Archive for the ‘The Blog’ Category

I’ve had this blog for almost 3 years now, it is my therapy, my home base, my place of comfort and self-expression. When I say that I don’t think I would’ve survived the last 5 months without it, I’m not exaggerating.

But today is no ordinary day on the internet. Today is Delurking Day.

(See, there’s a picture and everything)

Today is the day where, even if you aren’t a normal commenter or a regular reader, you leave a comment and you let me (and other bloggers) know that you’re reading. It’s just a nice reminder that there are people out there from all over who have found their way here, who care enough to take the time out of their day to read my whinefest blog.

It’s a little reminder that I’m not alone.

And before I ask you to unmask yourself and leave a comment I figured that perhaps it was my turn to delurk a little, maybe I owe you that. Since I’m not a teacher any longer, the threat of showing my face is pretty diminished. And because I really want you to delurk, I’m going to make an ass of myself. You’re welcome.

My name is Katie. Kathryn actually.

This is me in 1990 (second from the left in the back row)

Skip ahead to 2001. Mind the perm…

Skip again to 2005, the year of college graduation and many different colored casts…

2007…

2008 (this is the only year of pictures I really feel okay showing you. It helps when other people fix my hair and makeup)

2009…

And finally, 2010. (This one is lovingly stolen from Megan’s flickr page)

So. Now you’ve seen me, I have delurked. You’ve seen the worst of my hair phases and you’ve seen the prettiest I’ll ever look in my life. In return, all I ask is that you leave a comment. Tell me your name or tell me how you ended up here. Or just say hi. Whatever you want. If you leave your blog url, I will visit (not today or tomorrow, because of that silly little lumbar puncture thing) and leave a comment because I can’t very well ask you to comment if I’m not willing to myself.

Now go delurk, and then try really hard to get the image of my 2001 perm out of your mind. To be honest that picture might self destruct or suddenly delete itself in about 60 seconds.

I’ve spent some time this week reading other peoples’ year end posts wandering what the hell to write about this year.

I have a real love-hate relationship with 2009. It has been, undoubtedly, one of the most tremendously difficult years of my life, but from that struggle, it has also become one of the most rewarding. I feel like I’ve grown as an adult, a wife, and a woman in so many ways, but also, in that growth, I left behind parts of me I never intended to.

If I had to describe this year in one word, there is no question that it would be bittersweet. It just seems like all the good has been coated and surrounded in bad, ugliness. It seems that all the things I want to remember have faded to the memory of those things I would rather forget.

In January, my very last cousin was born. He is the most gorgeous, precious boy and the light and love he has brought to our family has been immeasurable.

I cannot believe that this (ginormous) infant
<

has become this beautiful toddler.

In February of 2009, I ended up in an emergency room with a CT scan that said I had a tumor. A small one, but in a bad place. A tumor that my neurologist said is either something totally benign or something we’ll notice problems from later. So so comforting.

In March, my husband matched in a residency. His dreams and his hard work paid off right before our eyes. And as he promised my mom 3 years before, he got us home to California. And because of that, I was able to accept admission to the best graduate program in the country.

In April we found our new home. (In December we found out that part of it is going to become a dorm for the college nearby. Don’t even get me started).

In May I finished teaching. I finally managed to leave that noble career that drove me bat-shit crazy. My husband graduated from medical school and became a real doctor. And shortly thereafter we packed our entire house to leave New Orleans. 2009 will always be remembered as the year I left New Orleans for California, a move I thought I desperately wanted. But it’s also the year I realized how much I’d miss that rough-and-tumble city. How much it had become a part of me.

In June, I got a new kitten. A new kitten who has subsequently ripped up every single corner of carpet in our new apartment, bitten holes in the vertical blinds and spilled pomegranate juice on the carpet. He also cuddles and is adorable.

In June we also celebrated our first anniversary and thankfully stopped having the arguments every single damn day that plagued our first year of wedded bliss. It’s like someone switched a light switch on our marriage. I am truly happier with Slappy now than I have ever been.

In July I went to a conference with 10 trillion women, felt totally overwhelmed, yet also so welcome by so many wonderful people. I may or may not have taken part in a super secret pizza party in which I met a group of women (and Mike) that I still count among my friends.

It might seem ridiculous, but BlogHer was one of the highlights of my year. I felt like me there, I felt like I was among people who “get” the internet. I listened to a panel all about health blogging and realized that though sometimes I feel alone in this, I’m not. I was inspired, challenged, and I laughed until I damn near cried. And also helped Megan cross something off her bucket list. And you know, meeting Valerie Jarrett and listening to other women who weren’t stunned into silence talk with her about healthcare didn’t suck either.

August birthed this headache. The one that has carried through to December at the very least, and plagues my every waking moment. August was also the month I began graduate school and took up full time whine blogging. You’re all welcome for that.

September, October and November are a blur. A big suck filled blur. They involved a new neurologist, a horrible lumbar puncture, a spinal headache, 2 weeks on my back on my couch before a blood patch, a cisternogram which revealed nothing and a lot of tears. The only good thing I can even begin to say about those months are that they are done, they are in the past. And I know that’s terrible because some great things happened those months, but my mind was so burdened with pain and worry that it’s all I can remember.

December has been a roller coaster ride. I passed all my classes in graduate school, which still amazes me. Especially considering that this month I also lost the ability to sleep through a night. December is the month where my neurologist finally reached the end of her ability to help me and the month where I found a new doctor who is going to try.

It is easy for me to say that I want this year to end. Because, truly I do. I desperately I want a fresh start after the beating I’ve taken this year.

But as much as I want to start anew I also realize that after the clock strikes midnight tonight, the world is not going to magically change. There is no slate that is actually going to be wiped clean as I keep imagining it in my mind. The clock hitting a new number won’t change my life, it won’t change my health, it’s just a new day, like every other. And like each new day, I hope tomorrow brings something different, something less painful. Something like what I used to have.

I hope that 2010 brings days without pain, days without fear, days without sadness. But I also hope that the lessons I’ve learned and the obstacles I’ve traversed in 2009 will give me the tools and the grace to handle this new year and it’s inevitable new challenges.

On Christmas day, I was bullied.

I was bullied to the point that I left Christmas dinner in tears. To make matters worse, it was by my own family member (ironically not the one I wrote about here). To say that it hurt would be an understatement. Someone I’m related to told me, to my face and in front of my whole family, that they’re tired of me. That he’s tired of hearing about my issues.

But that wasn’t enough for him. When I tried to have a calm, quiet conversation with him, he yelled in my face. He embarrassed the hell out of me, made my mom cry and as much as I hate to admit it, ruined my Christmas. I’ll never forget the way it felt to be yelled at like that. By someone who is supposed to love me.

And then the internet decided to join the party.

My twitter stream is public. I don’t have it locked down because I don’t think I should have to. If people don’t like what I have to say, they have no reason to read or follow. In fact, if you don’t like what I have to say, I absolutely ENCOURAGE you not to read or follow.

So I was surprised when I saw that someone I don’t follow and who doesn’t follow me retweeted something I’d written.

And even more surprised when I looked at his twitter stream and saw the next tweet…

I’ve seen those tweets several times and I still just don’t even know how to respond to that. Someone who doesn’t know me, who isn’t following me on twitter, took the time to read my twitter stream and make fun of me (to be fair, after reading his twitter stream, I am not the first person he has done this to. If you look up douchebag in the dictionary, I’m about 99% sure his twitter stream would be the definition). Try as I might, I still cannot comprehend this.

It’s like we’re in junior high, except you know what? We’re not. We’re adults. And it is absolutely not okay to bully people.

Sadly, that’s not where it ends.

When I saw this, I knew the person was trying to get a rise out of me. And I tried not to let it bother me. But it did, it still does.

I knew that it was about time for one of these comments (historically these trolls show up somewhat cyclically), I just wish I was more able to handle it. I have always been the kind of person who takes things personally, even when they’re not personal. And when they are personal? They really get to me.

And I’m sure that admitting that only fuels the flames of the tremendous asshole who’s writing these things, but I don’t care. This is my blog and that is my twitter stream. I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m being judged by people for what’s going on in my life. I would challenge anyone to walk a mile in my shoes and judge me. I would challenge anyone to go 20+ weeks in pain and not whine.

I don’t know how I came to this point in my life where people think it’s okay to push me around, to mock me for who I am, for the things that are going on in my life. But let me make it clear, it’s not fucking okay. It will never be okay to treat people this way.

I hope that someday my family member and this person on twitter grow up and realize what they’re doing. I hope that they realize that this isn’t a game. I hope they realize that words have power and consequences.

And that those consequences might be greater than they realize.

It came out on twitter the other day that perhaps I have a slight movie seeing deficit. (Also? A complete lack of filter and or thinking before typing. But that’s not really new).

So here’s the thing. I wasn’t allowed to see PG-13 rated movies until I was 13. I wasn’t allowed to see R rated movies until I was 17. And yes, I’m now 26 and yes technically I can see whatever I want. But well, I’m lazy. And I’m not a huge fan of old movies (I don’t know why, I have no real reason), so I haven’t seen pretty much any movie that came out in theaters before like 1998.

I know, I know.

And so I’m working on a list, with the help of Mike, of things I need to see. And since I have almost 3 weeks of vacation left, I might actually watch some of them. The list is growing by the moment, and I’m looking for more recommendations.

Here’s the list as of 6pm today:
1. Jaws
2. Jurassic Park
3. Raiders of the Lost Ark
4. Annie Hall
5. When Harry Met Sally
6. Princess Bride

And now, it’s your turn. What do I need to add to the list? For those interested (ahem, Jen) I’ll post an updated version after Christmas.

And for shits and giggles, let’s make it a contest. Leave your movie recommendations by 12:01 (Pacific time) Christmas morning. On Christmas day I’ll use a random number chooser thing and the winner will win a DVD pack including my personal (non-old favorites) The Hangover, He’s Just Not That Into You and Up. Each comment counts as an entry, and I’ll count one entry per day.

Do it for me. And for 3 really good DVDs.

(For the record, ain’t nobody sponsoring this. I don’t get the WTF FTW FTC guidelines, but I’m buying these movies myself and shipping them to you of my own desire and money sources. The former of which is far greater than the latter.)

This has not been the internet’s finest week. There have been horrible tragedies and people using them for their own personal gain and fame. There has been bickering and all kinds of ugly. It has just been a lousy week.

If you haven’t seen any of what I’m referring, count your blessings and don’t go looking.

But today, the internet did something great. Something incredible.

If you are one of those people who doesn’t get blogging (ahem, Slappy), or doesn’t get the power of the internet, I challenge you watch this and not believe in what we do here. And not believe that blogging can have a truly incredible impact.

Love for Anissa! from Undomestic Diva on Vimeo.

This is the product of hard work by Megan, and the generosity and thoughts of SO many people. This video is what this community is all about.

This video is why I am proud to be a part of this community. I hope you are too.

(And if you don’t know what this video is all about, see here)

I’m going to be honest with you, as I lie flat on my back on my living room couch, in unfair amounts of pain, I’m having trouble being thankful.

It’s not that I don’t have much to be grateful for, because that’s not true. Even I’m not that self-involved. I am so blessed in so many areas of my life and for that I am endlessly thankful. I just feel like I’m only able to see these good things because of the myriad of bad. And I hate that. I want to be thankful for things, not in spite of others.

But I am thankful anyway.

I am thankful for my friends and most of my family. Because I’ve gotten to witness, even today, how crappy some people can be. And without the other good people in my life, I would not be able to get up in the morning.

I am thankful for my husband. Because he is the only thing keeping me from quitting everything in my life. Because he is the only sure thing I have right now.

I am thankful for my medical care. Because even with thousand dollar medical bills sitting on the table, and sore backs and spinal headaches from lumbar punctures, I know that without the doctors I have, I’d be nowhere (which, I know is actually NOT ANY DIFFERENT from here, but at least we’ve sort of ruled some things out now, right? RIGHT?) Because I know that others can’t get the medical care I can and they suffer for it.

I am thankful for the roof above my home, the couch under my back, the heat from my vents and the food I’ve over indulged in. Because I know others are without a home and the luxuries within it.

I am thankful for the internet. Because without you, I would be fighting so many battles alone, if I would even be fighting them at all. Because without many of you, I don’t know how if I could’ve come as far and survived as much as I have.

I don’t feel the way I have some past years. I don’t want to fall to my knees in thanksgiving for this year. I don’t feel like weeping with the gratitude over the things I have in my life or the great things that have happened. But I am clinging to the good for dear life. And I am trying to be thankful for the fact that in the midst of all the badness I can still find these blessings.

That in the midst of the darkest time in my life, I can still see that there are things worth living for.

Happy Thanksgiving.

So, apparently twitter was up in arms about something today. I don’t know. I was cramming for my anatomy exam. If cramming is the right word for trying to absorb 70 pages in 3 hours for a test that isn’t until next week. I’m not really sure. I don’t really care.

But when I was on the train and had given up trying to write notecards at my seat without a table, I jumped onto twitter and caught a few tweets that intrigued me. I had heard some of the same sentiment at BlogHer, so I can’t quite figure this out.

People, women, are up in arms about being called “mommy bloggers.” I mean, some are seriously upset. And I’m not judging them, they’re entitled to be upset. But I don’t understand. Like, at all.

Is being a mommy blogger something to avoid? Is it a derogative?

I sort of feel like anyone who blogs about their children is, for lack of a better word, a mommy blogger. I read TONS of these blogs (when I have the chance, which is never, so basically that sentence is not true), but I don’t value those that aren’t about children more or less than (those I consider to be) mommy blogs. I value good writing, insight or humor. I don’t care if you have 100 kids or no kids at all.

It’s pretty obvious that people who write about their children, moms and dads alike, tend to associate more than they do with those who don’t have kids (obviously not universally, but still). I know that I often feel like I’m on the outside of a lot of blogging adventures because I don’t have children. I think this is a normal association, but why then, is there such a movement to fight the parenting label? What about that is so wrong?

I don’t have much of a niche or genre, I don’t think. I suppose I mostly fall into the realm of health. Unless bitching and whining is a category, in which case, I deserve a freaking award.

Isn’t blogging about parenting just another category? Or is the idea of categorizing blogs the problem? Have I completely missed the point?

I’m not trying to be antagonist, I just don’t get it.

Help me understand- when did mommy-blogging become a 4 letter word? And why is it so offensive to be called that?

So, I know I’m moving blogs around like crazy, and dude, how freaking brilliant am I to switch websites less than a week before a huge blogging conference, for which I bought a 80 bajillion business cards?  But still.  Here I am.  Here we are.

And since this is my new home and I suspect that at least some of your are new to my life, that maybe I should spend a little time introducing myself and the things you need to know about me.

My name is Katie, I’m 26, and I was born and raised in Southern Central California.  I’m not telling you specifically where because you’ll just make fun of me, and that’s what my husband is for.  In 2006 I moved to New Orleans to be with a boy who is now my husband, lovingly referred to as Slappy.

Slappy found himself in New Orleans for medical school and in 2009 got placed in a residency (in pediatrics/child neurology) in Southern California and we made our way back home.  I taught at a private high school in New Orleans for 3 years and have now quit retired from teaching and am about to begin full time graduate school at USC in a health related field.

But none of that really explains the name of this blog, eh?  You see, I am a health train wreck.  Like if Murphy wrote his law in a hospital setting.  On Valentine’s Day 2006 an MRI revealed that my brain had herniated about 10 mm below the hole where my spinal cord enters/exits my head.  Basically, my brain was overflowing (see, it makes sense now, right?).  For several years we watched and waited, and in the fall of 2007, it was determined that we could not wait any longer.  On November 27, 2007, I had brain surgery.

The surgery removed a piece of my skull and the back side of my top 2 cervical vertebrae.  My neurosurgeon also put a small “patch” (called a duraplasty), made of a bovine pericardium (cow heart lining) on the lining of my brain, to give my ginormous mind more room to function.

Aside from a complication in February of 2008 (a CSF leak that caused permanent nerve damage in my left hand) I had 8 months of headache-free bliss.  And then the headaches returned in July 2008 and have been a constant companion ever since.  Some days they’re bearable and unaccompanied by any other bothersome issues, but other times they’re incapacitating and bring along eye problems, coordination issues, nausea, and lots and lots of whining.

I’ve also had two breast biopsies, one non-intrusive, one seriously intrusive, due to typical and atypical ductal hyperplasias and 5 staph infections. (See? TRAINWRECK).

But most of all, I’m me.  I don’t fit into many boxes, I don’t fall into a lot of categories.  I’m average, but not normal.  I’m me, snark and all.  Sometimes I whine.  Okay, a lot I whine.  Sometimes it’s all about health, sometimes health is the farthest thing from my mind.  Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s not.  Sometimes it’s about screaming at jerkfaces who leave mean comments (don’t be a jerkface).  Basically, you just never know what you’re gonna get.

Welcome to my new home.  Make yourself comfortable, we’ll be here a while.

A few weeks back, I was flipping through the Facebook stream and noticed a blurb my former (and soon to be again) summer boss had put up. I recognized it immediately as something that a number of bloggers were participating in, and was suddenly intrigued. I mean, was it possible that my boss, the one who predicted my marriage to Slappy from day 2 of dating had a blog? Really?

It took Slappy about 30 seconds to track down her blog(Google: the end of anonymity). My boss has a blog. And instead of playing it cool and stalking her secretly, I immediately left a comment stammering about how, dude, I have a blog. And she has a blog. And holy crap, we’re both bloggers.

It was every bit as cheesy as it seems.

And now I read her blog and I know she reads here. And in a few months we will be working together, most likely pretending as if the other doesn’t lead a double life online. I don’t know why the whole situation confuses me as much as it does, but I’ve never accidentally found someone I know online. And I’ve almost never had to pretend that my blog doesn’t exist. Except, I mean, around all my coworkers, and family and real life friends. But other than that, you know, like never.

It makes me ponder giving up the anonymity. Telling you where I’m going to school next year, telling you what degree I’m going for (though if you’re very mission impossible-esque, all you’d have to do is read some old comments and you’d know where I’m going because, um, some of my commenters are not the most discreet (*cough*Daisy and Melissa*cough*)). Why not?

I guess the fear of people intruding on my life. The fear of getting thrown out of school for saying something I shouldn’t (what? Me, criticize a school? Never. More on that tomorrow, by the way…)

Eh, it’s something to consider. But probably not act on right away. You can file this blog entry under stream-of-consciousness-to-fill-the-void-of-silence because I think I just wrote about 6 paragraphs that you’ll never get back. Sorry ’bout that. But hey, I didn’t say anything about my heinously endless headache.

Oh. Oops.

So, you may or may not have known that I spent the past weekend at my new best friend, Daisy’s house.

She and I had both worried about the awkwardness of meeting in real life after our very limited interactions of texting each other 10,000,000 a lot of times and emailing pretty much constantly a lot of times. But, dude, it was so not awkward. It was fantastic (okay, maybe the first few minutes were a little clouded by having just found out that my cat was lost and then having sobbed through O’Hare to such an extent that a woman gave me a full bag of tissues. Um, yes, I am a sexy crier- why do you ask?).

On Saturday, I did not go to my interview. It wasn’t laziness or the fact that there’s like almost zero chance we’ll end up moving in Chicago, but rather that we both learned that, hey, guess what? “North Chicago” and the “north side of Chicago” are not the same place. And also? That it’s too effing cold to get up to catch a 6:30 train to get to the interview 2 hours early because the next train wouldn’t leave early enough to get me there on time.

So I didn’t go. Instead, we went window shopping and building admiring and then came home, I watched while she made dinner (pork tenderloin with goat cheese mashed potatoes and steamed fresh green beans), we made cinnamon rolls from scratch (which required both of us to roll up and involved serious hemorrhaging of cinnamon butteriness. But holy hell are we good bakers!) and then we waited for the Chicago blog (Chicog? Blocago?) crew to show up.

And they did. Included in this group was The Alleged Lady, Law with Grace, The Namby Pamby, The Artful Blogger (who I did not mention when I initially posted this because I am a huge jerk. It should be noted that the Artful Blogger brought a HUGE 3 layer red velvet cake, which was superb and taught me a little about the history of DNA. And that I feel super bad for not listing him earlier) and several other of Daisy’s good friends (including Melissa, who comments here and who is bloglessly awesome). If I had to guess, I’d say that about 8 bottles of wine were imbibed by the 8 of us, and the next morning Daisy asked me if she’d broken a wine glass (she had) because she couldn’t quite remember. And I had/have a goose-egg the size of, well, a goose egg on the back of my head from slamming it into her wall. Both signs of a rocking good time.

Oh, and Grace? Totally called me a whore. (Did you hear that? That was the sound of a whole crap load of google searchers finding my blog with the newly introduced swear word. By the way, also, this no-swearing resolution is going crapfully awesome.)

Sunday morning, Daisy and I sat on the couch until noon, then we did more awesome window shopping (okay, we bought some chocolate, but otherwise no money flew out of our collectively barren wallets) and then had like the GREATEST LUNCH OF ALL TIME. Seriously. It was amazing.

And all too soon after getting back to Daisy’s (and meeting BISMOW), I had to get to the airport. Where I had my bag searched because Daisy gave me “Bath Bombs” from Lush, which, when I was asked about them at airport security I called “Bath Balls” because puns involving bombs are just not really appreciated at the airport.

And now I’m home. And in case this update was boring, no worries. Because I have an entirely fresh rant coming tomorrow. That New Year’s Resolution is also going swimmingly, obviously.

In short, Chicago rocked and I can’t wait to (hopefully) go back in July. Where I will not be called a whore and not slam my head into a wall. But I might bring Bath Bombs Balls with me. Just to freak out airport security.