tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87487244121846593742024-03-12T19:08:37.088-04:00Disability and I DoLife, Love, Laughter and Handicap SpacesMelissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-38527672250790438732013-10-04T21:00:00.000-04:002013-10-04T21:00:00.549-04:00I Survived!<div style="background: white;">
<span class="aqj"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">Today, at 10 PM EST</span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">, I take my very last
dose of Ribavirin and finish my treatment for Hepatitis C. They say time flies
when you are having fun. I can now state, from experience, that the opposite is
also true; time crawls when you are not having the least bit of fun. </span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">This has
been the longest almost year of my life. I have gained weight, lost weight and
gained it back again. I have broken out in several rashes and had the worst
acne of my life. I have woken up in the middle of the night soaking wet from
sweating and freezing. I have been beyond tired; I have felt hung-over despite
my total lack of drinking. I have been in pain. My hair has fallen out. I have
had several attacks of all encompassing rage, and I have lost most of my
motivation to do anything even remotely fun. In short, this year has just been
a bucket of fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">But
I survived. It is over. My weight will stabilize, my skin will calm down, the
fevers will stop, my energy will return, the aches and pains will lessen, my
happy, fun personality will make a comeback, I will care again and my hair will
grow back. In short, I will be the person I have always been. A person I
recognize.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">The
diagnosis of this disease was a tough thing to swallow. I spent about three
months crying; feeling tainted and convinced that I was going to die. I have my
husband to thank for getting me through it, and for not letting me feel too bad
for myself. He has a way of making me laugh even when I don't want to, which is
annoying when I am mad at him, but pretty awesome when I am a crying
mess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">People
have told me this entire time how strong I have been; but the truth is, I never
would have made it through this without the family and friends who took me to
doctor's appointments, gave me my shots, cleaned my house, hugged me, took care
of me, made me laugh, loved me long-distance, supported and encouraged me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">The
key to surviving treatment for Hepatitis C is not in the vitamins you take, or how
much water you drink, or even how much rest you get. The key is to surround
yourself with good people who will be there for you through every hard day and then
celebrate with you when it ends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">Also,
you'll need Super Grover. Everything is easier with a cuddly blue monster on
your side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-87899070355915770412013-08-05T10:52:00.001-04:002013-08-05T11:02:18.611-04:00Perks of Triple Therapy <div class="MsoNormal">
As of Friday, August 02, I have 8 more weeks of treatment to
go. My Dad calls it a drop in the bucket, and I suppose he is right compared to
what I have already been through. However, if he were in my shoes, I am sure the
prospect of 8 more injections of what is essentially poison, wouldn’t exactly
thrill him. I am still testing negative, and at this point, my chances of being
cured are very good.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that I am in the home stretch, I have had time to
reflect on my treatment as a whole. I have realized that despite all the
terrible side effects, treatment wasn’t all bad. In fact, there have actually
been a few perks. Since most bloggers who talk about the side effects of triple
therapy tend to focus on the negative (and as a result, scare the crap out of
those who are starting treatment), I thought I would take the opposite approach
and talk about the perks to being on triple therapy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the first 12 weeks, you have to eat the kind of foods
most adults avoid; and you don’t have to feel guilty about it because you are
actually helping your body by eating them. These foods include, but are not
limited to: Bagels with an obscene amount of cream cheese, ice cream,
chocolate, French fries, deluxe burgers, cheesecake, chocolate, and my personal
favorite, cheese.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the next part of treatment you get to experience weight
loss, <i>without trying. </i>Once your 12
week gorge fest is over with, you will have gained a fair amount of weight. But
fear not my friends, for that weight, and then some, is going to fall right off.
It is going to disappear even if you attend a graduation party and gorge yourself
on brownies. Because of this, you are going to need new pants; which,
conveniently, is part of the next perk. (Men might not see this as much of a
perk, sorry fellas.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Losing weight and needing new pants means one thing:
SHOPPING! Just like the first perk, gorging yourself on yummy food, you cannot
feel guilty about this one either. After all, one can’t exactly go around with
their pants falling down, unless they are a fifteen year old boy, and even that
is not advisable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your hair will fall out. I know, at first this seems like a
negative, but one day you will notice that it is not just the hair on your head
falling out; your body hair is going too. Goodbye shaving, hello smooth skin.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lastly, you have a built in excuse to take a nap, whenever
the mood strikes. If someone has the nerve to question you, give them a full on
guilt trip. Sleep is important when fighting a virus, ask Grandma.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here I am, model thin, my legs smooth as a newborn’s
bottom, having made it through almost every terrible side effect that this
treatment can throw at me. I hope to be one of the last to receive triple
therapy as there are new, less difficult, treatments on the horizon. But if
you, or someone you know, are embarking on this journey, know that the end will
come and nothing is ever as bad as you imagined it to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-29042856898014734072013-07-17T09:50:00.000-04:002013-07-17T09:50:11.859-04:0010 Exasperating Disability Problems<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<ol>
<li>Someone tells you a location is “accessible.” But then
adds, “There is just one small step to get in.”</li>
<li>Finding out that you can indeed
get in the “accessible” bathroom; you just can’t
close the door.</li>
<li>There is only one seat next to the wheelchair space at the movie
theater; because obviously people who use
wheelchairs have aides, not friends and family.</li>
<li>You wait ten minutes to order a
coffee/drink, because the barista/bartender can’t see you over the counter. They
apparently can’t hear you either.</li>
<li>You
get referred to as “she/he” even though you are sitting right there. (I.e.: Is she ordering anything?)</li>
<li>“Can you have sex?” and “How do
you go to the bathroom?” are deemed appropriate
conversation starters.</li>
<li>You go shopping, but you can’t try
on anything because either a. someone thinks the accessible changing room is
for anyone who has a lot to try on and “needs” the extra space, or b. the store
employees use the accessible changing room as storage for all the clothes they
have not put back on the shelves yet.</li>
<li>Other people actually trip over
you, because they have their face in their cell phone. Watching where you are going is so 1997.</li>
<li>Finding cute
dress shoes is more difficult than finding whiskey on a Sunday in a dry
county.</li>
<li>Despite the fact that it is 2013,
and segregation is illegal, you still get told that the accessible entrance is
around the back.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-79594804148799558252013-07-09T10:50:00.001-04:002013-07-09T10:50:46.367-04:00New Year, New Opportunities<div class="MsoNormal">
My 30<sup>th</sup> year was one full of challenges;
challenges that, at times, I felt that I would
never be able to overcome. It felt like I was walking uphill through sand and
no matter how much I struggled, I could not get my feet underneath me. I would
get a few feet, and then the sand would shift and I would tumble head over foot
back to the bottom. I wanted to give up a hundred times, but I knew that I
couldn’t do that. Giving up is not something I know how to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fortunately, storms do not last forever and seasons change. My 31<sup>st</sup> year is turning
out to be a season of new opportunities. Some of those old
challenges are not over; but the slope isn’t as steep and my feet are
finally finding purchase. I am starting two new
jobs this month; the first as an Administrative
Assistant, the second as a blogger for<a href="http://www.unlimiters.com/">
Unlimters</a>, an online marketplace for people with disabilities. I will be
writing about the products and services I use in
order to live an “unlimited” life. You can check out my posts and the posts from other bloggers <a href="http://unlimiters.blogspot.com/">here</a>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, the most exciting thing I have going right now is I am working on finally getting my driver’s
license! While driving
has always been a possibility for me, it has also
been one of my biggest challenges. I have been working towards getting my
license, on and off,
for the past 15 years. I have worked with a
number of agencies, only to stop over and over
again because I couldn’t get enough funding to pay for the number of practice
hours I needed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I realized I didn’t need
the agency. I’m an adult, my disability does not
impair my ability to drive; it only requires a
few adaptions. So I bought some portable hand controls and my husband installed
them in the car. A friend helped me obtain the rest of the adaptions I needed
and on my birthday, I went to the Secretary of State to have my permit renewed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have driven four times since getting
my permit; three times with my husband and once with my Mother-in-Law.
It has not been easy. Today, I drove to the grocery store and home again. I
could tell my husband was nervous, and that frazzled me some. I wanted to be
perfect for him, I wasn’t. I made the mistakes
of any new driver. I had trouble staying in the center of the lane, I took a
few turns a little sharp and I had a hard time
maintaining my speed. I was so focused on doing it right, making him proud of
me, making sure that he believed I could do it,
that my brain was going a hundred miles an hour. After I pulled into our driveway and turned off the car, I burst into
tears.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wanted driving to be easy. I wanted to be good at it right
away. But driving
is hard and I am like any other new driver. Both Tom and my Mother-in-Law said I
was better than they expected me to be, and they both are sure that with practice I will get better. Tom says one day it will just
click and driving will be natural. I wanted that day to be today, but it
wasn’t. I don’t think it will be tomorrow either. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I set a goal, I tend to sprint toward the finish line,
my quilting is a perfect example of this; but I have
to accept that accomplishing this goal is going
to be a marathon. It is going to take time. But
I am determined that this will be the year I
finally get my license. It is going to be one of the most triumphant moments of
my life; and it will
be worth every tear, every mistake and every
year I spent getting there.<o:p></o:p></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-65678856044776862892013-07-02T11:24:00.000-04:002013-07-02T11:24:42.144-04:00Cripple Swing Dancing<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One of the first things I posted in
this blog was about dancing. I have also mentioned that for the most part I do
not “feel” disabled. However, dancing is the one thing that always makes me feel
different than my peers. Growing up I dreaded dances;
I spent most of them against the wall, watching everyone else have fun and feeling sorry for myself. If I tried to
join in, I would inevitably fall over or do
something else embarrassing. I remember in eighth grade my best friend tried to
get her guy friend to dance with me and he refused, right in front of me. I
felt like leper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In college, I discovered that there was a way for me dance, unique to using my
wheelchair. My friend Derrick and I were the third and
fourth wheels during “Roomie Date Night,” and although we were not romantically involved, Derrick
was a great date. We were in an arcade and the song “Black Betty” came on.
Everyone started dancing and I prepared myself to just watch as usual, but Derrick had other plans.
He grabbed my arms and swung me around with my chair.
It was a little clumsy, but it was amazing. I was finally dancing, it didn’t look awkward, people were clapping for us
and I felt one hundred percent included. That night
Cripple Swing Dancing was born. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After that night, I got really good at Cripple Swing Dancing. Even though Derrick had discovered my skills; it was
my best friend Charles who took it to a new
level. It became our bar trick, something that people looked forward to seeing.
We even performed on stage during my senior year body building exposition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I don’t see Charles much anymore, but whenever we have the
opportunity, we break out the old skills. Recently we danced at our friend
Stephanie’s wedding and someone took a video. It is a bit dark but I am sharing
it anyway, for all you wallflowers who think you
can only sit and watch.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/R5M1en-UuQ8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-75254321295979725962013-06-27T14:10:00.000-04:002013-06-27T14:10:09.657-04:00Surviving Unemployment<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My season of unemployment will soon be coming to an end. On
Tuesday, I was offered a part time position at a company which is known for their job security and internal advancement
opportunities. I am not going to share where
it is until I know what their policies are, but
I am very excited. I am just waiting for them to send me a contract and I
should start on July 15<sup>th</sup>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This has definitely been an interesting experience, and if I
am being completely honest, I do have mixed feelings about it ending. After all,
there are some perks to being unemployed. Namely, the sleeping in, plus the time you have to spend with all those
hobbies, interests, people and pets that tend to be at least slightly neglected
when you get sucked into the daily grind. On the other hand, being stuck in the
house every day, and turning in application after application without seeing
any results can get a person down after a while.
I am definitely ready to get out in public again and am looking forward to
meeting new people and learning new skills.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I know there are many people out there still struggling through unemployment,
so I thought I would share some of the things that I learned during my
experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Be prepared</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">,</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">
filing for unemployment </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">is a</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> pain in the ass.
Everyone told me that it would be easy</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">; I was that one</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">
lucky person to have issues with both the phone number and the website. It took
me a week to apply. Try to stay calm</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">,</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> don’t
freak out and throw your phone against a wall. You may regret it.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">When sending in resumes, take the time to write
individual cover letters for each job even if you are not asked for one. Use
the items listed in the qualifications section of the job posting to create the
body of the letter. This will take a lot more time</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">
(which you have plenty of now)</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">, but it will increase your chances of
getting an interview sooner.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Even on the rainiest, most depressing day of
your experience, get up and get dressed. Getting ready for the day, even if you
are not going anywhere, really helps you get motivated t</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">o d</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">o something</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">;</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> whether it’s
searching for a job, doing the laundry or walking the dog. Staying in your
jammies encourages you to lounge and nap all day, which can lead to feeling
more depressed and hopeless.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Find a project. Something to keep you busy that
isn’t related to trying to finding a job. This will also help you stay
motivated and busy during your time off. It is also a fun outlet for when you get job search
burnout. You will get job search burnout.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Open yourself up to new experiences. Apply for
jobs you would love to have, not just the ones you know you can do. Yes, you do
need some experience, but in an interview an
excited candidate will get more points than the one that is just there because
they need the job. Everyone needs a job, get a new shtick.</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So that’s my advice for surviving unemployment. I had some
big plans when I first started this adventure,
not one of them has been seen through to the end. What I have learned most from
my experience though, is that you cannot let
your job get in the way of your other goals or
ambitions. I am determined to keep making headway on all those wonderful
plans I had in April.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-36600680757748732022013-05-16T13:07:00.000-04:002013-05-16T13:07:33.167-04:00Unemployment: Making it Work<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unemployment is a weird little monster. Some days are good, you apply for jobs, you clean the house, and
you work on projects. Other days are not so good; those are the days when you
feel useless. When you don’t want to do anything but sleep and you are sure that you are never going to work
again. For me the bad days are even harder. For me, on the bad
days, it is not just the stress of the bills that still need to be paid, or the
loneliness of the days spent by myself. For me,
each day that I am unemployed it feels like a threat to my Independence, a
threat to everything I have worked so hard to overcome.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Independence is a capital letter word in my vocabulary; growing up it was the most important thing, and to some degree still is. It was the reason for
everything; for the hours of physical and
occupational therapy, for the almost countless
surgeries, for the IEP’s and the other three letter acronyms in my life (MRS, AFO, SSI, CIL). Independence meant
that I had made it, that I had shrugged off every
doubt, every low expectation and I had made it.
I had survived, I had overcome, and I had beaten my disability.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now on the bad days, I feel
like that independence is slipping away. I know
it has only been a month, but I am starting to worry about what I will do if I don’t find another job; if my unemployment runs out and I find myself
depending on Tom for everything. I
depend on Tom for a lot already, he is my main source of transportation, but I
have always had my own money. I have always paid my own bills and been able to buy the things I needed or wanted
without having to ask someone else for it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am
also starting to feel trapped. I cannot drive, I live too far to access public transportation and my interaction with
others is now limited to the ladies in my weekly
quilting class, Taden, the cats and my husband who has been working as much
overtime as possible to make up for my lack of income. On the bad days, I feel lonely, friendless
and pathetic.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In order to keep the bad days at bay, I am trying to stay busy. I drag myself out of bed even if sleeping all day seems much more appealing. I have
my coffee. (I am quickly becoming an addict, something I never managed to do
while I was working in the traditional sense.) I spend the morning writing and
looking for jobs. I am currently working on a Children’s book as well as a
narcissistic, non-fiction novel based on this
blog, both of which I intend to e-publish. In the afternoons I focus on my
other creative endeavors. I have set up a website where I can sell my photography, and I am working on new quilts along with setting up an etsy site to (hopefully) sell
them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course there is still that
little voice in my head telling me no one will buy any of my work and that all this
time will have been wasted; but I took a crutch to her teeth last week, that voice is mostly garbled now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have no idea if any of this will amount to something, but it keeps me in control of my situation,
it keeps the fear and isolation
at bay. Plus, if this does work out, what better
way for me to define Independence than by making a living on my own terms, my
own talents? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are interested in checking out my photography please
click <a href="http://www.melissa-mcpherson.fineartsamerica.com/">here</a>. If
you can’t buy, leave a comment. I would love to hear your feedback.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-39950783697771311552013-04-18T13:28:00.000-04:002013-04-18T13:28:52.163-04:00I Do Not Love My Body<br />
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am fed up with the </span>obsession most people seem to have about the human body. I am fed up with<span style="font-family: inherit;"> seeing ads all over my TV, my facebook page and everywhere else I look advertising </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">various</span><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"> diets, “skinny” recipes and the “secret</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">,</span><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">” that will make me thin. I am equally frustrated by the well-meaning</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">,</span><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"> counter ads</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">,</span><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"> telling us that must love our bodies and be proud of them because we are all so beautiful.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">I’d like to propose something different. How about we all stop giving our bodies so much damn credit? My body is </span>only one thing<span style="color: black;">; it is a vessel in which I move through life. </span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8748724412184659374" name="13e18fae570c2df2__GoBack"></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">It is</span>,<span style="color: black;"> in fact</span>,<span style="color: black;"> very much like my wheelchair. It serves a purpose. When it is broken</span>,<span style="color: black;"> I have to fix i</span>t; I<span style="color: black;"> have to do what I can to make sur</span>e i<span style="color: black;">t is working properly and that I am not causing it any undue damage. That is my <i>only</i> responsibility to it.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">My wheelchair is not a defining factor in who I am. When people meet me they notice it, but they are not obsessing over the fact that it is orange instead of black</span>,<span style="color: black;"> or that it is smaller or bigger than the one they saw last week, or weather in has metal spokes or plastic ones. Once people get to know me they don’t notice it at all.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">No one tells me how to feel about my wheelchair. No one tells me that it could be sexie</span>r o<span style="color: black;">r sleeker or that the girl I work with has a better chair because it isn’t old and the paint isn’t chipped. No one tells me to love my chair. They don’t tell me that my chair is beautiful because it is mine, and that my chair is worthy of love and affection.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">My chair does not determine whether I am a good person. It does not define who I am</span>; <span style="color: black;">and although it may determine how some people see me, tha</span>t’s<span style="color: black;"> not my problem, </span>it’s<span style="color: black;"> theirs.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The same can be said about my body. It is nothing bu</span>t<span style="color: black;"> a vessel for my soul, or my energy, or my brain, or whatever makes me <i>me. </i> It needs to be kept healthy and functioning at its best so that I can navigate the worl</span>d a<span style="color: black;">s long as possible. </span>But u<span style="color: black;">nlike my wheelchair, my body cannot be replaced. I will respect it, but beyond that I owe it nothing. It deserves neither love nor hate, and no one but me and my doctor has the right to tell me what to do with it.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">I wish the world would start putting more emphasis on being a good person than having a good set of abs. Instead of teaching children to love their bodies, why don’t we teach them to love one another? Show them how to be good human beings, teach them to give to others, to think about others and </span>be <span style="color: black;">proud of what they leave behind when they die. After all, when we are gone, it is not our bodies that our loved ones are going to remember. They won’t care if we were a size 6 or a 16. They will remember the way </span>we <span style="color: black;">treated others, the jokes </span>we<span style="color: black;"> told, and the way </span>we<span style="color: black;"> made them feel.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">None of us </span>are<span style="color: black;"> going to live forever, and being old is a blessing. The secret of eternal beauty is not in a bottle or a tube, it is not the result of a fad diet or an exercise regimen</span>.<span style="color: black;"> </span>I<span style="color: black;">t is in our actions, it’s in who we love, how we love them and the memories we leave behind<span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></span></span></span></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-79459943779411100472013-04-09T12:43:00.001-04:002013-04-09T12:43:10.874-04:00Another New Challenge<br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">They say when it rains it pours. </span>Well, i<span style="color: black;">t seems that I am caught up in the storm of my life. On Monday, I was told that there was no longer enough funding for my position. I was given until the end of the wee</span>k t<span style="color: black;">o help my team adjust to working without me, to notify my clients and to make sure all my files were transferred of</span>f<span style="color: black;"> my computer.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The organization has been dealing with some financial problems for </span>a while now<span style="color: black;">, </span>but<span style="color: black;"> I was still blindsided. I never thought that with 7.5 years there</span>,<span style="color: black;"> and all the work that I di</span>d, I<span style="color: black;"> would be the first to be let go. I guess I was to</span>o<span style="color: black;"> confident. I spent the re</span>st o<span style="color: black;">f th</span>at<span style="color: black;"> week in shock</span>,<span style="color: black;"> really feeling nothing at all</span>;<span style="color: black;"> and then the negativity started to creep in.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">In college, I had a huge fear that I would not be successful. I worried that I would spend the rest of my life on SSI</span>,<span style="color: black;"> unable to find someone to hire me, living with my Mom and feeling sorry for myself. Fo</span>r m<span style="color: black;">e</span>,<span style="color: black;"> a job wasn’t something that was a guarantee</span>;<span style="color: black;"> it wasn’t something that I could count on. A job was privilege. A job was the difference between the life society expected me to have (and the one I feared) and the life that I wanted. In short, a job meant everything.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">When I managed to land the VISTA position at the Ann Arbor Center for Independent Living, I thought I had hit the jackpot. Not only had I found a job right out of college, but it was at a place I ha</span>d<span style="color: black;"> always wanted to work </span>with<span style="color: black;">, doing work that actually meant something. I was so proud of myself, an</span>d t<span style="color: black;">he whole world seemed to open up in front of me.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Not surprisingly, when I lost that job, those old feelings </span>started to<span style="color: black;"> creeping back. No one else would ever hire me</span>;<span style="color: black;"> I was pathetic and would spend the rest of my days watching soap operas in my pajamas and napping, and then I snapped out of it. Yes, I am jobless, but my life isn’t exactly th</span>at<span style="color: black;"> pathetic. I am married to a wonderful man. I held the same job for seven and a half years. I have skills now, and tons of talent. Now that I don’t have a job</span>,<span style="color: black;"> I have options.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">I realized that this is not the end of something, but the beginnin</span>g.<span style="color: black;"> Without a job, </span>I<span style="color: black;"> have time; time to focus on my dreams. The dreams I forgot when I became employed. </span>As of today, it has only been a week since I found out my job was gone, but<span style="color: black;"> I am </span>already <span style="color: black;">looking for new work</span>.<span style="color: black;"> I have updated my resume and I am applying for jobs, but I am </span>also <span style="color: black;">focusing on m</span>e.<span style="color: black;"> I have a writing project that I am really excited about, and I am working on creating an etsy site for my quilts. I thought the world opened up when got my job, but now that I have lost it</span>,<span style="color: black;"> anything seems possible and I am excited to see where this new adventure takes me.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Yes, life has given me quite the storm, but no storm lasts forever</span>.<span style="color: black;"> </span>W<span style="color: black;">hen they are over and the sun comes out, everything is greener, the sun is warmer, the flowers smell sweeter and the birds are always sing.</span></span></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-1368244272627974852013-03-21T15:15:00.000-04:002013-03-21T15:15:56.731-04:00On Dating<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the years, and especially since I started
writing this blog, I have been asked for the same advice over and over again. People want
to know my advice for dating with a disability. More specifically, they want to know how to
find someone that can “see past” their disability. I have always hated giving advice on
this subject. For one thing, I am not an expert and it seems like a lot of
responsibility. What if what works for me </span>doesn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> work for others? I hate
giving advice unless I know that I am right. (Which is why, certain friends who
shall not be named, when I do give you advice; you should take it and run.) For
another thing (and I know so many of you are going to want to punch me square
in the jaw when I admit this, but please don’t; my mother loves my face.) I
never found dating hard, at least not after high school anyway. That is about the
time men grow independently
thinking brains and can date whoever they want without needing the approval of
the whole damned town. Lastly, I really don’t know what I do differently than
those of you that are struggling. The truth is there is no magic potion for dating with a disability, no
program.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">However, people keep asking me, and so I feel
like I should at least <i>try</i> to answer them. So here it goes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The first thing, and this is true for everyone regardless of ability,
is that you have to be comfortable with who you are. So many times I hear
people say to me, “How do you find someone who can see past your disability?” The answer is you don’t, because anyone who sees
past your
disability isn’t really accepting it. Some argue that this is just semantics,
but I don’t agree. If you are willing to settle for someone who sees past your disability, then you have not accepted your disability as a part of who you are; a part of you that is
awesome and does not need to be swept under the rug, but embraced and
appreciated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So how does one do that? Well, it isn’t easy. I spent years ashamed of being disabled.
Then I went to a place called Indian Trails Camp near Grand Rapids, Michigan
and my whole life changed. While there I met my first boyfriend. He was also
the first person I met with a disability that was sort of ‘in your face’ about his disability. He joked about the things that were
awkward, and brought
up the things
that everyone was thinking but was too afraid to say. He gave me a new perspective,
showed me that I didn’t have to apologize for my disability. It was not a mistake or
something wrong that needed fixing, it was a part of me; like my short stature and
my weird gummy smile. So just like that shortness and the weird smile, it was
something that many people could love about me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once you have accepted your disability, it’s pretty easy to get
others to accept it. Think about it, most guys wouldn’t refuse to date a girl just because she had
brown hair instead of blond right? So why should they refuse to date you just
because you maneuver about the world differently? That’s just silly. For some
though,
disability is a BIG deal. When I was dating, I usually tried not to make it the
focus of the conversation. If they asked me a question, I stayed away from technical terms and
tried to personalize and redirect the conversation. For instance, if a guy asked if I could walk at all, I’d say yes. Then I’d tell
them the story of when I was walking with two friends behind a dorm at college,
our arms linked,
and an RA came running out threatening me with a M.I.P. (minor in possession of alcohol) because she
thought I was drunk. This story answered his question, but without a long explanation of how I am just like everyone
else. I have friends, I get in trouble, and sometimes my
disability makes for hilarious situations. Humor is a great way to make people
feel more comfortable about things they aren’t used to. If you don’t have a
sense of humor, I suggest you pick one up. A cripple without a sense of humor
is like a 7:00 a.m. telemarketing call; no one is interested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Another tip is to stay positive. Yes we all have bad days
and you are probably going to need to vent once and a while, but no one wants
to date someone who is always complaining. You can’t constantly moan about how
horrible your life is and expect someone to share it with you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, there are those of you out there that are funny,
self-loving, positive people who have a lot to offer and still can’t get a man
to notice you. I know how that feels, that was me in high school. The only things I did differently in college were become a
lot more social, and get an internet connection. You HAVE to put yourself out
there. The perfect man or woman is not going to walk up to your door and ring the
bell. You have to get out there. Join a book club, a writing group, or a gym.
Attend community events and social gathering at your church, or get involved in
a movement that means a lot to you. Once you’re there, don’t just sit and wait for someone to approach you, be social, introduce
yourself, and
engage in conversations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Confession time, out of my 3 long term
relationships (lasting a year or more) I met two of them, including my husband,
on the internet. The internet can be a great place to meet people because you
really have to focus on who the person is instead of who they hang out with or
what they look like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That being said, the internet is much more
dangerous now than when I was meeting people.
Always have your guard up. Remember, online people can be whoever they want; that hot 26 year old might
really be a 46 year old widow with a drinking problem and 6 kids. If you start to think
you might have feelings for someone online, arrange to meet them. If they make up an excuse, move on.
If they agree,
meet in a public place and bring a friend; or let a friend know exactly where you will be and when
you should be returning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In my experience with online dating, being up
front about my disability from the start has been best. Putting up a picture
where your disability is obvious and touching on it in your profile might mean you get less people
contacting you, but it also weeds out the assholes and helps to avoid an
awkward conversation later. You will probably get a few devotees (people for
whom disability is a sexual fetish). But they are usually pretty easy to spot, and if you aren’t into
that, just block them from contacting you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So that’s it. That’s all the advice I have. Here
is the short version for all of you that skipped over my long windedness:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Accept your disability as a part of who you are.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Don’t let your disability be the focus of your interactions
with others. If all they care about is the disability; they aren't interested in <i>you.</i><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Use humor to engage people and make them more comfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Try to stay positive when first meeting people, don’t whine
or carry on about how horrible things are for you.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Get involved in your
community, put yourself out there. Don't sit around and wait for Mr. or Ms. Right to find you.</span></li>
</ul>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-14638407879058897892013-03-11T15:01:00.001-04:002013-03-11T15:03:01.610-04:00Quilting is Good for the SoulOnce again, it has been a while since I posted. Things have been up and down for me for the past month or so. For much of February, my hemoglobin levels with so low that I could barely function. The doctors adjusted my Ribavirin dose and put my on folic acid. The number is still quite low but climbing. Then we found my liver enzymes had spiked and I had a brief moment of panic where I thought the virus might be back, but it turned out to be a fluke.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I will tell you, that one little step up on my hemoglobin has done wonders though. I feel like a new girl again! I have gotten 4 quilting projects done in the 3 weeks! I can't show most of them to you because they are gifts but I do have a few pictures.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7hoBUS-NugIIkN9O5jXcVMBTs15D34TzNEfuLJSEegPwYw5PenrPiXEbCK4zt82qYrA2YX_178eqVc18gnq6UR2YVu5R0igVrDSwn0e6EJII-K48v-NAQ-B19Wlsj5olnxvW-kHBkuU/s1600/625528_10101099195819785_766242149_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7hoBUS-NugIIkN9O5jXcVMBTs15D34TzNEfuLJSEegPwYw5PenrPiXEbCK4zt82qYrA2YX_178eqVc18gnq6UR2YVu5R0igVrDSwn0e6EJII-K48v-NAQ-B19Wlsj5olnxvW-kHBkuU/s320/625528_10101099195819785_766242149_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New quilt for the bed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSXu7iAH6BdvG6DacSwdzzPkU4wNDtoYrMF9gIi18SyrlfU0o301LqrE5o3916os5UBolQy_tpt2-vsvW716Gv2VQ2ChwXNe2gfPUMMXJbM6efdp0BZp2C9ITrYCTVz3YmM-x1bUMlEs/s1600/188351_10101072145753335_1339568688_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSXu7iAH6BdvG6DacSwdzzPkU4wNDtoYrMF9gIi18SyrlfU0o301LqrE5o3916os5UBolQy_tpt2-vsvW716Gv2VQ2ChwXNe2gfPUMMXJbM6efdp0BZp2C9ITrYCTVz3YmM-x1bUMlEs/s320/188351_10101072145753335_1339568688_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A quilt for my husband</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am currently working on a postage stamp quilt made with all the scraps from the quilts I have made over the last 3 years. I got the pattern <a href="http://www.redpepperquilts.com/2012/04/postage-stamp-quilt-tutorial.html" target="_blank">here</a>, and I am almost finished with the second step. I will post a picture when it's finished.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today, I finally found a simple pattern (no applique, paper piecing, or complicated patterns to cut out) for a sunflower block and am so freaking excited. I wish I had a car so I could go to Joann Fabrics today! I am going to incorporate it into a simple pattern and make a throw.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvoI1Cj_GWjCk647EmOFcGaHF57uTXXXKjCaoCO5pIz7LGRd_pbXXZIteGfqGkXgDWxHaeFFEJp73T8lrF7OLucjIUaahJANtw-_YQqZg_PO9o2GAacM3he70T_aff-aL8vdmHb-feOy4/s1600/State_Fair_Sunflower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvoI1Cj_GWjCk647EmOFcGaHF57uTXXXKjCaoCO5pIz7LGRd_pbXXZIteGfqGkXgDWxHaeFFEJp73T8lrF7OLucjIUaahJANtw-_YQqZg_PO9o2GAacM3he70T_aff-aL8vdmHb-feOy4/s320/State_Fair_Sunflower.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunflower Block!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I am also going to make a friend a T-Shirt quilt.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love quilting. It really has giving me something to focus on besides this disease and it really makes me feel good to see my pieces finished and being used by people I love. I plan to start selling some soon.... stay tuned.</div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-84884974694659916412013-02-21T12:51:00.001-05:002013-02-21T14:40:29.109-05:00Disability Pride: Why I am a Cripple.<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Recently, this <a href="http://thelimpingphilosopher.wordpress.com/2013/02/17/on-why-cripple-is-a-better-term-than-person-with-a-disability/" target="_blank">blog post</a> has
been making its
rounds on my facebook newsfeed. It's about how the writer thinks the word cripple is better than "disabled". So far three people have reposted it, but I did not read it until this morning. My friend Stephanie
commented that I was “ahead of the game,” so I gave it a glance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have been calling myself a
cripple for 12 years. When I first started doing it, people were appalled,
especially disabled people. Some of the most
common responses were, “You shouldn’t put
yourself down”; “you’re not crippled, you’re ‘differently abled’!”; “You don’t want the world to see you that way, do you?”
Now when I say it, most people are still appalled; but my fellow cripples? They’re giving
me the fist bump. It’s amazing what twelve years can do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am not saying that I made
this change single handedly. I didn’t. But in college I was one of the only people who were truly
proud of being disabled. While most other people in my age group were trying their best to
highlight the things that they <i>could</i> do, to show the world they were no different and to make
their disabilities a small (and insignificant) fraction of who they were, I was
shining a spotlight on mine and shouting “HEY YOU! LOOK AT ME! I AM CRIPPLED! I KNOW I’M AWESOME AND
YOU ARE TOTALLY JEALOUS.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I remember sophomore year of
college, I chalked the phrase: Being disabled is fun; everyone should try it!”
on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. Later that night, the resident
advisors knocked on the door and started yelling at my roommate for the
offensive and discriminatory phrases she wrote on the sidewalk. She walked away
and said,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Melissa, you have company.” I
rolled up to the door and smiled at the two girls. They were a lot nicer to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“You wrote this?” they asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Yup,” I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Oh,” they said. “Have a nice
night.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I closed the door. My roommate
couldn’t believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“How can they think it’s
offensive and discriminatory when I write it but not when you do it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“What are they gonna do Stephy,
tell me my life isn’t <i>f</i><i>un</i>? There was nothing
offensive about that. They are just not used to people like me being out and
proud.” We still laugh about that story to this day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was a cripple. I was done
apologizing for it. I wanted everyone to know I was sick of the issue being skirted around. Sick of being
asked “What do you like to be called?” and “Do you have any special needs we
should be concerned with?” and having to answer politely because people “meant well.” So I started answering
truthfully. “Melissa.” I’d say, and when they looked confused, “if you must,
just tell them I’m a cripple.” As for my needs, I actually told one person I hadn’t gotten laid in a
while. It turned out that wasn’t a need they were prepared to accommodate.
Their loss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Calling myself a cripple was my
way of accepting my disability. It was completely liberating to no longer feel like it was my duty to make
other people feel okay about the fact that I was disabled; to try to fit in and
to be ‘normal’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And why shouldn’t I be proud?
My disability has
put me through the ringer. It has knocked me down. It has said, “You’ll never succeed; you’ll never have real
friends and no one could ever love you or want you.” And in response, I told my disability to fuck
off, I had
succeeded. Not by fitting my square butt into a round hole or by insisting that I was
just like everyone else, but by embracing the fact that it didn’t and I wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It worked for me, and apparently now it is working for others
as well. This is one change that I can embrace. Here’s to a world full of cripples; loud and proud and not
backing down.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-43352051287109817142013-02-04T14:23:00.003-05:002013-02-04T14:23:51.724-05:00Week 12 Treatment Results and a Plea for Patience <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
01/29/13 <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
HEPATITIS C VIRUS RNA BY POLYMERASE CHAIN REACTION(PCR),<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
QUANTITATIVE, SERUM OR PLASMA<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
RESULT: HCV RNA NOT DETECTED<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Does everyone know what this means? It means I am kicking
ass and Taking names that what is means. As of January, 29th there is no trace
of the Hepatitis C Virus in my blood!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Pauses for cheers and applause)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course it’s not that easy. I still have 35 more weeks of
treatment, and in that time the virus has to stay gone. If it is still gone 6
months after treatment ends then I am considered cured. That will happen. It is
only a matter of time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since my last update, in which I balled my fists and
declared that I was done with the pity party, I’ve totally intended on filling
this blog with other things besides my Hep C updates, Things like: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>My college roommate is getting married and made me her maid
of honor. (Turns out being in a wedding is more stressful to me then planning
my own.)</li>
<li>The other day some shoe salesman with a broken arm thought
asking me “What happened?” was a totally appropriate conversation starter,</li>
<li>I wanted to post my acceptance story in honor of national
acceptance day which was January 20th</li>
<li>And I have finished two new quilts</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Clearly I have failed at all of this because these as hard
as I am knocking Hep C out the meds are knocking me out. I am still so tired, I
am winded and I ache. My brain has turned into that of a goldfish. I am
swimming in circles; I have a five second memory. If I don’t do something the
second I think of it; it just slips into oblivion until I make another lap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The difference between this update in the last one is that
now I know that none of that matters, because right now, this treatment is
working. All these side effects have been worth it and I have to believe that
what the doctors are saying is true: that it’s all downhill from here. I can
see the light at the end of the tunnel folks and I am in a much better place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know this blog has meant something to people and that
means the world to me. I have no intention of stopping. I hope, in time that I
will feel good enough for regular updates again, until then I hope that you all
can hang in there and that you have all like my Facebook page where I continue
to post at least a little more regularly.<o:p></o:p></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-65785340267131493212013-01-17T15:39:00.001-05:002013-01-17T15:39:56.891-05:00Self-Pity Is for Sissies <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been a long time since I have written here. That is
because I have been stuck in my own head having a no holds barred, pity party.
It’s been pretty epic, and by epic I mean whiney, self-serving and completely
pointless. It is also, for the most part,
completely out of character.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not one for pity; not
for myself, not for anyone else. I am not the friend you go to when you have a
problem and you just want a hug, a glass of wine, and some reassuring drivel
about how ‘everything happens for a reason’ and how ‘it is all
part of some grand design or master plan’ and ‘everything will
be okay in the end.’ The only helpful thing that
comes out of that is the wine. No, I am the
friend that you come to when you have a problem that you are interested in <i>solving</i>. You’ll get the wine, and the
hug, but what you won’t get is the pity. Instead, I do my best to help you come
up with a solution. I will, however, only do this once. If you come to me the
next month with the same problem, which you have
done nothing to improve, the best you’re gonna get from me is a “that sucks”. A
lot of people find this harsh or unkind. My friends (at least the ones that
have lasted) know that I am coming from a good place; that I care about them
too much to stand by and be a cheerleader while they do nothing but wallow in
self-pity. They also know, that most of the
time, I employ the same tactics to myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I have been dealt some tough hands in life, I've never
really been one to take them lying down. I have always been stubborn and have
taken on challenges with an “is that all you
got?” attitude. When I was in third grade, I had a surgery which resulted in my
legs being in casts from ankle to hip. I somehow managed to teach myself to
walk around my house with these casts on; I
found being carried or using a chair to be too annoying. Instead of wallowing in the fact that I couldn't move, I
decided that figuring out how I could move was the best course of action. Exactly twice in my life, I have allowed self-pity to take
over: once in high school when I moved schools and felt so isolated that
instead of finding ways to make friends, I retreated
into myself. I began cutting and was severely depressed until senior year when
I decided I was over the bullshit, made some friends and had a pretty decent
year. The second time is now. Well not <i>right now</i>,
but it pretty much started after my diagnoses.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This treatment has been the absolute, hands down, most challenging thing that I have ever
encountered. Not just because of the treatment itself,
but because the longer it goes on, the more it
has been exasperating the things that were already difficult in my life. I have
gained weight because of the meds, which is
problematic for me. For years I struggled with a bad body image; additionally, the extra weight is making it harder to
move and so much easier to fall. My normal aches
and pains have become more intense and almost constant, even resting I am in
pain. My muscles are fatigued and weak; I can no
longer get myself out of bed without a struggle or stand for longer than five
minutes at a time. There is so much more that I care to
list, but in short, it’s been a
challenge. A challenge which I have buckled
under at almost every turn. Instead of telling myself the usual: That it isn’t
that bad, that things could be worse, that this
is only temporary, and that I should just keep on keeping on; I have been
thinking about how hard this is, how unfair, how long 48 weeks is, and how I
just simply cannot do it anymore. I cry and I swear and I throw things. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know what some of you are thinking; <i>that seems like a perfectly reasonable reaction.</i> Perhaps it is, but
is it solving anything? Is it making the 48 weeks go by any faster or less
miserably? No. I knew this, but still I wallowed. And then real shit starting
happening in the world. Children were shot and killed in their school; girls with their whole lives ahead of them were being
murdered, my friends were losing loved ones expectantly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s when I remembered, no
matter how hard things are, it can get worse. What I am
going through really pales and comparison to what is happening everyday to someone else. In fact, what I am going through
means that there is hope; hope for a cure, hope
that 48 weeks of misery means a lifetime of better health. And so I am climbing
out of my self-pity hole. I am not going to settle
for “I can’t” or “it’s too hard” anymore. I am not going to be that sad girl I
was in high school. I am going to be that stubborn third grader. I am going to
do everything I can do. No more lying around and doing nothing. I might have
new limits, but there is still plenty I can do, and I am
going to do it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday I vacuumed the
first floor, did the dishes, cooked two night worth of dinner, took a shower
and called my best friend. Tonight I have
quilting class and tomorrow I am blessed to be able to spend time with both my
father and my grandmother. Next week is my last
week of Invicek, which many consider the hardest part of treatment. I can’t
wait to start eating better, and trying to get a
simple workout routine in to build my muscles back up. From now on, treatment
is not going to kick my ass. I am going to kill it. I am done with worthless,
pointless, lazy self- pity. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-46955505099079769592012-12-06T08:28:00.001-05:002012-12-06T08:33:43.891-05:00Hepatitis C Treatment Update #2 <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I got my test result yesterday, the ones that let me know
whether or not treatment is working. It is working but it’s taking the long way
around. Let me try to explain. When I first started treatment my viral load was
in the 636,000 range as of yesterday it was 17. That sounds awesome, but where
I was really hoping to be was 0 or not detected. Being not detected would have meant
that the virus was gone from my system and that I had only about 19 more weeks
of treatment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where the doctors wanted me to be at yesterday was not detected
or >12. Being at 17 is higher than what anybody wanted, but it is low enough
to say that treatment is working, and that I will continue treatment for about 43
more weeks. If at the 24 week mark my viral load is not at 0 or if my viral
load is above 100 at my 12 week check then treatment will stop because it is
not working.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This all means that treatment is working for now, but we don’t
know if it is going to cure me. It also means that if everything goes well, I
have 43 more weeks of treatment, which is 43 weeks of feeling like shit. I
really do feel awful. I told my friend yesterday that it was like being 100 and
going through puberty at the same time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My joints ache all the time, especially now that winter has
started. I normally have joint pain because of my CP, but the medicine are exacerbating
the pain and sometimes my hips hurt so bad that even sitting causes pain. It
takes me FOREVER to do anything. I was no racehorse before all this; but now, I
am like earth rotatingly slow. As in you can only tell I am moving by charting
the sun, taking time-lapse video, or creating some complicated pendulum
experiment. My grandma could beat me in a footrace and she is in her nineties. My
mind is in a fog. The other day I came home from work, fed Taden went to the
bathroom, let Taden in and then tried to feed her again. I saw the food in her
bowl and realized I had already fed her, but had to struggle before I
remembered doing it. It was actually a little scary. Mostly, I am just having a
lot more of those, “why did I come in here?” moments than usual. All I ever
want to do is sleep. I crave sleep the way children crave their Halloween candy
and the way smokers crave that cigarette. I need it, and I need it now or life
as I know it will come crumbling down. Give me sleep or give me death and all
that mumbo jumbo. On top of all that, my face looks like it got hit by truck
containing the hormones of a dozen thirteen-year-olds and I am in a perpetual
state of annoyance. Just talking to me at this point may elicit an eye roll or
a heavy sigh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I am training my husband for life in retirement as well
as life with a teenager. I am not quite sure how much he can take. He is
stressed out and short tempered and not sure how to fix it. Of course he is
thinking big. He already wants to find a house that’s easier, or move us back
to the main level both of which I refuse because moving creates more stress and
that first level room with its drafts and hard wood floors is too hard on my
poor little old lady joints.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
43 weeks as a long time. And then we have to wait 6 months
to find out if it’s really gone. I will be nearly 32 then and the first 2 and a
half years of my marriage will be over. Aren’t the first few years supposed to
be the best? I feel cheated. I wanted to be a mother by now. I wanted us to be
happily-ever-after, but instead here we sit in limbo, waiting. To say this is
not fair is an understatement, but it is also completely useless, and so I will
try to stay positive. Even though all I really want to do is throw the mother
of all tantrums. I will keep trucking and I will try to smile even when I don’t
want to. What else is there to do? At least treatment is working, at least the
symptoms are not worse, at least my system isn’t tanking under all these medicine.
At least I am still (mostly) sane.<br />
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At least, as always, I still have my amazing family and
friends to support me through this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-59071566686984297452012-12-03T08:51:00.000-05:002012-12-03T09:09:54.912-05:00Displacing Inspiration. <br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">Early last month, I went with a coup</span>le c<span style="color: black;">o-workers </span>to <span style="color: black;">a work related </span>c<span style="color: black;">onvention in Traverse City</span>,<span style="color: black;"> Michigan. </span>This<span style="color: black;"> was my first conference in a few </span>years, and<span style="color: black;"> I </span>usually<span style="color: black;"> end up having issues on work related trips</span>, so<span style="color: black;"> I was not excited to </span>go. But<span style="color: black;"> </span>as <span style="color: black;">my co-worker need</span>ed<span style="color: black;"> some support and technical assistance</span>,<span style="color: black;"> I took one for the team. I have to say</span>, a<span style="color: black;">s far </span>as<span style="color: black;"> conferences go</span>,<span style="color: black;"> it was one of the better experiences I’ve had</span>;<span style="color: black;"> at least as far as physical accessibility was concerned. The conference was held in the same hotel we were staying in, so there was no walking on cracked sidewalks and uneven surfaces</span>;<span style="color: black;"> no rushed taxi ride where I worry about how my chair is being handled and no getting lost due to bad or incomplete directions or addresses. Everything was right there. It was easy and it was accessible.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">However, it gave me a weird vibe. There is a saying in the Independent Living Communit</span>y,<span style="color: black;"> “Nothing about us, without us.” This conference was very much about people with disabilities</span>;<span style="color: black;"> </span>s<span style="color: black;">pecifically in the field of </span>employment. But<span style="color: black;"> the majority of the conference attendees and presenters were people that served people with disabilities, and not people with disabilities themselves. Throughout the conference, people with disabilities were described as </span>“<span style="color: black;">inspirations,</span>”<span style="color: black;"> as people who </span>“<span style="color: black;">never give up,</span>”<span style="color: black;"> who are “always” happy. I kept hearing the same phrase over and over again. “When I am having a bad day, when I am feeling down and out and just want to give up I think of (insert the name of someone </span>they know <span style="color: black;">with a disability here) and I don’t feel so terrible anymore”.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">I wondered how that was supposed to make me feel. I mean</span>,<span style="color: black;"> I know they intended it to have a positive meaning, but all they were really saying was, “At least I don’t have a disability, because then my life would totally suck and I would have a real reason to bitch.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">Being an inspiration to others is a great thing</span>, t<span style="color: black;">here is no doubt about that</span>.<span style="color: black;"> </span>I<span style="color: black;"> know I have inspired several people in the past</span>;<span style="color: black;"> maybe they are inspired because I do always try to see the humor in everything, or because I figured out how to sew with one hand, or because I have completed National Novel Writing Month twice. I certainly hope it’s not because I dragged my ass out of bed this morning and went to work</span>,<span style="color: black;"> because there was nothing inspiring about that scene</span>.<span style="color: black;"> </span>A<span style="color: black;">nd if you don’t believe me</span>,<span style="color: black;"> you can ask my husband.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">Let me be clear. My life is not horrible. It is not a tragedy. I do not spend each and every day struggling. The act of getting out of bed and going to work should not be inspiring. Some people assume that my life must be inherently harder than yours but it is not, because humans adapt and because I </span>don’t <span style="color: black;">know </span>any<span style="color: black;"> other way, but my way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">If I inspire you, that’s great</span>;<span style="color: black;"> but please let it be for the right reasons. Getting out of bed? Easy. Writing a novel in a month? Hard as hell. </span>Please <span style="color: black;">don’t compare my life you your worst day. My life is amazing. I have the world’s most supportive and amazing friends, a husband who loves me, a dog that ADORES me, a good job that I enjoy, a number of talents, and an amazing family that would do anything for me. So I have a disability. It’s not such a tragedy. That being said, I am not always happy, I am not always positive. Sometimes, I am pissed off that I have to live with a disability while so many others get a free pass. Sometimes, I am tired and some days literally hurt. These days happen. They do not make my life any less amazing or any more inspiring. They just make it real.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">I hope that if you have someone with a disability in your life that you remember: They are not an inspiration. They are a person. Sometimes, they might do things that you think that you couldn't do. Sometimes they might do something pretty amazing, but mostly they are just people. Try not to put us up on a pedestal, we're apt to fall off. </span></span></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-84422310717057670932012-11-21T11:42:00.002-05:002012-11-21T11:48:31.448-05:00I am Thankful.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">this lovely quilt was given to me by a volunteer that I work with.</span></td></tr>
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Every year, at Thanksgiving; my step-family gets in a big ‘ol
circle, hold hands, says a prayer and then each person shares what we are
thankful for. I used to dread this tradition because I could never seem to
think of just the right thing to say, and I was a little shy (That side of my
family is HUGE). Now, that I am older and I see that yet another family holiday
is being turned into marketing scheme, a reason to spend money; I see the value
in this little tradition. It’s important in an era of “I want” and “I need” to
reflect on what you do have; and what you are thankful for.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am thankful for:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<li>Health insurance which allows me to afford the
drugs that will cure my Hepatitis C.</li>
<li>My Daddy, who gives the best hugs in the whole
wide world and who I will always call Daddy.</li>
<li>Tommy, who can make me laugh, even while I am
crying.</li>
<li>My Seester because she sings me songs and sends
my sad-face high fives when I am having a bad day.</li>
<li>My big sister, who is my constant cheerleader
and is coming over to help with laundry on Sunday, (bless her).</li>
<li>My friends, who send me cards to cheer me up and
always have my back, no matter what. (Shout out to Christy, Cathleen and Stephy
for being particularly awesome.)</li>
<li>My Momma, for being the emergency giver of
rides, and the person who comes over when I am by myself .and experiencing crazy
side effects.</li>
<li>My job, because I have one and because I enjoy
it.</li>
<li>My co-workers and volunteers who have been especially
supportive and thoughtful.</li>
<li>Miss Taden for her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I am so happy to see you</i> smile, her nightly snuggles and her happy tail.</li>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If I was never diagnosed with Hepatitis C, I would still be grateful
for all these things; but I don’t think that I would really know just how grateful
I was or how wonderful these things and people are. Even in the things that try
to wreck us, or make us weak. There are blessings. You just have to know where
to look.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I wish all of you a happy, healthy, safe and blessed Thanksgiving.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-11500604638352428302012-11-19T08:16:00.000-05:002012-11-19T08:18:43.394-05:00Hepatitis C Treatment Update #1 <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I am currently working on a post about inspiration, but the words are not coming easily today. This happens. So instead, I thought some of you might want a little update on how Treatment is going. I am going to be pretty candid here, because I want to give a full picture of what treatment is like, so some of this might be over share. Just a warning.</span></div>
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For those of you that don’t know, I am on what they call “triple therapy”. This consists of a weekly injection of interferon; Telaprevir which I take three times a day; and Ribavirin which I take two times a day. In short, it is a crap load of medicine. It has to be taken at very specific times and with certain foods. I take the Interferon on Fridays around 10 PM. Tom has been doing the injecting, and boy am I glad I didn’t marry a sissy. With the Interferon, I usually take Tylenol and Benadryl to prevent a fever and any allergic reaction. I take the Teleprevir at 7:00 a.m., 2:00 p.m., and 10:00 p.m.. Teleprevir has to be taken with 15-20 grams (or more) of fat so I try my best to consume lower fat foods for both lunch and dinner. The Ribavirin is taken twice a day at 7:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m. with food.</div>
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Needless to say, I am eating a crap load of food. As of Friday, I have decided to bring stretch pants back. It's gonna be so hot. Thankfully, it's winter and bulky comfy sweaters are my best friend normally this time of year.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">For the first four days of treatment I had no side effects. I actually started to feel like maybe I had this in the bag. Then, on the night before my first day back at work (and two nights before a trip to Traverse City for a work related conference), I developed a rash. It wasn’t any big thing. I took a dose of Benadryl at night, got a prescription for a topical cream and it went away. I was still able to attend the conference.</span></div>
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But since then, the party has really started; and by party I mean that embarrassing one your parents threw you at Chuck E. Cheese when you were certainly too old and definitely too cool. Or your Aunt Marjorie’s retirement party where everyone commented on what a woman you were becoming while your cousins made a game out of snapping your bra. Yeah, that party.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">After my second shot of interferon, I experienced a fever as well as some fatigue and muscle weakness. I think these were made worse by C.P. Both Saturday and Sunday, I could not stand for longer than ten minutes without feeling extremely fatigued. By Monday, that had improved and I am noticing that if I force myself to get moving I can get the metal fatigue to clear pretty quickly. However there is a fine line. If I try to do too much, which for me seems to be more than a half an hour of physical activity at a time. I am completely wrecked. My legs shake and my arms burn with the effort of keeping me upright. On Friday I burst into tears mid-sentence while Tom and I were on our way to get my blood drawn, alarmed he asked what was wrong. I said. "I am just so tired." I cried for thirty seconds then sucked it up. Tom made me giggle saying "You can doooooo it." And reminded me that I was tough, I had this, and it was small potatoes </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">compared</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> to everything else I've been through.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">When I am not dying of exhaustion, I simply can't sleep. Last night, I got two hours before Tom got up to pee and I was up for the rest of the night. It is frustrating. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">I either have chills, or I am sweating. Sometimes my body can't decided and I do both at once.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Now, because I am a sexy beast, I have added hemorrhoids to my list of side effects. Let me tell you, if you ever need to be humbled, hemorrhoids will help you get there with a quickness. Not only is it embarrassing to admit to, they are painful. The kind of painful that makes you want to punch someone in the face.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I am also irritable, and have developed either a rash or acne all over my face. I have never experienced skin this bad in my entire life. So in short, I'm fat, irritable, emotional, weak, tired, covered in zits and it hurts to poop. It's a good thing I already got the wedding out of the way. I am pretty sure that for better or worse, in sickness and in health covers ugly.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">My first blood draw was Friday. I am hoping that my viral loads have dropped and that all these awesomely wonderful side effects mean that my body is kicking some serious Hepatitis C ass.</span></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-68233526101716063802012-11-01T09:04:00.000-04:002012-11-01T09:04:48.677-04:00Getting Back Up is the Best PartTomorrow, I start treatment for Hepatitis C. I will be taking three drugs Telepriver, Interferon and Ribavirin. These drugs can come with some very nasty side effects. I can't say that I am not nervous, maybe even a little scared, but I am determined to beat this virus; and today, I stumbled across a video that reminded me of something I have always known, but sometimes in the face of fear, I forget. When you fall down, you get back up.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/sdqjOiTurTw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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In the eternal words of C<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">humbawamba, "I get knocked down, but I get up again. You're never gonna keep me down."</span> </span>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-80618571487931164282012-10-29T08:12:00.001-04:002012-10-29T08:18:59.884-04:00My Grandmother's Wedding PhotosMy whole life I have been told I look like my mother. I never really saw it. My twin is a dead ringer for Mom. (I know that sounds crazy because if she is than so am I right?) But there was always something just slightly different about my eyes and my mouth. On my wedding day, my Uncle Jimmy told me that I looked just like his Mom. My Grandmother. I never met her, because she died before I was born, but I'd seen pictures and knew there was a resemblance.<br />
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At Mom's this weekend, we dug out pictures of Grandma's Wedding. I thought they would be fun to post here. We really do look alike. I tried to find pictures of me in the same poses for comparison.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0S6OJTGKuC0AP6BRHlS5FJjzXSfc1OUPASuWhLPbszCeisP6slMwKrmPN_OIIEkCNUD5ky9VYVzFCDThp8fmTRtQ0bV_uCjne2V22y_gG7aJz_E6CSswrP4yptYqjEdDaJ7NSwGVF9E/s1600/SKMBT_C55012102907010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0S6OJTGKuC0AP6BRHlS5FJjzXSfc1OUPASuWhLPbszCeisP6slMwKrmPN_OIIEkCNUD5ky9VYVzFCDThp8fmTRtQ0bV_uCjne2V22y_gG7aJz_E6CSswrP4yptYqjEdDaJ7NSwGVF9E/s400/SKMBT_C55012102907010.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't have a comparison shot for this one but for lack of a better term it's like looking in a mirror<br />
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Isn't that neat? I think it's sad that we never got to meet. But it's funny how you can carry someone you never met with you.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPPsafra3atpguwMKnssdkQM4h__euf3kh48rHCnoftQ8YSc5O9tkaTUcIUmmJ70DWL2w5oFEemR76RcwTu3x1P5Xf2fBf36nirTeu5T_QEGFGh9rHhdTHdV-opsyp6tnFvn3tSP6A9Y/s1600/SKMBT_C55012102907001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-72018797046938882782012-10-24T07:15:00.000-04:002012-10-24T07:16:18.629-04:00I Am a Hypocrite: Reason #461<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I have a confession to make, or perhaps it is more of a dirty little secret. Those of you who have been reading this blog for any length of time (or know me in person) probably have me pegged as a person who is independent; the kind of person who takes the bull by the horns, fearlessly states her opinion and is confident. But really, I should be booked for a Starburst commercial because I am, in fact, a rolling contradiction.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">For all my talk about being as independent as possible (something that is different for everyone) and confident about whom you are; I am terrified to travel alone.<span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I believe that there are many reasons for this phenomenon. The first being that I have never really been alone, even prior to my birth I was kicking it with my wombmate (pun totally intended). Having a twin makes a person fiercely interdependent; where one falters the other succeeds. She was by my side for most of my childhood, and when she wasn't I was with friends. After high school, there was college; and with it came a shiny, new set of roommates. After college my best friend moved in with me and by the time he left for Denver, I had moved in with Tom. Tom recently went on a 10 trip to go hunting and I literally did not know what do do with myself. That ten days, is the longest that I have lived alone in my entire life.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">The second reason that I hate going anywhere alone is because I am a bit of a control freak, which</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> I assure you</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> is not a very convenient or desir</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">able</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> character trait to have when you have a disabil</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">ity.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> I hate when I am not in control of things. When I go out on my own, I most often give control to the Paratrasit System</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> where I live. The rules are that a scheduled ride may arrive up to twenty minutes after it is schedule to arrive before it is even considered late. If it is later than that, well, there isn’t much you can do about that either. Monday night, I had an event to attend at a local coffee shop after work. Usually</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> I plan to bring a co-worker with me to such functions</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> but none were available. I was </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">on</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> my own. It started at 7:30 but I wanted to get there a 7:00 to settle in. (Go to the bathroom, grab some coffee and find an accessible seat.) I scheduled my ride at 6:00 which gave me a full hour to complete what is about a 4 mile journey. Plenty of time right? Wrong. My transportation arrived an hour late. I thought that would be the end of it, but </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">I was wrong again. W</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">hen I went outside to meet the driver</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> he had two passengers to unload and wasn’t even sure if I was on his schedule</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">S</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">o he unloaded them, went inside to go to the </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">bathroom, then</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> came out, closed up all the doors to the van and </span></span><i style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">then</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> checked to see if he had me scheduled (he did). So, </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">t was another 20 minutes before I was in the van and on my way.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He finally gets me there and insists on pushing me inside, even though I tell him I have it. The event is a poetry reading and the door opens up at the side of the small reading space. The driver makes no effort to be quiet as he pushes me through the door only people in wheelchairs have to use and tells me: “Here you are! Have fun!” in a loud voice. Everyone is staring and the person who was reading has stopped mid-sentence. I apologize, and got to get a coffee.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">The third reason that I hate going anywhere </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">alone is</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> that I become hyper aware of the fact that I am different then everyone. Let's be honest, people stare at me all the time, and not just because I am the </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">hottest</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> thing they've ever seen. When I am with someone else, however, I honestly don't notice it. I am too focused on talking to the person I am with to pay attention to the gawkers. With no one there for me to focus on it becomes nearly impossible to ignore the stares. I go to the counter to order a drink. The surface of said counter is about level with my forehead. I crane my next looking for staff, but see no one. So I wait, as I do I can feel the eyes of the people at the tables wonder towards me. I begin to feel hot. I want to sho</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">t out to get the staff’s attention, but I don’t want any more attention from the people staring. I can almost hear their thoughts. </span></span><i style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">How come no one is helping her?</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> One thinks. </span></span><i style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">I don’t think they can see her. </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Another observes. </span></span><i style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">Is she okay?</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Ponders a third person</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">;</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> staring at me over the lip of the white ceramic mug. </span></span><i style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">Of course she is okay,</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> thinks the only rational person in the </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">room, <i>she’s</i></span><i style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;"> just waiting for coffee. </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">I decide an “Excuse me,” is an order, but it is to no avail. I am about to abandon the coffee altogether, when </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">women on her way to the bathroom gets the attention of </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> staff </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">member, w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">ho takes my order </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: normal;">and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">then at my request, secures the lid for me. People are still staring.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I take my coffee and roll back to the poetry reading. The girl I interrupted is finished reading. Someone new is up. I park my chair on the peripheral of the space, not wanting to interrupt, be in the way, or be stared at as I take my coat off; which, because I’m going for silence takes several minutes. I curse my coat for it's freakishly loud zipper and all the Velcro (So much Velcro!). Finally, I liberate myself, but I'm so hot that the coffee doesn't really appeal to me anymore. I try to sit back and enjoy the poetry. I try to feel like I am part of the writing community, but people keep glancing at me out of the corner of their eyes and there is nothing to do but look right back. I feel left out, I feel excluded, I feel hostile, but most of all, in these places filled with people, I feel alone.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When my friend, who is neither a coffee or poetry lover, finally arrives to pick me up, I am relieved. We wait for the person reading to finish and quietly leave. It might just be my imagination, but I can almost hear the entire room sigh in relief as the door closes behind us.</span></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-78851949214920072852012-10-19T06:56:00.001-04:002012-10-19T07:02:31.521-04:00My First Pinterest Experiment: Anniversary Photo Shoot<br />
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I always have these grand ideas that never amount to much of
anything. I am not sure why this happens. I could be laziness of my part. I
mean sometimes I am just so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tired</i>, my
ideas just take so much <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">work</i> and my
bed is just so damned <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">comfy</i>. My Pinterest boards are full of recipes and craft ideas that I will probably never
get around to actually trying, but it’s comforting that they are there in case, someday, I find myself rich and rested with oodles of free time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Once in a while though, I do get things done. I have, so far
in my adult life completed a few projects or goals, including: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my college education, the first draft of three
novels (please don’t ask about the revisions), ten quilts, a wedding and now,
drumroll please, my first Pinterest pin.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, there are those of you that do this every day who are
probably not impressed with that last one. Then again, you probably don’t find things
like jumping or skipping to be impressive either, and I am quite amazed by
those things. The rest of you who <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">might
</i>be impressed are probably hoping I stop babbling and just tell you
what I did.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Here it is:<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">It’s an anniversary picture
where you take a picture of the two of you holding a picture from the year
before. Cute Right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">Well it took me a full month
after my anniversary, but I got my friend Martha to come over and snap a few
pics for us. It was quick and painless. Although, Tom did have to shave a bit.
(If you can believe it.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXhG6mzIW-ynsVEh8qIIZKK608nrFKspQSAez4SHc6EoQvWD8AmT_IplcNw_4wgQF5ksVZD6VhpdzNOZxZOoVW3i7WuGhpjA4nArbpMS3ckeVkksUqJsIgQdOoKaNdq41NG6-WJaEaUhM/s1600/IMG_5961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXhG6mzIW-ynsVEh8qIIZKK608nrFKspQSAez4SHc6EoQvWD8AmT_IplcNw_4wgQF5ksVZD6VhpdzNOZxZOoVW3i7WuGhpjA4nArbpMS3ckeVkksUqJsIgQdOoKaNdq41NG6-WJaEaUhM/s400/IMG_5961.JPG" width="280" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfv7z9nk3059uFPegXoYyaflVxNp1MYZyYDVgoyhThfKlMABL84-gFTf3tvoaed6aytfmx6iIf7qIjeFXAH_-b-SoogxJhSfQGKLipf0n4CXafnICPi2tVHl9rMnVeSE-B51W5ByFNvM/s1600/IMG_5963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfv7z9nk3059uFPegXoYyaflVxNp1MYZyYDVgoyhThfKlMABL84-gFTf3tvoaed6aytfmx6iIf7qIjeFXAH_-b-SoogxJhSfQGKLipf0n4CXafnICPi2tVHl9rMnVeSE-B51W5ByFNvM/s400/IMG_5963.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">By the way, are those shirts
not awesome? The logo and shirt are the brainchild of a company called 3ELove. If you have not heard of <a href="http://www.3elove.com/pages/what-is-3e-love">3ELove</a> before I enourage
you to check them out. It’s a great company with a great message.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-74734580794124123812012-09-28T13:51:00.000-04:002012-09-28T14:09:07.611-04:00A New Diagnosis <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When you take those vows on your wedding day, “for better or worse, in sickness and health” I think most people assume the same thing: that we will never be tested, that God, or the Universe, or Karma will be good to them, that their lives and the marriage will be happy and healthy and good. I know that it’s what I assumed. I never imagined that during our first year of marriage Tom and I would face challenges that we never expected, that we never saw coming.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Remember this post? Well as it turns out, my health symptoms were caused by my birth control, but not for the reasons I expected. After going to my doctor for extreme fatigue, which I feared was related to diabetes, I found out that I have Hepatitis C.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-collapse: collapse; margin-bottom: 16.2pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Hepatitis C is a disease caused by a virus that infects the liver. In time, it can lead to permanent liver damage as well as cirrhosis, liver cancer, and liver failure. Hepatitis C can go undiagnosed for years because it often shows no symptoms in the early stages and is not part of any routine blood testing. My doctors seem to believe that I contracted the disease shortly after I was born through, either by a transfusion or surgery. That’s almost thirty years. Twenty-five of which I had no symptoms. Once I started having symptoms, they were so vague that no diagnoses was made right away.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Right after my diagnosis, I was ashamed and I was angry. I was ashamed, because I thought that maybe somehow it was my fault. I thought that anyone that knew might judge me or think less of me for something that wasn’t even my fault. I was angry that the measures taken to save me so long ago might have hurt me. I was angry at the unfairness of it all. Why did it happen to me? </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Wasn't</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> Cerebral Palsy enough? Had I not been poked, medicated and cut open enough for one lifetime? I cried a lot. One minute, I’d be fine, and then the next I would be sobbing because I wasn’t the same</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: inherit;">;</span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: inherit;">I was diseased and my life was never going to be the same. Tom was awesome. He hugged me and told me he loved me. Upbeat from the beginning he said, </span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: inherit;">“T</span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: inherit;">his is right now, but it is not forever.</span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: inherit;">”</span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-collapse: collapse; margin-bottom: 16.2pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I remember thinking at one point that this must have been the way my parents felt after my diagnoses of Cerebral Palsy. They would get caught up in my smile, my laugh, my antics and then they would remember the doctor telling them that I might never walk, that I wouldn’t be like other little girls, that I might not go to college, or get married or have kids. They would wonder how people might perceive me, whether or not I would be accepted by other children, or if one day someone would see past the disability and fall in love with me.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-collapse: collapse; margin-bottom: 16.2pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">That’s when I realized this diagnosis was just that, a diagnosis, one that needs treatment. There is no reason to be ashamed, no reason that it has to control or dictate what my life is going to be. In fact, just like with my Cerebral Palsy, I may be able to help other people going through a similar experience. So despite the fact that some days I am still ashamed, still think that this is unfair, I’ve decided to share my experience with this disease that effects 4 million people in the US. </span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I start treatment for Hepatitis at the end of October. I have been told that treatment is difficult, and I am not sure what the next year might bring. My husband and family and friends comfort me and give me hope. They are so supportive. Without them, I would still be wallowing in self-pity and I never would have had the strength to write this.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was born and fighter and I will die a fighter, but NOT from this disease. Let’s go. I’m ready.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If you want to learn more about Hepatitis C <a href="http://www.webmd.com/hepatitis/hepc-guide/default.htm">click here</a>.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-27276969704970990682012-09-12T07:26:00.000-04:002012-09-12T07:26:20.672-04:00Remembering My Wedding Day: My Sister's Speech<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/313111_10100294539367765_898860326_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/313111_10100294539367765_898860326_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tom is smiling. He smiles a lot when he is<br />
uncomfortable.An example would be when he is<br />
trying not to cry in frontof 250 people.<br />
As you can see he is much better at masking<br />
his emotions than I am. Yeesh!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am the writer in the family, my sisters love to read but neither of them conciser themselves writers and usually come to me for help when they need to write anything important. For my wedding, I asked both my sisters to be bridesmaids, but my twin, Angela was my matron of honor and therefore had to write the speech. She was absolutely panicking for months, and then one day, my maid of honor, who was helping Angela plan my shower and bachelorette par sent me a text that said, "I just heard your sister's speech, I cried." Turns out that Angela had nothing to worry about. Her speech was beautiful and it turned everyone into a blubbering, sobbing, mess. Including me. I meant to publish it here to share with all of you right after my wedding but things got away from me, and now it's been a year. I just stumbled on the speech today and decided that it didn't matter. It's still worth posting and deserves to be shared with the world. So here it is:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">"The first thing many people notice when they meet my sister is her disability. The funny thing is, the longer you get to know her, the more you forget that she has one.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I can't tell you how many times I have gotten 10 feet away before I realize she is still sitting in the chair I left her in. Or how many times I have gotten out of the car and wondered why she wasn't coming. Its like I just expec</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"></span></i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>t her to be able to do everything herself cause she has already done so much that others have said she couldn't do.<br /><br />I have kept a list in my head my whole life. This list is called T<u>hings That Seester Can Do That You Said She Couldn't.</u> Some of these things include, riding a bike, doing a ropes course, swimming, dancing, horseback riding, finding true love, and one thing that I just crossed off today, getting married.<br /><br />Becoming a Bride was the only thing that Misser ever had doubts about. Would she be able to find that one person who would see past all that she couldn't do? that one person who would commit the rest of his life to her? One that would help her when she fell? and one to help her do the things other people said she couldn't?<br /><br />Up until Tommy there was only one man who could be all of this for sister, and that was daddy. Now thanks to Tommy, Misser is lucky enough to have two men in her life that will love her unconditionally.<br /><br />I have known Misser longer than anyone else in this room, and I can tell you when I look at her I dont see the girl with the disability. I see my Seester, My Misker-Roo. My wonderful, loving, caring, funny, supportive and know-it-all twin.<br /><br />I see a Beautiful Bride"</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">It still makes me cry! I Love you Seester!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> </span></span>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748724412184659374.post-21838508628300591172012-09-10T08:20:00.000-04:002012-09-10T08:20:06.884-04:00Anniversary Post: Ten Rules for a Happy Marriage<br />
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So here it is, our first anniversary. I cannot believe that it has been a year. It seems longer. I know how terrible that sounds, but it does. Even his Mom thought it had been two years, already instead of one. This year crawled by compared to the last one. I guess wedding planning has a way of speeding things up. Those of you still planning will be glad to know that things will slow down.</div>
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Tom and I celebrated our first anniversary over the weekend. Things went decidedly better than our first date, which is good because I ordered crab legs. While food you have to wrestle to eat is a bad idea for a first date, it's perfectly acceptable to inadvertently fling seafood at your husband. Marriage you see, has its benefits.</div>
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But it isn't all romance and laughter. Marriage is hard, you no longer have the option of simply walking away when things get hard or boring. One of the gifts we received when we got married was this sign, we hung it in the hallway near the bedroom:</div>
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For those of you that can't read it, it says:</div>
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10 Rules for a Happy Marriage</div>
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1. Live each day like it's your first date.</div>
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2. Be blind to faults and deaf to complaints</div>
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3. When in doubt hire it out.</div>
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4. Hold hands it makes it difficult to use the credit card</div>
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5. Never go to bed angry, stay up and fight it out.</div>
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6. If rule #5 fails, see rule #7</div>
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7. Always kiss goodnight, even if you blow it toward the couch.</div>
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8. She's always right.</div>
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9. Let him have his toys.</div>
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10. Never miss a chance to say I Love You</div>
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While I do agree with some of these rules; particularly #8. I have to say that after a year of marriage, I take issue with a few of them. For instance, If we spent every day like our first date we would spend every day filling awkward silences with silly questions, blushing whenever we accidentally touched and giggling. More importantly, neither of us would ever get any action. For me the first date is the absolute worst part of a relationship. I much prefer being able to spent an hour together in silence or having conversations late into the night, and the familiarity we have with one another. Sure things aren't as exciting, but there is a feeling of safety and comfort I have with Tom and no one else. </div>
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Rule #2 also has problems, while Tom is pretty good at being deaf to complaints, if we were blind to all of each others faults, all his socks would be crammed in the corner of the couch, and I would make us late for everything. </div>
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In regards to #5, I maintain that sleep is sometimes the best thing for a fight. It will do one of three things: make you realize how silly the fight was to begin with, make the solution to the problem clear, or give you the renewed energy to keep fighting.</div>
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I realized that this sign was made more for its sentiment than it's practicality, but I thought the world might need some rules that newlyweds could actually use, so I wrote some that I think will help keep your real life marriage going strong. Of course since I've only been married a year, I am probably full of crap; read them anyway, just in case. As always, I take no responsibility, but you can thank me later.</div>
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1. Take romance as it comes, even if it's just coming
home to find the laundry done.<o:p></o:p></div>
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2. Learn where your spouse is ticklish. They can't stay mad
if they're laughing. </div>
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3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His opinion might be
wrong but you still have to respect it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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4. Learn the art of compromise. If you suck at compromise, invest in a
DVR. </div>
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5. If you want it done now, start doing it yourself. When you mess up your
spouse will have to take over. This is not dishonest, it's called strategy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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6. Pick your battles. The hole in his shirt really isn't
THAT bad, as long as he doesn't lift his right arm.<o:p></o:p></div>
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7. Bribery is not just for children.<o:p></o:p></div>
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8. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put two
blankets on the bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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9. Let him have a man cave. Especially if he plays video
games and watches sports. Most especially, if he does these things loudly.</div>
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10.
Don't just say I love you. Mean it. Then show it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Tonight, Tom and I will celebrate with a yummy dinner at home followed by a slice of what we hope is still delicious and only slightly freezer burned wedding cake.</div>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452270099433507759noreply@blogger.com3