When Your Number May Be Up

I'm currently sitting on our bed hearing the lull of Sunday traffic.  Puppy at the foot, watching the world outside, hoping the tree gently rustles and he can bark at a squirrel.  I'm drinking hot green tea that our favorite person Mod, who co-owns one of our favorite restaurants, sources from a secret underground gremlin.  The sliding door is cracked and the shutters pulled open, so I can look out into our sunny backyard.  The vision I see, however, is what it will become, not how it sits today.  The new and improved Clark outdoor space!!  It will be inviting and private and mentally beautiful to be contained in.  We've been working hard for this vision to become a reality by next summer.  To enjoy this plot of land with my husband, my puppy, and our friends.  But those plans may be put on hold soon.

So I sit here and write, where I'm most comfortable and secluded.  For now.

I don't ever talk publicly about the company I work for.  And if you know, don't mention it.  In part, because who cares.  Also, I haven't been all that happy working here so no satisfaction for you.  You won't get any boring tales of bullshit because I promise, it's not that interesting.  But I do have a tops work ethic so I continue to go above and beyond what's expected of me.  It kinda messes with me being so committed to something you don't enjoy.  No joke though, it does become harder and harder when the motivation was laid to rest alongside what little remaining enjoyment I got out of it.  But I can't change who I am and that's what life gives you sometimes.  So I put up with it, but believe me, I peek over the fence - daydreaming of what more I can give myself and the world.

Around March of this year I had an inkling I would be laid off by December.  There was no basis for it, I just did.  I tossed it aside and figured it stemmed from my desire for career growth.  Strangely, I always felt untouchable because essentially there is no one else who does what I do.  And if someone were to take over, they certainly would not to the level of precision I dedicate.  People come to me and my team because we're trustworthy and get shit done.  There is no question about our strength and my leadership.  So obviously, that means job security {rolls eyes now.}  Naive, but onward.

Here we are now, several months later, where that trashed idea of mine has been yanked from the recycle bin.  In a nutshell, said company has been planning layoffs for a while.  Maybe the populous knows, maybe not.  But unfortunately it's nothing new, which means we're all sadly used to it.  Any element of family that once existed, is gone.  The common personal slogan round the water cooler is "It's not a matter of if, but when."  How encouraging is that to have invisible hellion's all screaming their chant when you walk among the halls.  I've advanced through previous rounds, never knowing how close I did or didn't come.  But I had to sit, watching my immediate boss be canned for reason X, Y, or Z.  It's fucking hard to keep starting over with someone new, when every person who ever directly stood up to see you grow is gone.  HR will say it's never personal, but it sure as fuck feels like it.  I joked with colleague once it must have been me.  Like I was a curse, a catalyst to the end of those executives' careers.  That notion sits with me and is a burden I won't shed for sometime.

The creative, stifled side of me would actually be relieved.  I'm done with the politics, wrinkle-inducing stress, and stupid decisions that make any job unhealthy.  I used to believe all places were like this, so I should suck it up.  Nope.  I was just too blind to see how bad things were.  That's changed now - it doesn't have to be the hand you're stuck with.  Taking time to start my own thing has been knocking at my impulses for a few years.  The concept drives me wild!  How goddamn exciting and scary, but exciting!  Work has never been an excuse for why I haven't tried before, but an undisclosed perk was self-doubt for my own ventures.  I'm burning that, okay, because that's lame.  I will never discount the tremendous amount of knowledge I've gained here.  I give props to myself for being a good student, because I am the most confident I've ever been in knowing I can start a business.  Be an entrepreneur, at what ever scale.  Simply being free, I could dedicate the brute force effort needed to see it through.  And it feels good knowing both the success and failure would fall on me.  I don't want to spin my wheels anymore for someone else's Billion dollar machine.  Fuck that.  My eyes are open now and it's easier to distance myself from the security.

Gah. the security.  The grown-uppy side of me is getting anxious and has indexed everything I'd lose.  The stability (err um instability), set salary, the retirement (not what I've contributed but future growth,) the health benefits and the silly perks that come with any job.  I'd also miss a few swell people.  If push comes to shove and I'm called in, I know they'll be plenty of tears and curse words.  It's always harder when you're asked to leave rather than on your own terms.  But with Travis back to work, some of these concerns are lessened.  That's a tick mark in the happy column.  And I will never dismiss how the job afforded us the opportunity to purchase a home and enjoy some niceties from time to time.  A few trips, a few nice dinners, but at what cost?  Me.  I'm the cost.  I've always paid a significant price to do those things.  And I was ok with doing that for a certain period of time, I'm just in a different head space now.

And maybe my own thing isn't the answer.  Maybe the answer is another version of my current job, in a more healthy environment.  Or maybe the answer is something new altogether.  Either way, that will come in due time as I honestly don't know which way the pendulum will swing.  Creative and Security are both equal partners right now.  So I sit and wait.

Tell You Thursday: Birthday Moot

Travis, my bearded half, is 40 today.  40, 40, 40.  gawd, how could I say those horrific number words.  I hope as society we realize there are way more important things than being hung up on the image our bodies will somehow miraculously shrivel and be inexpressibly different, once the earth spins another tick on its axis post your second of birth.  Seriously, it's no fucking big whoop.  There's no giant Tardis replica in the driveway and he hasn't ordered another handmade guitar.  And he still thinks I'm tops, so youngin's, keep your panties on.

His birthday got me thinking back through my own.  Although, I'm a December, which others who share in this know there isn't as much hoopla because Christmas is soon.  I don't care.  Birthdays are not an end all, be all, event for me.  I don't have wild & crazy tales, I don't go on trips or check off activities from an invisible list of stupid ideas.  I've had only one proper party, and I've never been a "birthday month" or even a "birthday week" kinda bird.  It feels groovy to be alive, and I dig other people being happy I live, but ultimately it's just another day.  Like as long as people enjoy me the other 364 (sometimes 365) days per year, I'm content.

But I do think it's interesting to reflect upon your life, especially when every living thing shares at least this similarity.  I thought I'd talk about my experiences from a perspective of not caring, in the hopes you'll share more about yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

• Birthdays through age 9, would be visits to Disneyland.  One particular year, my parents arranged for several characters to surprise visit us while we were eating breakfast.  Back then, it was held within a restaurant near the square (off to the right and through golden doors, if you know the park.)  Now, I believe it's used for daily, large group birthday celebrations.  But at this time, it was very limited with special pancakes, which were always my favourite.  The waiters sang while the characters clapped and in the end, they gave me a special rubberized birthday Mickey.  I don't have it anymore.

• 10 or 11: I was heavily into New Kids on the Block.  There, I said it.  I asked for stickers and trading cards (when you could buy them at all kinds of stores) and bedsheets and their 12" doll incarnations.  I played with them a ton until I didn't.  And c'mon, we all choose silly things in our past when they mean the most, so I'm not embarrassed... just a little humbled.

• 13: I had my first sleepover party.  Because 13!!!  I know I had a good time but the biggest wow moment happened around midnight.  Me and 5 or 6 of my friends were up late talking about boys.  We were drinking tasty hot chocolate, sitting in my parents dining room which was next to the living room, where the back door led to the garage.  Mid-laugh was when we ALL heard a large number of boxes fall over in said garage.  There was no denying the sound because everyone has heard cardboard when it topples.  We stopped and looked at each other like WTF.  I knew my dog was out there so maybe, just maybe, she was chasing something.  I don't know how, but I mustered up the courage to declare I would investigate.  I also insisted everyone come with me in case it was a monster/baddie/demon, etc, that only the power of cackling girls could defeat.  We went outside and you'll never guess what we found.  nothing.  ABSOLUTELY, 100% ZIP, NADA, NOTHING!  The garage was exactly the same as it was during daylight.  No boxes had fallen over, no critters running about, the dog had sleepily opened her eyes, it was as if we all had the same momentary hearing hallucination... spooky shit huh.

• 14 or 15: my parents forgot my birthday until I came home from school.

• High school years... I don't remember because I was enjoying pleasing, mind-altering activities with my bestest friends.  Which is kinda like a party all the time, so there.

• 19 or 20: My boyfriend took me to Olive Garden.  Not because I enjoyed it and not even by his own decision.  He only took me because I asked him to.  Our relationship was downgrading significantly.  We weren't communicating well and he was spending more time with his friends, than me.  So I thought if we could do something coupley for my birthday, just spend an evening together, that would help us feel right again.  I half-hardheartedly chose Olive Garden only because in the Antelope Valley, that was kinda schmancy.  I didn't care where, I just wanted to spend time getting back to what I thought us, was.  Instead, he buried his face with some college homework. The only time we spoke, outside of ordering, was when I asked him to stop studying for a few minutes.  He declined because it was more important he pass his test the next day.  I cried into my fettuccine.  The only reason I didn't leave is because we drove together and I couldn't bring myself to leave him there.

• 20-22: I was drinking a lot and don't remember.  Although, I do know it wasn't nearly as fun as when I was altering in high school.  bummer.

• 23: My first birthday with Travis.  He gave me an "A Christmas Story" lunchbox, complete with thermos.  I still use it today because I dig me some lunchboxes.

• Dirty 30 Indeed. Watch out now.  Spent that Thursday working from home and taking care of Travis.  He had been released from the hospital a couple weeks prior, after going through major disc surgery for his low back.  My girlfriends' 30ths, were fun-filled weekend celebrations.  To which each were awesome and a half.  But I didn't care about that.  Travis' quality of life was way more important than getting debaterous and yelling "Dirty 30... woooooooo!" to strangers and waking up with a righteous hangover.

• 34: This is in a few months, so I can only speculate.  But I hope to FINALLY get my birthday cake that is shaped like another food.  I'm obsessed with this notion and refuse to give myself one for above reasons.  If there will be presents exchanged for my birthday, I want someone to offer because they want to, not because I've begged.  I've asked for this little slice of smile since I've known the birthday boy.  And to his credit, he did try one year from a bakery we heart.  However, because it's close to xmas, they couldn't do it.  Gee whiz, huh.  But Travis, ehem... I'd settle for one in November or January.  ;-)

An outsider looking in may say how sad some of these were.  But I don't.  I mean yes, some blow pretty hard, but these could have happened on any day of the year.  We just remember it more because we're conditioned to reminisce upon at minimum, one day that is kinda for ourselves.

Tell You Thursday: Don't Worry, It Smells Like Fajitas.

I've been taking birth control pills since I was 15.  I originally got them when my first real relationship went high school serious.  In fact, I told my mom over the phone I should look into it while she and my dad were away on vacation.  ...probably not the best choice because WHAT a conversation when they got home.  Even though the thought of taking daily hormones still freaks me out, and it's a pain in the ass with the having to remember, I wouldn't do anything else.  I've compared several available methods and for me, the dailyness was a minor inconvenience compared to the benefits.  So I deal.

The pill helps make a more sexually responsible adult out of you.  It just does.  I also know it's used to stabilize other medical conditions, so that's cool.  And I think it's an important, amazing assistant we have access to for strengthening women's health.  But the pill does come with more responsibility than simply making a mental note to spit-swallow it everyday.  There is a health accountability that actually increases preventative screenings.  The yearly girly test I call it.  The fine doctor you choose inspects all the lady things to make sure they are in tip-top working order.  Your inside cells and your outside boobs. Both, muy importante.

Whether you're taking the pill or not, ladies please get annual pap smears.  It's a really important, easy thing you can do that helps keep one type of cancer off your list.  Although fuck I hate that name.  It sounds like some rejected cream cheese you'd find at the back of a bagel shop.  hrmph, medical community, get on that.  The process goes, while you're in the carnival stirrups, they gather cells from your cervix to test for abnormalities that could highlight pre-cancerous changes.  These changes are caused by the over 150 types of HPV virus' that are present in oodles of women.  While most varieties are harmless and will be fought off by your own cell army, about 12 are creepy lurkers.  They gradually corrupt the good cells by turning them nasty.  When untreated, will lead to cervical cancer.  But the great news - it's a slow grower, so wiping them out when first diagnosed is totally doable.  As long as you visit your doc MD.  See!  easy peasy.

If you're on the pill, you must have this test once a year in order to get your prescription.  If you're not, I think you get it once every few years.  Which I guess you and your doctor would figure out the best schedule for your body.  But personally, I don't understand why the US doesn't offer more preventative screenings for younger people.  The paps, the mamms, the colons etc... We would be such a healthier bunch of birds.  But I digress; This post isn't about the politics - just know I think the policy blows.

The first 7 years were all smiley face letters, until the 8th where I got a phone call instead.  I was about 23 and that phone call was the start of my long history with the abnormality ghost.  I call it a ghost because it's not visible to the naked eye, but can be just as scary.  The doctor said the test showed irregular results, but I needn't worry because many factors can affect them.  See the HPV link, as well as stress or even having sex close to test day.  She also said given my young age and no known family history of cervical cancer, it wasn't of concern yet.  But she wanted to monitor the changes so I needed to go every 6 months.  This back and forth returned normal, abnormal, kinda more abnormal, normal, normal, back to abnormal, etc for many years.  In the beginning  I was worried but that eventually led to apathy.  Just another test that was inconclusive, so who cares right?  My body is just going through some things, so give it space okay?  And like she'd let me know if I should see a specialist...  Three years ago is when that conversation happened.

That 8th test came back as being positive for "High-grade squamous intraepithelial lesions (HSILs.)"  SEXY!  There is a scale within that too, from moderate to severe to like honey, let's get you prepped for surgery.  Mine was a mix of CIN 1 mild dysplasia (dysplasia is the changing of your cells) with like high grade something else, which meant the cells were considering cancer in a couple years, but hadn't booked any tickets yet.  Doc referred me to a highly regarded OBGYN, who I guess is awesome at both babies and girly parts.

I went in and discussed the previous diagnosis.  She suggested being re-tested by her to confirm those findings.  Sure, why not.  This isn't kids stuff so I better fucking know what I'm dealing with instead of speculating.  There was poking and prodding and spurts of intense uncomfortableness, looking and scraping and writing.  A few weeks later, Travis and I were called to her office, which by doctors standards is never "I just wanted to see your pretty face."  She confirmed the re-test came back positive yet again.

In order to know how "severe" your dysplasia is, and whether or not you have pre-cancer or actual cancer, you need a biopsy.  Doc discussed several options but based on my diagnosis, recommended the most common procedure, the LEEP.

Here's the definition from Planned Parenthood:

 

I know you're excited, huh. I mean who isn't lining up for a thin electrical wire to carve away your insides...while you're awake... gulp.  Doc felt confident it would successfully get the baddies and assured me it wouldn't hurt, as there are no real nerves in the lady cave.  If there aren't nerves, then why do certain things feel so good?

The day arrived and I was uber anxious.  Travis had been working really hard on a job but would totally be there to hold my hand.  We go in, do the song and dance with reviewing the procedure and wrangling the gown.  If I could have puked I would have.  Not because I was worried about the outcome, it was the pain I read about online which completely contradicted the doctor.  Refrain ye from yer NO's... I take the internet plethora of nonsense with a grain of salt {raspberry.}  The doc is saying one thing, the internet says another, and yer brain is screaming "HEY! Your fleshy tissue will be burned with electricity without anesthesia!!!" You kinda can't think of anything else.

So I'm there, watching these old fangledy looking machines hum to life while the ladies put things on steel tables.  I think this office is unique.  Everything feels like it's been touched by the vintage charm-meister, but with a modern efficiency.  I not surprisingly dig it.  The doc and nurse's face were so just another day.  For them it is. For me, holy hell what the shit.  I was squeezing Travis' hand and keeping it together when the nurse lobbed a zinger across the room.  She turned to me with a smile and said, "I promise, it won't hurt... It'll smell like fajitas." time stop.  What?!  Fucking fajitas?  My burning insides you're comparing to a popular sizzling meat dish?  This is how you choose to put me at ease?  I turned to Travis looking for a mental acknowledgment of weirdness, which we shared.  I turned back to the nurse and told her I was a vegetarian...

Turns out they were right about one thing.  It felt uncomfortable, a little warm, but never hurt.  ever.  It did not, however, thankfully smell like fajitas.  EVER.  I hope she only used that analogy with me.  It was a crampy, but uneventul 20 minutes of zzzzz zzzz zzzzapping.  Then it was over.  I felt strangely disappointed for all the things I thought would happen, because all that worrying then was for nothing.  sick, huh.  I slowly sat up and readjusted my awareness.  There was the post-op congratulations for being a good patient (I was frozen as to not want anything extra licked off,) list of after care instructions and whether I had any questions.  Those subsequent minutes were a blur.  I'm sure I asked when the results would be available and maybe Travis had some... but for now it was rest and wait.

I didn't tell anyone about it, including my parents.  No one needed to unnecessarily worry or have me try and briefly explain what had been happening.  In actuality, it was more the latter.  It's a lot to dump on someone.  So I took my few days off work, watched TV, had a single girlfriend come over and waited.

The follow ups went smoothly and the results came back as expected.  Nasty cells were indeed nasty but only pre-cancerous, and they had been eliminated.  Not sure if that's the only area of your body where doctors know when something will turn to cancer.  But oh happy day I'm thankful they can!  For the period of time before knowing the results, I wasn't over analyzing or focused on the worst outcome - I was proud of that.  However, given it was years before being diagnosed, it's hard not to think about that slim chance.  But it wasn't, and I don't, and all tests have been perfect thus far.

Today I had my 3rd anniversary pap test since the procedure.  The appointment was routine, in/out and over with.  In 10 days I'll either be filing another smiley face letter or breaking out the skillet...

KEEP UP WITH YOUR HEALTH!