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10.25.2009

Healing...

I'm healing in more ways than one.

Healing my body...

I just had surgery to repair an umbilical hernia. Over the years stress and pregnancy have created a cacophony of minor health issues here and there: cracks in my pelvic bone, slipped discs in my vertabrae, post partum depression, hi aortal hernias, etc.

One Saturday in September after a grueling day of shopping with the kids and being on my feet for 12 hours straight, pushing an umbrella stroller with a bockety wheel that I hate with my nearly 50 pound three year old in it, lifting, lugging, pushing, pulling. I came home sore. My entire body was wracked with pain and the area all around my belly was rock hard. It hurt to even stand upright, completely still. I could not lie down flat in bed. Sleep that night was impossible. All day that Sunday I "took it easy" (i.e. only doing laundry, breakfast, lunch and dinner for the kids) and that Monday I felt better but thought maybe I should go get checked out. Imagine my surprise when my doctor announced that I had a hernia the size of a small grapefruit and refused to allow me to leave his office. I was rushed to the nearest hospital to meet with a surgeon who yawned and said my doctor overreacted, that my hernia was only the size of, say, the opening of a soda bottle. Very little, was his description.

Still the solution was surgery, which was scheduled for the first week in October. An awful experience all around thanks in part to my parents, the anesthesiologist and some other memorable moments best forgotten. The surgeon had to eat crow and admit (after surgery) that my doctor had been right all along, the hernia was huge and required much more repair than he'd thought. It took a very large piece of mesh to repair the hernia and I had a nearly 6 inch gap between my abdominal muscles and he took it upon himself to repair them by fusing them back together.

Ouch.

Two days after surgery I came down with a horrendous sinus infection that swelled the entire left side of my face and caused the most wretched pain ever. Having no one to drive me to the doctor, I drove myself and after waiting a long time to see the doctor I promptly face-planted into the nearest wall as I attempted to walk back to the examination room. Did I mention my doctor's office is nearly an hour from my home? Scary ride back indeed.

Long story short (too late) I'm still recouperating from it all. I don't go back to work for another two weeks.
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Healing emotions...

I think everyone has had a moment when they evaluate the friends they have and determine whether they truly are friends or simply fair weather friends. Single parents have or rather, should have support systems of friends and family that they can count on in any situation.

I do not have that. I don't think I've ever had it. During the preparations for my surgery and throughout all that happened after my surgery I am certain that I have perhaps three friends that I could possibly count on in an emergency. Everyone else... I just don't know.

I do know that the realization that the people I called friends are in fact not, cut me quite deeply. I can't really describe why. But I can say that my already diminished circle of pals is now definitely whittled down to a trio.

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Healing spirits...

During September I had an epiphany. Suddenly, I knew "what I wanted to be when I grew up." I know the exact path I must take to obtain my goal, how long it will take, and I know I'll be successful. And as soon as all this was revealed to me a calm settled over me. I don't know. It's like I feel like I can dare to dream, to hope, to have goals once more. An absolutely weird feeling of peace has descended.

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Healing heart and body...

Still working on this one. I think, for now anyway, that my problems in the lack-o-love department stem from *drumroll*, ME.

Profound, I know.

My self esteem and overall spirits have been abyssmal to say the least. My lack of confidence in my personal appearance destroys any confidence anyone else would have in me too. And the lack of confidence isn't from my weight or clothes or anything like that. It's my teeth. They are rotting in my head, well the few that I have left. I put everything before getting them fixed. It's costly and painful and my God I wish I could smile with confidence. I wish that this shit wasn't hereditary and I wish people would believe me when I say it's hereditary and not think that I'm bullshitting them. It's not because of a lack of dental hygiene; my parents, aunts and uncles on both sides of the family have the exact same issue. We're considered lucky if we can keep most of our own teeth without major intervention to the age of 40. I am 32 and oh hell, I'll be able to keep most of the bottom row but the top is just gone beyond hope. I hate my teeth and the troubles they bring. I am terrified of dentists to the point that I have to have a tranquilizer prior to seeing them otherwise I can't sit in the fucking chair in the waiting room let alone that monstrosity they examine you in. This fear stems from a long list of terrible, rough dentists over the years. (I once had a dentist who I would LOVE to name here that tried to remove a crown without anesthesia with pliers. I had blood running down my face and pooling in my neck and he said that I was behaving like a baby and that if I didn't stop screaming he'd REALLY hurt me. Rotten fucking bastard.)

Anyway, that's my big confession. The elephant in the room that everyone wants to talk about.

My teeth.