kids shun me because of what their even more ignorant parents told them.

But I was oblivious to all of it because as a child, I acted like a child.  I was unaware of the pettiness and cruelty of the world. I was even unaware that others didn't have CF...Hell, I thought everyone set aside time in the mornings to blow Albuterol smoke rings. But I ran around outside. I played games. I used my imagination. This behavior carried into my junior high years and for it, I was an outcast. I didn't have many  friends growing up, but the ones I surrounded myself with were true blessings. Namely, my bestie across the street.

SG moved into my neighborhood when we were 9 and it wasn't long before we were inseparable. I joined her theatre company and participated in a week-long run of The King and I with her. We watched Clarissa Explains It All and adhered religiously to her guidelines for life. Her dad hid "clues" which we searched for as Nancy Drew and Bess. We believed that creating a string-can telephone with shoelaces and scraps of yarn tied together would be just as effective as using one long string and were dumbfounded when it wasn't. We laid dead birds to rest and made sure they were paid the proper respect in a makeshift bird cemetery to the side of my house. In short, while other people our age were already getting drunk, dabbling in drugs and enduring pregnancy scares, we were having FUN.

For high school I transferred from private to public education and went from a class of 37 to a class of 500 where it was easy to remain unnoticed by those different from myself and even easier to find others to click with. Although we shared few of the same classes and although she and her family moved to another part of the city, we remained close and through her, I met the close-knit group of girls that I keep in touch with to this day. But most importantly, when my dad passed away unexpectedly halfway through my sophomore year, she was the first friend I called and the last friend to leave that night. She skipped school to attend his funeral with me and her shoulder was the one I cried on after delivering his eulogy. And after my most influential and adored role model was gone, her father stepped up to the plate, took me under his wing and loved me, protected me and disciplined me as if I were his own.

2010 would have marked the 9-year anniversary of having not seen her and the 15-year anniversary of having not seen him. Instead of continuing that trend, I made the trip to south Texas after receiving a call from her that Dad had been diagnosed in the last stages of liver cancer. Admittedly nervous at first, I soon realized that even after all of the years apart and all that had changed, I didn't feel the slightest bit uncomfortable around my second family. In fact, we almost instantly reverted back to our childhood...We re-lived countless high school memories, posed provocatively on the mechanical Dino the Dinosaur outside HEB, terrorized a dead jellyfish on the beach with a stick, turned cartwheels around the town's tourist billboard and ate like we had our teenage metabolisms back.

Why and at which point does that leave us? Why do we trade childhood jubilance for stress and overachievement with barely anything to show for it? At least as kids, at the end of the day we were worn out but satisfied with our day's activities. As adults, we exhaust ourselves concerning what comes next, if our house is decorated fancy enough, if our car is sporty enough, if our jewelry is large enough and if we're high enough in the hierarchy.  News flash: It's NEVER enough. What will matter on your deathbed is core happiness.

To My Sweet Little Bacon Addict: Marriage, mini-you and 10-foot growth spurt aside, you will forever be SG to me, with your ice skating princess Keds and ponytail on top of your head. You and Dad are in my thoughts and prayers daily; I love you and will always love you like the sister I never had and I will be here every step of the way for as long as you need and want me to be. I am only a phone call and a plane ride away.  

3.09.2011

:: Mini-Makeover

It's been a while, kids. (Slacker.) I almost feel like after my long-ass hiatus I should just shut this blog down and start completely over. Buuut I'm not going to. Please proceed.

As I explained before, the original purpose of this blog was to tell the tale of a twenty-something CFer in a big city who is struggling with dating, finding someone who understands her, what she battles, the mood swings, the unknown, etc. 

Then Matt and I got back together in, like, November. Surpriiiiise...

But I still love blogging. So now, this old blog with a brand spankin' new name will simply be about my life. New experiences, joys, irritations...The good, the bad, the ugly and honestly, the downright boring. Pretty much like every other blog out there, except that it's about me and I'm fascinated with me, so I figure everyone else is too ;) Kidding. Kind of. And a new graphic header will come in time, when I can afford (and figure out) image editing programs for Mac.

So what else have I been up to since...When was my last entry? September 2010?  Geesh. First there were the holidays, which were spent with Mom and Matt's family. Then, at the end of January I was hospitalized for pneumonia. It took over my right lung in a few short days and I was in for two and a half weeks. It wasn't ALL bad though...I had the opportunity to meet and get to know some amazing people who I hope to stay in touch with from now on, but not see in THAT setting for a long while, haha. After I was released, Matt and I moved into a house near beautiful White Rock Lake in Dallas and we're loving every minute of fixing it up and making it our own for the next sixteen months. I also left my job where I had been for over three years with the boss, co-workers and patients I adore. After being hospitalized twice in six months, my doctor and those around me strongly advised me to find work outside of the medical field. So I put in my notice, went through a whirlwind of partying for my going-away and my 28th birthday and now, here I am.

In a nutshell, I've been busy.

And now, with the help of my mom and Matt, I'm taking some necessary time to rest, relax and recoup. I figure for the first time in my life, it's about time to focus on me for a little while. What makes me feel better and what makes me happy, all in a healthily selfish (but not self-centered) way. I'm exercising regularly and starting Yoga classes on Saturday, fund-raising and gearing up for Great Strides, practicing my woosah outlet of photography and ENJOYING LIFE. I already feel a bit listless and impatient with being unemployed, but I'm trying to remind myself that I have the rest of my life to work. I can take a couple of months to veg.

On another note, speaking of photography, I'm planning to start up another blog as well, one that focuses on a daily photo type theme. The name is still unknown, but hopefully sometime here in the next week I'll think of something clever and have it up and running.
Time to create my happy place :)

9.17.2010

:: She Talks to Angels

What was supposed to be my last day in the hospital was a very important, very difficult day for some dear friends of mine. It was the birthday of a son, brother and husband who passed away from CF in 2000 at the age of 26. A guy I never had the chance to meet, but who I've heard so much about and who is cherished and missed by everyone who knew him. And on his day, his mother visited me and brought me quite possibly the most beautiful and heartfelt gift I've ever received. As I regretfully zipped by her on my way to physical therapy she handed me two things: A) My favorite Starbucks iced white chocolate mocha (which was the PERFECT post-PT treat :) and B) A small hanging angel ornament with two words that I will forever see differently....And said only this: "Today is Jeff's birthday and if he had the chance, I know this is what he would say to you..."

Leap Fearlessly.

I've always prided myself in not letting CF dictate how I live my life. But if I am completely honest with myself, how many times have I said, "I can't do that because I can't breathe"? How many times have I absentmindedly used CF to excuse the lack of will to push myself further than my comfort zone allows? How many times have I lazily pushed off making a long-term plan just in case there isn't a long term? And most importantly (and most ashamedly) how many times have I felt sorry for myself for the cards I was dealt? For the life that I was given BECAUSE I'm strong enough to live it? The thought of someone who has been exactly where I am and who understands exactly what I go through and how I feel on a daily basis living by those words himself...I have no excuse to not do the same.

I will run again. I will play tennis again. I will forgive wholly and forget as best I can because love is my world. I will skydive...I don't care if I have to haul a portable oxygen tank along with me, I WILL do it. It's number one on my Bucket List, man. I will live with zero limits and make zero excuses no matter how hard it may be or how scared I may feel. I will make as many changes and improvements in my life as it takes to be as happy and healthy as possible. I have one shot...One shot that has a chance of being exponentially shorter than some, but has already been blessedly longer than others.

After all..."In the long run, we reap no more than what we have risked giving."

Happy belated birthday, Jeff. Thank you.




8.25.2010

:: Stop and Smell the Sixty Five Roses

I've had life expectancies hanging over my head for as long as I can remember. Oh ye's of little faith, don't underestimate my determination to stick around and pester my friends and family for as long as I'm able. My parents were told they wouldn't have me past my eighth birthday...Then I wouldn't make it through my teenage years...It was a celebration when I "graduated" from Children's Clinic to Adult Clinic with PFTs in the 90s...And don't get me started on how pissed off I was at my bacteria scare at 26. Being "allowed" life in increments of years didn't have any more effect on me than my mom telling me to buckle up so I wouldn't fly through the window if we were in a car accident. 

Today, I can't help but wonder...Would I have handled it differently if I was counting down the weeks instead of years?

Samantha, me and Andrea ~ Summer 2006
I received a message yesterday that floored me. A friend of mine, who has been battling brain cancer for almost two years, has been given only weeks to live. They've exhausted all options and there's nothing more they can do for her...She can no longer move around on her own and is spending her last days at home with her husband and 3-year-old son.

I just saw her two months ago. 

Two months ago, I visited her and collected hundreds of dollars worth of items that she and her husband generously donated to my Great Strides garage sale. Two months ago, I watched the Rangers game with her. Two months ago, I met her son. Two months ago, I ignorantly thought I had all the time in the world to see her again.

I want to fight it for her. I want to change the course of what's happening not only for her, but for the loves of her life. GOD he sought for so long to be happy. I don't want to think of the conversations they're having, or even worse, avoiding so it's not real. And I don't want to see pictures of us, of them, at parties, camping, at Six Flags and know that the memories are no longer being made. 

Yesterday, I cried. I called Justin and cried more. I ignored phone calls. I punched my steering wheel (NOT smart). But more importantly, as embarrassingly cliché as it is, today I've listened more intently as people have spoken to me. I haven't allowed myself to be as easily angered. I took Biscuit on a longer walk. I've said my "I love you"s with more passion and sincerity than I have in a long time.

I just hope that in the future, it doesn't take a friend's life to remind me to practice what I spend every day trying to preach.

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On September 1, 2010 at 6:00am, Samantha lost her fight with brain cancer.

"What is love? There's more than just one answer. Love can be a golden wedding ring. If only love could be the cure for cancer then the world would hear you sing."

Rest in peace, sweet girl. No more tears...No more pain...You are free.
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