Santa Claus Is Coming To Frown

Bless his heart. The poor man is incredibly busy right now. He’s making lists and checking them twice. He’s overseeing the massive production of millions of toys. He’s getting the reindeer in shape, filing flight plans, pouring over the most efficient way to cover the entire world in one night. And now he also has to fend off criticism about his appearance?

It’s tough to be Santa Claus. Last week the Surgeon General of the United States said that Santa needed to go on a diet. Santa is a bad role model for all the children he comes in contact with. What we need is not a jolly, roly-poly Santa, but a thin, healthier, weight conscious Santa.

I suppose if you are the Surgeon General, you would take your job of being very serious about health issues; well, very seriously. And overweight children are no joke. But let’s just leave Santa out of this issue, shall we?

The man does a lot of good. He’s a little heavy, yes. But depending on whose research you believe, he is anywhere from more than two hundred to more than two centuries old. Maybe Santa should be giving us some healthy living tips.

He is environmentally conscious. He doesn’t use gasoline or diesel to get around. You never hear about a chemical spill or fire caused by Santa or his workers. The news isn’t full of toy recalls coming out of Santa’s workshop. Elves don’t go on strike because of bad working conditions at the North Pole, a minor miracle considering that it is at the North Pole.

The Humane Society doesn’t have to investigate complaints of animal abuse. There was that one time when the other reindeers were being mean to Rudolph, calling him names and not letting him play with them; but Santa put a stop to that pretty quickly.

Santa enforces good behavior among our children. He gets them into bed early on those frantic nights right before Christmas, when it is the most important that they behave the best. Let’s face it. We are all exhausted right before Christmas. Our kids get treats they normally wouldn’t, and are around all the relatives and friends they don’t usually see. The kids are hyper from excitement and exhaustion. But when they normally would be at their worst, just a reminder about Santa settles them into well behaved little ladies and gentlemen.

Santa seems like a pretty smart guy to me. He manages to handle a multi-dimensional empire all year long and only makes the news once a year. Not one reindeer has come forward with a scandal. Not one elf. Mrs. Claus hasn’t asked Dr. Phil for help with her marriage, or cried on Oprah’s couch.

I think we ought to just leave Santa’s waist line alone. With all the good he accomplishes, the man deserves his milk and cookies.

Rollin' On The River

It’s just not safe when we get together. My husband has suggested that we should come with a warning label. That might have been helpful this past weekend, when I celebrated a little early with my sister in Little Rock.

The only day Gary and his Mom both have off is Christmas Day. That happens to be the day the rest of my family are going to be down in Little Rock with everyone else. So we are going to celebrate with the Jonesboro side Christmas Day, and the Little Rock side....well, we haven’t quite figured that part out yet.

They are a fluid bunch, spreading out in all directions. I can’t seem to keep all of them in one place at one time long enough for all of us to get with all of them. Throw in my husband’s unusual work schedule, and, of course, the almighty, not-to-be-messed-with deer season; and things get complicated.

Since I knew I wouldn’t see my sister again before Christmas, I bummed a ride with my Mom and Dad when they had to go to Little Rock. We planned on a little quiet conversation, very subdued. Not.

We planned on eating as much as possible, as often as possible. We planned on shopping until the credit cards melted. We planned on staying up and staying out and playing and laughing as much as we could in the 24 or so hours we had.

The only problem with that on-the-go scenario is that I had to be in a wheelchair. My mom has a brace on her knee, after injuring herself cleaning house. She’s pretty serious about a clean house. That’s another column entirely. I will say that, after knowing she was hurt, she continued to clean for several more hours. Like any good southern lady, she knows any injury short of death is no excuse for a less than spotless home.

So here we are, my mom limping along with a brace on her leg, me rolling along in a wheelchair, and my sister. Oh, and my son. The wheelchair driver. The 12- year-old wanna be Nascar driver wheelchair navigator. Did I mention it has been suggested that we should come with a warning label?

Logan had to continually reminded to slow down. He wanted to help by pushing me, but his version of slow was our version of very fast. The only threat that seemed to work was for Aunt Teresa to offer to push. Teresa was darting in and out and over and around, trying to take care of all of us.

My idea of looking at something is to read everything on the box, read everything on the other boxes of other brands around it, and then to compare them. Logan’s idea of me looking at something was for me to be able to glance at the box and possibly speed read it as he drove me by that particular section. Shopping is not his thing.

We made it through. Little Rock survived, and so did we. We ate as much as possible, as often as possible. I drank really excellent coffee, something that always makes me very happy. I met my niece’s new significant other, and we all stayed up talking so late that my Dad fell asleep on us and Teresa was about asleep between sentences.

It was exactly the weekend I had hoped for, although it might have been easier on Teresa if Mom and I had been a little more mobile. We did manage to get around though. The credit cards coming due in a few weeks will be proof. It was too early for Christmas, but it wasn’t too early to get the holiday started.

A little fun, a lot of family, some silliness and some saneness. We didn’t blow anything up, we didn’t shut anything down. We were perfectly safe, with no warnings needed. This time.

Rolling Along

I'm still limping around from the stray needle hitting a nerve a few months ago. I'm getting better, but it is a slow process. Last week I was in Little Rock with my sister, and I was in a wheelchair.

As we navigated around the crowded aisles, I was reminded again that so many places that say they are handicapped accessible aren't. The stores were packed, not with people, but with stuff in the middle of the aisles. It made getting the wheelchair down a straight path impossible. The regular aisles were so narrow that often times my wheelchair wouldn't fit. Quite a few stores lost business because I couldn't get to the product I wanted to buy.

When I'm in Minnesota, just about the entire city, and definitely the downtown area near the clinic is set up for people with any type of disability. You almost feel different if something is not physically wrong with you. Most of the time that I spend in a wheelchair is up there, in a city accustomed to dealing with people that have different needs routinely.

By the time I come home again, I am better and over whatever procedure put me in the wheelchair (usually) so I don't have to be in one down here that often. Having to use it this weekend, on a busy crowded holiday shopping weekend, reminded me of how difficult it is for people who don't have the advantage of being able to get up and walk away from their wheelchair.

The truth is many, many places that say they are accessible are not. I can't tell you how many checkout counters I couldn't reach, how many times I couldn't see the amount I had paid, I couldn't swipe my debit card, all because the counter was too high for the wheelchair. There were stores I couldn't go in and areas in the stores I couldn't get to. That is in all of those malls that have ramps and signs telling you how accessible they are. They aren't.

I think every store owner should have to spend a day in a wheelchair, trying to navigate his store. Perhaps then, stores would truly be handicapped accessible.

Getting It Right

No, I don't know exactly what happened. But they sure as the dicken's don't. Pardon me while I go on a not so mild mannered rant. I'm a reporter, so getting things right is very, very important to me. You can laugh if you want, but most reporters have integrity. Getting it right is vital. Some don't. Thank God they are a minority, but they do seem to get all the attention.

Because those that don't care if they get it right as long as they get it fast and first do get the attention, most people believe all reporters are like that. We aren't. And those Others make Our job harder.

I'm not so silly as to beleive a certain radio station in Memphis that is somewhere on the dial between, oh, say 102 and 104, purports to have anything remotely close to journalism as its purpose. It is about entertainment and ratings. I get that. I really do.

Today the entertainment and derision was at the expense of the good people that live in my home town of Blytheville, Arkansas. Those that are on the morning talk show thought an incident of the police tazing someone was a more than hilarious. They didn't bother to deal in the truth of the incident or consider that those people they were making fun of are real people with real families.

Blytheville isn't a perfect city, and our people aren't perfect. From my own personal experience, I would say that Memphis is a long, long way from reaching perfection themselves.

The fact is, there just wasn't anything funny about what happened, and making fun of the incident wasn't in the best interest of anyone. Not the victim, not the officers, not the city. Except perhaps by stretching and reshaping the truth for ratings for station in another state, for people who have no concern about the people who live Around Here.

Trimming the Tree

The Christmas tree is down (from the attic) and up (in the den). Although I love the look and smell of a fresh tree, our son's allergist told us in no uncertain terms that we were practically abusing him by having a fresh cut Christmas tree.

That was probably eight years ago. So even though my tree isn't "real," it's still pretty, at least to me. And you can't beat the convenience. It's pre-lit, and in three sections. We just put it together, part A to part B to part C, shake it out a little and plug it up. Fresh trees are nice, but they are way more work.

We have a huge fireplace that takes up almost all of our back wall in our den. One more reason not to have a fresh tree. As the wife of a man who has survived not one but two house fires, I can promise that we are more than vigilant about things that can burn.

We do not leave our tree on all night, when we are away, or even when we are out of the room for an extended period of time. Not only do we turn it off, we unplug it. I unplug it even if I'm just leaving long enough to take a shower. My husband is sincere about not wanting to experience a third fire.

So the stockings are hung by the (gas log burning) fire place with (great) care, but there's no mistletoe for the same reason there's no other living plants. If it is green and it is living, my son and my husband are allergic to it. There's no candles burning (see above) and no live garland like all magazines suggest this time of year.

I'm pretty sure my home won't be featured in any magazine spread anytime soon. That's just fine with me. It's pretty to me, and it's pretty to my husband and my son. Our home is decorated with things that have meaning to us and things that bring back memories important only to us.

Most of the time, I don't like those spreads in all of those magazines my Mom gets anyway. They are always too cluttered to me. There is stuff everywhere. Too much clutter, actually, any clutter, bothers me. I don't have things sitting out everywhere all over every surface in my home. It would drive me batty. It is, apparently, the style, but it is definitely not my style.

So I don't think Better Homes & Gardens or Life&Style or Southern Living will come calling to my home anytime soon. But that's okay with me. Our home suits us, quite well, thanks. And it just really doesn't matter to me if it is the latest thing or not. It's Our Thing. And that's all that matters.

Tis The Season: Of Thanks And Gifts Already Given

The (deep-fried) turkey has been eaten; the last of Grandpa's famous (and fabulous) pecan pie is gone. The day set aside to stop and give Thanks is over. With it comes the rush of the holiday season, the gearing up for other days we will spend with family and friends.

This time of year always inspires me to look back, and for me personally, this has been an incredibly hard year. My body decided to rebel, and let me know it in all kinds of ways. Pain, pain, and more pain has been my constant companion this year, following me like a shadow that I just couldn't escape from.

We learned some hard news from my doctor at the Mayo Clinic this year. It rocked my world, and in a way I mourned for a little while. But you have to live while you can, and eventually I stopped mourning for what I had lost, for what my future would hold, and started embracing the here and now. I'm going to make the best of what I've been given. That has always been my creed, I just lost sight of it for a little while this year.

That best includes pain, and there's just no way around that. I am going to hurt, every hour of every day. Some days and some hours are worse than others, but I am going to hurt. So, I am going to deal with it, every hour of every day. With a smile, hopefully, and a good nature.

It has been hard on my family this year, watching my journey through this difficult time. Though Thanksgiving is over, I am so thankful for my family. I simply could not cope without their strength and support. It is harder in many ways on them, because their love for me is great.

They have spent this year making that long, long trek to Mayo; driving Logan to school when I was too sick to drive; cooking and cleaning and doing my laundry when I could not, letting me stay with them when I was too ill to stay at my own home, supporting me and uplifting me and encouraging me.

It would be very easy for my family to get tired of this foolishness, as I often do. For them to have something better to do, to be too busy with their own lives to help me cope with mine. Yet they never complain, they never make me feel guilty, they never make me feel like I am intruding. It is an amazing gift, and one I am grateful for.

So even though Thanksgiving is over and Christmas is not yet here, I have plenty to be thankful, plenty of gifts to be grateful for.

My husband Gary, who is my rock. My stronghold, my shoulder, the one who loves me above all others, no matter what. My Mom and Dad, who do so much that people never know about and do it quietly, because it is who they are. Gary and I simply could not get through this nightmare without them. They are Logan's other parents. It began out of necessity, but I have come to realize it may very well be one of the best things that could have ever happened to my child.

My sister, Teresa. She calls me every single day. She sends me cards. She makes me laugh and lifts me up and makes me feel like the strongest and the bravest and smartest person in the world. Of course, I'm not. But my sister believes in me, so of course, I am.

Gary's mom and dad, who will do anything we ask of them without question or complaint, immediately. Gary's sisters, who are always there when I call, to vent my frustrations and to listen.

My family. The thing I am most thankful for. And the very best gift of all.

Giving Thanks

I have so much to be thankful for. I often loose sight of it in the day to day routine. I'm glad there are times that we must slow down, look around, and take account of our blessings. Mine are many.

I have a husband and son I adore, and am blessed enough to be able to say, with absolute sincerity and certainty, that they adore me back. What an incredible gift. I've been in relationships where I wasn't even liked, much less adored. I much prefer it this way.

My parents and my husband's parents love us and love each other. There are no harsh words or feelings or competition between us. We love being together, and my parents like to get spend time with his parents, just because they can, because they like them so much. Yes, I know how lucky I am.

My sister loves me with a fierce and fiery love. I am her baby sister. Don't mess with me. She is indescribable, but if I had to describe her, the words would be awesome. And lovely. And amazing. More importantly, mine. How thankful I am to have a sister like her.

I have two sister-in-laws that inherited me through no fault of their own, yet they put up with me anyway. They love me anyway. They are there through the good and the bad times anyway.

I have friends, such wonderful friends, that call and come by and write and tell me again and again that they are here for me. They offer to do whatever I need, and are there for me when I take them up on that offer. They are not related in any way to me, yet they love me. How blessed I am.

I look around during this time set aside to give thanks, and I see what all I have. In the background is an afternoon talkshow, with a very unhappy family on it. The mother-in-law doesn't like the new wife. The grandchild is being used as a pawn. The husband has washed his hands of the discord, but not before saying terribly hurtful things to his mother. Other family members have taken sides, and an all out war has been declared. The so called expert on television is trying to sort it all out.

As war is being waged in the background, nothing but love is surrounding me in the foreground. But I see; how I see, how awful it could be. How easily it could all be so awful.
And I look around. And I say a prayer of Thanks to the One who has given me so very much. I certainly didn't earn it, and I certainly don't deserve it. But how very thankful I am for it.

Santa Needs Help

Time is running out, and Santa needs your help. Or, in this case, the group that is wanting to help where Santa might not be able to show up this year because some families can’t afford Santa.

Ignite 07, teamed up with the Junior Auxiliary and Toys for Tots; are committed to making this Christmas better for 1300 needy families in our community this year. But to do that, we need your help. We have the food to give, thanks to you. And, Thank You.

What we need now, desperately, are toys for the children. We have a few. A very few. And while we know that food is essential and toys are not, try telling that to a child on Christmas morning. Tell that to a child the first day of school after Christmas break, when he sees and hears about what all of his classmates got.

Imagine his feelings when a classmate asked what he got, and he has to say "nothing" because Santa doesn’t know where he lives. There’s not enough money for Santa to come to his house, so he had to do without at Christmas while other children got their hopes and dreams and wishes fulfilled.

We want to help Santa visit as many homes as possible that might not otherwise be able to buy their children toys. If you have the ability to buy an extra toy or two, please help us out. We are so grateful for those who have already given, but this is a big project, so we need big participation.

We need a minimum of 2500 toys. Yes, we know that’s a lot. But there’s a lot of good people in our community, so we know that we can ask for and receive the help we need.
Toys can be dropped off at the old Riggs building on Lockard Street between 1 and 3 p.m. on December 1 and December 8.

They can also be dropped off during regular business hours at Pathway Church of God or Ruddle Road Church of God. To schedule a pick up, or for more information, you can call Doug Echols at 740-1094; Dwayne Culp at 780-4517 or James Decanter at 740-8156.

I have a child, and I love everything about Christmas. I love fixing up my home, making my son’s favorite holiday snacks and buying the food he likes best that only is available this time of year, like eggnog. I love wrapping his presents and putting them under the tree, and seeing his anticipation about what is under that tree. I love watching him open his gifts and enjoy them, and I love the thrill I get when he throws his arms around my neck and hugs me tight, thanking me for his gifts.

There is another mother in our community that loves her child just as much as I love mine. But she can’t run to the store and pick up her child’s favorite holiday food. She can’t wrap up presents and enjoy the anticipation of watching her child open that gift. She won’t get a hug and a thank you, because her child won’t have a gift to open on Christmas. That is, unless we at Ignite can Unite as a community to do something to help.

We want to make this Christmas the best Christmas our whole community has ever had. We believe we can do it. It’s a big dream, but we have faith. Will you help us? We can do this, with your help.

Unsung Heroes

I hadn't planned on a day like this. I had several appointments today, so business was on my mind. Matters of life and death were not on my mind. All of that changed in an instant. My husband and I were coming home from West Memphis, where we taking care of business. At about the 31 mile marker on I-55 North, Gary looked in the rear view mirror and watched a car swerve off the road and into the ditch. It looked like the car had flipped over.

No one else seemed to have seen the accident. They weren't stopping. I called 911 while Gary pulled over and ran down the embankment. One lady had been thrown out the back windshield of the car. She was on the ground, bleeding and moaning. Two other people were still in the car, bloody and dazed. The airbags had deployed, and the front windshield was shattered. The back windshield was completely gone. Parts of the car and debris from inside the car was scattered everywhere.

An 18-wheeler stopped on the shoulder. The truck driver jumped out and ran down the embankment to help Gary, while I stayed on the phone relaying information to the dispatcher. Another car stopped, this time, blessedly, an off-duty paramedic and his wife jumped out and started helping.

When help got there, it got there in spades. We had Mississippi County Sheriff's deputies, state troopers, tow trucks, fire departments with the jaws of life, the helicopter crew, and more firefighters than I could count.

The first officer on scene was a Sheriff's deputy. As he was slowing down to help us, an 18 wheeler in the south bound lane of I-55 rear-ended another vehicle, causing that vehicle to slide off the road and into the ditch on the other side. Now we had two wrecks to deal with. Some of the people that had initially stopped for the first accident ran across the interstate to check on the driver involved in the second accident. His vehicle was totaled, and he had to be cut out of his car. He was a first responder, who was on his way to help out with the first accident.

So many people were there and stopped to help. There were probably six people that stopped and were helping in some way before the professionals ever got there. Once the professionals got there, they did their job with compassion. Those non-professionals stayed on the scene, to fetch or carry or run get this. Some of them directed traffic or carried equipment or helped lift the back boards.

My point is this. People were in need. Strangers that no one knew. But that didn't matter. People stopped and helped, even though those people didn't really know what to do. They just did what they could until the real help could get there. And once the real help got there, they did their job in an excellent manner.

I don't know the names of all the people that stopped. I don't know the names of all the deputies, the troopers, the paramedics, the firemen. But if I did, I would tell them Thank You. I'm glad people like you live and work near me. You know, Around Here. It's a good place to be.

Limping A Mile in Someone Else's Shoes

The old saying goes something like this: Don’t judge someone else until you have walked a mile in his shoes. It’s good advice. You never know what someone is dealing with unless you are in the same position they are. It’s easy to be judgmental from a distance.

I have made a discovery these past few weeks. Although I consider myself to be a compassionate person, I haven’t been nearly sympathetic enough to people who have back and leg pain. During my recent trip to the Mayo Clinic, doctors hit a nerve in my lower back during a procedure to inject dye into my spinal column.

That nerve runs down my left leg. My lower back and left leg have been in immense pain, and my leg has been almost useless at times. Who knew one nerve could be so important? Apparently the nerve knew it, and is committed to making me know it.

I have had headaches, severe ones, for more than five years. I know pain. But this is a different pain. Your head just kind of goes along with the rest of your body. It’s not in charge of moving anything. Your back and legs are a good bit bigger than your head, which means the pain can spread out over a wider area. That’s not a good thing.

I’ve discovered I move a lot more than I knew I did. Every little movement is painful, and, well, you just have to move sometimes. Getting in bed is a chore. Getting out of bed is a chore. So is standing and sitting and walking. Getting in and out of the shower. Leaning down to kiss your child goodnight. Stretching up to reach something. Bending down to pick up something. Just going about your day requires movement, and each movement is painful.

It’s been an eye opening experience for me. I’m getting better, thankfully. But I know that there are many people that don’t have the hope of getting better. Their injuries are permanent, and they deal with this kind of pain daily.

It is so frustrating to not be able to do even the most simple things without pain. It wears on you, both physically and emotionally. I haven’t been able to drive for the last few weeks. The loss of that independence is something I feel deeply. I don’t like being a burden on others, being dependent for every little thing.

But I have the hope of knowing this is temporary. I will drive again. There are many people that won’t ever be able to drive themselves. They’ve lost their independence, but don’t have the hope of getting it back.

This experience has been sobering to me. My family and I have dealt with a lot in the past few months, and we have a lot more to deal with in the coming months. We didn’t need this added roadblock, more frustration, more pain, more to deal with.

But it has made me stop and consider the many people that live their lives with this kind of pain, with no hope of getting better. I’ve been pretty caught up in my own troubles lately, wondering what the future holds and trying to plan ahead for what is to come. I’ve not had a lot of time to think of others.

Then this nerve injury happened, and on top of everything else we were dealing with, there was one more thing. I thought I was overwhelmed already. I thought I was at the end of my ability to cope already. But my thinking has changed, and I realize how selfish I have been.

Though I am almost constantly in pain, I can move through my day. My head just sort of comes along with me as part of the package, whether it’s hurting or not. I have found a new empathy for folks that have to endure the agony of back or leg pain. It affects every part of their day, and it affects them every single time they move.

I know people who have problems with their back, and I know now that I’ve not been nearly sympathetic enough to the challenges they face. That’s going to change, starting now. I’ve limped a couple of miles in their shoes, and now I understand.

Home Sweet Home

We are home. We got in late Saturday night. I am exhausted, and I am in PAIN! It seems that during the cisternogram last Monday, the needle going into my spinal column also managed to hit a nerve. The nerve didn't like getting poked with the needle one bit, so my back and my left leg have revolted. It hurts to sit, stand, walk, and lay down. Lovely. Just lovely. I knew my back was hurting, but it always hurts after a lumbar puncture. When the pain got worse instead of better, we had to get it checked out. This is not something I want to deal with.

One the positive side, I got a nerve block in the back of my skull Friday at Mayo. It hurt like holy heck for about two minutes, but then it completely stopped all the pain. Pain free is very, very good.

We are now in the waiting stage. My team of doctors will review all of the test results from the past week, and determine whether or not the neurostimulator implant is a option for me. We are hoping and praying it is. If they say yes, we will be back at Mayo in about two weeks for more testing. The process will take about a month between testing, surgical procedures to get ready for the implant, and the actual implant.

Right now it is the only hope we have to hold on to, so we are holding on tight.

An Answer and More Questions

Today was a day of waiting. And waiting. And waiting. We were trying to get in earlier for a Friday afternoon appointment, so we waited on standby. No such luck today in getting an earlier appointment, but that also means no needles today. Yea!

So we have a few answers, and more questions. The biggest answer so far is that I can not have the major brain surgery to fix the problem and repair the damage. It just can't be done. It is a blow to us. We knew from the beginning it was a long shot, but we were so hoping that something could be done.

Now our hope rests on an implant, something called a neurostimulator. It doesn't fix the problem, but it basically short circuits the pain signals my brain gets, making my brain think I'm not in pain. Realistically, it can reduce my pain by about 50%. That's a huge amount, and something we really, really hope can be done. We don't know if it can be done yet. More tests will tell, but we are so hoping.

I will still have a leaky brain, but the pain from the leaky brain won't be as bad. There are risks and complications associated with the surgery; and I have gotten some test results back that are not exactly making my doctors happy. So the jury is still out on this one. Our fingers are crossed and our prayers are fervent. My main neurologist, after getting back results from one test, told me, "Well, I went neurology because I wanted a challenge. And here you are." He wasn't smiling.

So on to plan B, or C, or D....I've lost count. But still here we are, and we aren't down for the count yet.

Day 3...A Roadblock

Have I mentioned how tired I am? Several times, you say? Oh, sorry about that. It seems to be a recurring theme. This place is exhausting. There's a lot of hurry up and wait. Like this morning. When I thought I had an hour to make my next appointment. When I double checked I realized I had 20 minutes. That's not a lot of time, considering Gary was in the shower, and Mayo is a huge facility.

It got better. I got to the second floor of the hospital, found the right area, and things seemed a little....off. Well, a lot off. It looked like a residential treatment facility. I re-checked my schedule. I was on the right floor of the right hospital at the right time (barely). I checked in and waited. When the nurse came to get me and we started talking, I discovered my first impression was right. I was at the wrong place. A foul up in the scheduling process had me at the wrong building, the wrong floor, the wrong everything. No, I wasn't here for the intensive three week program. Thanks, but no thanks.

A quick check with my doctor proved that a few (dozen) wires got crossed. I wasn't supposed to be at that clinic. I was supposed to be at the other clinic. Which means that now, instead of getting a very important consultation done today, it won't get done until Friday. Sigh. Just another day in paradise.

Day 2 Another One Down

We made it through another one. I have several dozen more needles holes in me. My back is an amazing rainbow of blackish-bluish-yellowish-purple. I hurt, well, pretty much everywhere. I am whatever the word for beyond bone numbing exhausted is.

But, this day is almost over. My bed is calling, and we don't have to be at the hospital until 8:30 in the morning; practically mid-day by Mayo standards. I get to actually sleep all night, and as far as I know, there aren't dozens of needles in my future tomorrow. Maybe a few, but not dozens. A definite improvement.

Day 1...Survived

I survived it. Gary did too. So did my Mom and my sister, who had the very important job of praying. I've got so much scar tissue in my spinal column from so many previous needle sticks that it is very hard to find a new place to go into without hitting scar tissue, which makes a painful procedure worse. Praying was important, and it worked. The needles went in relatively easily, all things considered.

So, this, my longest day, is finally over. I didn't sleep last night, so it was a very long day. The procedures haven't gotten any better, but they at least weren't any worse than I was expecting. I am very sore tonight, with a few more bruises on my back and in my arms. I am radioactive, I am beyond tired, and I can't sleep. One of the tests tomorrow requires no more than four hours of sleep tonight.

I'm slugging double shots of expresso. No sleep last night coupled with this day means staying awake tonight is not going to be easy, even on a caffeine high. Sigh. But this, my worst day, is over. The tests tomorrow won't be fun. One of them involves 22 needles going into my scalp and the back of my neck. Another one involves even more pokes, more than I can count, all to figure out just what is happening in my brain.

It will be a mark of today to tell you that nothing tomorrow will come close to what happened today. I'm not looking forward to it, but neither am I dreading it. It's just routine, and I've had both procedures scheduled for tomorrow quite a few times in the past.

My mom tells me so many people are calling her, praying for me and asking about us. I can't tell you how much it means to me, to have that little bit of home way up here, so far away. Thank You. I've gotta go find more caffeine now.
Signed,
Bruised, Battered, But Not Beaten....

Let The Fun Begin

Well, we are here at Mayo. It's Sunday night, I've had my shower, I'm in my jammies (which includes an Arkansas sweatshirt....it's fun to confuse the locals) and I'm pretty sure there's not a lot of sleep in my future.

I'm not looking forward to tomorrow. By far, it will be the worst day of the three days of testing. But, on the bright side, by tomorrow night at this time, it will be over. I will be in worse shape, but the worst of it will be over. The sharpest needles, the worst pain, the longest procedures; they will all be tomorrow. Not everything Tuesday and Wednesday will be pleasant, but after tomorrow I just won't care. I guess that's something.

So, here we go. Let the sticking and the radiation poisoning and the poking and the prodding begin......

The Great Draining Brain Experiment

By the time you read this, I will be in Rochester, Minnesota, preparing for what will be a grueling week of tests and procedures at the Mayo Clinic. I often mention that I go to the Clinic, but I very rarely talk about in detail. If you know me, you already know about it. If you don’t know me, you probably don’t care.

Since this week may very well determine my future, I’m changing my policy of not talking about it. For one thing, this may be the last column you read from me for a few weeks. Depending on what happens, I may not be able to write for a little while. I love writing my columns, and I didn’t want to disappear without an explanation.

It’s a good bit more in-depth, but we are basically going to determine whether or not I am a candidate for brain surgery this week. In the five years I have been sick, surgery has never been an option for me. We were told it couldn’t be done, that it would cause more harm than good. But new technologies have emerged, and now it might be possible. It might not be.

If one surgery is not an option, another surgical procedure might be. So I will spend three days at the Clinic, literally running new tests every few hours, to see what is possible. On Monday, I start at 8 a.m., and have a procedure at 9 a.m., at 10 a.m., at 12 p.m., at 2 p.m., and at 3:15 p.m. On Tuesday, the whole thing starts again at 8 a.m., but at least we will have time to eat.

By Thursday, we will know what can and can not be done. The options are: 1) major surgery to repair some of the damage from the last five years and possibly fix the problem; 2) less major surgery to help with the ongoing pain but that can not repair damage and can not fix the problem; or 3) nothing can be done.

Although the thought of major surgery scares me, I really, really hope something can be done. I’m tired of nothing being possible, tired of the pain, tired of the waiting. As long as we knew nothing could be done, we just accepted it and went on with life. Now that we know there might be hope for, if not a cure, then at least a reprieve, it’s almost worse than before.

If the outcome of all the testing is still that nothing has changed and nothing can be done, I think it may be harder to accept, to have hoped and then have that hope yanked away. Then again, we’ve dealt with it for five years, and we will continue to deal with it.

We determined long ago that this illness would not control us, that we would control it. It has gotten a little meaner, a little sneakier. It’s playing rougher here lately. But that’s okay, because I’m a fighter too. And what I’m fighting for here is too precious to lose. I’m fighting for my life, for my family, for my husband and my son. For peace. I’m not going to give up. I’m not going to give in. And I am not going to lose. I am not.

If you have any spare prayers laying around, you can send one up north for Gary, who will be with me this week. He was going to be in Virginia, but Nucor let him come with me. Gary may very well end up wishing he had stuck to the original plan of sending my Mom with me while he went to Virginia. It’s not going to be fun for me, and it’s going to be even worse for him.

You apparently can’t figure much out about a brain without sticking needles somewhere. Usually into a spinal column. The needles seem about two feet long, and they just about always have some sort of radioactive dye in them. And no, I don’t get to be asleep for the procedures. Not any of them. If I start talking crazy, having seizures, lose consciousness or some other not good thing, that would be an indication for the doctors something bad was happening. So while they are poking and prodding and taking pictures and generally making me radioactive as all heck, I’m laying there perfectly still and wide awake. Fun. Or, Not. At. All.

Then they get done and deliver me, sore, radioactive, and in pain, into Gary’s hands. He takes care of me until it’s time for the next test. He pushes the wheelchair, makes sure the injection site doesn’t spring a new leak (which would be an emergency), feeds me, comforts me, talks to me when I can’t sleep, and helps me get dressed when I’m too sore to do it myself. Then we go on to the next test, where more needles with more dye awaits. Sigh.

My Mom and Dad have Logan. They all get along just fine. However, Logan’s teacher could probably use a spare prayer too. Dad doesn’t have any problem feeding Logan pancakes with ice cream and gummy bears on it, then sending him to school. Or letting him drink Mountain Dew. Or letting him stay up late, or any of those other things that can make a child not do well in school the next day. Dad calls it having fun. I call it a nightmare for the teacher. Mom has her hands full with the two of them.

Many of you have expressed your concern for me, and I can’t tell you how much my family and I appreciate it. I am going to be fine. I really am, no matter what. I am not looking forward to all the yucky stuff that goes along with having something wrong with your brain, but that’s just part of it. We will get through this, no matter what "this" turns out to be.

I look forward to coming back to this space soon, hopefully with an improved brain. And if not, well, it will just be the same old leaky brained me. But at least I will be back home, in this space where I belong.

Still Loving, After All These Years

Friday, October 12 is my parent's 45th wedding anniversary. Wow. James and Peggy Decanter, who started out as teen-agers with $3.00 in their pocket and nothing else, have been married 45 years. What an accomplishment. I've been married 14 years and think that is something to be proud of. But 45 years....I can't even begin to imagine it.

She was 17, and had only been 17 for a month when they got married. He was 19. They didn't have jobs. They didn't have a place to live. They had no money. She was a senior in high school. They had absolutely nothing, nothing but love. Over the years that nothing has turned into something. They've made a success of themselves in every way, but the best thing about them is that they still have that powerful love, that love that conquers everything, even no home and no money and no job.

I have no doubt that if they lost everything but each other, they would still survive, because if they had nothing but each other, they would still have everything. They would still have love. After 45 years, they still cuddle and hug and kiss and hold hands. She still says "Wow!" when she sees him in the morning. He still makes sure everyone knows she is the queen of his castle.

They raised us, their daughters, to love, honor, and respect them. We didn't backtalk our Mother, because our Father simply did not allow it. We didn't talk disrepectfully about our Dad even when he wasn't around, because our Mom simply would not tolerate it. Even if she privately didn't agree with him, she stood by him in our presence. They were a united front. There was no "divide and conquer" in our household, because they could not, would not, be divided. They were a team.

Forty-five years later, they still are.

About Around Here

I wanted to let you know why I chose the name Around Here. It's sort of a southern thing, to hear about Around Here. When something is done well, that's just the way things are done Around Here. When something is not done well, we can do better than that Around Here.

Every couple of months, I go to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. And every single time I am up there, someone says "you're not from Around Here, are you?" No. No, I'm not. I'm a Southern girl, born and bred. It's something I'm proud of. There's nothing wrong with being from Up There, it's just not for me. I'm from Around Here. I was born Around Here, and I'll die Around Here.

I hope I can bring honor, light and laughter to Around Here. I hope to make you smile, and sometimes I might make you cry. Maybe I'll make you think. It's all a part of being from Around Here.

A New Journey Begins...

So Here We Are....Something new for me, and something I hope you will enjoy as much as I think I am going to. I love writing my weekly columns, but sometimes things happen Right Now that I wish I could talk about, but know it will be over and gone before the column comes out.

The nature of the newspaper business is such that my deadline is actually days before the column appears, so breaking news is often no longer breaking or even news by the time you are reading my column.

This gives me another avenue to talk about things and be a little more current, but more than that, it gives you a chance to give me feedback. I love hearing from my readers, whether it is a "good job!" or a "you really blew it this time!"

We are in this together. I'm looking forward to it, and I hope you are too.