Root Canals are a Hard Limit

Alternate Title: How my Dentist taught me about Sex or How I nearly safeworded on my Dentist


Got your attention did I?  It's not what you think, you dirty minded fools.  Today, I was scheduled to have my temporary crown replaced with the permanent crown, which was supposed to make my mouth feel all better, and allow me to resume a normal diet. (I haven't eaten real food in a month.)  Instead, I was subjected to more pain, and the temporary has been left in place while I wait to see if the bruised ligament will heal or if I need to see the Endodontist.

So anyway, back to the title of this post. I'm sure you've at least heard of the book series Fifty Shades of Grey , in which new college graduate, Anastasia Steele, is seduced into a BDSM lifestyle by super-hot megabillionaire Christian Grey.  Christian is young, rich, philanthropic, and devastatingly handsome.  And yet, he wants to punish poor, innocent Ana.  Despite the pain and fear, she manages to fall in love with him, and they live out a tortuous and seriously screwed up relationship. Enter: my dentist.

My dentist runs a primarily cosmetic practice in SoCal. The parking lot is filled with BMWs, Lexus, Range Rovers and Mercedes.  Needless to say, the man is probably making some serious cash. And, he's pretty easy on the eyes.  Dr. Grey would appear to be the total package: rich, handsome, kind, gainfully employed...and yet, I still hate him. I'm certain that most of his female patients probably have a minor (or major) crush on Dr. Grey, but not this girl. Not for all the money in the world.

I cannot stand going to the dentist. I avoid it at pretty much any cost. I know he doesn't mean to cause me pain, but just the thought of the drill or novacaine, and I get ill.  To add insult to injury, take one look at the bill I'll get. So in some way, yes, I suppose he is deriving pleasure from my pain (or at the very least, I'm making this month's payment on his sportscar).  Anyway, I about came unglued when he started drilling on my crown to reshape it. Despite his promises to be gentle, I felt abused.  Needless to say, I was not thrilled while making my next appointment for two weeks from now while simultaneously getting a referral to the endodontist. The prognosis: either the bruising will heal on its own in the next several days, or I will need even more extensive work on that tooth, including a root canal.

This morning, on the drive home, feeling violated, I was thinking about poor little Ana Steele. I know she's a fictional character, but how does she do it? I just can't imagine. There is no way I could combine sex and pain. No way, uh uh.  Don't get me wrong, I rather enjoyed the books in the series. But I guess that is what fiction is for...to allow us to escape the reality of life a few moments at a time. Maybe if my dentist bought me an Audi, I wouldn't complain as much., but I'm guessing our screwed up "relationship" won't get that far. ;-)

Unhealthy Body Image?

I've always had self-esteem issues. Well, maybe not so much general self-esteem...I'm pretty confident when it comes to my brains and talent. But where I do suffer is in my body image. And some of my friends may have noticed my obsession with the gym these past few months. I love going to the gym and watching the changes, but I openly admit that I'm nowhere near I want to be. Not by a long shot. But I will get there.

My husband, much as I love him, has suggested that I have severe body image issues. He thinks it's not healthy for me to be so involved with the way my body looks. I disagree. I am not unhealthy. I get more physical exercise than the average American. I love food, and I love to digest food, so no issues with anorexia or bulimia here.  When I look to images and media for inspiration, its at images of thin, muscular, fit, women, with an admirable athletic physique. So why is this unhealthy? I do appreciate his concern, but I feel in my core that I am striving to be the best I can, and for good reason.

I feel that I am realistic about the way I want to look. It is not my goal to be 100 lbs, and a size 00.  In fact, if I don't lose another pound, I would still be content. (Currently, I stand at 126.4 lbs., 5'4" and size 2 or 4, depending...) I just want to be a fit, well-oiled machine. Let's face it: none of us is getting any younger, or healthier, unless we work at it. If you don't do something for yourself, you will never be any better than you are at this exact moment. Do I expect that I will ever look like an Olympian? Of course not. But I do expect that I will continue to grow stronger, lose more body fat, and increase my endurance. Yes, I'd like to be able to run a 5k, then a half marathon, and then who knows.

So why is this unhealthy? On the contrary, maybe more people should be concerned with their body and health, but in the same way I am. As we look around, Americans are certainly getting more obese each year, and our habits are getting unhealthier as well. Instead of being obsessed with achieving the body of a Victorias Secret model or a physique like that of a professional athlete, I suggest we all just increase our awareness of what our bodies are capable of, and achieve that. Not everyone will be able to reach the same levels of fitness and health, but we can achieve our personal best. For a person to have this mindset, I would say that is a damn healthy state of mind.

I also hope that I am setting an example for Moose. She's been blessed by inheritance of her father's "long and lean" genes, but I still want her to place importance on her physical health.  I want her to see that I want to keep improving myself, and eventually reach a point where I am maintaining my good health and strength. I think that is one of the best things I can do for her. I believe it is much more important than placing emphasis on her "beauty" or hair, or style, or those other superficial ways we find to impress personal wealth upon our little girls. Intelligent and healthy is all I ask for my girl.

I guess in parting, I will just ask everyone to consider, what can you achieve? What is your personal best? And what are you going to do to get there?

Flying Solo

Well, the Moose has been staying at Grandma's house since the beginning of the month, so I've been going solo around here.  Time has flown by.  It really doesn't feel like it's already been over three weeks.  I know a lot of moms say they couldn't let their 4 year old go away for such a long time. Hell, I know moms that can't go away for a weekend without having some sort of breakdown.  To those moms, I say this: Give it a try.  It's wonderful being able to focus on yourself for a while, and you know what? Your kid is enjoying the independence from you as well.

So what have I been doing? Basically the same thing as when the Moose is home. Work. Gym. Laundry (though less of it).  I've been able to attend more meetings for the groups I am involved with, so that is different, but really that is it. Oh, and I watch more grown up TV.  I'm sure you're probably asking why it is so wonderful then.  Well, I can shower without worrying about an audience or what kind of mess I will find when I am done.  I don't have to fight with anyone about what is for dinner.  I can go and hibernate at the gym as long as I like, or go to the pool and simply sleep in the sun.  The messes around the house are fewer and further in between. And I've only had to do dishes twice ALL MONTH LONG.  (And only because I ran out of coffee cups.)

Sure, I miss her.  But it's just so nice to have a mommycation.  So before anyone passes judgment, try it. Go away for a week, or two, or six.  It doesn't make you a bad parent, it makes you a stronger one. And it is good for the little ones, too. (I make no claims as to whether or not it is good for grandma...I'm pretty certain she is a little lighter in the bank account and sleep department after spending half the summer with my Moose.)  We've actually been doing this for a few years now, and I think it's wonderful. As a kid, I spent many a summer with my granny and g'pa.  I still have such fond memories of those times.


Now, I get to start planning all the things we will be doing when she gets home.  That is just as much fun as relaxing has been.  Gives us both something to look forward to. :)

At first I was afraid

I know, I've been seriously slacking on blogging for the last few months.  What happened? Life happened.  I had surgery again, on my own.  Moose has been busy, and thankfully is currently spending some time at grandma's house so I can have a break. Work has been picking up and well....life happened. The hubby is still playing in the sandbox. Somehow, the house is still standing (and clean). With the exception of my kidneys, there has been no major malfunction of appliances.  I'm still busy being a badass at the gym.  Same old. Not much new to report. But now you're in for a long, rambling bout of verbal diarrhea....

Last weekend, I met some amazing people and made some new friends.  I was at the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, and one of only a handful of Survivors in our purple t-shirts. I was the youngest Survivor there, by at least 30 years, when suddenly 7 other "young" people my age arrived and joined us, all in their purple shirts.  They invited me to join their group, because I'm sure it was pretty obvious that I was feeling pretty isolated and trying to find my niche.  That's pretty much what it's been like the last 2 1/2 years since that first doctor's appointment. Feeling like I didn't have a group to belong to, no one to relate. I ended up joining those young Survivors and some others that night for dinner and beers, and I'm looking forward to getting to know them better!

So as great as that experience has been, that wasn't actually my point of this post. What the experience brought up for me is the title: "Survivor".  Sure, it is a word I've used to describe myself plenty of times: cancer survivor, deployment survivor, suicide loss survivor. Always, the word "survivor" was tied to that qualifying noun. I couldn't just be a survivor without the rest of the description.  In college, I must have belted out Gloria Gaynor's hit a million times with my sorority sisters. But I've never thought of all that it means; never used the title Survivor (yes, with a capital S).  I've never contemplated how that one word shapes my life, my world, my place in it, and how I view it.

It's no secret: I'm a tough bitch.  I've always been strong and hide any kind of weakness. I've been through so much, if I showed all my cracks, I'd look like an ancient Ming vase that has been tossed from the Great Wall.  But... Did you think I'd crumble? Did you think I'd lay down and die? Nope. Just not in my nature.  No, not I! But damnit if there aren't days when I want to.  But that's just not what I do.  


However, something about the title of Survivor has made me stop and think. In many ways, I kind of feel unworthy of the title. I mean...I just did what I had to do with decisions/events that were beyond my control. Does that deserve special recognition? Very few people I know would just roll over and give up when faced with the challenges I've had.  On the flipside of the coin, YES, I do deserve the title and the pride that goes with it.  I faced down situations that not many people, especially at my age, have to endure. And to have been through what I've seen at this age - I've had three lifetimes of heartache.  More than enough for anyone.  So yes, I have earned the title, the pride, the recognition.  I wouldn't wish these battles on anyone.  It's not a title I wanted, but damnit, it's mine now and I'm going to embrace it. 


Back to last weekend...do you have any idea how refreshing it is to be able to talk about your diagnosis? To be in a group of people who understand, who aren't afraid to ask, and who don't clam up when you say "cervical cancer"?  (Yes, it's a totally taboo subject still, which drives me crazy. And damnit, I just realized the clam pun, but I find it kind of funny and I'm leaving it. I'm a little depraved.) To have an open, honest conversation with someone who understands....I've never had that before. To be able to openly discuss how it felt, how lost it can make you feel, the guilt, the fear, the relief....HONEST discussion without judgment.  In fact, one of the guys I met even asked me bluntly, "HPV?" And there was no shame or fear of talking about it.  (Although I still don't feel like a qualified source to speak on HPV and it's correlation to cervical cancer.  My diagnosis was a rare, aggressive, non-HPV strain.) And that is how we're going to win the war on cancer: by talking about it.  


In some ways, I feel unworthy of my new friends. I've been very lucky.  At the time of my diagnosis, I was married and had the support of my hubby. I already had the Moose.  The loss of my reproductive system was not something I mourned, I already felt complete.  I didn't have to undergo months of chemo.  I have no port scars. Essentially, my treatment was complete in one radical surgery.  We all know that wasn't the end of it...it still isn't. There is still the fear at annual checkups. Anytime I have a sore boob, I freak out.  (Which is often, thanks to overdoing it at the gym a lot.) Just because I've fought and won once, I'm not immune to it in the future.  That still scares me. When I think about all that this group of young people has been through, I am simultaneously in awe of them and grateful I've found them. 


So, in honor of my new friends, I leave you all with this:

It took all the strength I had not to fall apartKept trying hard to mend the pieces of my broken heartAnd I spent, oh, so many nights just feeling sorry for myselfI used to cry but now I hold my head up high