Numbers Ten and Eleven - 40 @ 40

New Journeys
One of the most humbling things has happened this summer to me - getting hit upside the head by the proverbial hand regarding my Earthly calling.  I have been a struggling writer for many years now. Desperately applying for writing gigs, pretending each rejection is a step forward in the journey.  All the while having a friend beg for my help with his business, and another friend struggling with her non-profit.  Two perfect fits for me. Yet my ego continued to struggle through the thick bracken with a butter knife. So maybe rather than tying to push through a path not intended, I need to embrace the ones clearly laid for me.

iSACRA Board Member
I have very few lifelong friends.  In fact, besides my very best friend, Dana, who has been on my life journey for almost 40 years, I only have one other that has been at my side half as long.  Jahna and I met in freshman year in high school. She was sunshine in a mostly mundane day. For high school wasn't nearly as bad as elementary school had been for me, but school was never the best place for me in general. It was mostly a necessary evil. Anyway, I spent the entire time of high school knowing Jahna used a wheelchair, but I never defined her as the "wheelchair" girl. I even had the pleasure and honor of helping her get her diploma, due to the grass in which she had to wheel across. She and I continued years of friendship, through her many journeys and my own. However, a couple years ago Jahna and a group of other dedicated individuals set up a non-profit called iSACRA. It is an organization that focuses on providing information and support for those with Sacral Agenesis and/or Caudal Regression Syndrome. Jahna happens to have both. They were in need of a board member, and even though she never said I was the perfect person for the board, I knew I was.  One night I said, I want to do this.  I think she was shocked, but in all honesty it is a GREAT fit for me and my skills and gifts. If you are curious exactly what the non-profit is all about take a look - iSACRA

Dearborn School of Music
Two years ago, on the way back from Target, Evie begged me to stop at Dearborn School of Music so she could get violin lessons. We entered, with both girls barefoot...or maybe it was just Zoe. But I signed Evie up and had a great conversation with Dave, the owner. I was so excited to finally be inside the studio that all my students were talking about (well their parents). Parents were asking if I was upset regarding the new studio in town, but I never considered it a competition. I had teaching burnout, and I began sending all new students to Dearborn School of Music. I talked them up, and even invited families to come see the concerts. The studio has needed a piano teacher for a very long time, and finally Dave wore me down. And I'm super excited to start this journey after Labor Day. If you would like to check them out, goto: Dearborn School of Music (new website launches September 1st).

Realizing the Reality
I cannot pretend that I didn't write successful curricula, nor can I stop blogging, writing short stories and writing music. So it's not that I'm going to STOP writing, but just feed what is begging to grow. I shall focus on the areas that need me and my heart, and share that journey with you, my readers. Cheers!

Number Nine - 40 @ 40

Dealing with Death
Little did I know when I wrote my last blog post that I would be at a dear friend's wake on Friday. However, that is exactly what happened.  And even though this blog series is intended to be positive firsts, I believe I was able to find just that.

Shelly and I met through my piano lessons flier she found at Ford Credit.  At the time, she was not my only adult student.  However, she was my last lesson on Saturday afternoons and many times she would stay and visit afterwards.  Soon after taking lessons, she met Doug, and was immediately smitten. Jim and I had such fun going to see Doug's band and my relationship with Shelly became more of a friendship than a teacher/student one.

One of the highlights of our friendship was when Shelly asked if I would sing/play at her wedding. The morning of her wedding I found out we were expecting our second daughter, Eva. I was so sick at the wedding, but I know the music I performed was loved and appreciated. I couldn't drink at the reception, and we had to leave early because Zoe was not enjoying being put to bed by her grandparents. However, the love Shelly and Doug had for each other was reflected to beautifully on that day.

More recently Shelly and I hung out with my girls.  We most always went to Olga's for lunch and then came back to our home to watch crazy Sesame Street videos on YouTube. We had a blast listening to the different skits from our childhood, and our favorite by far was the Pinball Song.

Saying goodbye was very difficult, but it did lead to a first - recording a YouTube video of myself. I have uploaded videos of my girls playing instruments, or other family things. However, I never felt comfortable to record one of myself. I follow quite a few YouTubers who seem to be so confident when recording their videos. And I have no problem performing in public, what was so scary about YouTube? Most likely it was because I put myself out there for criticism. I hate people who are so rude and overtly unkind online. But I did it. Here are the finished results:

Number Eight - 40 @ 40

Accepting My Self

When I was diagnosed with general anxiety disorder almost 8 years ago, I had already struggled for many years with panic attacks and depression.  However, when Zoe began suffering from asthma, I started getting anxious when I was doing normal every day activities, especially if I was trying to relax. I tried to put logic to my emotional state, but logic was not going to help me in this situation. I even put off getting medicine and help, because I saw it as a weakness, one that I needed to fix myself. I am self reliant.  I was raised to do things on my own, and to not ask for help.  So admitting I could not do this alone was a huge step for me.  However, I was embarrassed that I needed medicine to keep myself afloat.  I mean, what did I expect would happen with both sides of my family having either anxieties, depression or both?

It was really remarkable how much my behavior changed, for the positive, after only a few days.  I felt like a person, rather than a shell of one with outbursts and chest pains.  I couldn't believe how long I put off feeling better, and I did feel better.  Of course after a month my meds were increased, and I once again felt like a failure.  Albeit, not as much of a failure as the initial diagnosis.

However, I have recently fallen into another bout of depression these last few weeks.  I thought it was illogical, but after deep thought this weekend I can pretty much state that the depression became obvious since a neighbor passed away suddenly.  She was the mother of a little girl my two Ladybugs played with almost on a daily basis.  And I was shocked, saddened and confused.  We were not close. I spoke to her on the phone often, checking in on her daughter and asking if I could watch her longer. I didn't go to the funeral, because I physically could not convince myself to go.  It was a crazy feeling.  A feeling of being paralyzed by fear.

My brain never truly stops thinking.  I over analyze EVERYTHING, to a fault.  Logically I can state that I just had a physical, including my first mammogram, and I'm healthy - physically.  I still need blood pressure meds, but that is genetic anyway, so I guess that's going to have to stay. I'm down 40 pounds since Christmas, and I am exercising almost everyday and eating healthier than I have in a long time. But shit happens, and that is where I cannot control my thoughts and feelings.

Unless one reads my blog posts, I have a good feeling they would not know of my illnesses. There...I wrote it.  I HAVE MENTAL ILLNESSES.  People probably would have no clue. I don't have anything that physically looks abnormal. Yes, I have gained weight from the depression during Ray's illness and passing, but I'm not grossly obese or morbidly disfigured (i.e. third breast, extra leg, etc.). I have always put on a good front. Played a part - the part I'm supposed to be. Because I quickly learned in elementary school that my authentic self was not good enough. I was not good enough for people to be my friend. So I became really good at pretending. So good, in fact, I believed it for a long LONG time.

I was born a giver, and one who could feel and relieve someone of their pain and hurt. I find great joy, but also great exhaustion from this gift.  I can successfully let conversation occur without revealing my pain and hurt and emotions.  I find myself living in a protective shell, and helping others with their problems as not to deal with my own.  I have known my friend, Jahna, for 24 years now. She admits to just recently realizing I suffer from these illnesses.  Can you believe it!?  24 freaking years I have been able to love her, and give to her, and be there for her.

But this year I'm done - this year I am 40 and I'm not going to feel sorry if I can't bring myself to attend family events, or have to cancel plans because I cannot bring myself to leave the house. I may not ever be able to eliminate my body from the meds I take for depression and anxiety, but that okay. This is me - take it or leave it.

My name is Michelle, and I have depression and anxiety.

Number Seven - 40 @ 40

Getting The Boobies Smooshed
I originally did not think I would post about my first mammogram, but because my experience was so positive I feel it essential for others to read this.

Was it pain free?  Well, no - obviously not.  They are smashing your breasts between two hard, flat surfaces.  And the underarm fat/boob stuff is also part of the body that is smashed.  However, 30 seconds of pressure (twice on each side) is nothing compared to dying.  I realize that is a dramatic statement, but it is true.  It's kind of like being told if you get a shot you could avoid a disease that would hurt you and potentially kill you.  You would get the shot, even if you were deathly afraid of shots.

Now I realize that getting a mammogram isn't preventing cancer, it is simply finding if you have questionable breast cell tissue.  But once a year for a few moments of pain is much better than the unknown and even better than finding out you could have prevented years of pain.  Honestly, my fear of the unknown was quickly subsided once I got in the room.

I went to a really lovely office: Oakwood Breast Care Center.  If you live in the Dearborn area, I highly suggest having your mammogram done there.  I have had ultrasounds at the building and I had knee surgery here as well.  I also used to see a doctor for peeing myself at the same building.  It is a very lovely office space and the staff are all very kind.  Besides taking off your shirt and putting on a kimono-like wrap shit, the most amusing part is the little stickers that get put on your nipples.  They are put there for the radiologist to tell the location of the middle of your breast.  WARNING: unless you have been desensitized by years of breast feeding, the stickers pull your skin when coming off.  I assume it would hurt quite bad if I wasn't already carrying numb nipples.

I was gone for approximately an hour, which includes drive time, registration (I got a lovely hospital bracelet) and procedure itself.  I honestly did not encounter any problems, and would chose a mammogram over quite a few procedures, for instance: flu shot, having a tooth pulled, hemorrhoids, and having cramps. If you are over 40 and have never had a mammogram because you are afraid, or if your doctor has never sent you for one - BE PROACTIVE!

Number Six - 40 @ 40

Embracing My Myopic Condition

When I was 8 years old and in 3rd grade I got glasses.  It wasn't like I was the only kid with glasses, and most of my family wore glasses, but I still had no desire to wear them.  It was like giving the bullies yet another thing to use as material.  But I couldn't see the stupid blackboard, and honestly I couldn't pretend any longer.  I cared too much about my grades.

Wearing glasses when I was young was pretty much a death sentence.  Of course for those who never lived during the 70s and 80s, you would never know what I was talking about.  You have seen cool geeks and other trendsetters wear glasses.  But there are those of us who had to wear glasses that will never forget the shear ugliness.  In case you were not a child in the 70s or 80s, or if you have conveniently forgot, here are some pictures:

By 7th grade, and after a lot of persuasion and pleading, I got a pair of contacts.  Of course, they were some crazy gas permeable lenses that had to be cleaned once a week using a container that rotated them around and a little pill that would fizz and make the water appear Alka-Seltzer-like.  But it didn't matter how much effort was involved, for I refused to wear glasses EVER again in public.

Contacts became a part of my routine - and honestly I really had no problems with them.  Over the years I went from hard gas-permeable to soft to disposable.  The older I got the more expense contacts became, and being a mom made contacts a bit more annoying.  For instance, that mid-afternoon nap.  I would wake and my eyes were all cloudy and dry.  And what if I fell asleep with one of the girls, again the dry, cloudy eyes.  However, the last straw was when I couldn't see my food in front of me nor could I read while wearing contacts.  An eye doctor visit proved that I have a slight case of "old age" or in medical terms: presbyopia.  I would need bifocals, but I had the choice this year to not get them yet.

I chose to get glasses and contacts as usual.  I sincerely don't know why I got the contacts, because they were a lot of cash and the visit is always $50 more, which is NOT covered by insurance.  Quite stupid actually, but the reality of life.  I chalk it up to habit, and my vanity.  However, I took the plunge, and wore the glasses out in public.  I have been wearing glasses every day since.  I have also noticed that my old age vision is getting worse, not a ton, but enough.  I currently take my glasses off to read and many times to eat.

I could get surgery on each eye, I know that.  However, glasses don't have the stigma they once did.  I have students who wear glasses without prescription lenses even, and they do this for fashion reasons!  My Evie has a pair of Hello Kitty glasses that she wears for fun as well.  Glasses seem to be cool now, so why bother to wear contacts anymore?  Really there is no reason.

So at 40 I have accepted that glasses are a reality, and that is okay.  Maybe it is because I don't care, but maybe it is because I am more concerned about actually seeing and not how others see me.

Number Five - 40 @ 40

This is My Box

So there was this box filled with artwork and crafts from the first 7 years of my education.  My mom had saved memories and then stored them in the attic with a myriad of other "stuff".  The box sat in my dinning room/homeschool room for over a month.  Each day I would walk passed it more times than I can count, and each day I told myself I will get to it.  I really cannot express the anxiety I felt when I looked at it.  It was potentially filled with memories where I didn't want to emotionally travel. I am not suggesting that the box would have letters from bullies, and diary entries that described heartache.  However, I was convinced the box would require if not one, two, bottles of wine.

On Mother's Day I found myself curious as to the contents of my box.  Maybe there would be sweet drawings from a little girl to her Mommy.  So I pulled the box into our living room (bad mistake because some blue paint came off artwork and stained the carpet) and began to remove items one at a time.

To my surprise, I really enjoyed looking back at the artwork I had made.  The only things in the box I recognized were a couple reports I did in 6th grade - Francisco Coronado and Louis Leaky.  I worked very hard on both, and never forgot all the effort spent at the library getting information (which I was a wiz at because I aced the library card catalog unit) and making copies on the copy machine (which I learned how to use because I was the lunch helper in the school office).  I realized that in the midst of the hell experienced by my piers, I did learn valuable life skills I still use today (that is except the card catalog, which lets be honest, we didn't see the Internet coming, did we?).

Here are a few of the items I found in my box:

One of the more amusing elements of having the box in my dining room was that each time I passed it I sang "This is my box, This is my box..." from Amahl and the Night Visitors.  This little gem was introduced to me in 12th Grade Music Humanities (oh how I wish they never eliminated the program at my high school).  I remember it so well that the Ladybugs and I watched it on YouTube before Christmas.

(start at 2:37 if you want to hear just the box song)

Number Four - 40 @ 40

If you want to view all posts, goto: 40 @ 40

I do not like birds.  I don't mind looking at birds, or having one perch on my arm.  But dive bombing, like in Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, is so not my cup of tea.

Maybe it is just the whole flying and landing on me and pecking at me.  Not completely sure what exactly is the bottom line.  However, going into a room where birds are flying at me is not something I ever EVER wanted to do. 

Last summer at the Renaissance Festival, Evie wanted to go into a parakeet house with a stick of bird food.  Thankfully she didn't need to be in there with an adult, because I told her I would NOT be coming inside with her.  However, this past weekend the Ladybugs and I were at Kalahari.  For those who don't know what that is, Kalahari is a water/theme park.  One of the attractions was an outdoor Safari.  If getting up close and personal wasn't enough, we could pay to feed the animals.  One of the animal attractions was hundreds and hundreds of parakeets in a caged area.  They called this getting up close and personal with the parakeets.  However, unlike the parakeet attraction at the Renaissance Festival the adult HAD to accompany the child under 12.  Cue sweat glands and heart palpitations. My mother flat out refused.  So it was my opportunity to face this irrational fear of mine.

There were two doors between the main area and the caged parakeets.  Evie and I got in the first caged area. Then as I was gingerly opening the second door, some of the parakeets escaped and I barely got in. Evie is still between the two doors at this point, and my mom and Zoe were in the main area. I was now stuck in this main are with hundreds and hundreds of hungry parakeets. Here is a very unflattering picture of what I looked like:

Zoe got the zookeeper and he helped us with the parakeets.  Evie came in with me and it seemed that I took control of the situation. She was thrilled.  And I...I was soaking wet in sweat, but quite proud that I was able to successfully face this fear.