A Delay Is Not A Denial & Other BS That Keeps Me Alive

Last weekend I was curled up in a ball in my bed all but drooling and sucking my thumb.  It seemed, my husband informed me, that California, and our move was off the table.  I felt blindsided.  I actually don't remember a big chunk of part of days following.  How could this be? Everything was in place, the house was sold, we were a week from closing- I thought.  I know I sold a bunch of stuff and packed more.  I blogged about it!  If it's in writing it must be happening.

This does not look as impressive as it felt.  Trust.

This mind you, was precipitated by a week of bodily terror.  Tuesday, I sliced my left pointer finger in a handheld Cuisinart (pink for breast cancer awareness), resulting in eight stitches. Followed by two days of 102 degree fever and chills then waking up two days after that with shingles.  Three days after that was my appointment at Winthrop Nuclear Medicine for a full-body Indium scan to figure out why I've been having daily low-grade fevers and night sweats for the past eight months.  Sexy time.

That was just my stuff.  Add three kids and a husband and families and packing and press pulse, oh wait.  Don't.  Your finger may still be in the mix.  I have nary an occasion to feel on top of my game but these last couple of weeks sure have been low scoring.

Yep.  I thought we were 5-0.  We are 0-5.  Not sure how I scored that but run with me;)

I am not at liberty to say what went wrong because I believe it's in the hands of lawyers but from what I understand it was neither of our faults-"ours" being the buyers or the sellers.   So, I can't point the finger but I can still give it -to the whole situation.  The woman who was buying our house, who I incidentally fell in love with, who incidentally was also so sure of the move she had her kids at our bus stop since the first day of school, won't look at me.  As if I had anything to do with it.  But, okay.  I can barely look at my husband.  As if he had anything to do with it.  But, okay.  Both our families have kids who were collectively adjusting to the idea of a new state, new schools, leaving their friends and cousins- they don't seem to know where to look.  Not, okay.

I need to be reminded of all the cliches and believe they are true.  "Replace fear with faith."  "A delay is not a denial".  "It's in God's hands".  "Do the next right thing, the rest will take care of itself." "Kids are resilient." "No one died." "I can't point my finger, but I can still give it." :)

It's about two weeks since I stuck my finger into the cuisinart to dislodge cookie dough that was stuck around the blade and pressed pulse at top speed.  I may not forget seeing my blood splattering machine gun style around all of my white cabinets and walls or how scared I was- in shock realizing what I was doing.   Amazingly, you don't really feel yourself being sliced at that speed, you SEE it, and then stop it.  I may not forget my kids faces as they witnessed my own skin drain of color and me having to drop to the floor so as not to faint (I'm a bloodophobe.)  But I know I will never forget that in this short amount of time the stitches are out, the finger is not fixed but mostly healed, I didn't cut bone and that it was not nearly as bad as it originally appeared.

Bringing sexy back.

I decided I wasn't going to go to the dermatologist for the shingles- it's a virus.  I'm a Google M.D.  I know everything.  I was so sick of doctors without answers plus, what could they do for a virus? Give me pain pills?  Nah.  However, it started on my wrist and had now wrapped around my torso.  It was getting worse.  Pain meds would be great! The dermatologist treated my shingles with Valtrex, an anti-viral medication.  She said no to pain pills;(!?  That very night I did not have night sweats or a fever for the first time in over eight months.  I'm not talking getting a little damp behind the neck, shake your blankies off, night sweats...I'm

talking DRENCHED, hair wet, change clothes, put down a towel, can't change sheets because kids are in the bed with you and it's twice a night anyway night sweats.  A night without that was great.

One catch, I had my Indium scan that morning.  I thought "Oh, soup! They're not going to be able to see what's wrong with me, of course the first time ever is the night before I'm lit up." *An Indium scan is where they take out your white blood cells and attach nuclear particles to them and put it back in to see where they go to fight infection- the nuclear particles light up under the scan.  I'm actually radioactive.  They gave me a card saying I was to be excused in case I was stopped near tunnels or the city.  Wild.  Anyway, I get the first part done and then the next night, no sweats again.  Shingles still itch like a monster, but...hey, not waking up twice a night like I got doused while in the middle of a dream- fair trade.  So, I look up Valtrex.  It also treats, Epstein Barr Virus (EBV).

Out of all of the major doctors I saw to rule out all of the horrible things that these symptoms could be-eccessive weight loss, night sweats, fatigue, swollen lymph nodes, (are you thinking what I was thinking? Cause I was thinking stage IV Non-Hodgkins)....only one nurse practitioner, Kathy Heatherington found evidence that I recently had EBV.  That was late June.  The trouble was none of my symptoms (except the weight loss) went away.  And all of the doctors said EBV was not the answer.  Well, she never treated me with Valtrex- thinking it was convalescing and either did they- thinking it was b.s.  I have not had a fever or a soggy sleep since.  So, that was a good answer.  A long painful way round.  But an answer with an easily treatable solution.  Herpes!! Shingles and EBV are both herpes!! I never knew I had herpes.  I guess it's not the STD kind.  Still, what a punchline.  Unsurprisingly, the Indium scan came up negative.  YAY!

With Henry at Park day after starting Valtrex

I don't know.  I haven't unpacked but we do get to go to an old friends wedding now that we'll be here- that's a silver lining.  I am still bitterly heartbroken and praying things will work out the way I want, not the way they should.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that I do have these little proofs that it somehow always does.  Botched dreams never feel good while being botched.  Technically I shouldn't even be in this house, I'm supposed to be polishing a Pulitzer next to my Oscar while standing on my star on the Walk of Fame.   OR technically, I shouldn't even have a house or a husband and kids to worry about because it's a miracle I found someone crazy enough to marry me.  Point is, I want what I want when I want it.  I work to make my wants happen.  I don't buy into the world of leaving life up to fate and signs and unicorns.  I like the idea of making my own luck.  But it never works out my way.  But it always works out.  After some time,  it's never as bad as it looks.

Our Miley impersonation

What is a safe risk?

Song: The Gambler- Kenny Rogers

* As you can tell by my Woman of The Month pieces- no one should waste their time wondering who the man in this story is-I meet people everywhere and have deep/peculiar conversations with most. :) Onward. *


After I told this man that my family and I were moving to California, he told me a story of his own.   He had saved up $500,000-had it in the bank. He had paid off the mortgage on his home and he and his wife, both 50 at the time, who were always thinking themselves of moving from New York to California, were about to do just that.  They set a date to move for a year later, when in the eleventh hour his wife was diagnosed with cancer.  The medical bills depleted their savings to a zero balance (that trusty bank account, that wonderful health insurance)- they had to refinance the house and then-cherry on top- he lost his job!  It was now five years later and he had a new job, is working his way toward a mortgage and best of all his wife is cancer free.

"So, you see? You really need to save before a move like that," he said. "We were all set and still."

His message was you can never be too careful.

I had a much different take away from his story.  What I heard was "No matter how much you save or how much you plan, God (or the universe or whatever new-age thing you believe in)  has other plans, so go forth- carpe diem!  I had not told this man what we had saved or lined up, I feel very comfortable with those things...but I can tell you it's not half a mill in the savings and owning the homestead outright.  Seems at this rate- I'd live my whole life for that to happen and then poof! Work another lifetime to get it back again?  No, thanks.  It's not that I didn't feel for him, but the logic seems so off to me.  But I am finding that my logic is off to most every relative I tell our plan too. "You're doing what? You're going where?"

I have never been a risk averse person, not really.  I have never been reckless either.  Maybe for a night or two (;) but never in life choices.  I pursued acting, but with a Masters Degree behind me so that I could teach one day... if I didn't say...win an oscar.  Turns out I didn't win an Oscar and the degree on the whole is pretty useless.   But I knew what I wanted and at the time these were my choices:

1.) Being a waitress and foraging alone with a random combination of classes at HB Studios or the like. 2.) Going to a three year intensive program where I fostered relationships and earned my MFA.
3.) Choosing to stay in a 9-5 job I knew I wasn't content with at 22 felt like a death sentance.

I knew I wasn't going with 3.).  22 was just too young to settle down.  At least it was for me.  I'm sure there are plenty who are still pushing pretty much the same papers they did at 22 at 52 and it's worked out beautifully, that wasn't my path.

I went with option 2.).   That felt like the better choice for a while.  While earning (buying:) my masters at The Actors Studio Drama School,  a teacher turned me on to Williamstown Theater Festival- that was the best summer of my life.  I'd say before I had my son to appease the responsible and moral but really Wiliamstown was the best.  Sorry First born, I know it must sound cruel but hauling 80lbs of sunscreen, stroller and pack 'n play to the beach didn't trump hanging under the Main Stage talking to Ethan Hawke about Reality Bites.  And really that was only a small part -it was months of everything theater.  I got to talk to the art department about costumes.  I wrote and had a staged reading of my first play.  I'd walk to lunch and wave to Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward while they sat on a wall eating sandwiches. Williamstown was like a dream. Did I need three years of training for what I learned in one summer at Williamstown?  Williamstown wasn't associated with The Actor's Studio Drama School and while I heard of it from my teacher there, I prolly would have found it eventually. Cost-wise that was a summer internship the equivalent of one interest payment on that "responsible" three year loan.  So, what was the safer choice? Maybe the calculated risk was actually a bigger fail- although it may look better on the outside.  I have a degree and I get to say I was in class with Bradley Cooper, (someone who was nominated for an Oscar).   Net gain? Massive student loans,  being a douche name-dropper a few times a year and memories of people I see only on Facebook.  Other than that...not sure.  Having had Williamstown, I can obviously still be a douche name-dropper without The Actors Studio, and I do so enjoy that! Ah snap,  I can be a douche even without the name dropping. Well, I will say, on a positive note- of the three choices presented then - one never comes up.  I never say, "I should have stuck with that 9-5 job.  Ever.  My feeling now is, if you're not ready to jump without a net,  don't jump.  I don't play in traffic but I live on a busy street.  You feel me?

And that brings me around to your major life choices.  When do you stop taking major risks?  I guess when you have school aged kids?  But I have friends who don't have kids and are risk averse because of their jobs?  So do you stop taking risks when you're employed for 3 years? When you have a safe job with the government? Oh wait, but they shut down.  Foiled again! Okay, maybe it's age. When you're 32? 35? 45? 28? What is it?  What does it mean to you? What should it mean to me?  I'm not looking to mess up my life, but I don't think I'm ready to live always wondering either.