Contentment (Phil. 4:11)

      Second to last time.  Second to last time.  Almost done!  Just one more.  Andrea kept telling herself as she smiled politely at the nurse hooking up her IV.  It was her second to last chemo treatment.  She could hardly believe it was almost over, but it was still hard to think that she would be starting her recovery soon.  Her hair would grow back and she wouldn’t be nauseated and tired all the time.  And still, the one final treatment still seemed like a huge hill to climb.
     “There you go, sweetie.  That vein was pretty easy to find this time.”  The nurse patted her arm lightly with a self satisfied smile.   Andrea found it interesting that the nurses always blamed her when it was hard to find a vein, but they took all the credit themselves when the task ended up being easy.  “We’ll start you on your pre-meds now.”

     “Thank you.”  Andrea called after the nurse who had turned to go to the pharmacy.

     It was time to pop in the movie.  She’d brought one of her favorites, Moulin Rouge.  Andrea had been falling asleep during her last couple treatments so she figured watching something with great music would be kind of soothing if she fell asleep.  A couple treatments ago she’d fallen asleep while watching Psycho.  The music and the creepy voices didn’t really make for good dreams.

     As soon as they hooked her up to the Benadryl, Andrea felt her eye lids get heavy.  She seemed to react to it quicker and quicker each time. 

      Sitting up straighter in the cushy cream colored chair, she turned up the volume of the headphones attached to her tiny T.V. screen.  She wanted to stay awake as long as possible.  It was always discombobulating to wake up in this place. 

     One of her least favorite nurses finally brought over her first bag of treatment.  She’d been there two hours already, and she wanted to get this over with. 

     “Name and date of birth.”  The nurse demanded.  She was the oldest nurse that Andrea had seen in the office.  Instead of being the grandmotherly type that one would hope for in a place like this, this lady was more of a nurse Ratchet.  The nicest she ever got was when she was being condescending.

     “Andrea Quinn, December 23^rd 1982.”  She responded while the old nurse hung the bag of chemo without saying another word and walked away.

     Andrea couldn’t help it; she started to doze off again.  She was pretty good at catching herself when she started to doze.  The motion of her head dropping down to her shoulder or chest usually woke her up.
     This time, it felt like her head had just dipped down when she started to wake up again, but she didn’t hear any of the Moulin Rouge music.  Maybe the movie was already over.  She must have dozed longer that it felt like.

     Andrea opened her eyes to something she couldn’t have even dreamed to expect.  She looked out in front of her to see a meadow filled with purple flowers dancing in the wind.  “What…?” 

     She looked around her.  It was the same thing everywhere, surrounding her.  A meadow encircled by trees.  The noxious smell of chemicals and disinfectant from the chemotherapy room was gone.  In its place was….freesia!  One of Andrea’s favorite scents.

     Looking down at herself, Andrea saw that she was still in the cream colored recliner from the hospital.  The IV was still strapped to her arm; the pole with the solution hanging was connected to it. 

     Bringing her arm up to look at the IV closer, she had an idea.  Without giving it a second thought, Andrea plucked up an edge of the tape holding the needle into her arm and ripped it off as quickly as she could.  It stung for a second, but when Andrea looked down all she could see was a little red area where the adhesive had irritated her skin.  There was no hole, no blood, nothing. 

     Still holding onto the tape, she inspected it.  What she had in her hand was a sticker.  It had a needle painted onto it, and the tube that lead to the pole holding the solution was painted on until it attached to the actual tube.

     Eyes wide, Andrea inhaled deeply and held it for a second.  She wasn’t sure what was going on.  Where was she?  What was she doing here?  How the heck did she get here?

     It took only a second of fear and questions racing through her head before Andrea snapped out of it.  She used the deep breath she was holding to let out a loud, throaty hoot of excitement as she launched herself off of the cream chair and started twirling around the meadow.

     Something else hit her as she spun.  She didn’t feel tired anymore!  She felt like she could run across the entire meadow for days without stopping.  To prove it to herself, she started running.

     Andrea reveled in the warm flowery scent of the meadow.  The smell of pitch from the surrounding trees mixed with the fresh flower scent.  It reminded her of early summer when she was a kid.  She’d lie in the grass of her backyard, looking up at the sky and think about all of the potentials that the summer months held. 

     A bright green grassy spot was ahead of her, and she dove into it so fast that she picked up momentum.  She ended up landing in some of the flowers.  Laughing at herself, Andrea rolled into the grass and looked up at the crystal blue sky.  Taking another deep breath she called out, “Thank you!  Wooo!”

     She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, looking up at the beautiful sky and watching the birds flying around above her.  It seemed like a long time, yet no time at all.  The sun hadn’t moved.  It was at the perfect angle, still bright but not enough to irritate her eyes. 

     Andrea moved to put her hands behind her head and froze.  As soon as her hands were clasped underneath her she felt…was it possible?  Sitting up quickly, she whipped her head around.  It was true! Her hair was back! 

     Her rich auburn, wavy tresses cascaded over her shoulder and down her arm.  It was as long as it had been before she’d started chemo.  How had this happened?

     Looking down at her hair, she noticed that her clothes had changed from what she had been wearing before.  One of the many pairs of sweats she’d been living in for the past 7 months had been replaced by her favorite pair of khaki Bermuda shorts.  Her feet were now covered in the converse shoes that she had hidden in a special spot up in her closet because her toes had become too sensitive to wear them.  The navy blue zip-up that she’d lost when she was a teenager during a football game at school cocooned her like the hug of an old friend.  Andrea couldn’t help but gasp and laugh in delight.

     If she’d missed her change in clothes and the fact that she had hair again, Andrea concluded that she hadn’t been paying enough attention to her surroundings, so she decided to investigate.  As she stood up, she felt a sharp pain in her stomach and heard a gurgle.  It took her a moment to realize that she was hungry.  She hadn’t been hungry in months.  Placing her hand over her stomach, she smiled.  Even though it was uncomfortable, being hungry was quite a treat.  It made her feel human again.

     Andrea looked about and noticed that at one edge of the meadow, there was an open space devoid of trees.  There was something there; she guessed it was a boulder.  It seemed to mark what looked to be the end of the meadow.  She jogged in that direction, enjoying the movement of her legs and the feel of her lungs working. 

     Just a few yards away from her destination, Andrea realized why there weren’t any trees.  This side of the meadow was actually a cliff.  She could hear the roar of water and wondered if there was a waterfall nearby.

     Finally reaching the boulder that was waist high, Andrea hopped onto it to look out in front of her.  She was a little shocked and very pleased to see that beyond her meadow was the ocean.  The water was bright and clear, the breeze cool.  It had been far too long since she’d made a trip to the coast.  She sat on the boulder and watched the waves lapping in and out for a time.

     Another pang and gurgle from her stomach interrupted her reverie.  Regretfully hopping down from her perch on the boulder, Andrea decided that she should at least look around to see if she could find anything suitable to eat. 

     Taking one step to her right, Andrea’s foot caught something.  She looked down to find a tin pail next to the boulder.
     “Interesting.”  She muttered to herself.

     Opening the pail, she found a box of rice crackers, a tin of sardines, and both a small and large container.  Since she’d already snooped that far, Andrea figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep going.  The smaller container was cool to the touch.  When she opened it she saw it housed a cheese spread.  The larger had a note taped to the cylindrical top.  In scrawling, beautiful letters, it read, “Please enjoy.” 

     “I will, thank you.”  Andrea smiled.  Taking off the top, she sniffed the liquid that was inside.  “Green tea.”  She mumbled.  These were all some of her favorite snack foods.

     Taking the pail with its contents, she hopped back up on the boulder and started making little sandwiches with them.  She nibbled on them and drank the tea while she watched the ocean in front of her.  It reminded her of a time when she’d gone horseback riding on the beach with her brother and aunt when they were little.  They’d spend the day racing each other and seeing how far they could go into the surf on the horses before one of them cried uncle.

     A noise to her left made Andrea jump.  She looked over and saw a white horse looking right at her, walking her way.  It looked exactly like a horse she’d had a picture of on her wall as a child.  His mane was long and stringy, a little more yellow than his coat, with flowers and bright green leaves stuck in it.  They looked to be woven in, but it was more likely that he’d walked through some foliage and took parts of them with him.

     Andrea had a few crackers left.  She held one out to him, clicking her tongue.  “Hi boy.”  She coaxed soothingly.  “Want a cracker?”

     His ears twitched to the side and then back at her as he kept walking, getting closer and closer.  When he finally reached her, he quickly ate the cracker held out to him, a bit of spittle running down his chin.  He made a deep whinny as thanks.

     “You’re welcome.”  Andrea said back, reaching her hand out to let him sniff it before she started to pet him.  They were there for a while, snuggling together; Andrea on her boulder, the horse practically laying his head in her lap. 

     At one point, the horse raised his head and moved so that he was blocking Andrea’s view with his back.  “Hey!”  She laughed, trying to sound indignant.  “I can’t see.”

     The horse didn’t move.

     Andrea got an idea.  “If you don’t move soon, I’m going to do something you might not like.”

     Again, he didn’t move.

     “Alright.  You asked for it.”  Andrea stood up on her boulder and moved to slide on the horse’s back.  Usually she would never try something like this, especially right next to a cliff, but this place wasn’t like normal places.  It gave her confidence to do what delighted her.  There was a distinct lack of worry and any form of fear didn’t last long.

     As soon as she was on the back of the horse and had a clump of his mane gripped in each hand, he started moving slowly at first, but gradually getting faster.  They raced around the meadow for a little bit, looping around the cream hospital chair that was still in its spot.  Then, the horse turned and headed into the trees.  They looked dense, but they were able to maneuver their way through the large firs without any difficulties.

            She wasn’t sure where they were going, but she didn’t care.  It wasn’t long before they reached one of the most beautiful things Andrea had ever seen.  The horse was taking her to a dirt path that lead through a thick patch of cherry trees, all bursting full of pink blossoms.  The slight breeze scattered them through the air.

     “Beautiful.”  Andrea breathed.  The horse had slowed down and was walking now.
     As they made their way into the beautiful, nature-made cherry blossom archway, Andrea raised her arms up into the air, face up and smiling, letting the blossoms bounce off of her as they fell lazily to the ground to be picked up again and swirled back into the air.  By the time they reached the end of the pathway, both Andrea and the horse had blossoms scattered all over in their hair.

     They stopped and looked out between the cherry trees to the scene ahead of them.  Lush, healthy grass grew up around a shimmering pond.  A large cluster of rocks on one side hosted a little trickle of a waterfall.  The area was nice and shady from thick willow trees surrounding it, their long boughs swaying in the wind.

     “Lovely isn’t it?”  A gentle voice asked from Andrea’s left.  She jumped a bit in her seat.  For some reason she hadn’t expected to see anyone in whatever place this was.  She was surprised to realize that she was angry to see another person around.  In her mind, she’d claimed this place for herself.

     Peering at him, she saw that he wasn’t much to look at.  A skinny young man with shaggy mouse brown hair that fell over his eyes stood at an unimpressive height surprisingly close to Andrea and the horse.  He wore a nondescript white t-shirt with nondescript jeans, and even more nondescript tennis shoes.  The young man was completely unimpressive, but for some reason just looking at him calmed Andrea’s anger.  It felt very right for him to be there.

     As she continued to stare at him, the young man looked up at Andrea.  Flicking his hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head, he smiled at her.  Meeting her eyes with his unimpressive brown ones, smiling with a mouth full of slightly crooked teeth, she couldn’t help but smile back.

     “Lovely, no?”  He asked again, cocking his head to indicate the pond scene in front of them.

     Andrea looked over at it.  Her eyes stuck to the water, the calm and peacefulness relaxing her even more.  She wanted to go and jump in.  To swim and splash.  “I’d say that’s a good word for it.”

     The young man laughed warmly.  “Hey.”  He said, getting her attention.

     “Yeah?”  Andrea looked down at him and saw a mischievous smile on his face.
     “I’ll race you.”  He said as he took off toward the water.

     “Crap!”  She laughed as she slid off the horse and started running after him.
     He didn’t go very fast, but he had enough of a head start that it seemed there was no way she would win.  That is, until he started taking off his shoes.  His shirt had already gone flying as he ran, but taking off his shoes tripped him up.  He even fell at one point, laughing as he wedged the shoes off his feet.
     That gave Andrea enough time to catch up and even pass him.  She was only a few feet away form the water when she kicked her converse off without any problem, the socks getting caught up in the motion and flying off her feet with them.  Then she ran the last few feet and launched herself into the pond, tucking into a cannonball and making a big splash.
     The water was nice and cold, swirling around her.  It was crystal clear enough that she could see as well as feel the young man when he finally made it into the water.  She was on her way up as he was still diving down. 

     When she broke the surface she took a deep breath and then sank into the water until only the top of her head and her eyes were showing.  It was only a few seconds later when the young man popped up too, laughing and shaking the soaking hair out of his face.  He started to swim over to Andrea.  When he got close enough, she popped the rest of her face out of the water and spit a streaming mouthful right into his face.

     “Really?!”  He asked as he sputtered and used the pond water to wipe off his face.

     “Um, yeah.” Andrea laughed at him.

     This started an epic water fight.  When they were done, Andrea crawled onto the pile of rocks to lay in a bit of sun trickling into the clearing.  The little waterfall trickled next to her.  The young man found his own spot of sun in the grass and stretched out there.

     Andrea soaked up the warm sun while it dried her clothes and hair.  It only felt that she lay there for a few minutes, but she was dry.  It occurred to her that wherever she was in this place didn’t really have a sense of time.  It seemed like she had woken up in the meadow days ago; had sat looking at the ocean for months.

     Thinking of those instances made her remember all the details about them.  She fiddled the blossoms in a lock of her hair as she realized that each event had been the epitome of happiness for her.  One wasn’t better than the next, but each was ultimate and supreme; it couldn’t be topped by anything.  She didn’t long to go back to those places though, it had been enough, satisfying.  It had been perfect.  As now was perfect, and the next moment was going to be perfect too.  It was something she couldn’t wrap her mind around.  Her brow furrowed as she tried to rationalize it.

     “You’re troubled.”  The young man said from his sunny spot.

     Andrea rolled onto her stomach and perched on her forearms to hold herself up so she could look at him.

     “I just don’t understand.”  She said to his sprawled body.

     “Yes you do.”  He told her, not unkindly.

     Andrea stayed as she was for a few minutes thinking about it.  The concept of not longing but still being joyful and full of adventure and hope and even peace was the most foreign idea she could imagine.  She’d always been a bit discontent in any situation, looking to the future or thinking about the joys of the past.  It was one of her greatest flaws.  Whatever “now” she was in was never good enough.  Yet in this place it was.  She had no regrets of anything she could thinking of, and could be content lying in this spot forever.  Or not.  She was just…content.

     “I suppose you’re right.”  She replied.

     The young man laughed again.  “Of course I am.”

     It was some amount of time later, or lack of time, that Andrea felt something on her left big toe.  She looked behind her and saw the white horse who was flopping his lips on her toe.

     “Oh hello horse.”  She said as she climbed up from her position and moved to where her shoes were.  After tying them, she went over to the horse’s side to pet him.

     “Do you need help up?”  The young man said right next to Andrea, startling her again.

     She nodded.  “Thanks.”

     He cupped his hands and bent down so she could step in them and then hoisted her up.  After he did that, the young man walked over to the pile of rocks she’d been laying on.  The horse followed him and stopped in just the right spot for the young man to mount behind Andrea.

     No one said anything as the horse retraced their steps back to the meadow filled with purple flowers.  The day was finally getting darker.  It gave a new hue to everything.  It gave everything an older, timelier feel to the still beautiful landscape.  Like the presence of an elderly family member.  They’d seen so much and learned so much.  They are at the end of their lives, but it isn’t sad or regretful.  They’re still lovely in their worn and pleasant way.

     When they reached the field, the young man slid off the horse and held up his hand to Andrea.  She took it and let him help her dismount.  Their hands stayed clasped as they walked through the meadow.

     The slight crinkling noise underfoot as they walked gave hint to the fact that some of the flowers had started to die and dry out.  With each treading of her foot Andrea could smell the lavender and other flower’s sweet perfume in a ripened, more mature way compared to when she had first arrived.  It was beautiful and comforting to her.

     The length of the field seemed ever expanding, like they’d walked forever but neither had picked up a sweat or felt any blisters on their feet.  Then, in what seemed like a second and yet three lifetimes in the strange way the world here worked, Andrea and the young man were standing in front of the cream hospital chair.

     The young man turned to Andrea, grabbing her other hand in his free one and gently helped her down into the chair.  As soon as she touched it, Andrea could feel her fatigue seeping back into her body.  It felt nice to rest in such a comfortable chair.

     The young man reached to the side and caught the tube of her IV, tracing it down to the sticker.  He placed the sticker gently on her arm, back over the area that was still a bit red from the adhesive before.

     Then he kneeled down in front of her.  Looking into her eyes intently, he leaned forward, cupping her face in his hand, holding her hand in his other.  Just a breath away from her face he stopped and said, “You understand.”

     Bracing herself to move despite her sudden fatigue, she was able to manage a small nod and breathed the word, “yes.”

     The young man smiled his warm smile at her again and leaned in further, kissing her gently but firmly on the forehead.  He moved away slowly, rubbing her cheek with his thumb in comfort as he moved.

     Andrea couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.  A faint headache had started and was increasing by the second.  Her last image of the young man was his blurry smile as he knelt in front of her, still holding her hand.  His smile stayed in her mind as she sunk deeper into her medicated sleep and her nostrils were assailed by the smell of chemicals and disinfectants.

Saturday? Double Shot? It's go time!

If you’ve read much of my blog, you’ll know that I’m not a fan of going and getting coffee for several reasons.  Because of that particular blog post, a co-worker of mine decided to take me under his wing; first instructing me and then testing me on the different kinds of coffee, and then going with me to a coffee shop just down the street from our work.  I’ve become a little more comfortable with coffee now because of his help, (thanks Garrett)!  

Never the less, I’ve come to discover that it is even better if coffee is brought to me, as it was done yesterday by my wonderful husband.  As I cooked breakfast, he dashed down to the coffee stand by our apartment and got me a fantastic candy flavored deliciousness of a coffee called a grass hopper.  Iced.  With a double shot.  YES.

Did I mention that I don’t drink coffee very often?  I’m not sure what I was thinking getting a double shot, but it shouldn't surprise anyone that after I finished what I can only describe as liquid heaven, I had quite a bit of energy...for HOURS.  I went for a 5 mile jog/walk, finished my philosophy homework, did laundry and ran errands.  Then my poor kids, Ashitaka and Aquinas, had to deal with their Mam disturbing things around the house like a tornado. 

Ashitaka AKA: Ashi, Mashi, Little

Thomas Aquinas AKA: Poopie, Poop

The kids know me well enough to understand that I’m crazy.  Get a little energy in me (which I haven’t had in a while) and I go a bit bonkers.  What they aren’t used to is me going in and completely destroying their world.

We’ve been struggling to keep Ashi’s food away from Aquinas because he will Hoover it down in about five seconds if he gets to it.  So, Ashi’s food has been moved to the dining room table (don’t worry, it’s mostly used as a very disorganized desk for me, not as an actual place where we eat), and Aquinas’ food is on the floor.  The Poop still manages to get to Ashi's food sometimes, as evidenced by chew marks on some of the books, but overall the system works pretty well.

Going on with the story, I decided that before I did my homework, I was going to clean up the table (which is supposed to be the husband’s job), and then maybe I’d move stuff around a bit.  The table used to be right underneath the counter of the kitchen.  My caffeine fueled brain came up with a horrifying vision of the animals getting on the counter, Aquinas finding himself in the sink, and Ashi turning on the garbage disposal on him.  Obviously, it is my job as a Mam to make sure this never happens.  

So, here’s the change:

The book shelf and the table switched places. OMG!

    This apparently wasn't ok with the kids.  Well, actually it wasn't ok with Aquinas.  This is the sequence of events after the big move:

Mam!  What did you do?!  I am SHOCKED (and feeling insecure).

Life is not worth living.  I give up!  (Did I mention I'm feeling insecure?)

Aaaah.  Big brother Mash and our favorite blankie makes things all better.   Insecure?  I don't even know what that means.

     This trial finally over, I figured the drama was over.  The Poop was sleeping, Ashi was enjoying his favorite pass time of smothering him, and I was all set to get my homework done.  LIKE A BOSS.

     What I'd forgotten to anticipate was the reaction of the husband:

If you're wondering, that's a mix of wonder and horror (he's not that good with change either)...

Sounds like another job for Super Mashi!  (A kitteh's job is never done).

After I finished with everything for the day, it was time to make dinner.  By this time, I was going crazy.  I was so physically tired (remember I jogged...JOGGED!!...I had a good reason to be tired!).  I was having a hard time moving and I really didn’t think I was going to be able to move enough to make dinner.

I was also going even more crazy than I was before.  Everything I did had an inner monologue to go with it.  Lucky for me, my sister puts up with this stuff very well.  The only way I was able to finish cooking was by sending her pictures explaining what I was doing and giving her the inner monologue of it all.  She thought it would be fun to put the recipe and pics up on my blog.  So, if you want a great recipe for scalloped potatoes, here it is (sans the worst parts of my monologue...I spare you that)!

Easy Scalloped Potato Recipe!

8 oz. cream cheese

1/2 cup sour cream

3 lb. red potatoes thinly sliced

1 cup chicken broth

Green onions

8 oz. shredded cheddar cheese

Whatever the crap you want!

HEAT oven to 350°F. 

Slice the potatoes...like a BOSS!

Mix the sour cream, cream cheese, and chicken broth until well blended. 

Add everything together and gently stir until everything is coated (very intense work).

Spoon into baking dish (13x9 inch), sprinkle with cheese, and bake for 1 hour.

Not as fun...cleaning up afterward. :(

Finished product (I will not take the blame for the upside down picture)!

EAT!  (Again, like a BOSS!)

F-Cancer: A Sober Post

         I’m a little nostalgic right now.  Today is a very exciting day for me.  Not only is it the second anniversary of something for a friend of mine, but it’s also the second anniversary of my original doctor’s appointment where I started the process of finding out I had cancer.  Or, to put it more honestly and in my friend’s words, it’s the second anniversary when I started to f#@* cancer.  Rock on!

         For everyone who doesn’t know the story, here it is!

         First, the only reason I remember the day is because it was the official day that my husband and I moved into our current apartment.  We were doing a quick preliminary walk through with the rental manager and then our plan was to run over to urgent care afterward.  It was the only evening that my husband and I had off together.  We weren’t too happy about spending an hour or two at the hospital and we almost just skipped it, but our church had given us the money to get in to see a doctor (we didn’t have insurance at the time), so we decided to get it over with.  

You see, by that time I’d had a really bad ache in my chest for months.  There were nights where it would hurt so bad I couldn’t sleep and had a hard time breathing.  I thought it was probably a strained muscle, so I would get up in the middle of the night and go take a bath in scalding hot water hoping that would help.  Sometimes I’d have to sleep holding a pillow tight to my chest to kind of dull the pain.  It wasn’t my favorite thing ever.

A bump or raised area started to build up to the left of my sternum that would sometimes turn red or even a purple-ish color.  I still thought it was a strained muscle that probably just kept getting aggravated.  We didn’t have insurance and we were in a really bad financial spot we were trying to dig ourselves out of, so I just put off going and seeing a doctor.  What could they do for a muscle strain anyway?

My pastor and his wife insisted that I go and see a doctor when they heard what was up.  They gave us the money to go in.  I felt so bad about taking the money, I prayed the entire time I was in the waiting room of urgent care that there was something legitimately wrong with me so the money wouldn’t have been spent in vein.

I had to tell a couple people why I was there when I was being checked in.  Just telling them that I thought I had a strained muscle in my chest and there was a colored bump there, I got a few eye rolls.  I had no fever and the bump was barely noticeable that day.  A couple times I almost got up and walked out.

When I finally got to go back to a room, a young doctor poked his head in.  He looked about my age, possibly a little younger, and he was a little skinny guy.  I was already changed into one of those flimsy paper gowns by then.  As I talked to him, explaining what was going on, he started to frown and it quickly deepened. 

The doctor tentatively asked if he could feel the bump that I had.  I couldn’t help but laugh because he was a doctor!  Of course he could feel it.  I also found myself apologizing because it was a lot smaller that day than it had been recently.  I didn’t want him to think I was a hypochondriac.

After checking out the lump, he told me he wanted to do some blood tests and he’d be sending in a nurse to take care of that.  He’d be back after he checked out the results.  So I had my blood drawn and texted my friend while I waited for the results.  My husband sat in the corner of the room playing games on his phone.

About twenty minutes later the nurse came back in and took some more blood.  I wasn’t sure why until the doctor came back after another twenty minutes.  He leaned himself back against the counter of the sink in the room and looked a little too serious.

The doctor came right out and said that according to the blood tests they had run twice, I had a high white cell count.  That information along with the bump on my chest made it looked like I either had leukemia or lymphoma. 

Everyone that I’ve talked to who has had cancer said that this was the freak out moment.  Some people’s lives flash before their eyes, others felt like they were going to throw up or that the world had dropped out from underneath them.  This didn’t happen to me.  There were two things that I thought simultaneously; thank God it wasn’t just a strained muscle, and how the hell were we going to pay for all of this?  I think I’m a robot or something.

The doctor told me that he saw I didn’t have insurance.  Because of this, he was going to run as many tests as he could while I was there because he was afraid I was going to let this go.  He also said that he was going to send all of my information to my doctor as well as the Willamette Valley Cancer Institute so that they could be in charge of making sure I got things taken care of.

That night, I got my first IV ever for my first MRI ever.  I’ve always been afraid of needles, but this was pretty painless.  The lady who did it was very sweet and talked to me about the Bridge Program that the hospital had to help people financially.  She explained that MRI’s are pretty expensive, so I really needed to take advantage of it.

My First IV!

Hand IV!

I've lost count of what number this one was.

The MRI was actually pretty fun.  We were able to catch the people right before they went home (it was pretty late by that time…there went the idea of being at the hospital for only an hour or two).  The lady that worked the machine was extremely sweet.  We had a fun conversation and as I was leaving to go back to my corner of urgent care she got very serious and told me that I was too young and too sweet to be sick. 

That statement kind of threw me.  I wasn’t sick.  Even if I had cancer I wasn’t sick.  This was also the first time out many that I heard this statement.  Each time I heard it I wanted to scream, “I’M NOT SICK!”  But I knew that they meant well and didn’t realize that my kind of cancer was just a nuisance, it wasn’t a disease.

It was very late by the time that we left to go home.  During the time we were there my husband just sat and played his phone games.  He didn’t even seem like he heard what was going on.  I finally talked to him about it about a week ago, wondering what his deal was.  He said that he figured it didn’t help to get upset about any of the stuff we were hearing, that we would get through it one way or another.  He also knew that if he didn’t occupy his mind, he would start freak out.  I absolutely understand.

What got me through that night was texting with my friend.  We joked and shared some fun stories that night.  I’d rather crack jokes than get too serious about things and my friend is the same way.  It was perfect.

My other friend, who worked at the hospital, started her shift around the time that we were leaving.  I let her know that we were there and she was sweet enough to pick up some food for us.  That helped more than I can express.

The next day was a bear of a day; fighting with my regular doctor’s office who refused to do anything for me because I didn’t have insurance anymore.  Even trying to get all the information sent over to the WVCI from the hospital took forever because of my regular doctor’s refusal to help.  With the help of my Mom and my boss, things finally got sent through.

Two months later after two different biopsies (that have very fun stories to go along with them which I may tell at some other time); I was finally diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma.  I had my first PET scan on my 25^th birthday (happy birthday to me) where I found out that I was in stage two. 

My Sweet Biopsy Scar (People kept asking me why I'd put tape on my neck)

The PET scan also showed why I’d been having pain and swelling in my chest.  A lymph node under my sternum was backed up with fluid and swelling to about three times the size of what it was supposed to be.  This shoved any excess fluid back into my chest where it culminated and swelled, hence the bump.  As for the pain, that was because the swollen lymph node was pressing up against my sternum and bending it, giving it what they called “sternal sclerosis.”  Ow.

My oncologist (whom I call my “Wilson” after the oncologist on “House”), is absolutely great.  He let me finish spring term for school before we started chemo.  I opted to have a catheter put in during this time because it was so hard to find my veins.  For my first treatment we put in the catheter, did a bone marrow biopsy, and then went ahead with the chemo.  Afterward I went to Target with my husband and shopped around for a bit.  It was a pretty good day.

Later that day...yes, those are tubes coming out of my chest.  (That catheter didn't last long).

The only time I cried about the whole cancer situation was that first night after urgent care.  I found myself lying in bed trying to figure out how we were going to pay for everything.  I’ve still never gone though a mourning period about having cancer.  God took care of that and finally gave me peace over the financial situation as well.  We had a lot of help including a program through WVCI and the Bridge Program through Peach Health.  There were also some anonymous donations to us and a fund raiser both through my work and through my family.  God used the people and programs around me to get us through everything.

Many things strange happened during the every other week for four months chemo treatments.  They are really good stories, but it would take too long to write about them right now.   All in all, it was an adventure that I am extremely thankful for.  I couldn’t have gotten through it without my Savior, my husband, my family, my friends, my co-workers, and my doctors and nurses.  I am so blessed.  That’s why this anniversary makes me excited rather than depressed.  Janna, you’re right; it was two years ago that I started to f#@* cancer.  Like a boss.  Hodgkins Lymphoma is my bitch.  BAM!

The Mams and I for my last procedure.

BONUS PIC!  Bald Me.

Numbers: A Child's Story

            I’ve always thought that each number had its own personality.  Some are villains, some are heroes, and some are perfectly normal.  This story is exactly how I’ve seen them in my head since I was little, which is why it’s written as a children's story.

            It was a bright summer day when 4 woke up to see sun streaming in through her bedroom window.  She smiled as she hopped out of bed and thought about all the possibilities the day held for her.  It was an exciting mystery.

            As 4 opened her bedroom door to make her way down to breakfast, her little brother 3 crashed into the room.  He had his toy airplane out and was making buzzing noises as he flew it around her room.

            “Oh 3, you’re so silly!”  She laughed.  “Come down to breakfast with me before Momma 2 thinks we’ve slept in too late.”

            “Okay!”  Piped 3 as he ran past her to fly his plane down the stairs or their little cottage.

            When 3 and 4 reached the bottom of the stairs they saw their elderly Grandpa 1 sitting at the table, twisting his long white mustache around his finger as he loomed over a newspaper.  “Good morning Grandpa 1!”  They called in unison as they came over and kissed Grandpa 1’s slim and withered cheeks.

            “Good morning 3, good morning 4.”  He said cheerily as he gave them each hugs.

            “Good morning Momma 2.”  4 said as she hugged her mother who was finishing cooking breakfast.

            “Why hello there 4.  What are your plans today?”  Momma 2 turned around and started setting the table.

            “I’m not sure.”  4 replied as she sat in her usual spot.  “I think I’m going to go for a walk and see what happens from there.”

            “You be careful,” Grandpa 1 told her.  “Snidely 9 and his sidekick 7 are on the loose and doing terrible things in the town.”

            “Don’t worry Grandpa 1, I’ll be careful.”  4 promised.

            When she was done with her meal, 4 said goodbye to her family and started her walk. 

4 didn’t get very far before she ran into her neighbor 6 playing in the woods near their houses.  4 and 6 went to school together, but 6 was a little older.  He was a very shy boy, but very nice.  His best friend was 8, the most popular kid in school.  8 was nice and was the star of the school track and football teams.

“Hello 6!” 4 called.

6 looked surprised, but when he saw that it was 4, he smiled and waved.  “Hi 4.  What are you doing today?”

4 stopped to talk to 6.  “Going for a walk and seeing where the day takes me.  How about you?”

6 shrugged. “I’m just messing around with these new action figures my mom got me.”  He blushed.

“That sounds like a lot of fun.”  4 said cheerily.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the trees near them.  4 and 6 looked up to see two interesting characters.  One was very tall and thin with a worn top hat and a black handlebar mustache.  The other was also thin, but a bit shorter.  His back was hunched and he smiled like a wolf.

“Hello there, children.”  The one with the top hat said in a British accent.  “What are you doing out here alone?”

6 was frozen with fear, but 4 answered politely.  “Good morning, sir.  We’re just playing.”

The one with the top hat tisked and shook his head.  “That is very alarming.  I’ve heard there’s a very dangerous character roaming these woods.  You wouldn’t want to run into him, now would you?”

“No sir.” 4 responded.

“No, no.  I didn’t think so.  You children should run along before…Hmm.”  The man trailed off.  “I don’t’ remember the villain’s name.”  He turned to the hunched over man next to him.  “Do you remember his name, good fellow?”

A shrill laugh came from the man.  “Yes!”  He wheezed.

“Oh that’s right!”  Said top-hat man.  “Snidely 9…at your service.”  He took off his top hat and put it over his heart, holding out his hand to shake with 4. 

Not thinking, 4 took his hand.  Snidely 9 pulled her toward him, grabbing her.  “Take her 7!”  He called as they rushed back into the woods with 4.

6 jumped up and ran down the path toward town.  He wasn’t sure where he was going; he just knew he needed to tell someone what had happened.  6 was almost home when he literally ran into his best friend 8 who was waiting in line at an ice cream stand.

“What’s wrong?”  8 asked as he steadied his friend who was shaking and panting.

“4!  7!  Snidely 9!  Woods!”  6 was puffing so hard he couldn’t talk in complete sentences.  Luckily 8 and 6 were such good friends that 8 understood.

“Snidely 9 and 7 grabbed 4 and took her into the woods?”  He asked, concerned.

“Yes!  You have to go help her!”  6 finally got out.

8 didn’t say anything more and started running.  He ran through the woods, looking for clues of where Snidely 9 and 7 could have take 4.  8 was about to give up when he heard some faint screaming.

“4.”  He said to himself quietly, and started running toward her screams

As 8 was about to burst out of the woods, he heard a whistle.  When he cleared the trees he saw train tracks.  There was 4, tied up and lying on the tracks.  The whistle he’d heard was a train heading right for her.

“8!  Help me!” She called when she saw him.

8 moved as fast as he could, running toward 4.  Just as the train was about to run her over, 8 swooped down and pulled 4 off of the tracks, quickly untying the ropes around her.  4 clung to him, giving him a hug.  “Thank you so much 8!  You saved me!  My hero!”

8 smiled down at her and hugged her back.  “I’m glad you’re safe.”  He said.  “Now, where are Snidely 9 and 7?”

“They’re back at their hideout.”  4 said.  “I’ll show you.”

4 took 8 to Snidely 9 and 7’s hideout where they found them sitting in front of a fireplace, sipping tea.  8 and 4 worked together and were able to apprehend them, 4 using her sweet karate skills and 8 using brute force.  They called the police and waved Snidely 9 and 7 goodbye as they were taken away.

Later that night there was a big party.  Momma 2 made a cake for 8 to thank him for saving her daughter.  Grandpa 1 spent the evening telling old heroic tales from when he was younger.  3 sat patiently next to 8, his new hero, as they politely listened to Grandpa 1’s stories.  6 even stopped by and shyly accepted a huge hug from 4 for helping in her rescue. 

They lived happily ever after.

Fear and My White Whale

            One of my greatest fears besides spiders and crowds of people is going to a store or shop that I’ve never been to before.  What’s even worse is if I have to buy something there.  It’s like a new and scary world where anything can happen.  ANYTHING.

            What even worse and freaks me out even more is going to a coffee shop or coffee stand and having to place an order.  I’m not much of a coffee drinker to being with.  To me, coffee is like a dessert that not only gives you a sugar high, but also causes a caffeinated hyperactivity rush.  I love them blended because it gives me an excuse to have something like a milkshake any time of the day without being judged.

            Coffee shops and stands are scary for their own separate reasons.  At a coffee shop, you usually find Indie hipster type people behind the counter.  They’re so hip they don’t care about anything anymore except if other people are as hip as them.  Why wash you’re hair?  That’s way too mainstream.  And forget about customer service.  They’d rather tell you to get the hell out of there than wait for you to make a decision on what to order.  And blended drinks?  Forget it, noob.

            My husband has recently decided that he loves to get coffee, so whenever we go out somewhere, he wants us to make a stop.  He’s easy; all he asks for is a mocha.  On a really daring day he may add a little flavor.  I, on the other hand, have no idea what all the coffee lingo means and will never ever get it down no matter how many times my husband explains it to me.

            Our church has had coffee outings before where they make a pilgramige through our little town to try various types of coffee to decide who has the best.  My husband believes this will be fun and has tried talking me into going quite a few times.  He doesn’t understand the vastness of my pent-up dread and loathing of going places to buy coffee (I try to keep the allusion of sanity, for our marriage’s sake).

            What usually happens is as we wait in line my eyes dart from one picture of foamy coffee on the wall to another, trying to figure out what actually tastes good and what tastes like mud coffee sludge (which I’ve come to realize, most do).  Can I get something blended?  Why can’t there just be something called “liquid candy?”  That would make things a lot easier for me.

            I can never decide!  I freak even worse when I see that we’re getting closer and closer to the front of the line.  That’s when I go to my husband for emergency support.

Me: “What is a mocha again?”

Husband: “Milk and chocolate.”

Me: “Then what’s a latte?”

Husband: “Milk and flavoring.”

Me: “Why isn’t a mocha just called a chocolate latte then?”

Husband: “Because then it wouldn’t be a mocha.”

Me: “Can you add flavoring to a mocha?”

Husband: “Yes.”

            Trying to figure out the philosophy of coffee names takes me into a downward spiral of confusion and anger.  I get mad when I don’t understand things that everyone seems to find simple.  Then I’m even more angry because it’s our turn and I have no idea what to say to the cool, nonchalant and somewhat hostile person behind the counter.

            Of course I have to have the bad luck of marrying one of the few gentleman left on the planet.  The first thing he says when we get up there is, “Do you know what you want?”

            This turns the attention of the barista to me.  I’ve learned over the years that if I say no, my husband won’t order his drink because he has a “ladies first” mentality.  When that happens I see the barista’s eyes narrow and I can feel the angry force of the patrons behind us as they realize that I am the easily destroyable thing that stands between them and their precious coffee. 

            What to do?!  One of two things always happens.  Either I point to a sign that’s close by and say, “Um, can I have…” and squint to see the name of it.  I usually pronounce it wrong and get a cool warning look from the barista.  Otherwise, I blurt out the first thing on the menu hanging from the ceiling behind the counter.  Depending on how well this goes with the barista, I may or may not ask if I can have it blended.

            When this series of events has occurred, I usually end up with some sort of liquid-ish frosty thing that tastes a lot like chalk or mud (or better yet, a mix of the two!).  There have only been a few instances when I’ve actually liked and finished what I order.  As nice as that is while I’m drinking it, my downfall is the fact that, if we ever come back, I’ll never be able to remember what it is I blurted out for my order.

            As difficult and scary as going to a coffee shop is, I dread going to a coffee stand even more.  The people who are hired there are the complete opposite of the ridiculously cool hipsters in coffee shops.  At coffee stands you will find people who look like they belong to a sorority or fraternity modeled after Delta Nu from Legally Blonde (I had to look that up; don’t judge me!). 

They are so chatty I can’t help but hope to God it’s because they’ve been pumping whatever 12-shot coffee they favor directly into their veins since they arrived at their shift.  If that is genuine energy, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave my house again.

            I’m alright with nice people.  I’m alright with super bubbly happy people.  I’m alright with ridiculously attractive people (these are all attributes of coffee stand employees).  What I’m not alright with is when people cross the line from being happy, to flirting just for the sake of selling coffee; coffee that I’m already there to buy.  I don’t need to be patronized and flirted into placing my order (this makes me freeze up even worse than a hot hipster barista does).

            I am still nervous when I drive or walk up to these places, but the great thing is that they’re more like candy stores than the hard core coffee shops.  Everything they have is hopped up with major syrup and sweets.  It’s my kind of coffee. Even if I don’t pay attention to what I order, there’s a good 87% chance that I’ll get something tasty.

            I could get past this nervousness if the people working there weren’t so in-your-face nice/flirty.  I always leave wanting to tell the guys there, “no.  I do not desire you to flirt with me or to comment on something about me to the point of being creepy.  I am not your type, nor are you mine.  We can be friends if you insist, but I will never ever trust you.  Keep your manic smiles to yourself and I’ll just drive right on through, nothing to see here.  Trust me, its better this way.”

            But it’s the girls at these places who are actually the worst.  I always get the sorority girl who is way too cute and bubbly to be real (Malibu Skipper always comes to mind).  Again I must make it clear that I have no problem with cute/bubbly people as long as they don’t do the following:

Coffee Chick: “Hi there!  How are you today?!”

Me: “Great.  How about you?”

Coffee Chick: “I’m absolutely fantastic!  Today is wonderful and I love being up in the morning selling people coffee!”

Me: “It’s definitely nice to love your job.” 

Coffee Chick: “Are you doing anything fun or exciting today?!”

Me: “Not really, just going to work.”

I start to get tense.  This is where things can either continue smoothly or take a turn for the worst.  My hope is that I can order my coffee, thank her, leave a tip and be on my way.  A little more conversation is ok, but a line has to be drawn.

This is when she looks me up and down through my car window.  Apparently something catches her eye.

Coffee Chick: “Oh, I see you’ve got some sparkle on your shirt under that jacket!  It looks like you’ve got some hidden sparkle in your personality going on there!  I’m sure you’re going to have a very exciting day!”

Me: “…Um…thanks…you have a good day too.”

The time this happened, I felt violated and dirty.  I just wanted to take my drink and run away.  The rest of the day I had to wonder if she had intentionally given me a smarmy backhanded compliment or if she had no idea how that had come out.  Either way, I was never going back.

I’m sure there are some very nice people who work at coffee shops and coffee stands.  If there are, where are you?!  I would be more than happy to even fly to another state, heck a different country, to order something from you.  If you’re on a late-night shift, I’d start drinking coffee at 1:30 in the morning, just for you.  It would be a privilege and an honor.  You’ll recognize me as the shaking person afraid to make eye contact while ordering who bursts into tears of relief and delight when I discover that you, the perfect barista, are real.  Until then, I will think of you as my Moby Dick and I your Captain Ahab.  Searching coffee shops and stands in the seas of my own fear and hesitation.

**Note: I realize that I probably got most of the coffee definitions wrong.  That is because I do not understand. This is partially due to the fact that it is so confusing.  Also, I’m a tad passive aggressive and if I think something is stupid, I’ll usually refuse to learn it.  Flaws?  What flaws?  I have no flaws!

Also, this was written to be funny.  Please laugh.  If you don’t, I will cry.  And for the record, I have a few friends that were baristas and they were AMAZING (you know who you are).  This entire story is an irrational fear of mine that has been written in a satirical and hyperbolic fashion.  I do not mean to insult anyone. **

True Stories: Death Medley

Disclaimer:  I usually hate writing anything besides fiction, but some memories started popping up while reading one of my favorite blogs and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to write them down and share them.  Thank you Allie Brosh, author of Hyperbole and A Half!

Why I Hate to Paint My Nails

            I grew up in Oregon.  Actually, I’ve never lived anywhere else.  I haven’t even ever moved to a different city.  My Dad was born in Oregon too, but he’s gotten to live in a few different states throughout his life. 

My Mom is from Idaho.  Half of her family still lives there.  Her old hometown was the only place besides the coast that we ever went on vacations when I was growing up.  We’d go once every couple years, and it was always a big deal. 

            My Mom would get so excited; she’d count down the months, weeks and days leading up to our trips.  She’d say things like, “This time next month, we’ll be eating lunch at your Grandpa’s house.”  As kids, this kind of daily reminder slowly wound my sister and I into a tizzy of anticipation until we were on the verge of imploding by the time traveling day arrived.

            There was always a lot of thought and planning that went into packing and preparing for the trip.  The packing would begin several days before we left.  We were going to see family for the first time in years, so the clothing we took and how we presented ourselves was very important.

            My sister had always been the smart and pretty one, so I decided early on that I’d be the sweet, quirky one (something I strive for to this day).  This meant even more preparation on my part to get the right effect.  I had found the clothes that fit the best on me, but showed my fun/weird side, but not too far that my long lost relatives didn’t want to talk to me.  It was a delicate balance for a kid.

The accessories I took with me in the car needed to match too.  I always brought paper and pencils so I could write on the 10 hour car ride.  On this particular occasion, I also brought drawing paper and charcoal pencils that I’d gotten for my birthday.  It figured I’d have enough time using them in the car to see if I was the next Picasso.

            The morning of the trip finally came!  I was having the hardest time keeping myself from tearing out my own hair in anticipation, I was so excited.  I had finished packing the night before, but my parents still had to run to the store to get food for the trip and my sister had some things to finish with her suitcase.  This meant I was left to my own devices while the authority figures were at the store and my 13-year-old sister was holed away in her room.

            Just watching TV wasn’t going to keep my busy, I needed to do something with my hands.  Then I had a brilliant idea!  I’d paint my nails!  This would kill two birds with one stone! I’d have to concentrate to do it right which would help me settle down, and my grandparents would think I looked very grown up.  Perfect!

            I grabbed some pretty pink polish, a paper towel to use as a mat, and set to work slathering the goop on my nails.  I’ve never been good at painting.  Plus, at 11, I didn’t live up to having the dexterity of an 8-year-old.  On top of the excitement of our trip and the fact that even as an adult I still never remember that you can’t touch things when you’ve got paint drying on your nails, it wasn’t surprising that about ten minutes later, my fingers looked like they’d been covered with the ectoplasm-jelly-grossness from the movie “Poltergeist.”

            This would not do.  My grandparents would hate it!  I had to get the paint off, and pronto.  Good thing I knew where the nail polish remover was.  It took me longer to get the polish off my fingers than it did to paint them in the first place.  But eventually, I was finally clean.

            While I was cleaning up, for some crazy reason I can’t explain I stuck one of my fingers in my mouth and sucked on it.  It took me less than a second to connect the disgusting taste with the fact that I had just slathered nail polish remover all over my hands.

            I froze, my heart sinking.  I knew what this meant.  I had just ingested chemicals.  I was going to die.  And even worse, I was going to ruin my family’s vacation. How was I supposed to handle this?

            I made a decision right then.  I wasn’t going to tell my parents about it.  They weren’t going to put off their vacation to call poison control when, by the time they came home from the store, it would already be too late.  I’d just ride it out.

            I wasn’t sure how long it took to die from poisoning, but I figured we could get out on the road and be far enough on our way that, when I did die, my parents could just toss me into the gorge and keep going on their trip.  It would be a bit inconvenient, but the best option compared to just staying home by myself and leaving a bloated, stinking body half eaten by our dog and cats for them to discover when they got home.

            When we finally left, I wasn’t quite as excited for the trip as I had been the past few months.  I’d become obsessed with the time, counting how many hours had gone by since I’d sucked the deadly nail polish remover off of my fingernail.  Wondering when it would start to hurt, steeling myself to be silent through the pain.

            A few hours into the trip, my sister borrowed the art paper and charcoal pencils that I’d brought and drew the most amazing landscape.  I was hurt and angry.  I’d figured I’d leave my family with one final masterpiece of artistic genius to remember me by.  I’d worked for over an hour on drawing something brilliant, but everything I drew ended up looking like a pathetic excuse of a tumbleweed (to be generous).  Why couldn’t I have died before the humiliation of my sister, yet again, being better than me?  Instead of just waiting to die, I actually started plotting a way to make sure I died in as gruesome a way that would scar my sister for life for being stuck in the back seat with me while it happened.

As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, I didn’t die, I didn’t even get a stomach ache.  After I’d finished writing a will that didn’t allot anything but my chores to my sister, we went on to have a great vacation.  The whole experience taught me to tone down my dramatic reactions, stop being so morbidly obsessed with death, and that I needed to step up the weird if my sister was going to keep stepping up her perfection.

Chocolaty Assassin

One of my favorite candies of all time is Junior Mints.  I loved the creamy, gooey, chocolate and mint nubs.  My favorite thing to do with them was crushing them against the roof of my mouth with my tongue and then suck on them.  Chewing them would take the texture for granted, and I’d never want to do that.

            When I was seventeen I worked at the CD store in the local mall.  It was my first real job, and it was a pretty good gig for a while (I was actually just happy to have a cooler job than anyone else I was going to school with). 

            There was a certain time when I was working in the middle of the day, just the assistant manager and I.  She was up front talking on the phone to her boyfriend and I was in the back of the store shelving the CD’s, sucking on some Junior Mints. 

            That was when I had an epiphany.  For the life of me, I can’t remember what it was about, but it must have been the most amazing thing in the world because what did I do?  I inhaled very quickly in excitement and turned to run up to the front of the store to tell my manager about it.

When I inhaled, I’d sucked the oozing Junior Mint I’d been working on into my throat.  Its chocolaty goodness spread across the opening of my throat, blocking any breathing.  My initial reaction as I scurried to the front of the store was to just swallow it down and get a drink of water to stop the inevitable coughing that would follow.  Apparently, that was easier said than done.

I couldn’t swallow.  After trying a second time with the same result, I finally stopped moving so I could concentrate.  I had made it to the middle of the store, and I stood there holding on to a rack of CD’s, trying to force saliva down my throat.

I have no idea how long I stood there, but at a certain point my body decided I was a failure and the autopilot took over.  It forced me to wheeze for breath, making involuntary part screeching, part wheezing sounds, trying to force in air.  The oozey, gooey mass of Junior Mint covering the entrance of my throat and lungs wasn’t budging.  It was like a little mint-chocolaty assassin.

I wasn’t quite sure what to do.  I could keep running up to the assistant manager and ask her for help, but it didn’t seem like that would really help.  The Heimlich wouldn’t work in this kind of situation either.  Maybe I should just run into the back room.  There was a sink back there, I could drink some water.  But then I might end up drowning if I accidentally inhaled while drinking too much in desperation.

As I was trying to figure this out, I started pacing back and forth in the middle of the store, making those involuntary noises.  I sounded like a creature from Silent Hill, and apparently looked like a freak; if the offended looks the old guy standing nearby watching the music videos was any indication.

All of a sudden, my panic completely disappeared and I made a decision.  I wasn’t going to subject my manager or the old man eyeing me to witnessing my death.  I’d calmly go into the back room, crawl up onto the heavy duty shipping table, lie down and simply die.  It would be much less shocking to find me that way than for everyone to watch me while I writhed for one last saving breath before I finally died.  Yep, that was the best choice.

Still making the whooping noises, I started walking to the back room, congratulating myself for how thoughtful and smart my decision was.  They’d say I was selfless and thoughtful until the end.  It would be a part of my eulogy. 

After only a few steps, something popped in my throat and I felt gooey ooze sliding down my raw and burning throat.  The Junior Mint had unclogged itself!

My body still didn’t trust me to figure out how to breathe, so I couldn’t stop the big walloping, painful breaths I sucked in causing me to hack and cough, hurting me even more.  I thought that it would have been much more peaceful to die than to stand there and hack up the lung that I’d been trying to get air to.  But, it wasn’t my decision.  I was going to live, I was going to spend the rest of the day feeling like someone had tried to strangle me, and I was going to have a near-death experience story involving a CD store, a forgotten idea that could have cured cancer (there’s no proof that it wouldn’t), and a Junior Mint.

**After writing out these stories, I’ve realized something.  Every time I have a great idea, whether I remember it later or not, I end up almost dying in a freak accident (or thinking I’m going to).  Hmm…interesting…