Somethin' about nothin'

I just can't help myself on this one. We've all seen the "work from home" adds that range from licking envelopes to becoming the next multi-millionaire. It's my humble opinion that 98% of these are scams, and that the remaining few are actually small business owners trying to make an honest buck. Okay, off the high-horse.

While browsing through some other blog postings I came across one of these work from home adds. Now, I will say that I have not done any research as to the validity of this type of site. For those who are curious, please take the time to do so.

The add I'm referring to is one convincing me that I too can have my own online adult store. Now, for those of you who know my family personally, can you just picture this conversation: "Hey Mom, work sent some samples home."  I believe she would then proceed to have a heart attack (sorry mom). But seriously folks...I have the devil on one shoulder telling me that I should do it just for the sheer humor value, not to mention the whirlwind of reactions from those near and dear to me (this would be the trouble maker in me), and the angel on the other shoulder is reminding me to think of my family and daughter (there are times when I'd like to squash this side).

I believe the Vicodin from my recent root canal is having an influence over any rational thought, and is helping to create a sitcom like comedy in my head around this topic. I mean really, can you picture it? I'm still laughing...

I'll just start out by saying that I had all four of my wisdom teeth pulled at the same time. That procedure, and it's recovery, was no where close to the pain I have felt from having an emergency root canal done 5 days ago.

I was on my way to Sacramento the night before an early morning training session and stopped to have a chicken burrito for a quick dinner. The chopped up chicken still had a small bone, which I did not discover until I bit down on it. This is the moment where time froze and I experienced the most excruciating pain shoot through my mouth, along my jaw line, and up into my sinuses. I couldn't move for several minutes and my eyes welled up with tears. I'm not sure how I managed to not let any tear drops fall, but hey...I was in public.

This is the beginning of what became some of the most painful hours of my life, while trying to negotiate and survive what can only be described as HMO hell. I was 2 hours away from home where no 24hr emergency dental office was open or available, and my assigned dentist could not take an emergency appointment until mid-September. Seriously. Etienne is with me at this point and canceled his early morning flight to help me. I was in too much pain to do anything, let alone talk on the phone to a bunch of idiots who treated me as if I was over reacting to my first cavity. (Do I sound bitter?)

The first dental office was an incorrect address and was no longer there. The second dental office we found was available to take me that morning, and accepted my dental insurance...or so we thought. After arriving and filling out all the paperwork, we learned that there was a mistake and that they did not actually take my insurance. I will tell you though, based on what happened next, I would recommend this dentist to anyone. In this situation, the typical response from any given dental office would be to contact my insurance company for assistance (aka, you are no longer our problem and please leave). This office spent the next 20 minutes trying to help us. They could see that I was hurting and their professional and courteous response floored me. I will be changing my dental insurance just to be able to go back there.

We spent the next several hours looking for anyone to take me. We even made the emergency search a burden to my insurance company and had their assistance in calling around. They gave up after 2 individuals and sent us the remaining names on the list. Etienne continued the search while I continued to barely hold myself together...and after a little more time, he finally found a denist. There's only one problem. She was 2 hours from where we were. I'm now averaging about 15 hours with an exposed nerve. I had been in tears I can't tell you how many times, and my entire body was shaking uncontrollably from the pain. Orajel and Motrin just wasn't cutting it.

We finally reached the dentist where they were already prepped for me. They took some xrays (painful!), and 5 minutes later we were being sent to a specialist for an emergency root canal. The specialist was 5 towns away, and Etienne had us there in 20 minutes. We were over 16 hours with an exposed nerve at this point. After getting through the paperwork, and getting a few shots to numb me, the pain finally started to go away...but not completely. I counted 8 shots in total to get me to the point where they could remove the nerve. I'm not sure if I missed any on the shot count...at one point I closed my eyes to focus on breathing. My heart felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest from all of the stress. I was also a wee bit scared. I had no idea what to expect, there was no time to research it, and I was in too much pain to ask. The procedure took about an hour and I was sent home with Vicodin and high doses of Motrin. I still need to go back in for a crown which is normally about one week after having a root canal, however I was asked to allow 2 weeks to heal before scheduling the procedure. The specialist said that the severity was not completely reflected in the x-rays and that I would need more time.

Now, for some silly reason I expected the post surgery to be similiar to what I experienced when I had my wisdom teeth pulled. Boy was I wrong. The Motrin and the Vicodin did not have any impact on the pain for the next 3 days...with the second post surgery day being the most difficult. It's now 5 days later and I am still in pain. When medicated, it's a throbbing, obvious ache. When I'm not medicated, it's a sharp pain that I can feel through my jaw bone and up into my sinus cavity. I'm living off of hummus, peanut butter, breakfast drinks, and oatmeal. The swelling in my face has gone down, but is still visible, and it will be about 3 weeks until I'm back to normal.

What did I learn from all of this? Do not have a dental HMO plan. PPO is the only way to go...especially if you do any traveling. That is, unless having an exposed nerve in your mouth for about 18 hours and being sent to 4 dental offices in one days sounds like fun to you.

Where is the joy in cooking? I don't see it, nor do I get it. I'm standing in my kitchen surrounded by vegetables, noodles, spices, chicken, and it takes every ounce of strength that I have to simply not panic. Women and men have been cooking for centuries. It can't be that hard, or can it? Afterall, I did take a cooking class. Okay, so this class was more about the proper way to cut, chop, and dice, and had very little to do with how to actually cook. But I can wield a knife now so how hard can it be?

Fast forward 20 minutes and I now have every vegetable in the entire house cleaned, peeled, chopped or diced. I'm on fire. I feel like I can now take on anything and feeling quite silly about the fear that plagued me only a short time ago. What was I thinking? Look at how quickly and easily I whipped through each piece. This is easy!

...and then it happened. The high that I was riding came to a screeching and rather abrupt halt. As I stand here marveling at the work I've done, I realize that I have no idea as to what needs to happen next. Should I have already started the noodles? How long do they need to boil? Wait, do I boil them or do I saute them? When do I add spices? Do I even need spices? What about the chicken...holy crap, the chicken! I have no idea how to cook chicken. What do I do with the chicken? I frantically look from object to object, and each time I'm lost as to either it's purpose or how to cook it. My forehead begins to sweat. I turn, let out a slow breathe, drink some ice water, let out another slow breathe, and turn back around. I can do this!

Now the water is boiling, I insert the noodles. The pan is hot, I add the salt and peppered chicken. Wait...is salt and pepper enough? We have other spices in here...oh, and there's saffron...mmmm, saffron. 6 spices are now in the pan and the aroma is, well, let's just say that when I smell the chicken I want to sneeze. Okay, now what. The vegetables! I need to add the vegetables! Which one do I add them to? The chicken. I'll add them to the chicken. It still smells okay and if I stand outside of the kitchen to gauge the aroma I no longer sneeze. Is this a good sign? Hmmm. Now what. I put lids on both the pan of chicken and the now boiling noodles and then stand there. Do I just wait? What am I supposed to do? Hmmm....maybe Google can help me. I begin my Google search.

Some time later (I'm really not sure how much time has passed), I begin to notice that my carefully crafted aroma has now changed. It no longer smells like it might be edible and there seems to be a strange haze throughout the kitchen, living and dining rooms. I don't remember ever seeing haze in any cooking shows. But maybe that's just made for TV. Hey, one can hope. I certainly did! There doesn't seem to be any flames coming from the stove top (I can see it from the living room) but a bunch of smoke just shot out from under the moving lid and the fire alarm is now going off. Uh oh. I run to the stove, pull the pan and pot off their burners, grab a brown paper bag that I used to carry in groceries, climb up on the counter, and franticaly fan the smoke detector. After what seemed like hours, and was actually only about 30 seconds, the alarm turned off. No sirens yet, so I open the windows, turn on every fan I can find, and stare at my still covered pan and pot. Is it safe yet?

So I admit, I am a wee bit nervous at the thought of taking the lids off. I mean, they were alive a few minutes ago. I wait about 10 minutes and then slowly lift the lids, one at a time, with the opening starting away from me. Hmm, no flames are coming out. Wow...this looks kind of like food still. I wonder if it's edible. Where's the dog. She'll eat anything. I grab her bowl and proudly scoop my work of art into her bowl and with a smile, call her to her surprise dinner. She'll be thrilled, I know it. She'll eat anything and everything...except as it turns out, my cooking. She looks at it, sniffs it, backs away, looks at me and then lets out a small whine. Surely she must not be feeling well or maybe some fresh water will help. I re-fill her water bowl and put her back in front of her dinner again. Same response. Not a good sign.

I decide to try some myself. Afterall, isn't that what every good chef does? I cut off a piece of chicken (it's a little tough so it takes a minute), lift it up on a fork, and sniff. I didn't sneaze this time, but I did set down the fork with the chicken still on it, turn off everything in the kitchen, grab my purse and keys, and walk out the door. It's time to let someone else sweat over dinner. There's always tomorrow.

Let me just start out by saying that I love dogs, big dogs. I have dreamed about owning a Great Dane, and who wouldn't? They are gorgeous gentle giants...okay, unless you're a small child and standing between this massive dog and it's bone. Can you picture it?

Many years ago a stray chihuahua came into our lives and my daughter was in love. Now, keep in mind, the first time I saw this little dog my initial thought was that she's got to be the ugliest thing I'd ever laid eyes on. I mean hey, she's no Great Dane. She was thin, 1/2 bald, and has buggy eyes, bat ears, long spindly chicken legs, rat feet, and moles on her face. This to me sounds more like a character out of a bad children's cartoon and not like my vision of our next family pet.

We searched everywhere for the owners. We posted ads, looked in the papers, checked with the local vets, pet stores, and the SPCA. No one had responded. I sat down next to her in a bit of a huff and there she was, looking at me with those big buggy eyes of hers, batting her lashes, and letting out a very faint whine. It was as if she was pleading with me to let her stay. I continued looking at her and thought, she's not so bad. She's actually a very sweet dog, and my daughter adores her. I looked away. What am I thinking? I look down again, but this time I see something different. This time I see her personality, not the ugly dog that I saw before. Suddenly she was cute, funny, cuddly, sweet, fun, easy to control when excited, easy to bathe (hold her under the faucet with one hand), quiet. Where was all of this coming from? Why was this new view taking shape? Am I getting soft in my old age? I mean, who really wants to be pegged as a Paris Hilton wannabe, toting a small dog around. We don't live in L.A. where there's some insane idea that a dog is a fashion statement. And come on, it's not like she plays fetch. She's almost part cat. You give her a blanket to burrow in and she's happy for hours.

After arguing with myself for quite some time, I eventually came to realize that I too was smitten. This once ugly duckling of a dog had blossomed into a beautiful 7lb chihuahua. So what if this blossoming change took place in my head. To me it was real. And so now I sit here on my couch with a small lump under the blanket next to me. I hear an occasional small sigh sing out from the blanket and I pat the lump to reassure her that I'm still near by. How did we end up with a chihuahua again? It's easy. We found her a home.

I have a 16 year old daughter who has just started her senior year in high school. Wow! I'm old...or so she tells me. Every time I see her a mental image of a carefree little girl with pig tails and a light sprinkling of freckles on her nose creeps in, as if part of a dream. She can see this process unfold in front of her, and with a roll of her eyes, she gently reminds me that she's no longer 5 years old. It seems like such a short time ago, a summer full of t-ball, uniforms, parades, team pictures, the smell of popcorn and sunflower seeds. She was the only girl on the team, and a full head taller than all of the boys. That didn't matter though, because boys at that age still follow instructions when being bossed around by a cute little blond.

As she grew older, her interest in sports, or anything extracurricular faded. The mere thought of doing something outside of going to the mall or hanging with her friends was an insult to her version of cool. The thought of the future was also very intimidating. She thought that because she did not know what she wanted yet, like several of her other friends, that she would be judged. Any discussion about her future and goals was painful at best, and she behaved as if it were a personal attack. She was not ready, and so we waited.

Now here we are. It's her senior year. She has just landed her first job (pizza), and was made President of a business (a non-profit run by her fashion class). She's going to be very busy and she's looking forward to every minute. I couldn't be more proud, and I know that she'll be great. Why do I believe that? Of course my opinion is not unbiased, but she's also getting involved in something she enjoys. She will be mentoring and leading others, and at times she will have to fill in where others are not able to do the task at hand. For years, when asked what she wanted to be when she grows up, her response was President. I'm sure that this is not the "President" that she had in mind way back when, but that's okay. We all have to start somewhere.

It's always something monumental that forces most of us to stop and enjoy what's right in front of us...and to ponder how we ended up here, where we are right now, in the first place. Many of us have lived through a loved one being ill, and each experience is different. Why is it different? Because what we know and what we surround ourselves with is unique to the person living it, and only that person. Two people may have the same diagnosis, but how they react, their family situations, and their support groups are all different.

My family has had two people in the hospital in two days. In three weeks time five of us have been to the hospital. It forces me to think back several years ago when it was just my daughter and I against the world. We were facing it head on...and it was exciting and frightening at the same time. Both of us were young, and both of us have become who we are today as a result of our choices.

I can say that for the first time in my life, I have the absolute love, respect, and support from my partner. When I receive news that moves me to tears, good or bad, I know that I will not experience that alone. He is right beside me. To be able to say that I am not alone is a huge statement for me. There have been times where I absolutely needed someone. Anyone. I have hit bottom, and then climbed out alone, and had no one to share my victory with. I have made choices both good and bad in my life and all of those choices have made me into the person I am today. I am a mother, a companion, a lover, a fighter, a survivor, a navy brat, a daughter, a sister, an identical twin, an individual. I am me.