Adventures in Flying

If you read this first, the following will make more sense.

Our trip to Cancun was planned because my friend LeeAnn and her fiance Matt invited us to their "unholy union" scheduled to take place on the sunny beaches of Cancun. Little did they know that, because they invited us, there would be no sun.

Last Tuesday was our day of departure. It started with an "oh shit" bang at 3:00 a.m. with our toilet breaking. Minor problem, easy fix, scary start. I really try to avoid the phrase "if that's the worst that could happen...", because as anyone knows, it's not. Things can get plenty more jacked up.

At 4:00 a.m. my FIL picked us up to go to the airport, where we breezed through security and got to our gate with tons of time to spare. Truth be told though, we do travel a bit, and so we have the procedure down to a science. We boarded on time, left on time, and proceeded to Dallas/Fort Worth where we would have a layover and transfer.

This is where things get entertaining.

I think that the safety instructions issued while on board your flight are necessary, but absolutely fucking ridiculous. I am alarmed that there may be people on this planet that can.not.operate.a.seatbelt. It's not rocket science, it's not common sense, it's having a brain. So, unless you are under the age of five or braindead, you have no need for on board seatbelt instruction. If you are under five, I hope you're not traveling alone, let alone reading this blog. If you're braindead...perhaps it's not a seatbelt that should be your main priority.

The flotation device located in, around, or under your seat. I predict that if we are hurdling towards planet earth from an altitude of 36,000 feet, I will not have the frame of mind to be figuring out a flotation device. Not to mention, have you tried standing up in front of your seat on a plane? The only way that you are going to be able to take advantage of your seat/flotation device is if you grab the seat, conveniently located under your ass, and hang on. My predicted behavior in this situation is smoke 'em if you got 'em.

The drop down oxygen mask. Though we never expect to lose cabin pressure...I'm pretty sure they never expect the plane to crash into fiery rubble either. I'm willing to overlook that. However, I think that should something occur to activate said oxygen masks, I would probably die faint from fright at something popping down inches from my nose. I only hope that the person sitting next to me has the sense to put their own mask on, and then hook me up. At least if I am unconscious I don't have to get all worked up about the "bag not inflating", because even if you are breathing oxygen from your oxygen mask, I guess there is a justifiable reason to get your panties in a twist over the fact your mask bag is not inflating. Now I may very well be in the minority here, but I suspect that I would rather perish at 20,000 feet from asphyxiation than burning to death once I hit the ground.

Don't tell me where the exits are unless you are going to give me a parachute.

Thanks for the instructions "not to congregate" around the cockpit door, because I was in a conch shell for 9/11 and thought that the cockpit area would be perfect for the conference meeting I was planning to call for mid-flight.

Obviously all of this took place in the span of the five stimulating minutes of on board safety instructions.

Since I do not regularly eat breakfast, my morning had consisted of a can of caffeine-free, Diet Pepsi on the way to the airport. A 20 oz. Diet Coke once we got there, and tomato juice on the plane. An hour into the flight I was feeling it. Now, even though I have flown a million times, I have not ever utilized an airplane bathroom. I think that there were tears in my husbands eyes when I told him to move it so I could hit the bathroom.

At 8:20 a.m. on November 3, 2009 Heather Griffith Brewer used an airplane bathroom. A historic event that I am sure will clutter history books for generations to come.

I love the fact that there is a no smoking sign in the bathroom, but an ashtray on the door. Priceless.

We landed in Dallas without incident.

At 10:10 a.m. I abandoned my mission to find a blank notebook in order to write this shit down. I think that it is truly scandalous that I could purchase designer perfumes, a Fossil watch, or even a Playboy...yet, I could not find a frickin notebook.

My husband then proceeded to pull one out of his bag. Yeah, he's a giver.

At 10:30 a.m. we were instructed via underwater intercom to do something. Your guess is as good as mine as to what that something was supposed to be. Granted, it did take a second or two to realize that when they said "immigration", they were indeed talking about us. So we trotted over to the desk to find out. We encountered a nice young couple, Nick and Kelly, waiting there who were equally confused, yet no one would help us. Based on the stack of Migratory Forms (What are we? Birds?) waiting on the counter, we surmised that what we had all missed was the instructions to fill them out. So we did. Finally, (when we were almost done filling them out) we were informed that we could fill them out on the plane. Thanks, you suck rock.

At 11:25 a.m. our flight was delayed due to a "scratch". Which was fine because it gave us ample time to giggle at the many misspellings on our Migratory and Declaration forms. Such as fligth, carring, and vehicule. It also made me wonder two things: Why didn't someone with impeccable English write the English portion of the forms? And how many misspellings are on our forms that have been translated into other languages? I'm an equal opportunity giggler.

At 11:50 a.m. we were cleared for take off, where we proceeded to Cancun.

Now when I booked our trip I made a big error and decided against the shuttle that would pick us up from the airport, and then return us to the airport. Upon being informed that we could taxi to the resort for a whopping $80, we decided to rent a car. Kev negotiated with a man and we proceeded to go wait for the rental company to pick us up.

I have never rented a car. So being accosted by a Mexican local and then going and waiting for a vehicle to pick us up and take us elsewhere put my imagination into overdrive. I was only able to imagine being kidnapped, raped, beaten, tortured, robbed, and murdered. Not even in that order! I was convinced that my husband had left his common sense on the nightstand before we left home, and was now willing to ruin our vacation before it even started. Kev laughed at me, informed me that it was "normal" for rental places to be located off site, and that he was "pleased" that I was anxious about leaving with a stranger.

In all the years that I have known my husband I have never heard him utter the word "pleased".  I kinda wanted to knee him in the nads.

We finally got our rental car and arrived at our hotel two hours after we landed.

It was soooo worth the wait.

The Joys of The Season

The changing of the seasons always bring me down. Specifically the changing of Summer to Fall, and then on to Winter. Here in Utah, we have a very short "Fall". It's very warm, gets cool for a few weeks, and then we jump head first into cold weather. What bums me out the most is, by the time Winter is officially declared, I am sick of being cold.

We got snow several weeks back, just a days worth, and nothing stuck, but it snowed. The last few days it's been snowing, and it's stuck. I need to get some salt to throw down on my walkway before I stumble across a dead postal woman who has met her demise on my evil front stairs. Old town...all the mailboxes are mounted by our front doors. Although Halloween is only a few days away, maybe I could leave her there for "effect".

Now, I'm just as much in awe of Fall color as the next chap. I think the colors are beautiful, and the crispness in the air is nice after the heat of Summer. It's nice to have to pull out that sweater or hoodie, nice to put on warm socks, but it's sad to me.

I try not to complain too much about the weather. Mainly because I think people complain too much about the weather. It's too hot, it's too cold, it's raining, it's snowing, I wish it would rain, I wish it would snow...it seems that people are never satisfied with what the climate is doing right now. Get an umbrella and shut the hell up.

I know that I am partial to Spring and Summer because they are the seasons that are more conducive to the things I like to do. Specifically, gardening. I love that first hint of Spring, when the new blades of grass are showing themselves in the melting snow. I love watching for the crocuses, tulips, and daffodils to spring up out of the flowerbeds. I even appreciate the beheading of those same tulips by the deer that frequent my yard.

In Fall everything is dying. The vibrancy of Summer is now the muted colors of Fall. Which becomes the muck that is Winter. Tragic. It's like a bad Shakespearean play. It started out good, got climactic, went straight into mundane, and then drones on with a big "is this ever going to end?". Bleh.

Now don't get me wrong. One of the things I like about Fall and Winter is the fact that it is so heavily peppered with holidays. I can't seem to even think about Fall without smelling cinnamon, without thinking of cider, and apples. First we get Halloween, a holiday with costumes and candy, the time of the season where kids get to pretend they are their favorite character, monster, or princess. Men get to indulge their inner hero, and women get a free pass to dress like total whores. It's magical I tell you! Then we fast track to Thanksgiving, a holiday where we get to indulge our inner glutton and spend time with family that we don't care enough about to have contact with the rest of the year. Are you feeling warm and fuzzy yet? Then we have Christmas. A time to remember the birth of our Savior, always overlooking the fact that Christ was not even born in December. A time to share the joy of the season with loved ones by giving them things that they are never going to use because when you asked them what they wanted they responded with "You don't have to get me anything". Christmas is the best! By the time New Years rolls around I am homicidal with the sound of "Jingle Bells". I am tempted to drink myself into oblivion just to forget, for a few hours, the fact that my house has been turned upside down, inside out, and has thrown up on itself.

Tis the season to be heavily medicated.

The Consequences of Our Choices

Due to the fact that I love love love to eat my words, I am sick. I woke up at 6:00 with a serious need of Theraflu, Airborne, NyQuil, and narcotics that I don't have. In light of the fact it's always a bad idea to take copious amounts of medication on an empty stomach, I toasted up my pop-tarts (the only thing remotely nice to my tummy) and hunkered down to get the morning scoop.

My thanks go out to Gina, The Feminist Breeder for giving me something to talk about. I found this comment from her waiting for me this morning:

Okay, since you've been through this, tell me what you think. There was a young couple who made news recently because their doctor refused to perform a tubal on the young lady because she was A.) 21 and B.) had never had any children.
"The Feminists" were mad. They were seething over the fact that this doctor had the audacity to try to tell a woman what to do with her own body.
Well, I actually sided with the doctor on this one (and you've read enough of my blog to know I rarely side with doctors!) I thought the husband could have just as easily had a (less invasive and easier reversed) vasectomy. I just don't think that a 21 yr old necessarily knows what they're asking for when they choose something so completely life altering and sometimes totally permanent.
But as a card carrying feminist, I want to support choice in all areas. That doesn't stop me from thinking some people just don't understand the consequences of their choice though.
So, tell me what you think. Do you think The Feminists were right to be angry? Feel free to completely disagree with me here... I just though you might have some wisdom on the subject.

I am all about choice. I believe that we, as adults, have the right to choose everything for ourselves, from the nature of our intimate relationships, to what we have on our toast. I realized a long time ago that what I choose for myself, is not necessarily what someone else might choose.

That said...

I think The Feminists were right to be angry. Women have worked long and hard to get the right to choose what goes on with their bodies. From birth control, to abortion, to not being forced to get a cesarean. We want to breastfeed in public, yet make as much as a man for the same job. We're just never satisfied! *wink wink* That's our right too.

When I sought a tubal ligation at the tender age of 21, I thought that that was what I wanted. I had two babies already, had been treated for depression for eight years, and was desperately concerned about bringing anymore children into my dysfunctional life. I talked at length with my OB/GYN, a female, who posed the following questions:

1. What if something happened to one of your children?
2. What if you got divorced and remarried someone else? Don't you want the option open to have children with him?

My answers were:

1. I can't replace my lost child by having another one.
2. If I don't want any more children with the man I am currently married to, why would I plan them with some anonymous guy?

This conversation with my doctor took place about six weeks after a suicide attempt, which could have supported my case. Maybe she thought I was too big of a whack-job and that I really shouldn't have more kids, maybe she just respected my decision. I really don't know what she concluded, but she did what I wanted. It took me seven years to regret my decision.

Ten years after my tubal, I attempted to have it reversed. There was very little remaining tube left on either side. Not much to work with, and the results could have been poor, and led me to a high rate of ectopic pregnancy. That sucked. That was my fault. My only choice now is IVF, which is invasive and expensive.

Now, to the guts of the matter. I DO NOT think that a doctor should automatically agree to perform a tubal ligation on a 21 year old woman. I think she should be subjected to a waiting period, maybe appeal to a board of doctors, maybe some counseling...I don't know. I think that it's a very heavy decision, and while I believe that there are women out there who do not want children ever, I think that they are in the minority. I don't believe that just because a woman is capable of having a child, she should be expected to do so. I also respect the rights of the doctor to say NO. I think that we live in a sue happy society, and the potential legal repercussions are there. Unfortunately, people are able to sue (and win) in cases where it was clearly a result of poor choices on the part of the plaintiff.

From someone who knows, I would personally advise a woman to wait. I don't have the same haircut that I had when I was 21. I'm not even married to the same guy that I was married to at 21. I'm 34 and I am still trying to figure out my life. There are very few decisions that I made when I was 21, that I would still make now. That woman has got nothing but time. There are plenty of other long term birth control options that will give her time to make the best decision for her. There is nothing to say that she will or won't change her mind in five or ten years, and that's ok too. She could see a dozen doctors before she finds one that will offer her the procedure that she desires, and in the end she has no one to blame or thank, but herself. Because ultimately she is the one who has to live with the consequences, which might make her happy, or it might just totally suck.

I'm A Baby Mama Again

Don't get too excited...I have not been knocked up. That would be absolutely delightful, but no.

I got remarried 6 1/2 years ago to a wonderful man with no children of his own. I, who at 21 opted to have my tubes tied because a) I knew everything and b) I was a brain dead idiot.

My two children had been born by then, and in light of a complete breakdown, I decided that it would be in the best interest of society for me not to parent anymore children.

My two children are loved immensely, and I have come to realize that I have been a far superior mother than most. Were I to be blessed with another child, I would love them dearly, and I believe I would enjoy it and appreciate their babyhood, because I am older and wiser.

The first year that Kev and I were married we acquired a dog. Her name was Cowbug. She was half German Shorthair, and half something-the-hell-else-not-known-to-this-world. She was the offspring of my BIL's dog, and was short enough (at full growth) to walk underneath her mother. She was black and white like a cow, and she was odd like a bug. We called her our Prozac puppy, because she always seemed sad and perhaps, a bit suicidal. Cowbug slept on the end of our bed, and was our baby.

When my attempted tubal reversal failed, Cowbug got me through. Kev was immensely understanding and supportive, but the personal guilt I felt over my own stupidity, and the fact that Kev chose me instead of potential children of his own, made me sad. Because I feel so unworthy of his love.

In March of 2008, Cowbug got very sick, she was only four. I spent hours and hours by her side at the vet's office, and had I been able to fit in the kennel with her, I would have slept with her. After four days, the vet plainly told me she was not going to get better, her liver was failing and she was dying. I knew this to be true, because earlier in the day I had sat with her outside in the sun and the look in her eyes told me so. I kidnapped my dog from the vet, went and checked both of my kids out of school, and made the trip home to let my other dogs see Cowbug one last time. Cowbug was put to sleep wrapped in a blanket my mother made me when I was 11, and that I had slept with for 21 years. Cowbug was cremated with that blanket and she now resides in a beautiful cedar box on my nightstand.

I had/have two other dogs. Bluebell, who is a pup from another litter of Cowbug's mother. I also have a Golden Retriever named Phinny, who tops the scales at 110+ pounds. Once he got stuck in the dog door, and we called him Phinny the Pooh. Both great lovey dogs, but not bed dogs, and they have taken more to my kids than to me.

Several months after Cowbug died, I started thinking I wanted another small dog. Which is bizarre, because small dogs have never appealed to me. I would get on Petfinder every week or so, and look through all of the animals that needed homes. None of them grabbed me.

Until November. Two weeks before Thanksgiving, I was browsing the listings, and was struck by a little black dog. It stated that she was 10 months old, and a longhair Dachshund mix. After reading her description, I discovered that she was blind, and that she had been found behind a convenience store in LA, where she was recovered and sent to a special needs animal rescue group in Utah. I asked my hubby, he said no. I lamented, but resigned myself to the fact that I did not need another dog. I dreamt about her for the next two nights, and contacted the group. I let them know that I already had 2 dogs, but that we are zoned for 3, as long as one is a rescue (true). I also told them about my Cowbug story, and was later informed that that was what sealed the deal. Three days later (the longest days of my life) I met my little Shanti dog.

The first thing she did was head butt me. I've been in love with her since.

I don't understand people who don't like any kinds of animals. I know allergies are a huge factor, but some folks just really do not like any kinds of critters. I don't get it. As a matter of fact, I'm a little leery of people who will openly express their dislike of animals. It's OK to like pets, but not their fur. It's alright to enjoy animals but not have time for them. It's a responsibility, and I think too many people get animals without realizing the cost, time, and care involved.

Kinda like kids. Nice that it is acceptable to kennel a dog though.

My first night with Shanti did not go well. I arranged to meet the rep at a Petsmart on the other side of town, that all went fine, until I went to purchase the food and accessories for my new little dog. Forgot my debit card, which was located conveniently with my ID, so I couldn't even write a check. I had to drive all the way home, and then return to a store closer to home. Which was great until Shanti had what I think was stress induced diarrhea...in the store. You see, Shanti had been placed twice before, and had been returned to the rescue group. By then she was 15 months old, and had spent the first 6 months of her life on the streets, and the next 9 months being shuffled around. The employees (God bless them) cleaned up the mess, AND took Shanti into the groomers to be cleaned up as well.

That first night was spent much like the first night of having a newborn. A lot of crying, a lot of trips outside, and some serious adjustment on both our parts. At 6:00 a.m. I got paws to the face and a serious face licking. It was as if a shift occurred...Shanti recognized she was home. I know that sounds silly and kinda mental.

The first several weeks were a serious adjustment. Every time we took Shanti in the car she shook and puked. So, being the sicko that I am, we took her in the car a lot. Little by little she got used to the fact that we could leave, and then return home. Now she loves car rides.

When we got Shanti she was 10 pounds. Small, but a little too skinny. Within the first month she gained 2 more pounds. Then she got sick and lost 3 pounds, and we had to put her on special dog food, which has put her back up in weight, but I have to cringe at the thought of spending $2 a day to feed my smallest pet. Worth every penny.

Shanti a la Mermaid Bacon (her given name...by us) is all my dog. When I leave she plays dead. The family informs me that she acts as if life has ended because I have left. When I come home she jumps and paws at me, and my family gives me the death stare. Frankly, I am glad someone is happy to see me.

At night Shanti usually opts to sleep in her kennel with the door open. If she gets cold in the night she puts her paws on the edge of the bed and I lift her up where she crawls under the covers between Kev and I and goes to sleep. If she makes it through the night, then she wants up when Kev gets up to work...and we snuggle.

This morning I had to get up to get ready for an early doctor appointment. I used the bathroom and headed into the living room (morning online fix), within a couple minutes Shanti was paws up on the couch waiting for her morning snuggle.

And that was when I realized, I was a baby mama again.

Homebirth

I am passionate about homebirth. I think it is the single most important decision that healthy low-risk women can make in order to get accomplish have a normal natural delivery. I found that out the hard way.

Yesterday a sign was posted on Facebook that launched a million comments on a bunch of different blogs and Facebook profiles. I am linking to Nicole D at Bellies and Babies, where you can find a picture of the sign and some comments.

The sign is actually located at Aspen Women's Center only 30 or so miles from my home. I'm terribly embarrassed that such a sign hailed from my home state. On one hand, I have read numerous comments from people who stated "at least it's honest", and that is true. Nice that this clinic is considerate enough to forewarn women of their intentions, instead of leading them on with promises and/or compromises that they will ultimately deny in the delivery room in the name of "safety".

I DO NOT believe 31.1% of women are unable to birth their children without being cut into. Do the math kids. Would 1 out of every 3 women have died one hundred years ago during childbirth, without a "life saving" cesarean? That's ridiculous.

We live in a culture that has not relied on homebirth for several generations. My own homeborn grandmother advised me against my planned homebirth. We have been culturally programed to believe that a doctors word is religion. And it is not.


Kelly had this comment (in regards to Aspen Women's Center) on Bellies and Babies:
"I'm disgusted at how some people act in this world. Here is a man who loves his work and is one of the best OB's out there. I have had personal experience with him and his office. We are all entitled to make our own choices in what we view is the best care for our own health (that is our privilege and freedom as Americans) and he is up front and honest from the beginning. He may not take the same road as you and may have different beliefs than you, however, slamming someone and their reputation because they have different views than yours is wrong, horrible and hurtful. I'm disgusted that my own children will have to someday deal with hypocritical people like yourselves that bash others because their opinions are not the same as yours."

How often is it that people freely condemn homebirthers, people who choose not to vaccinate, homeschoolers, and the entire spectrum of people who choose to not do what is culturally acceptable?  We choose to be active participants in our babies births, and yet we get condemned all the time for it. We make decisions based on what we have been witness to, what we have been subjected to, and what we have become educated about. How does that make us hypocrites?

A hypocrite is a doctor who turns their back on the needs of a mother. Requiring procedures that have no basis in fact, and often seem to only provide convenience for medical personnel. Lying to a mother in order to get her to concede to the desires of a doctor, who at the end of the day returns to his home, and not to the repercussions of his actions. Visit this site and peruse the ridiculous, and often complete lies that providers tell women in an attempt to get them to agree to inductions, cesareans, and doctors convenience.

Don't people understand that often the choice to have a homebirth has been made as the result of a bad hospital birthing experience? The majority of hospitals are not conducive to normal natural deliveries. There is no scientific evidence to support continuous fetal monitoring. What it does is provide a convenient way to keep you bedridden, and monitored by overworked nursing staff. It also increases the likelihood of you requesting an epidural, or other pain medication.

I think if people were more vocal about their experiences, both in and out of hospitals, we might see a serious reform in obstetrical care. While there are forums out there that people can consult, many of them are relatively new, and won't be as effective as they will become in the future. I think that the best thing to do is to name names, and to give detailed accounts of what was good and what was bad. By detailing your experience, you are requiring an accountability on behalf of your doctor and the hospital. I will be first in line to ruin the reputation of someone who repeatedly acts negligently towards their patients, emotionally or physically (I say this in general, and not in regards to the staff of AWC). I think the worst thing you can hear after the fact is "if I had only known".

We speak out against domestic violence, child abuse, cruelty to animals, and global warming. Yet people find it quite easy to overlook the fact that women leave their birth experiences feeling absolutely violated and traumatized. That's crap. Complete and total garbage.

There is an unhealthy mentality that is created in a hospital. From the moment you step through the doors you are scolded for eating, drinking, wanting to walk around, and trying to get things going naturally. Every intervention, no matter how small, seems to undermine your ability to birth your child. Every concession you make is one step closer to a potential problem.

I do not expect every women to desire a homebirth. Nor do I believe every women cares what sort of experience they have as long as it ends with them going home with their baby. I do not believe every women wants a natural delivery. I know plenty of women who wanted their epidural the minute they walked through the hospital doors, and were complacent about what happened after that. If they can go home and be perfectly happy with that experience, who am I to tell them that's wrong?

What I do have a HUGE problem with, is the problems that often result from these passive deliveries. Babies who end up in the NICU for a week because they just couldn't get it figured out once they were ripped forced delivered into this world. The excuses that go along with these scenarios have never included "I was uneducated. My doctor made decisions that adversely affected me and my baby...and I went along with them".

I also find it depressing that often moms return from their deliveries not knowing exactly why they feel depressed, traumatized, violated, and dissatisfied. I believe the reason is because you did not go full circle with what your body was intended to do for your emotional well being while you were in labor.

There is a place for modern obstetrical care. There are women that genuinely should be in a hospital setting, but there is no reason for them to not be given a chance to birth naturally. Elective cesareans are crap, and I am appalled that our medical community allows them. VBAC's should be encouraged, not regulated against. If you truly needed that cesarean, what are the chances that the same thing is going to happen again? There are genuine emergencies that require them, and that only goes back to my theory of "would they have died a hundred years ago without it?"

The only reason in the world that I could imagine a facility refusing to facilitate birth plans, admit a doula into a delivery, or let a women use any method of childbirth preparation...is ego. A birth plan is a simple outline of what a women desires in her labor and delivery...a good indication that she is educated about what her choices are. A doula provides an invaluable service to a laboring woman, studies have proven that women have better birth outcomes and request less pain medication when utilizing the services of a doula. Not to mention, the mother gets continuous support and therefore offers some relief to overworked nurses in understaffed wards. Many groups such as Bradley, offer consumer based education. Obviously, a doctor denying any of these things is acting in his own self interest...of not being objected to. It's not nearly as easy to manipulate an educated mother, or an advocate who is willing to call your bluff.

The outcomes of hospital deliveries and homebirth cannot be compared. It's apples...and eggplants. You can study the positive outcomes of homebirths vs. hospital transfers from homebirths. You can study the outcomes of healthy women seeking a natural hospital delivery, and consider how many of those births ended horribly. I often wonder how many of my cesarean friends started with an induction, got an epidural, and then was eventually cut open due to failure to progress, shoulder dystocia, or fetal distress. Trying to get a body not ready to birth, to birth, makes about as much sense as trying to make mashed potatoes with uncooked potatoes.

My mother once told me "the last month of pregnancy is the longest ten years of your life". But being sick and tired of being pregnant is a selfish and unjustified reason to induce. Especially when you consider the risks. I delivered my 6 lb. 12 oz. baby two weeks after an OB wanted to induce me...did I make the right choice? Would she have been too small had I followed his recommendations? Would she have been "ready"? How long would she have spent in the NICU? I gave birth to her at home, with no problems.

Time and time again I have seen healthy moms have negative outcomes in the hospital. I don't hear the same "horror" stories from women who have birthed at home. That speaks volumes to me. I think the "bad" midwife experiences are less common in homebirths than the "good" deliveries are in hospital births.

I'll take my "chances" at home. And I will continue to encourage women to do the same.

I Have No Sense Of Humor

I don't get toilet humor.

Fart jokes never appealed to me. Perhaps it's because I didn't grow up around that sort of humor, perhaps it's because my Papa threatened ejection from the house when I once used the word "fart" in a sentence. I didn't grow up using the words "pee" or "poop" and I literally cringe when I am out and about, and I hear a child declare that they have to "pee". Now, I do not automatically default to my Mum's word of "tinkle", because it makes me think of rain. And although I have grown up surrounded, literally drowning in medical folks, I refuse to use "bowel movement" or "BM". I lock the bathroom door in my own house...when I'm home alone...obviously, I have issues. Although my daughter admits to doing it too...could it possibly be genetic? Could I get a subliminal copy of Everybody Poops so that I can just get over myself already?

While I was dining with 11 of my nearest and dearest girlfriends the other night, the subject of poop came up. It always does, because I have a wonderful friend who has a poo story for everything. Now, I find her stories deliriously funny, while at the same time being completely mortified on her behalf. Frankly, some of the things happen to her because none of the rest of us could survive them. As they were all talking, and I was pretending to chew my food for a ridiculous amount of time, I was amazed at how many of them have shit their pants. Adult women shit themselves? Without a medical reason? I was sufficiently surprised, and they were surprised that I did not have a shart story of my own. I think that I find their stories amusing, because they are able to laugh about it, and it tempers the mortification factor...for me.

I did not like the movie Dumb and Dumber. As a matter of fact, I list it as the scariest movie I have ever seen. The part where the guy is in the bathroom, and the toilet is overflowing...I thought I would completely lose my mind. I think I had to leave the room to find my inhaler...so I didn't die of an asthma attack. The next day I sought medical help...surprisingly there is no treatment for "exposure to mortifying toilet humor movies". I think there should be some sort of telethon, fundraising, and medical research. I know that I am in the minority though...no incentive for the pharmaceutical companies to take up my plight.

The more I think about the entire thing, the more I realize that I just don't get a lot of what people find hilarious. America's Funniest Home Videos...yeah, not me. I think the majority of those folks belong in jail. And then there's Jackass. Wow, I can't even begin to think about trying to sit through any of that garbage. I don't think that I can clench my eyes shut tight enough, or jam my fingers in my ears deep enough to try and tolerate an episode, let alone a full length movie depicting those kinds of shenanigans.

Prank phone calls do me in too. Radio shows used to be famous for pulling these things, and I could not take it, they actually caused me physical pain.

All of this is so bizarre to me...because I find life to be endlessly amusing. Comics like Daniel Tosh, Wanda Sykes, Dana Carvey, George Carlin, Lewis Black and Steve Martin are big winners in my book. But Chris Farley, Jim Carrey, and Larry The Cable Guy drive me to drink...acetone...by the gallon. In my opinion, if you've seen one Jim Carrey movie, you've seen them all, the guy has the same antics in every single movie. Then again, I'm easily distracted by bad acting, bad editing, and predictable lines. I can pretty much predict every other line in a movie...and it drives my family nuts. McKinley is always saying "Stop writing the movie Mom". It's a curse.

What do you think? Am I off my rocker? What's funny and not so funny in your world? Tell me a good fart joke and I'll award a prize to the person who actually makes me laugh...I'll mail you a whoopee cushion or something.*

School me.

*Prizes and participation may vary. Odds of winning may vary depending on number of entries received. Prizes subject to substitution of equal or lesser value. Available in most states, except for yours. Open to all legal residents of the original 13 colonies, ages 27 & older. Not valid in Guam or Detroit. All submissions must be received by 10/31/14. Subject to change without notice. Good luck!

Autumn Girl Explained

I know it didn't make sense.

But the whole thing was truly senseless to begin with.

Last week, a girl that I watched grow up, shot herself.

A girl that I only knew casually...that I attended the occasional BBQ with, chatted with on the street, or ran into at random places like the pumpkin patch (15 miles from our town), shot herself. Ended her life.

She was 19 years old.

Her funeral was today and it was lovely in the sad sort of way that it is when you see someone so young leave this world. More people attended than they expected, and many were left standing. The sun was shining and it was nice outside when they laid her to rest.

When I am raw with emotion, I am reduced to a babbling idiot weaving a million metaphors of my own making. I took the news with a fair amount of shock, as you can imagine.

The fact is, we are never supposed to outlive our children. EVER.

It's just not fucking fair.

It took several days until it truly sank in. Grief is odd.

When someone takes their own life, it creates it's own sorrow. There is no comfort to be found...because it just shouldn't be this way. I didn't see her every single day, and therefore her death does not affect me as much as it affects the countless others that know her much better. Suicides affect me more profoundly though...because I've been there. I ache for them.

I've been in that darkness and have known how it felt to feel like it would all be better if I were dead. The last time I attempted suicide was a long, long time ago...but the feelings of sadness, anger, loneliness, and isolation are still very clear to me. I've long since realized that suicide creates more problems for the people left behind, than they ever solve. I do not, however, feel like suicide is a "selfish" act. Because when you are in the midst of those feelings, there seems to be no alternative, and the pain can be unbearable. I've learned that more can be gained by asking for help, before it gets too much to bear. And I have asked, and I have gotten that help. Many times.

Life is worth living, and the things that I have gained through my life, have made it so. But that is impossible to fathom when you are living in a personal shitstorm. When day in and day out is nothing but a nightmare, there is no faith in the future.

The circumstances surrounding this girls death leads me to believe that it was an impulsive act. Which makes it a bit more difficult, because perhaps if things had been slightly different, maybe she wouldn't have done it. I'm not sure if it's easier to believe that or not. Not only has she left her loved ones to live on without her, but she has also left them with the guilt of wondering how things might have been different. Which I think is always the case in suicides, but more so in instances like this. Tragedies often leave people wondering what more they could have done. Unfortunately, when people are seriously suicidal, they often say nothing that would tip you off. Short of being some psych genius...you would never know.

She was loved. You could see it in the faces of her family, and in the faces of everyone who attended her funeral. She will be deeply missed. My husband and I returned this evening from a birthday party, and I could hear laughing coming from her house...I hope that her family is sitting around talking about her and how silly she could be. How happy she made them. How much she was loved. I hope that they are alright, and that the days ahead bring them peace.

Her name was Jackie...and I know she has peace now.