Do you have a person in your life that just doesn't seem to understand that they are loved? One of those people that you just want to hold and shake, hug and slap all at the same time because you love them fiercely, but are so frustrated they don't see themselves how you do? I have a few of these people in my life. Two of them are extremely close to me.
I wish that I could give them my eyes and let them feel my heart for just a moment. Just a few seconds. Long enough to help them see and feel that they're loved... they're worth something. That they're valuable.
One of them is relentless with his internal critique. You're not good enough. What a worthless piece of crap. Can't you do anything right? They won't like you when they see how you really are. Will you ever be good enough for anyone to love? These are the thoughts that echo in his head. Over the years, bits and pieces of the dialogue have been revealed through the comments he makes. The way he hangs his head when nobody is looking. Through the shallow friendships he keeps and the heartache that time is slowly sketching on his face.
It just breaks my heart.
Like a wounded animal, he creeps just close enough to feel Love but then shies away and puts up his defenses, scared he won't be able to earn it. He doesn't believes he deserves it, simply because he exists. He sinks, slowly accepting that, "this is all there is."
His sensitive, fun-loving spirit has become so crusted over with layer up on layer of hurt.... sometimes I wonder when the last time he really let his guard down was... if he can even remember the last time he was himself. His real self. The leader who fought for what he thought was right. The one who had friends--TRUE friends--that would do anything for him, and he would do the same for them. The protector who fiercely defended the weak, helpless, and bullied. The man who had enough courage to cry.
There are only shadows of him left now; bits and pieces of his character and personality that once was. As a close friend, it's so hard not to reach out and slap him silly sometimes. To break him of the haze that he's in and just scream at him, "You believed it once! Why won't you believe again??"
Sometimes the conversation moves that direction. But it's like there's a little demon sitting on his back, turning his head in a different direction. Moving his lips to start a new conversation. Plugging his ears and singing in his head so he has no time to think, because thinking is dangerous. Thinking allows him to face the truth.
I pray for him a lot. I pray that he'll let God work in him. That his walls will crumble and he will be confident in his value, his worth, and begin to share his sweet spirit with others again. His heart is precious.
To my dear friend (if you read this),
I hope that sometime soon, you live what you know to be true. That you learn and believe that you are loved. That you're special. Because truly, you are His favorite.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 25, 2011
Kiss Him, He's Irish!
I start radiation in about twenty-four hours. It's 1:17am on Tuesday here, and I'll be getting my first treatment at 8:00am Wednesday. Speaking of, I'm not sure that I've filled you in on how my appointment went last Thursday. Let me fill you in.
To start, this was probably the first appointment ever that I've been to on time to at the Ted B. Wahby Cancer Center. I bet the staff in oncology is SO happy that I'm done with treatment, because now I can't jam up their scheduling every other week. Plus, they don't have to run up and down the stairs to bring the lab a new order for my bloodwork every time I forget mine--which, if we're being honest, happened probably half of the time.
Anyway, I was given the grand tour of the radiology department and then the nurse took me in to get my vitals and then ask me a million-and-one questions about how I was feeling, if I'd been having any unusual symptoms from chemo, did I have any questions about what's happened so far, etc... She was really nice. Maybe twenty-five, twenty-six years old with a kind of quirky, fun personality. Immediately, I felt comfortable talking with her. So comfortable, that I decided to ask her my secret question.
I'm sure ever since I posted my blog about my radiologist, you've all been debating if he's had a nose job too. Well, I asked my new nurse friend if she thought he had and she just busted out laughing. Really hard. I was a little bit confused because I didn't know if she was laughing because she'd been wondering the same thing, or if it was because a lot of people ask. She said I should ask him.
I decided I'd just ask him his ethnicity instead.
Now before some of you get your feathers ruffled about the ethnicity question, know this. I have been asked if I'm part Mexican, Spanish, Mulatto, Puerto Rican, Asian (?), and Mediterranean, among a sea of others. I wasn't asking because I'm racially biased in any way. However, because I find the different races so fascinating, I've spent a lot of time viewing material about the various facial structures and characteristics within regional groups. Therefore, I was pretty sure if I knew his ethnicity, I'd be able to make a pretty educated guess as to whether he'd gotten a nose job or not.
I'm not sure he's ever had anyone ask him that question before. He paused for a second and then responded that he was black. This was where the conversation got fun.
"No, no, no," I said. "What's your ethnicity, your bloodline?" He started laughing.
"Is it because of my accent?" His accent? Then it was my turn to laugh.
"Your accent?" I replied. "I don't even HEAR one."
I then took a moment to explain that I was pretty sure he wasn't straight up African American, simply based on the fact that he had a relatively light complexion with freckles--but I left out "and because the bridge of your nose is pretty narrow."
Turns out, he's mostly African American with a pinch of American Indian and IRISH. That's where the freckles probably come from. And the American Indian is probably a pretty strong contributor to the narrow bridge. Before he'd told me, I'd been thinking maybe he had some non-American Indian (think Dubai) in him, but Irish blood hadn't even entered my mind. It makes sense, though, really.
We talked for probably at least a half hour, if not forty-five minutes, about different races and how some people still see the world through color-siphoning lenses while others have made more progress in the area of racial equality. It was pretty sweet conversation. Also, I learned that around here, a good way to get to know people is to join interest groups. For instance, "sewing" group. Or "first time expectant mothers" group. (No, I'm not expecting. It was the example he gave of a group his wife had joined)
So I might try that. If I can ever figure out where these groups are, anyway.
End of story--I don't think he's had a nose job. And now I know where his freckles most likely came from.
To start, this was probably the first appointment ever that I've been to on time to at the Ted B. Wahby Cancer Center. I bet the staff in oncology is SO happy that I'm done with treatment, because now I can't jam up their scheduling every other week. Plus, they don't have to run up and down the stairs to bring the lab a new order for my bloodwork every time I forget mine--which, if we're being honest, happened probably half of the time.
Anyway, I was given the grand tour of the radiology department and then the nurse took me in to get my vitals and then ask me a million-and-one questions about how I was feeling, if I'd been having any unusual symptoms from chemo, did I have any questions about what's happened so far, etc... She was really nice. Maybe twenty-five, twenty-six years old with a kind of quirky, fun personality. Immediately, I felt comfortable talking with her. So comfortable, that I decided to ask her my secret question.
I'm sure ever since I posted my blog about my radiologist, you've all been debating if he's had a nose job too. Well, I asked my new nurse friend if she thought he had and she just busted out laughing. Really hard. I was a little bit confused because I didn't know if she was laughing because she'd been wondering the same thing, or if it was because a lot of people ask. She said I should ask him.
I decided I'd just ask him his ethnicity instead.
Now before some of you get your feathers ruffled about the ethnicity question, know this. I have been asked if I'm part Mexican, Spanish, Mulatto, Puerto Rican, Asian (?), and Mediterranean, among a sea of others. I wasn't asking because I'm racially biased in any way. However, because I find the different races so fascinating, I've spent a lot of time viewing material about the various facial structures and characteristics within regional groups. Therefore, I was pretty sure if I knew his ethnicity, I'd be able to make a pretty educated guess as to whether he'd gotten a nose job or not.
I'm not sure he's ever had anyone ask him that question before. He paused for a second and then responded that he was black. This was where the conversation got fun.
"No, no, no," I said. "What's your ethnicity, your bloodline?" He started laughing.
"Is it because of my accent?" His accent? Then it was my turn to laugh.
"Your accent?" I replied. "I don't even HEAR one."
I then took a moment to explain that I was pretty sure he wasn't straight up African American, simply based on the fact that he had a relatively light complexion with freckles--but I left out "and because the bridge of your nose is pretty narrow."
Turns out, he's mostly African American with a pinch of American Indian and IRISH. That's where the freckles probably come from. And the American Indian is probably a pretty strong contributor to the narrow bridge. Before he'd told me, I'd been thinking maybe he had some non-American Indian (think Dubai) in him, but Irish blood hadn't even entered my mind. It makes sense, though, really.
We talked for probably at least a half hour, if not forty-five minutes, about different races and how some people still see the world through color-siphoning lenses while others have made more progress in the area of racial equality. It was pretty sweet conversation. Also, I learned that around here, a good way to get to know people is to join interest groups. For instance, "sewing" group. Or "first time expectant mothers" group. (No, I'm not expecting. It was the example he gave of a group his wife had joined)
So I might try that. If I can ever figure out where these groups are, anyway.
End of story--I don't think he's had a nose job. And now I know where his freckles most likely came from.
Oct 23, 2011
What Do YOU Think?
Hello friends!!
Today's blog is to ask you to please participate in a poll. I am considering buying a domain name and starting up a website that advertises my skills as a hairstylist--primarily, a stylist that travels to brides.
However, before I buy a name, I want to make sure that it fits three criteria:
Today's blog is to ask you to please participate in a poll. I am considering buying a domain name and starting up a website that advertises my skills as a hairstylist--primarily, a stylist that travels to brides.
However, before I buy a name, I want to make sure that it fits three criteria:
- It flows off the tongue smoothly
- You have a hard time forgetting it
- It's easy to spell
Go ahead and cast your vote! The poll is located in the upper right-hand corner of my blog and will be up until November 6th.
P.S. If you could pass this along to your friends, post it on your Facebook, or re-Tweet it, I would appreciate it a TON! The more people participate, the better feedback I get--which hopefully translates to a good business decision.
THANK YOU!!
Oct 21, 2011
What Will They See?
This morning I was wondering. In the not-too-distant future, what will my kids think when they look back on my digital footprints?
Will they think I was a geek? Smart? A snob? Compassionate? Superficial? Crazy?
Obviously only so much of who I am can be shown through pictures and text, but of what is shown, what does it say?
I'm sure it will reveal somewhat where my priorities were at each step in time.
Already, looking back though my profile pictures in Facebookland, I can see that very drastic changes have happened in the past five years. For instance, check out this picture. And then read the title on it.
Yep. You read it right. It does, indeed, say "my bro and his girl." As awkward as it is for me to vocalize now, at that point in time I thought I was so cool. Let me explain why.
You see, for some time I've been a stickler for correct grammar. I didn't realize it for sure until entering college after spending the past several years underlining the noun and/or pronouns, double-underlining verbs, crossing out prepositional phrases, circling adjectives, and drawing arrows from the adverb back to the verbs they were describing (thank you, homeschooling).
I'm so much in love with it that I actually thoroughly enjoy editing papers and creating a red-pen masterpiece over someone's draft. It pains me to use abbreviations and the number "2" instead of typing out "two" in my blog, texts, Tweets, and Facebook status. My teeth automatically clench and inwardly I cringe when I see people abuse "their," "they're," and "there."
And yet, I labeled that picture, "my bro and his girl."
Ugh. Can you say barf?
However, even to this day, I know what was going on in my head when I wrote that exact caption. I was trying to fit the mold for what I thought an African American boyfriend would like. It's embarrassing to say for some reason, but I'm just putting it out there, since it's probably not all that difficult for those of you who knew me during that time to figure out anyway. I have no idea why, but I know it drove my parents crazy for a while. They used to always say to me, "Do you know you're white?"
Yes. I knew. But I've just always been more attracted to boys with a beautiful, permanent tan. And African American hair is so cool! Regardless of my reasons, I was on the hunt to find me a sweet caramel hubby. Thankfully, this was one of those instances where my priorities apparently aligned with God's, because Isaac's got one of the nicest tans I've ever seen.
My friend, Natalie, jokes about my infatuation. She refers to me as her, "gangster friend," or something like that, because when I met her... well, I thought I was a gangster. Granted, I had NO idea what a real gangster was... it just sounded exciting.
Good gravy! Writing this blog is a smidge embarrassing!!
But it's the truth!!! I thought that I was some kind of bad-a$$ because I bought my Baby-Phat clothes out of a hustler's trunk, could braid some wicked cornrows, and understood ebonics while a lot of my fairer-skinned friends couldn't.
Oh my lord. I can't believe I'm confessing to all of this.
But then again. It's not like you couldn't tell what was running through my head. I mean, seriously? At the time I thought nobody could tell... but who was I kidding?
Glory almighty.
I'll have to save my adventures for some other time, because right now I'm already blushing and shaking my head, remembering all of this. I just can't even get over it.
Someday my kids are going to look at me and say, "Mom, what the heck were you thinking??"
I'll just going to have to tell them, "I don't know sweetie. I don't know..."
It'll be interesting. That's for sure.
Will they think I was a geek? Smart? A snob? Compassionate? Superficial? Crazy?
Obviously only so much of who I am can be shown through pictures and text, but of what is shown, what does it say?
I'm sure it will reveal somewhat where my priorities were at each step in time.
Already, looking back though my profile pictures in Facebookland, I can see that very drastic changes have happened in the past five years. For instance, check out this picture. And then read the title on it.
Yep. You read it right. It does, indeed, say "my bro and his girl." As awkward as it is for me to vocalize now, at that point in time I thought I was so cool. Let me explain why.
You see, for some time I've been a stickler for correct grammar. I didn't realize it for sure until entering college after spending the past several years underlining the noun and/or pronouns, double-underlining verbs, crossing out prepositional phrases, circling adjectives, and drawing arrows from the adverb back to the verbs they were describing (thank you, homeschooling).
I'm so much in love with it that I actually thoroughly enjoy editing papers and creating a red-pen masterpiece over someone's draft. It pains me to use abbreviations and the number "2" instead of typing out "two" in my blog, texts, Tweets, and Facebook status. My teeth automatically clench and inwardly I cringe when I see people abuse "their," "they're," and "there."
And yet, I labeled that picture, "my bro and his girl."
Ugh. Can you say barf?
However, even to this day, I know what was going on in my head when I wrote that exact caption. I was trying to fit the mold for what I thought an African American boyfriend would like. It's embarrassing to say for some reason, but I'm just putting it out there, since it's probably not all that difficult for those of you who knew me during that time to figure out anyway. I have no idea why, but I know it drove my parents crazy for a while. They used to always say to me, "Do you know you're white?"
Yes. I knew. But I've just always been more attracted to boys with a beautiful, permanent tan. And African American hair is so cool! Regardless of my reasons, I was on the hunt to find me a sweet caramel hubby. Thankfully, this was one of those instances where my priorities apparently aligned with God's, because Isaac's got one of the nicest tans I've ever seen.
 |
| A good example of my African American hair infatuation. This was during my first week of freshman year at Iowa State. I had wanted some microbraids, but wasn't about to pay $100 or so for someone else to do them so I Googled how to do them and then sat in the attic for 9 straight hours putting them in. I'd do it again. |
Good gravy! Writing this blog is a smidge embarrassing!!
But it's the truth!!! I thought that I was some kind of bad-a$$ because I bought my Baby-Phat clothes out of a hustler's trunk, could braid some wicked cornrows, and understood ebonics while a lot of my fairer-skinned friends couldn't.
Oh my lord. I can't believe I'm confessing to all of this.
But then again. It's not like you couldn't tell what was running through my head. I mean, seriously? At the time I thought nobody could tell... but who was I kidding?
Glory almighty.
I'll have to save my adventures for some other time, because right now I'm already blushing and shaking my head, remembering all of this. I just can't even get over it.
Someday my kids are going to look at me and say, "Mom, what the heck were you thinking??"
I'll just going to have to tell them, "I don't know sweetie. I don't know..."
It'll be interesting. That's for sure.
Oct 19, 2011
Sick And Happy
I'm sick. Just putting that out there. The snotty nose and hot ears last night have revealed themselves to be some sort of crap. I'm at least grateful, though, that this is on the tail-end of my last chemo session. That means that, even if I have to be hospitalized or something because my counts aren't as high as they would like, I'm not necessarily delaying my treatment. Thank you, God
AND... I'm SO, SO, SO glad that I don't have any more treatments!!
Anyway, to fill you in on my heart this morning.
Last night I went to bed really sad. I was feeling super hurt and unloved and was having a really intense conversation with God when my husband walked in to check on me.
I had so many mixed feelings when he walked in. A part of me was glad, because I wanted to know that he at least cared. Another part of me was angry. The little devil in me was thinking, "Oh, so NOW that I'm going to sleep, he wants to talk. His terms, his time. Of course."
I'd already been crying and if you combine that with my snotty nose... well, I'm pretty sure when he asked if I was alright, my frog-voice gave away the fact that I wasn't.
We talked about the shirts.
We talked about my feelings.
We talked about his feelings.
And I felt SO much better. And bad at the same time.
You see, last night I had been so hurt that he wasn't talking to me, that I'd given it my all and tried not to talk to him either. I'd avoided eye contact, walked as far away from him when I passed where he was sitting, tried to look like I was busy doing stuff...
He thought I was mad about something and that I was trying to cool off.
I can see how my actions could translate as angry to anyone outside my mind. Absolutely.
But then I felt like a jerk for thinking the things I had about him. About our marriage.
Isaac said it was okay. I'm not a jerk.
It's amazing how when your spouse says something like that, it means so much.
We continued to talk and talk and talk. We communicated. I love when that happens. You can be in the same room with your husband all day long (I know this from experience) and never actually communicate. You can have a conversation, and it will have all essentially been empty words. Last night was not one of those instances.
Everything was discussed, including things that were in no relation to the shirt incident, and at the end of the conversation, I felt so much more loved.
Thank You, God. For caring enough about me to give me a good husband who, despite the mistakes that he's made in the past (and I've made them too), wants to work on our marriage. Who was gentle with my heart last night when I so desperately needed it. And thank You, for not giving up on me. For loving me, especially.
And P.S. please help this sickness to go away without any hospitalizations and such. Thank You.
AND... I'm SO, SO, SO glad that I don't have any more treatments!!
Anyway, to fill you in on my heart this morning.
Last night I went to bed really sad. I was feeling super hurt and unloved and was having a really intense conversation with God when my husband walked in to check on me.
I had so many mixed feelings when he walked in. A part of me was glad, because I wanted to know that he at least cared. Another part of me was angry. The little devil in me was thinking, "Oh, so NOW that I'm going to sleep, he wants to talk. His terms, his time. Of course."
I'd already been crying and if you combine that with my snotty nose... well, I'm pretty sure when he asked if I was alright, my frog-voice gave away the fact that I wasn't.
We talked about the shirts.
We talked about my feelings.
We talked about his feelings.
And I felt SO much better. And bad at the same time.
You see, last night I had been so hurt that he wasn't talking to me, that I'd given it my all and tried not to talk to him either. I'd avoided eye contact, walked as far away from him when I passed where he was sitting, tried to look like I was busy doing stuff...
He thought I was mad about something and that I was trying to cool off.
I can see how my actions could translate as angry to anyone outside my mind. Absolutely.
But then I felt like a jerk for thinking the things I had about him. About our marriage.
Isaac said it was okay. I'm not a jerk.
It's amazing how when your spouse says something like that, it means so much.
We continued to talk and talk and talk. We communicated. I love when that happens. You can be in the same room with your husband all day long (I know this from experience) and never actually communicate. You can have a conversation, and it will have all essentially been empty words. Last night was not one of those instances.
Everything was discussed, including things that were in no relation to the shirt incident, and at the end of the conversation, I felt so much more loved.
Thank You, God. For caring enough about me to give me a good husband who, despite the mistakes that he's made in the past (and I've made them too), wants to work on our marriage. Who was gentle with my heart last night when I so desperately needed it. And thank You, for not giving up on me. For loving me, especially.
And P.S. please help this sickness to go away without any hospitalizations and such. Thank You.
Oct 18, 2011
My Roses Are Dying
I have to apologize before I even get into this one. It's probably going to be a little bit of a downer. I just don't feel good.
I have a snotty nose, my ears feel hot (like I'm probably getting sick), I've been sneezing all day long, my left nostril has been slowly leaking blood since about a month after I started chemo, I got poked with a needle SEVEN times today in order to get my blood drawn for my MUGA scan, and my husband hasn't said a word to me since I got home.
I have no idea as to why I might be getting sick--especially since I'm still essentially on lockdown in the apartment. Okay. So it's not really lockdown, but I don't go anywhere because I don't know people.
Timeout. That's a lie. I know Kim. And hopefully I'll get to know her better. However, I'm unfortunately one of those people who takes about three to five years to cement a solid friendship and until it hits about that time, I feel like I'm imposing. And I hate doing that. I know people have their own stuff going on.
And my left nostril.... I waxed my nose hairs not too long after starting chemo and ever since then every time I blow my nose there is blood in my mucus. I know, I know. It's my fault. I feel like it should probably be healed by now, though. I mean, really, it's been four months!
Whatever.
I'm not sure what the heck was going on with the people who were drawing my blood today. The girl who tried it the first three times in the crook of my right arm said that, "she doesn't usually have a problem with sticking people."
I'm not convinced.
Lee, the tech who tried after the girl, poked me another four times. Twice in the same spot as the girl had tried, once in the crook of my left arm, and then he finally got it in my rookie vein on my left arm. Of the seven times that I got stabbed, they "fished" for my vein four times. Ouch, ouch, ouch. It hurts to even bring my right arm up all the way, not to mention that the bruises from my battle are probably going to make me look like I've been shooting up crack or something come tomorrow.
As for my husband, I threw out his brown pit-stained white undershirts earlier today and replaced them with some new ones that I bought him over a month ago. He's upset because apparently he wore them to work out in. He asked me why I tossed them and I told him that personally, I think that pit stains on white shirts are very un-sexy and I find him more attractive in stain-free tees. We got into a semi-heated text message conversation after that and I apologized.
I'm not even sure why. Probably because I don't like it when he's unhappy with me.
I find myself getting irritated, both with Isaac and with myself, because I feel like whenever we get into an argument, I'm the one who ends up apologizing. And he's perfectly fine with doing what he's doing today--not talking to me--until I initiate.
Marriage is a LOT harder than I thought it would be. I found that I was pep-talking myself a lot today.
Love him like God, Ashley. Love him like God.
Oh it just kills me sometimes, though! That moment when I feel so hurt by him is usually when I start thinking crazy things. I debate just walking out and driving back to Ames because at least I feel wanted there. Or filing for divorce. It's easy to understand why the rates for it are so high. But then I remember I don't believe in divorce. And that's where the semi started entering the picture.
Today I was reading Jessica's blog though. It was one that she wrote a while ago. One where I kind of had to smack her in the head about how she was acting, and if I remember correctly, the phrase that I used with her was "Put on your big girl panties and do it anyway."
Re-reading it felt like a two-by-four to the head tonight.
Because if I sit down and think about it, when I was being a pickle, God didn't just quit loving me. He didn't say, "Well, Ashley, you're being kind of an asshole right now, so I'm going to check out." Nope. Sometimes I kind of (but not really) wish He had, so then I wouldn't feel so bad if I did it to someone.
Dear God, help me to love unconditionally.
I have a snotty nose, my ears feel hot (like I'm probably getting sick), I've been sneezing all day long, my left nostril has been slowly leaking blood since about a month after I started chemo, I got poked with a needle SEVEN times today in order to get my blood drawn for my MUGA scan, and my husband hasn't said a word to me since I got home.
I have no idea as to why I might be getting sick--especially since I'm still essentially on lockdown in the apartment. Okay. So it's not really lockdown, but I don't go anywhere because I don't know people.
Timeout. That's a lie. I know Kim. And hopefully I'll get to know her better. However, I'm unfortunately one of those people who takes about three to five years to cement a solid friendship and until it hits about that time, I feel like I'm imposing. And I hate doing that. I know people have their own stuff going on.
And my left nostril.... I waxed my nose hairs not too long after starting chemo and ever since then every time I blow my nose there is blood in my mucus. I know, I know. It's my fault. I feel like it should probably be healed by now, though. I mean, really, it's been four months!
Whatever.
I'm not sure what the heck was going on with the people who were drawing my blood today. The girl who tried it the first three times in the crook of my right arm said that, "she doesn't usually have a problem with sticking people."
I'm not convinced.
Lee, the tech who tried after the girl, poked me another four times. Twice in the same spot as the girl had tried, once in the crook of my left arm, and then he finally got it in my rookie vein on my left arm. Of the seven times that I got stabbed, they "fished" for my vein four times. Ouch, ouch, ouch. It hurts to even bring my right arm up all the way, not to mention that the bruises from my battle are probably going to make me look like I've been shooting up crack or something come tomorrow.
As for my husband, I threw out his brown pit-stained white undershirts earlier today and replaced them with some new ones that I bought him over a month ago. He's upset because apparently he wore them to work out in. He asked me why I tossed them and I told him that personally, I think that pit stains on white shirts are very un-sexy and I find him more attractive in stain-free tees. We got into a semi-heated text message conversation after that and I apologized.
I'm not even sure why. Probably because I don't like it when he's unhappy with me.
I find myself getting irritated, both with Isaac and with myself, because I feel like whenever we get into an argument, I'm the one who ends up apologizing. And he's perfectly fine with doing what he's doing today--not talking to me--until I initiate.
Marriage is a LOT harder than I thought it would be. I found that I was pep-talking myself a lot today.
Love him like God, Ashley. Love him like God.
Oh it just kills me sometimes, though! That moment when I feel so hurt by him is usually when I start thinking crazy things. I debate just walking out and driving back to Ames because at least I feel wanted there. Or filing for divorce. It's easy to understand why the rates for it are so high. But then I remember I don't believe in divorce. And that's where the semi started entering the picture.
Today I was reading Jessica's blog though. It was one that she wrote a while ago. One where I kind of had to smack her in the head about how she was acting, and if I remember correctly, the phrase that I used with her was "Put on your big girl panties and do it anyway."
Re-reading it felt like a two-by-four to the head tonight.
Because if I sit down and think about it, when I was being a pickle, God didn't just quit loving me. He didn't say, "Well, Ashley, you're being kind of an asshole right now, so I'm going to check out." Nope. Sometimes I kind of (but not really) wish He had, so then I wouldn't feel so bad if I did it to someone.
Dear God, help me to love unconditionally.
Oct 16, 2011
The Next Step
Hallelujah! I am finally done with chemotherapy!!!
Next up: radiation! I'll be going in this Thursday to get mapped. I'm not entirely sure what that consists of, other than my doctor said they'd be making a cast of my upper body so that I lay exactly the same each time, tattooing me with little dots, and possibly (if needed) creating something to lock my head in place each time too.
I must confess, I really didn't pay all that much attention to what was being said while my radiation doctor was talking. He seemed to be a really sweet guy, but I was trying to figure out if he'd had a nose job. I'm just about positive he is primarily African American in descent, but the bridge of his nose was WAY too narrow and straight for it to be natural. Plus, the tip was thinner as well, which leads me to believe he's had surgery on it. It does seem to show all that much in this picture, but in real life--trust me. Looks like rhinoplasty.
I asked Isaac if he thought it was rude to ask doc if he'd had surgery.
He said "Yes. Don't do that."
Fine.
I guess I'll never know for sure. I could try one of those beat-around-the-bush conversations and be like, "so, I'm looking for a good facial surgeon... do you know any?" But that'd probably be really awkward. I'm guessing he'd pick up on what I was really asking.
I really have no reason to NEED to know either. I'm just nosy.
Anyway, so yes. Radiation stuff starts happening on Thursday.
I'll also be getting another MUGA scan on Tuesday.
I've been having odd sensations in my heart area, and I'm a tad concerned that the chemo drugs might have done something to it. So I'm getting it checked out.
The first time I noticed it was probably right after my fifth session. I was sitting on my parents couch and all of the sudden it felt like my heart was floating inside itself. Like it was trying to swim, but it was drowning or something. It's very hard to describe. Since then my weird heart feelings haven't been as obvious or intense, but I still do get them.
It very easily could just be the cord from my port flapping around in my Superior Vena Cava (big vein that going straight into the heart). And if that's the case--I'll be elated, because that means once this port comes out, my heart things will stop. But if that's not the case, I guess I'd rather know sooner than later.
I'm also going to a counselor on Tuesday. I actually feel much better now than I did last week, but this intense fluctuation of emotions... I'm not sure how to manage it or what to do with it. So I'm going to talk to someone about it.
Also, Isaac and I are going to go through "The Five Love Languages" by Gary Chapman. He doesn't like to read (because he already has to read so much for school) so I am going to read it to him. We want to learn how to love each other better, because after this week, I came to realize that maybe I haven't been doing that great of a job at speaking to him in a language that is most natural to him.
Next up: radiation! I'll be going in this Thursday to get mapped. I'm not entirely sure what that consists of, other than my doctor said they'd be making a cast of my upper body so that I lay exactly the same each time, tattooing me with little dots, and possibly (if needed) creating something to lock my head in place each time too.
I must confess, I really didn't pay all that much attention to what was being said while my radiation doctor was talking. He seemed to be a really sweet guy, but I was trying to figure out if he'd had a nose job. I'm just about positive he is primarily African American in descent, but the bridge of his nose was WAY too narrow and straight for it to be natural. Plus, the tip was thinner as well, which leads me to believe he's had surgery on it. It does seem to show all that much in this picture, but in real life--trust me. Looks like rhinoplasty.I asked Isaac if he thought it was rude to ask doc if he'd had surgery.
He said "Yes. Don't do that."
Fine.
I guess I'll never know for sure. I could try one of those beat-around-the-bush conversations and be like, "so, I'm looking for a good facial surgeon... do you know any?" But that'd probably be really awkward. I'm guessing he'd pick up on what I was really asking.
I really have no reason to NEED to know either. I'm just nosy.
Anyway, so yes. Radiation stuff starts happening on Thursday.
I'll also be getting another MUGA scan on Tuesday.
I've been having odd sensations in my heart area, and I'm a tad concerned that the chemo drugs might have done something to it. So I'm getting it checked out.
The first time I noticed it was probably right after my fifth session. I was sitting on my parents couch and all of the sudden it felt like my heart was floating inside itself. Like it was trying to swim, but it was drowning or something. It's very hard to describe. Since then my weird heart feelings haven't been as obvious or intense, but I still do get them.
It very easily could just be the cord from my port flapping around in my Superior Vena Cava (big vein that going straight into the heart). And if that's the case--I'll be elated, because that means once this port comes out, my heart things will stop. But if that's not the case, I guess I'd rather know sooner than later.
I'm also going to a counselor on Tuesday. I actually feel much better now than I did last week, but this intense fluctuation of emotions... I'm not sure how to manage it or what to do with it. So I'm going to talk to someone about it.
Also, Isaac and I are going to go through "The Five Love Languages" by Gary Chapman. He doesn't like to read (because he already has to read so much for school) so I am going to read it to him. We want to learn how to love each other better, because after this week, I came to realize that maybe I haven't been doing that great of a job at speaking to him in a language that is most natural to him.
Oct 15, 2011
Renovating
For the past five months, Isaac have been spending a majority of our time in what I dubbed "the hospital." We had white carpet, white walls, white ceilings, and white hospital-like light. It was making me crazy. Actually, a lot of things were contributing to my mental issues, but I truly believe that this was one of them.
It just didn't feel like home.
Mama-Lynn came out for my last chemotherapy treatment (YAY to both!!!!) and I was feeling exponentially better than I had for any of the treatments before. Thank you, thank you to all of you who prayed that this one would be easier. I appreciate it so much, and it WAS!
Because I was feeling so fantastic, Mama-Lynn and I spent a good chunk of Thursday painting the longest wall in Isaac and I's apartment this lovely green color. The problem was, it wasn't the shade of green a person (other than my dad) would want to live in. It was a slightly muted version of John Deere Green.
I miss the tractors and such, but not enough to have our living room that color.
I miss the tractors and such, but not enough to have our living room that color.
We hadn't anticipated this problem, so we'd purchased four gallons of color, planning to paint the entire living room this color. Thank goodness I belong to a merciful God who knows we're trying to keep our expenses down and who is also aware that sometimes I'm an idiot.
Mama-Lynn and I went back to Lowe's and they refunded us all but one bucket (the one we had used) and even were kind enough to exchange the ones that we brought back for much lovelier shades.
That sweet, sweet, lady at the paint counter. She worked a miracle for us. We went in with John Deere Green and came out with "Covered Wagon," "Earthy Cane," and "Willow Tree." Colors that were MUCH easier to work with--and they matched the rug I'd found on sale the week before!
That sweet, sweet, lady at the paint counter. She worked a miracle for us. We went in with John Deere Green and came out with "Covered Wagon," "Earthy Cane," and "Willow Tree." Colors that were MUCH easier to work with--and they matched the rug I'd found on sale the week before!
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| The rug that started it all :) |
We gave up Thursday night and Friday morning spend the ENTIRE day taping and painting. We learned quite a few tricks--but hopefully neither of us will be needing to utilize them again in the very near future. I'm still a little high off the fumes.
The goal was to turn our giant "hospital" room into a room that was kind of split into two, but not definitively. We created a beautiful workspace for Isaac and got him a comfortable office chair and mounted a corkboard on the wall for him so he can stick all his notes and such into it (until now, things have just been getting pinned directly into the wall). His workspace is also close to the kitchen table, which is lovely, because when he gets tired of his desk, he likes to switch it up and study at the table sometimes.
The most dramatic change was in the living room. We now have an area rug that breaks up all the white-ness of the carpet, we invested in an entertainment center/electric fireplace that is a piece of "Iowa home" for me, and we re-arranged the furniture that we already had to create this cozy little nook. Mana-Lynn and I spent probably a good two hours trying to assemble the silly thing... but in the end it was worth it because not only do we have this cool-looking fake fire, now we actually have a REAL entertainment stand, which means that my coffee table (what we'd been using) was now free to actually use as a coffee table!!
It was also fun to finally be able to pull out of storage all of the little candles and wall decorations I'd kept away, simply because before, they'd have looked awfully funny on our white walls.
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| Already putting it to good use.... |
It was also fun to finally be able to pull out of storage all of the little candles and wall decorations I'd kept away, simply because before, they'd have looked awfully funny on our white walls.
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| Where I will probably spend a lot of my time from now on. |
I feel like I live here now. Like... I live here, with my husband, and it is our home. Not a hotel room that we're renting for an extended period of time.
God bless the man who invented paint and fake fire. They does wonders.
Oct 10, 2011
Last Chemo!
Wednesday will be my last chemotherapy session ever. Lord-willingly, anyway.
I'm excited. I haven't had as bad of an experience as some people, but it's still not an experience that I think I would have ever picked out for myself. Or for my husband. Or for our marriage.
Physically, it hasn't been all that hard. Once the claw-hand went away and we figured out a pretty good regime of drugs, things got a lot easier.
Every two weeks, I went in, they hooked me up and filled my body with toxins. Then I slept for three to four days, save for eating and relieving myself in the bathroom. Sunday night was usually a little bit uncomfortable, Monday I feel more like myself, and by Tuesday I am normal again. Then I'd have a good week before it all began again.
And thankfully this will be my last session.
Please, God. Please, let it be my last session ever.
I've thought about what it would be like to be cured of the cancer and then to have it come back in a couple of years. Oh, how hard it'd be to do this all again. The physical. The emotional. The psychological.
The darn saline.
Really, the saline is the worst. Even thinking of it.... well... I just ate, so I don't want to.
I'm curious to find out how radiation feels. I'll be getting "mapped" next week on Thursday (I believe) which involves them giving me a tattoo. A couple, actually, it sounds like. Just little dots to help the machine line up consistently.
I always said if I ever get a tattoo it would be a tiger on my face. Go big or go home. Might as well make it memorable, right? Yeah... what you're thinking right now... that's what my mom said too. It's also why I don't have any tattoos.
I've still been having crazy thoughts about suicide and such. You can pray for that. They're not consistently there, but off and on I think them.
You can also pray for our young marriage. It's struggling. A lot.
A new marriage + med school + new location + cancer = lots of rough stuff.
We just need some help. We're not doing well, but I suppose given the circumstances, it's not all that surprising. Just pray, please.
Pray that I can figure out how to love my husband, even when all I want to do is close my eyes and never wake up. Pray that I remember to hold my tongue, especially when it wants to spew out hurtful things because I am hurting. Pray that on the days that I feel I can barely endure, that I remember to talk to God, because He loves me more than I will ever understand. And pray that I remember to pray, because some days, it's just really hard.
I love Isaac. I really do. I just don't know that I've been doing very good at showing him. I think part of it is the drugs messing with me. And the other part of it is just me. I'm human. I fail. Every day.
This is the part of life where I look up and remember my vows. My promise to God. My promise to my husband. And I have to take all of my emotions and set them aside and focus on the fact that I need to love him more like God loves me.
Unconditionally. Every day. Drugged or not. With or without cancer. Rain or shine, whether it is reciprocated or not. Putting my all into it, because I promised to do it, for richer or for poorer. In sickness and in health. Through the good and the bad.
It's just that right now is harder than it will be other times.
I'm excited. I haven't had as bad of an experience as some people, but it's still not an experience that I think I would have ever picked out for myself. Or for my husband. Or for our marriage.
Physically, it hasn't been all that hard. Once the claw-hand went away and we figured out a pretty good regime of drugs, things got a lot easier.
Every two weeks, I went in, they hooked me up and filled my body with toxins. Then I slept for three to four days, save for eating and relieving myself in the bathroom. Sunday night was usually a little bit uncomfortable, Monday I feel more like myself, and by Tuesday I am normal again. Then I'd have a good week before it all began again.
And thankfully this will be my last session.
Please, God. Please, let it be my last session ever.
I've thought about what it would be like to be cured of the cancer and then to have it come back in a couple of years. Oh, how hard it'd be to do this all again. The physical. The emotional. The psychological.
The darn saline.
Really, the saline is the worst. Even thinking of it.... well... I just ate, so I don't want to.
I'm curious to find out how radiation feels. I'll be getting "mapped" next week on Thursday (I believe) which involves them giving me a tattoo. A couple, actually, it sounds like. Just little dots to help the machine line up consistently.
I always said if I ever get a tattoo it would be a tiger on my face. Go big or go home. Might as well make it memorable, right? Yeah... what you're thinking right now... that's what my mom said too. It's also why I don't have any tattoos.
I've still been having crazy thoughts about suicide and such. You can pray for that. They're not consistently there, but off and on I think them.
You can also pray for our young marriage. It's struggling. A lot.
A new marriage + med school + new location + cancer = lots of rough stuff.
We just need some help. We're not doing well, but I suppose given the circumstances, it's not all that surprising. Just pray, please.
Pray that I can figure out how to love my husband, even when all I want to do is close my eyes and never wake up. Pray that I remember to hold my tongue, especially when it wants to spew out hurtful things because I am hurting. Pray that on the days that I feel I can barely endure, that I remember to talk to God, because He loves me more than I will ever understand. And pray that I remember to pray, because some days, it's just really hard.
I love Isaac. I really do. I just don't know that I've been doing very good at showing him. I think part of it is the drugs messing with me. And the other part of it is just me. I'm human. I fail. Every day.
This is the part of life where I look up and remember my vows. My promise to God. My promise to my husband. And I have to take all of my emotions and set them aside and focus on the fact that I need to love him more like God loves me.
Unconditionally. Every day. Drugged or not. With or without cancer. Rain or shine, whether it is reciprocated or not. Putting my all into it, because I promised to do it, for richer or for poorer. In sickness and in health. Through the good and the bad.
It's just that right now is harder than it will be other times.
Oct 4, 2011
Radiation
The verdict is in regarding whether I'm going to do radiation or not.
I struggled with this for a little bit, the reason being because I have read about the potential consequences of radiation long term. Increased chances for breast cancer and lung cancer. Possibility of mutations in my DNA, which consequently, could possibly be passed on to my kids. Increased risk of heart disease. Hypothyroidism.
I've kind of been wondering whether that's worth it. I feel like I have to pick between two evils. No radiation, and "they" say that the cancer has a much higher chance of coming back. Radiation, and I'm intentionally increasing my chance of a different cancer or other health problem down the line. It's kind of difficult to decide.
And I believe in an all-powerful, healing God. So if He wants me to be healed without radiation, I will be healed. And if, for some reason, the cancer is supposed to come back, it will whether I've had radiation or not.
But then there's this joke that I've heard. It goes something like this.
A man is drowning in the ocean and prays to God to save him. A boat passes by and offers to help him, but the man declines, waiting for God to do His thing. A second boat comes by and offers to help him, but again, the man refuses, still anticipating rescue from God.
He drowns and dies. When he gets to heaven, he asks God, "God, why didn't you save me?" God looks at him and says, "What are you talking about? I sent you two boats!"
I guess my struggle is in recognizing whether radiation is a boat or not.
Since there's no clear sign, einey-miney-miney-mo will have to do. Just kidding. Kind of.
For now, I suppose I'll pick radiation. Hopefully I don't regret that by my fortieth birthday.
Normal
Do you ever have days where you "decide" something?
I do. Probably 5-7 of them per week. But then something will happen and I will change my mind about what I "decided" because I learned something new. Or because I'm human.
A couple of weeks ago when I wrote the blog about being depressed I had decided that I was plumb crazy. Completely off my rocker. Today, while driving back to my Iowa home, I decided that no, I am not plumb crazy, I'm completely normal.
It's normal to be completely happy one moment and cry the next.
It's normal to have conversations with yourself in your head.
It's normal to wonder if you're crazy.
Today I also decided that this is probably the result of living in a place that is so far from perfect.
I have two confessions that I have to make, both of them having to do with my realization of how crazy things in this world are.
Confession #1: I watched Jersey Shore this week. (I promise, I am NOT a regular viewer... this was maybe the first or second entire episode I've seen.)
Confession #2: I bought and listened to Christina Aguilera's album, "Bionic."
Now, I'll admit, I did watch almost the entire episode of Jersey Shore. It was heartbreaking, sad, angering, and mind-blowing all at the same time. When I wasn't busy fussing at the characters through the TV screen, I was relaying to Isaac how amazed I was at the disconnect in the logic and actions of the people on the show.
People demanding that others not tell them the truth because "it hurts their feelings."
A young woman refusing to see the correlation between her public nudity and her boyfriend leaving as consequence for her actions; instead, she blames him for not loving her "as she is."
Men taking advantage of intoxicated women who won't remember what happened in the morning.
Another young woman sobbing about the disgrace she'll bring on her parents if she's pregnant, meanwhile appearing to see no connection between that same disgrace and the broadcast of her drunkenness and casual sexual relationships to the world via TV.
The list goes on and on. I don't even think I could make a comprehensive list of all that was wrong on that show... it just came, one thing after another, no end in sight.
I didn't even listen to all of Christina's album. I've been a die-hard fan of her beautiful voice for years and in my younger days, sang-along to some of her raunchy songs in my rebellion.
Today I had to fast-forward through at least eleven of the eighteen songs on the CD. The lyrics were bad enough that my ears cringed and tried to close themselves. They were just downright abrasive. There were probably three songs that were good enough to keep. I'll download them to my computer later and then razor the disc and toss it.
And this is "normal."
Maybe I'm not as normal as I thought...
If that's what it is, I don't think I want to be. It's raining enough crazy juice outside I find myself wondering if I really want to have kids.
Jersey Shore only started a year or two ago. What in the world is going to be on TV when my little ones are my age? And how do you explain to them the break between reality and what they see on the screen?
Even Madonna won't let her kids watch TV--that's saying something.
I do. Probably 5-7 of them per week. But then something will happen and I will change my mind about what I "decided" because I learned something new. Or because I'm human.
A couple of weeks ago when I wrote the blog about being depressed I had decided that I was plumb crazy. Completely off my rocker. Today, while driving back to my Iowa home, I decided that no, I am not plumb crazy, I'm completely normal.
It's normal to be completely happy one moment and cry the next.
It's normal to have conversations with yourself in your head.
It's normal to wonder if you're crazy.
Today I also decided that this is probably the result of living in a place that is so far from perfect.
I have two confessions that I have to make, both of them having to do with my realization of how crazy things in this world are.
Confession #1: I watched Jersey Shore this week. (I promise, I am NOT a regular viewer... this was maybe the first or second entire episode I've seen.)
Confession #2: I bought and listened to Christina Aguilera's album, "Bionic."
Now, I'll admit, I did watch almost the entire episode of Jersey Shore. It was heartbreaking, sad, angering, and mind-blowing all at the same time. When I wasn't busy fussing at the characters through the TV screen, I was relaying to Isaac how amazed I was at the disconnect in the logic and actions of the people on the show.
People demanding that others not tell them the truth because "it hurts their feelings."
A young woman refusing to see the correlation between her public nudity and her boyfriend leaving as consequence for her actions; instead, she blames him for not loving her "as she is."
Men taking advantage of intoxicated women who won't remember what happened in the morning.
Another young woman sobbing about the disgrace she'll bring on her parents if she's pregnant, meanwhile appearing to see no connection between that same disgrace and the broadcast of her drunkenness and casual sexual relationships to the world via TV.
The list goes on and on. I don't even think I could make a comprehensive list of all that was wrong on that show... it just came, one thing after another, no end in sight.
I didn't even listen to all of Christina's album. I've been a die-hard fan of her beautiful voice for years and in my younger days, sang-along to some of her raunchy songs in my rebellion.
Today I had to fast-forward through at least eleven of the eighteen songs on the CD. The lyrics were bad enough that my ears cringed and tried to close themselves. They were just downright abrasive. There were probably three songs that were good enough to keep. I'll download them to my computer later and then razor the disc and toss it.
And this is "normal."
Maybe I'm not as normal as I thought...
If that's what it is, I don't think I want to be. It's raining enough crazy juice outside I find myself wondering if I really want to have kids.
Jersey Shore only started a year or two ago. What in the world is going to be on TV when my little ones are my age? And how do you explain to them the break between reality and what they see on the screen?
Even Madonna won't let her kids watch TV--that's saying something.
Oct 2, 2011
Toothache
Lately I've been having awful pains in my molars. It feels like I have a cavity (or several) but I know that can't be the case because I've been brushing my teeth regularly and even using ACE mouth wash more than I had previously.
This morning it was bothering me really bad so I asked Isaac if it were possible that this was a side effect of the chemo. And of course, yes it is. Once again, since my teeth are fast-replicating cells, I'm bound to some level of pain.
It feels like all the molars in my mouth are loose. But they're not. Believe me--I tried yanking on them.
On a different note, I can't wait to get started on the photoshoot come Tuesday! Hopefully the end product will be something fabulous enough to get me hired in a salon out here. We can hope.
This morning it was bothering me really bad so I asked Isaac if it were possible that this was a side effect of the chemo. And of course, yes it is. Once again, since my teeth are fast-replicating cells, I'm bound to some level of pain.
It feels like all the molars in my mouth are loose. But they're not. Believe me--I tried yanking on them.
On a different note, I can't wait to get started on the photoshoot come Tuesday! Hopefully the end product will be something fabulous enough to get me hired in a salon out here. We can hope.
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