I'm going to let you guys in on a little secret about single girls. Although we say we are single, we aren't truly "single". Although we don't call anyone guy in particular our beau and no one guy calls us his girlfriend, we still have our particular guys that are in some way important to us and that fulfills our needs as being a woman. After discussing this with my other single friends and even not so single friends, I've come to the conclusion that most(maybe not every, but most) single girls have at least 3 guys in their lives. Sometimes we may have just 2 or even 4 or 5(depending on how many needs the woman has to be fulfilled), but on the average it's usually 3. I know I talked about playing the game and being a player in one of my other posts "The Game" but this is different. This doesn't make us single girls players at all, unless the singleton gets serious with one of the 3 and doesn't drop the other 2 or is having a real relationship with all 3.
These 3 guys I talk about that single ladies have carry all have different characteristics we like in a guy and fulfill some kind of single girl need. All single girls have different types of needs so each guy might be different from another singleton's 3. But if you happen to put these 3(or how many ever) guys together, it would make up Mr. Perfect. From talking to my girls and from experiences from my own single life(not that I actually have these 3 guys in my life, maybe I do or maybe I don't. I'm not revealing that!), I have come up with these 3 types of guys most single girls have in their lives: The BGFF, The Mr. Right Now, and The Mr. Right But Not Right Now.
The BGFF
The BGFF or the Best Guy Friend Forever, is, well, just that. He's the one you go to for advice. The one you know you can call anytime, day or night for whatever reason. He's the one you can just be yourself with, be one of the guys, drink beer and watch the game, play the Wii and let out "that's what she said" jokes. He's your wingman, and you're his wingwoman. If he doesn't like a guy and gets an asshole vibe, he's going to let you know. He looks after you. Tells you what may be the best for you even though you might not want to hear it and may not take his advice. Who said guys and girls can't be friends? Okay, so yeah it can be hard, especially if alcohol is present and if you're spending a lot of time together. Whatever you do though ladies, if you want to keep your BGFF and don't want to make things weird and awkward, do not, whatever you do, do not hook up with your BGFF. That's when your BGFF can turn into your Mr. Right Now. Which there have been instances that a girl's BGFF turns into their Mr. Right(we've all seen Made of Honor, right? Or maybe not. It's a cute movie and has McDreamy). Good for you, I think it's awesome when a girl finds love with their best friend, but in some instances it can become way too complicated and you might just lose your BGFF from it. Sometimes things just aren't worth the risk. It's best to leave your BGFF as just that.
Mr. Right Now
Mr. Right Now is the guy you know you can call when you get lonely and will always be there to hang out. Whether it be to meet up for a few drinks and some interesting conversations, take you to dinner as a Plan B when your Plan A, dinner with Mr. Right But Not Right Now falls through, go see the movie you've been dying to see but would never go see by yourself, or just order pizza and chill at your place. You're not serious with Mr. Right Now and he's not serious with you. He's someone that secretly makes you sane when your patience for Mr. RBNRN is wearing thin and keeps your mind off of him for a while.
Out of the 3, Mr. Right Now usually doesn't last that long and can change from week to week. After a few dates and maybe hook ups you decide you like hanging out, but this type of relationship really goes no where. You might get bored and decide it's time for a new Mr. Right Now. Or you might have 2 or 3 Mr. Right Nows. This is when things can get complicated and you start mixing up your Mr. Right Nows with other Mr. Right Nows. I know you're single ladies and can do what you want, but keep it classy! Don't be slutty singletons!
There might come a time when you lose all patience for Mr. RBNRN and you get tired of being alone and single. All you want is a boyfriend and by golly you'll do anything to get one. This is when Mr. Right Now could potentially save you from your singleness and become your boyfriend. You settle. You might not have the one you really want, but you're not single anymore and won't spend another Saturday night sitting alone with your cat while drinking a glass of red watching "He's Just Not That Into You". This happens all too often. My advice: don't do it. You know neither your mind or heart are in it. It's not fair to you or Mr. Right Now. This just ends in disaster. It might be all unicorns and hummingbirds in the beginning, but when you're with someone just because you don't want to be single anymore or just to have someone there, you're not really in it to win it. Sometimes it can lead to cheating or when Mr. RBNRN is settled and ready for something serious and you're not available, it can ruin your chances to true happiness.
Mr. Right But Not Right Now
Mr. Right But Not Right Now is the one that when your Blackberry beeps and lights up from a text message you hope it is him and get disappointed when it's not. Before you see him, your stomach feels like it's going to fly away from all the butterflies. He's the one that you want to spend every spare minute you might have with and the one you can't get off your mind even after a 5 mile run. He's the one you could one day see yourself spending the rest of your life with, but not right now. Not right now could be for many different reasons. Usually because it's bad timing. Take it from me, I am the queen of bad timing. If anyone knows bad timing, it's me. Maybe Mr. RBNRN just got out of a long relationship. He just started a new job and has absolutely no time to start a new relationship. He has too much on his plate. He might be moving away or already lives far away. Maybe he just needs to grow up a little and not be scared to commit. Trust me, if a guy has any or all of these examples, do not push yourself into his already confusing and stressful life. After reading Steve Harvey's book "Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man" and being in these all too familiar situations, if you want Mr. RBNRN to become your Mr. Right, don't go single girl crazy and try to fit yourself into his life and get mad when he can't hang out because he's working 7 days a week. From Steve Harvey, a guy is way different from a woman(obviously). When a woman likes a guy, she makes it happen. There's no stopping her. When it comes to men, a guy has to make a life for himself first before getting seriously involved. He has to figure out who he is, what he wants to do and what he's going to get from what he does. If he hasn't figured this out or is on his way but hasn't made it yet, he's going to be way too busy with these things to focus on you.
Ladies, if you want it to work with Mr. RBNRN, be patient. Don't push it. If you try to push yourself into his not yet settled and stable life, you could potentially ruin it for good. Play it cool. Be patient. Good things come to those who wait, right? (This is probably why I'm still single, patience is not a virtue I have instilled in me. If only I could listen to my own advice.) If he really likes you and wants to be with you, he will make it happen after he gets his shit together. If he gets his shit together and still is not getting serious with you, then it just wasn't meant to be. At this point ladies, it's time to move on. On to the next one. This might be hard after all that waiting, but maybe you weren't his Miss RBNRN, maybe to him, you were just his Miss Right Now. Leave it be. And for those Mr. RBNRN that you might be waiting on to grow up, some guys never really do. Sometimes guys like that you just can't waste your time waiting on. He'll know what he's missed when he finally does grow up, but it will be too late. Sucks for him.
So you might agree or disagree with me on this one. You might be the type of single girl that doesn't have any of these and might be saying, "Stella, you crazy girl!" This idea, the rule of threes, came from a conversation with a recently single friend and a not so single friend that's been taken for a few years now, so you might be saying what do we know. After reading this though, I hope it all makes sense now. The rule of threes could be the rule of fours or fives or even just twos, but whatever it might be, us single girls have needs that need to be met, and until we find our Mr. Right, we will continue to have our threes(or whatever number it might be).
Friday, July 1, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
The Story of My Surgery
I find it weird how one part of my day I'm running on the boardwalk(which by the way is about 5 miles total), working at my store which consists of me running around like a crazy person for about ten hours straight with only a break of an hour of which I'm on conference call while stuffing my face, come home to no parking spaces so I must walk about 10 blocks to my house, and then another part of my day I'm laying in bed and not being able to sleep because I have a sharp, stabbing pain in my left side. At which I had to get up and be back at work at 9am. I'm totally used to running on no hours of sleep at work; Saturdays are normally like that for me, but this pain on my left side was not normal. It truly felt like someone was stabbing me in the ovary. I thought it would just go away throughout the day, that I could just walk it off. I thought wrong. As the day went by, the pain became worse. I'm not one to really complain about pain and even when I'm sick at work, I just suck it up and keep going. I've had my head in a toilet and then kept working, had beads of sweat coming off my forehead because of a fever and kept working, couldn't see what I was doing because of seeing spots during a migraine headache and kept working, lost my voice and kept working, been delusional because of lack of sleep and kept working, basically broke my foot from dropping a keyboard right on top of it and kept working. But this pain, I felt like throwing up because of this pain. I left work early that day crying in pain.
When I got home, I went straight to bed. I thought I could just sleep it off and wake up energized and ready for another work day. I thought wrong again. The pain was still very much there. While living in NY I haven't needed to go to a doctor yet. Which I actually hate going to see a doctor anyway, so even if I was sick I'd just take some Dayquil and deal with it. It being a Sunday and not having a doctor left me no choice, I had to go to the ER. I can honestly say I've never had to go to the ER. Well maybe I have after my brother pulled my arm out of socket when I was in pre-school and had to get my arm put in a sling, but I can't really remember that trip.
Thank God for my awesome friends I've made while living in NY. Bridget brought me to the Long Beach Medical Center, which was a bad choice. I got right in, saw the doctor, had an ultrasound, but after they figured out what was wrong with me the OB/GYN that was on call had made plans and couldn't come in. Really dude? I could be freakin' dying here but your plans into the city are more important than my life? Thanks to this jerk, I had a fun ambulance ride to South Nassau Hospital where I was questioned yet again for why I had come to the ER, sat in a hospital gown in a half open curtained room where I could see a fat old man standing in the hallway with his gown halfway off(thank God he had shorts on, but really I did not need to see his belly), an old guy next to me puking his guts out, a guy(or maybe it was a woman?) screaming at the top of his lungs in a very New England accent for a doctor and for some medicine(at which I almost yelled back "shut the hell up!"), 2 hours waiting for yet another ultrasound to be done on my lower half, after which another 2 hours waiting in a bed beside a desk in the ER, and then to get discharged and an IV pulled out of my arm at which blood soaked up the band aid and bruised up my arm like I was a battered wife(which I still have a huge bruise from) and had to walk to the bathroom to change out of my hospital gown with my ass almost hanging out for all the ER to see. Yeah, that was a fun day.
So after my total 7 and 1/2 hours in 2 ER's, the conclusion of my visit was that I had a rather large dermoid cyst on my left ovary. They had thought it was torsion or "twisting" my left ovary which would have cut off the blood circulation and would have meant I would have needed emergency surgery to save my ovary. This was not the case so they let me go back home but I was to not work and to call the doctor in the morning. The next day I called the doctor and she said to come right in. She did yet another ultrasound and saw I had another cyst that was leaking and that my dermoid cyst was about 2 inches tall and 2 inches wide(maybe a bit bigger than a golf ball?). On my way there I had been in so much pain I was crying. She said the pain would not go away until the cyst was removed and that I needed it removed soon because she was afraid it would twist my ovary. She had a very busy schedule the rest of the week but she could actually do the surgery that night. I had to be back at the hospital at 4pm that day. This left me an hour and a half to pack a few things, call my family, text my friends, call my boss, and find a ride back to the hospital.
So I know getting a cyst removed is really quite common. I know a few people that have had this done and it was an in and out kind of thing. Knowing this still didn't ease my worries about having surgery. The only other surgery I've had was getting my wisdom teeth removed when I was 16(which was in and out, getting a cyst removed is NOT just in and out!). I was in NY by myself. I have a close group of friends that would do anything and I mean ANYTHING for me, but they all also have jobs and can't play nurse to me 24/7. I was in tears packing my bag for a surgery I was so unprepared, had no idea what to expect, I was alone, and I was scared shitless. This moment has now replaced my scariest moment I have spoke of in another post of when I had a low blood sugar attack.
Bridget took me back to the ER where I had to get admitted to the hospital for my surgery. They asked me yet again why I came to the ER, on a scale of 1 to 10 what my pain felt like, when my last period was, how tall I am, what I weigh, what I'm allergic to, what medical conditions I had, when my birthday was, what my favorite color was, what was my mother's maiden name, if I'd rather be a cowgirl, ninja or pirate, who was my celebrity crush, and what I would do for a Klondike bar(okay so maybe I threw a few questions in there, but I swear if I hear some of these questions again I might just scream.)
After another 3 hours of waiting in the ER waiting room with a man that reeked of BO and a screaming child, I was finally back in. I had my bed back by the ER office desk(I could literally answer the phone from my bed) and the same man nurse that left my arm black and blue. I sat reading Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang while waiting to get my lower abdomen cut on. I have come to the realization that hospitals are worse than rides at Disney. You wait and wait and wait but the outcome is definitely not a joyful ride down Space Mountain. I felt like Zack Morris in the episode of "they're going to hack Zack" when Zack had to get knee surgery. I even had the cheer going in my head that Kelly, Jessie and Lisa did in Zack's dream of his funeral before his surgery. "Z-a-c-k since he's gone, the sky turned gray, he hurt his knee, went under the knife, who'd have thought he'd lose his life? Yay. Rah." I felt like finding a hot male nurse to wheel me into the elevator and out of the hospital. Too bad the only male nurse on duty was Mohammed Ali and I'd probably just end up with another bruised body part if I asked him to do anything.
An hour before my surgery, my aunt that lived near Philly arrived. Thank the Lord for her. I don't know how I would have lived through this whole ordeal without her. She is a saint. 9pm hit and it was time to go. They already had an IV in me and some kind of fluid flowing. In the operating room, they asked the same questions all doctors and nurses must be programmed to ask. I was nice while answering the questions yet again because 1, these ladies were so nice and B, these were the ones that would be cutting on me. After that, they rolled me into another room, moved me onto another bed, and told me to count back from 10. I have no idea what number I got to before I was out.
I awoke to a huge light being moved out of my face and a few people above me. I thought, shit! I must have fallen asleep in the tanning bed and these people somehow unlocked my door and came in to wake me up. This was until I felt the small pain in my lower abdomen. Yeah this definitely wasn't a trip to the tanning salon. My doctor explained to me what happened. I had not only 1 dermoid cyst, but yet another one on the other ovary. My ovaries had somehow switched places so what we had thought my left ovary had the huge cyst was really my right ovary and my left ovary was where my right one should have been. My uterus and areas around it like my bladder were filled with scar tissue from endometriosis. The doctor had scraped up the tissue from the endometriosis. She had put my organs all back to where they are supposed to go and had removed all cysts. This is going to sound gross but I gotta say it. If you don't know what a dermoid cyst is and have a strong stomach, goggle image it. A dermoid cyst actually might have hair, teeth, nails, skin, fat, and other human parts. After I had goggled this, I had imagined this little blob with hair and teeth biting at my ovary. The doctor said mine had almost as much hair as I had on my head and a tooth(which I have no idea how that much hair is possible). I think in my morphine and anaesthesia state of mind I asked if I could see it. And if it was a blonde(it was not. And no I could not see it).
After telling my aunt a couple of times how I felt like my Nana, I was wheeled to the pediatric floor to a room. I know I look young but Jesus do I really look like a kid? It wasn't that bad except for that first night. Two screaming babies, a machine that kept beeping on the other side of the curtain because the lady didn't know how to keep her IVed arm straight, and nausea sweeping me from the morphine. Let's just say I didn't get much sleep and was very grumpy when the nurse kept taking my vitals every time I was able to finally drift to sleep and then the blood taking lady came. I had no idea what vain this lady was going to stab seeing how all of them seemed to be black and blue at the time.
Later on that day, I was given jello and some broth and told I needed to try to get up and start walking around. I must say, you really do take a lot of things for granted. All I wanted at that time was a #2 from McDonalds. And getting out of bed, easier said than done. I'd taken for granted getting out of bed on my own, being able to sleep on my stomach, being able to use the bathroom, to eat regular solid food, to run or even walk for that matter, to put on socks, to bend down and pick up something, to be able to sneeze or cough and not feel like my insides were going to come out, to shower with both arms since one hurt from my IV, to drive where ever I wanted, to just be independent and not depend on someone to help you do daily things. It really sucks.
Thank God for the nurse and my aunt. Oh and the hospital bed. I really should get one of those for my bedroom. I was finally on my feet and walking the hallway of the hospital. By dinner time, I was able to eat real food. Yeah it was hospital food, but it was solid FOOD. I devoured a cheeseburger and fries.
I ended up staying in the hospital for 3 nights. Way longer than I had expected or hoped for. I've always hated hospitals but I was grateful to be on the Peds floor away from the old dying people and around a few kids and babies. After being wheeled out of the hospital, it was off to West Chester, PA to stay at the Hotel Callaway.
I am so grateful to have my aunt and uncle help take care of me and help with my recovery. Although I didn't like that I had to leave my home and friends in LB, being at my aunt and uncle's was the best choice for me to recover from my surgery. My days of recovery consisted of more than enough daytime TV to plan a wedding and change my wardrobe(I am now obsessed with TLC), catch up on what I've missed on my soap(I've been watching Days of Our Lives since I was like 5) and get all the good celeb gossip. I watched dozens of chick flicks that took me out of reality, and read "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell" that put me back into reality of how guys can be such assholes. And of course I blogged a bit. Hopefully I will have some more posts up soon!
Now I am back in LB and still on the road to a full recovery. My doctor said I was healing nicely but I did not need to overdo it. I know I'm going to be fine now, but I'm worried about the years to come. There's a chance the cysts could come back. There's a chance of having trouble or not being able to have a baby. There's a chance of having to undergo a hysterectomy. I come from a family of women that have gone through this. My grandmother had a hysterectomy at the age of 29. My aunt and cousin had to have the same later on in their lives. This is something I am not looking forward to but know it's probably in my future. Right now I'm just going to worry about getting better and getting my life back to normal.
I want to take the time and thank my family and friends for all their love and support during this tough time. I definitely could not have lived through this without my aunt and uncle being there for me. And the rest of my friends and family for their prayers, visits to the hospital, phone calls, text messages, and fb message of concern and compassion. After this little bump in my life, it really shows how much love there is out there and how much people really do care about me.
When I got home, I went straight to bed. I thought I could just sleep it off and wake up energized and ready for another work day. I thought wrong again. The pain was still very much there. While living in NY I haven't needed to go to a doctor yet. Which I actually hate going to see a doctor anyway, so even if I was sick I'd just take some Dayquil and deal with it. It being a Sunday and not having a doctor left me no choice, I had to go to the ER. I can honestly say I've never had to go to the ER. Well maybe I have after my brother pulled my arm out of socket when I was in pre-school and had to get my arm put in a sling, but I can't really remember that trip.
Thank God for my awesome friends I've made while living in NY. Bridget brought me to the Long Beach Medical Center, which was a bad choice. I got right in, saw the doctor, had an ultrasound, but after they figured out what was wrong with me the OB/GYN that was on call had made plans and couldn't come in. Really dude? I could be freakin' dying here but your plans into the city are more important than my life? Thanks to this jerk, I had a fun ambulance ride to South Nassau Hospital where I was questioned yet again for why I had come to the ER, sat in a hospital gown in a half open curtained room where I could see a fat old man standing in the hallway with his gown halfway off(thank God he had shorts on, but really I did not need to see his belly), an old guy next to me puking his guts out, a guy(or maybe it was a woman?) screaming at the top of his lungs in a very New England accent for a doctor and for some medicine(at which I almost yelled back "shut the hell up!"), 2 hours waiting for yet another ultrasound to be done on my lower half, after which another 2 hours waiting in a bed beside a desk in the ER, and then to get discharged and an IV pulled out of my arm at which blood soaked up the band aid and bruised up my arm like I was a battered wife(which I still have a huge bruise from) and had to walk to the bathroom to change out of my hospital gown with my ass almost hanging out for all the ER to see. Yeah, that was a fun day.
So after my total 7 and 1/2 hours in 2 ER's, the conclusion of my visit was that I had a rather large dermoid cyst on my left ovary. They had thought it was torsion or "twisting" my left ovary which would have cut off the blood circulation and would have meant I would have needed emergency surgery to save my ovary. This was not the case so they let me go back home but I was to not work and to call the doctor in the morning. The next day I called the doctor and she said to come right in. She did yet another ultrasound and saw I had another cyst that was leaking and that my dermoid cyst was about 2 inches tall and 2 inches wide(maybe a bit bigger than a golf ball?). On my way there I had been in so much pain I was crying. She said the pain would not go away until the cyst was removed and that I needed it removed soon because she was afraid it would twist my ovary. She had a very busy schedule the rest of the week but she could actually do the surgery that night. I had to be back at the hospital at 4pm that day. This left me an hour and a half to pack a few things, call my family, text my friends, call my boss, and find a ride back to the hospital.
So I know getting a cyst removed is really quite common. I know a few people that have had this done and it was an in and out kind of thing. Knowing this still didn't ease my worries about having surgery. The only other surgery I've had was getting my wisdom teeth removed when I was 16(which was in and out, getting a cyst removed is NOT just in and out!). I was in NY by myself. I have a close group of friends that would do anything and I mean ANYTHING for me, but they all also have jobs and can't play nurse to me 24/7. I was in tears packing my bag for a surgery I was so unprepared, had no idea what to expect, I was alone, and I was scared shitless. This moment has now replaced my scariest moment I have spoke of in another post of when I had a low blood sugar attack.
Bridget took me back to the ER where I had to get admitted to the hospital for my surgery. They asked me yet again why I came to the ER, on a scale of 1 to 10 what my pain felt like, when my last period was, how tall I am, what I weigh, what I'm allergic to, what medical conditions I had, when my birthday was, what my favorite color was, what was my mother's maiden name, if I'd rather be a cowgirl, ninja or pirate, who was my celebrity crush, and what I would do for a Klondike bar(okay so maybe I threw a few questions in there, but I swear if I hear some of these questions again I might just scream.)
After another 3 hours of waiting in the ER waiting room with a man that reeked of BO and a screaming child, I was finally back in. I had my bed back by the ER office desk(I could literally answer the phone from my bed) and the same man nurse that left my arm black and blue. I sat reading Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang while waiting to get my lower abdomen cut on. I have come to the realization that hospitals are worse than rides at Disney. You wait and wait and wait but the outcome is definitely not a joyful ride down Space Mountain. I felt like Zack Morris in the episode of "they're going to hack Zack" when Zack had to get knee surgery. I even had the cheer going in my head that Kelly, Jessie and Lisa did in Zack's dream of his funeral before his surgery. "Z-a-c-k since he's gone, the sky turned gray, he hurt his knee, went under the knife, who'd have thought he'd lose his life? Yay. Rah." I felt like finding a hot male nurse to wheel me into the elevator and out of the hospital. Too bad the only male nurse on duty was Mohammed Ali and I'd probably just end up with another bruised body part if I asked him to do anything.
An hour before my surgery, my aunt that lived near Philly arrived. Thank the Lord for her. I don't know how I would have lived through this whole ordeal without her. She is a saint. 9pm hit and it was time to go. They already had an IV in me and some kind of fluid flowing. In the operating room, they asked the same questions all doctors and nurses must be programmed to ask. I was nice while answering the questions yet again because 1, these ladies were so nice and B, these were the ones that would be cutting on me. After that, they rolled me into another room, moved me onto another bed, and told me to count back from 10. I have no idea what number I got to before I was out.
I awoke to a huge light being moved out of my face and a few people above me. I thought, shit! I must have fallen asleep in the tanning bed and these people somehow unlocked my door and came in to wake me up. This was until I felt the small pain in my lower abdomen. Yeah this definitely wasn't a trip to the tanning salon. My doctor explained to me what happened. I had not only 1 dermoid cyst, but yet another one on the other ovary. My ovaries had somehow switched places so what we had thought my left ovary had the huge cyst was really my right ovary and my left ovary was where my right one should have been. My uterus and areas around it like my bladder were filled with scar tissue from endometriosis. The doctor had scraped up the tissue from the endometriosis. She had put my organs all back to where they are supposed to go and had removed all cysts. This is going to sound gross but I gotta say it. If you don't know what a dermoid cyst is and have a strong stomach, goggle image it. A dermoid cyst actually might have hair, teeth, nails, skin, fat, and other human parts. After I had goggled this, I had imagined this little blob with hair and teeth biting at my ovary. The doctor said mine had almost as much hair as I had on my head and a tooth(which I have no idea how that much hair is possible). I think in my morphine and anaesthesia state of mind I asked if I could see it. And if it was a blonde(it was not. And no I could not see it).
After telling my aunt a couple of times how I felt like my Nana, I was wheeled to the pediatric floor to a room. I know I look young but Jesus do I really look like a kid? It wasn't that bad except for that first night. Two screaming babies, a machine that kept beeping on the other side of the curtain because the lady didn't know how to keep her IVed arm straight, and nausea sweeping me from the morphine. Let's just say I didn't get much sleep and was very grumpy when the nurse kept taking my vitals every time I was able to finally drift to sleep and then the blood taking lady came. I had no idea what vain this lady was going to stab seeing how all of them seemed to be black and blue at the time.
Later on that day, I was given jello and some broth and told I needed to try to get up and start walking around. I must say, you really do take a lot of things for granted. All I wanted at that time was a #2 from McDonalds. And getting out of bed, easier said than done. I'd taken for granted getting out of bed on my own, being able to sleep on my stomach, being able to use the bathroom, to eat regular solid food, to run or even walk for that matter, to put on socks, to bend down and pick up something, to be able to sneeze or cough and not feel like my insides were going to come out, to shower with both arms since one hurt from my IV, to drive where ever I wanted, to just be independent and not depend on someone to help you do daily things. It really sucks.
Thank God for the nurse and my aunt. Oh and the hospital bed. I really should get one of those for my bedroom. I was finally on my feet and walking the hallway of the hospital. By dinner time, I was able to eat real food. Yeah it was hospital food, but it was solid FOOD. I devoured a cheeseburger and fries.
I ended up staying in the hospital for 3 nights. Way longer than I had expected or hoped for. I've always hated hospitals but I was grateful to be on the Peds floor away from the old dying people and around a few kids and babies. After being wheeled out of the hospital, it was off to West Chester, PA to stay at the Hotel Callaway.
I am so grateful to have my aunt and uncle help take care of me and help with my recovery. Although I didn't like that I had to leave my home and friends in LB, being at my aunt and uncle's was the best choice for me to recover from my surgery. My days of recovery consisted of more than enough daytime TV to plan a wedding and change my wardrobe(I am now obsessed with TLC), catch up on what I've missed on my soap(I've been watching Days of Our Lives since I was like 5) and get all the good celeb gossip. I watched dozens of chick flicks that took me out of reality, and read "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell" that put me back into reality of how guys can be such assholes. And of course I blogged a bit. Hopefully I will have some more posts up soon!
Now I am back in LB and still on the road to a full recovery. My doctor said I was healing nicely but I did not need to overdo it. I know I'm going to be fine now, but I'm worried about the years to come. There's a chance the cysts could come back. There's a chance of having trouble or not being able to have a baby. There's a chance of having to undergo a hysterectomy. I come from a family of women that have gone through this. My grandmother had a hysterectomy at the age of 29. My aunt and cousin had to have the same later on in their lives. This is something I am not looking forward to but know it's probably in my future. Right now I'm just going to worry about getting better and getting my life back to normal.
I want to take the time and thank my family and friends for all their love and support during this tough time. I definitely could not have lived through this without my aunt and uncle being there for me. And the rest of my friends and family for their prayers, visits to the hospital, phone calls, text messages, and fb message of concern and compassion. After this little bump in my life, it really shows how much love there is out there and how much people really do care about me.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
The Game
Red Rover, Red Rover, send Stella right over. Marco. Polo! Red light. Green light! Tag, you're it. Ready or not here I come. Uno! Go directly to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. As a child, games were fun. We could play them for hours on end and never tire, until someone gets mad or hurt. As an adult, people are still playing games. No, I'm not talking about playing Candyland here folks. I'm talking about the relationship game. Or should I say, the non-relationship game?
I thought being in my late 20's, people would just grow out of it. But I've found that it's almost worse than college and high school. Maybe I feel like it's worse because it's so unexpected at this age. At this age I find most people are settling down. They're getting serious, finding the ones they want to spend the rest of their lives with(or until they figure out it wasn't meant to be and end up in divorce). Sure, I've played the game before. And I've had games played on me. Don't hate the player, hate the game, right? But at this age, aren't we just getting a little too old for game playing?
And by games I mean this: guy meets girl. Guy gets girl's number. Guy doesn't call girl until after 3 days. Guy finally calls(texts in this day in age) girl. Guy takes girl out. Guy doesn't call girl for another 3 days. Within these 3 days, guy is calling other girls. Hanging out with other girls. All the while girl is waiting by her phone. Turning her phone off and on to see if it's just her bad service. Bringing her phone into the bathroom when she showers just in case he calls. Gets disappointed when her phone finally rings and sees it's just her mother. Ignoring the other guy that's calling her that she should be talking to and making plans with because he's the good guy and is actually into her. But no, she wants the guy that makes her wait. The guy that acts like he's not into her. The one that plays hard because she's not the only one he's focused on. She wants the one that is the most challenging for her.
It's a proven fact. Girls love assholes. Girls don't usually go for the good guys. And the good guys just don't understand this. Why do girls love assholes so much? Being an asshole lover myself, I'll give you my insight:
Have you ever seen a chick flick that sounds like this: Guy meets girl. Guy and girl fall in love. The end. I'm gonna go with no. Most chick flicks go something like this: Guy meets girl. Guy is an asshole and the girl hates the guy at first. Some kind of conflict happens and the girl starts seeing the guy in a different light and the guy totally changes into her prince charming. Guy becomes totally head over heels for girl and tells her how he's never felt this way about anyone and how he couldn't live without her. Guy is somehow changed into a whole different person and no longer the asshole from the beginning of the movie. And they live happily ever after. The end.
Girls see something like this in every chick flick. Just look at The Ugly Truth, Failure to Launch, 27 Dresses, Catch and Release, I could go on forever. We want that asshole. That guy that's a challenge that plays games with us but that we think we can change into our perfect man. We want our own chick flick. Why would we want to go for the nice guy? The safe guy that's so easy for us to catch? When I go fishing, I want a huge bass, not a little guppy that always comes to my line. My arms might be tired after reeling it in, tugging and pulling at my pole, I might have to use some really nice bait, and I might have to use help from my friends to help pull my big bass out of the water, but by golly I want a really nice catch to brag about and to hang over my mantel and a good story of how I finally got this nice catch.
I'm sorry to all the good guys out there. Recently I have found myself liking the good guys more and more, but I'm a girl who doesn't live my life taking the easy path. I like a challenge. I feed off challenges. And assholes are challenging.
Assholes are challenging because they play the game. We want the guy who's not calling us. Not giving us too much attention. It may drive us crazy but it drives us to like the guy even more. And most assholes know this. They know how to play the game and they play it well. They are the Tiger Woods, the Derek Jeter, the Lebron James of playing the game. It's sad to think, but we probably wouldn't even like them as much as we do if they weren't playing games.
And to all those guys reading this out there, yes, I know girls can play the game just as hard. I've been there. Which I wasn't a player, I just crushed a lot. Two can play at these games. But when the game starts getting played hard, this is when someone usually gets hurt. And it almost always is the girl that ends up losing because we get way too emotionally attached.
After 28 years of life and about 15 years of that dealing with the assholes out there, I think I have come to the realization that I'm getting over the game playing. I don't find it fun anymore. I can't say I ever found someone playing games with my heart ever fun. I will probably always have that love for assholes and a challenge, but I'm just getting too old and too tired to keep up with it all anymore. Guess that's just me growing up.
I thought being in my late 20's, people would just grow out of it. But I've found that it's almost worse than college and high school. Maybe I feel like it's worse because it's so unexpected at this age. At this age I find most people are settling down. They're getting serious, finding the ones they want to spend the rest of their lives with(or until they figure out it wasn't meant to be and end up in divorce). Sure, I've played the game before. And I've had games played on me. Don't hate the player, hate the game, right? But at this age, aren't we just getting a little too old for game playing?
And by games I mean this: guy meets girl. Guy gets girl's number. Guy doesn't call girl until after 3 days. Guy finally calls(texts in this day in age) girl. Guy takes girl out. Guy doesn't call girl for another 3 days. Within these 3 days, guy is calling other girls. Hanging out with other girls. All the while girl is waiting by her phone. Turning her phone off and on to see if it's just her bad service. Bringing her phone into the bathroom when she showers just in case he calls. Gets disappointed when her phone finally rings and sees it's just her mother. Ignoring the other guy that's calling her that she should be talking to and making plans with because he's the good guy and is actually into her. But no, she wants the guy that makes her wait. The guy that acts like he's not into her. The one that plays hard because she's not the only one he's focused on. She wants the one that is the most challenging for her.
It's a proven fact. Girls love assholes. Girls don't usually go for the good guys. And the good guys just don't understand this. Why do girls love assholes so much? Being an asshole lover myself, I'll give you my insight:
Have you ever seen a chick flick that sounds like this: Guy meets girl. Guy and girl fall in love. The end. I'm gonna go with no. Most chick flicks go something like this: Guy meets girl. Guy is an asshole and the girl hates the guy at first. Some kind of conflict happens and the girl starts seeing the guy in a different light and the guy totally changes into her prince charming. Guy becomes totally head over heels for girl and tells her how he's never felt this way about anyone and how he couldn't live without her. Guy is somehow changed into a whole different person and no longer the asshole from the beginning of the movie. And they live happily ever after. The end.
Girls see something like this in every chick flick. Just look at The Ugly Truth, Failure to Launch, 27 Dresses, Catch and Release, I could go on forever. We want that asshole. That guy that's a challenge that plays games with us but that we think we can change into our perfect man. We want our own chick flick. Why would we want to go for the nice guy? The safe guy that's so easy for us to catch? When I go fishing, I want a huge bass, not a little guppy that always comes to my line. My arms might be tired after reeling it in, tugging and pulling at my pole, I might have to use some really nice bait, and I might have to use help from my friends to help pull my big bass out of the water, but by golly I want a really nice catch to brag about and to hang over my mantel and a good story of how I finally got this nice catch.
I'm sorry to all the good guys out there. Recently I have found myself liking the good guys more and more, but I'm a girl who doesn't live my life taking the easy path. I like a challenge. I feed off challenges. And assholes are challenging.
Assholes are challenging because they play the game. We want the guy who's not calling us. Not giving us too much attention. It may drive us crazy but it drives us to like the guy even more. And most assholes know this. They know how to play the game and they play it well. They are the Tiger Woods, the Derek Jeter, the Lebron James of playing the game. It's sad to think, but we probably wouldn't even like them as much as we do if they weren't playing games.
And to all those guys reading this out there, yes, I know girls can play the game just as hard. I've been there. Which I wasn't a player, I just crushed a lot. Two can play at these games. But when the game starts getting played hard, this is when someone usually gets hurt. And it almost always is the girl that ends up losing because we get way too emotionally attached.
After 28 years of life and about 15 years of that dealing with the assholes out there, I think I have come to the realization that I'm getting over the game playing. I don't find it fun anymore. I can't say I ever found someone playing games with my heart ever fun. I will probably always have that love for assholes and a challenge, but I'm just getting too old and too tired to keep up with it all anymore. Guess that's just me growing up.
Monday, May 16, 2011
My Life in Limbo
I am a girl of many talents. Not only do I have the talent of writing(which I've been told I'm a good writer, you be the judge) and like I've mentioned in past posts I'm a fast runner, but I am also great at other things. In high school I used to play French Horn(yes I was a band nerd until sophomore year). When I lived in Florida, I was a really good line dancer (Living in NY I have yet to find a country bar so I haven't line danced in forever). I can drunk text with absolutely no typos, spelling errors and be totally grammatically correct. I can turn any song into a country song(just ask me to sing "Wanna Be a Baller" by Lil Troy). I can drive with my foot(yes I know you drive with your right foot by hitting the pedals, but I can also steer with my left foot. After commuting 2 hours a day, you teach yourself many things). At work I can scrunch woven sleeves and side stack tees like no other. One of my biggest talents though would have to be limbo. I honestly can't remember once that I might have lost a limbo contest. I remember even beating a 3 year old. I've won many prizes such as bar tabs, free bowling, gift certificates, and cash. Anytime there's a limbo contest, I'm there. As I get older though, I know there's going to be a day where I lose or hurt myself. Last year on my cruise, I won a contest at Senior Frogs but almost pulled my hip out of socket in the process. As long as I can still limbo, I'm going to keep doing it. I kind of get a rush every time I win. The people around cheering and high fiving me after I clear the pole. I seem to amaze others as well as myself.
I maybe good at limbo contests, but I feel as though my life is in limbo. Every aspect of my life I seem to be under the stick, not being able to clear the pole and move on to the next level. People are passing me as I'm at a stand still, stuck under the stick. I'm stuck playing this game of "what do I want and what am I doing in my life?" limbo.
For my career, I feel like I've cleared many levels of the stick. But here I am at the same level I've been at for a while, back arched, half way under the pole, not moving. I can either keep moving, clear the pole and succeed at what I've been working towards for years, keep trying and fall on my ass but know I at least tried, or back it up from under the stick, give up, and walk away. Which would I be giving up? There's plenty of other limbo contests out there, right? Or maybe I could try my hand at other things. What about hula hooping? Pin the tail on the donkey? Maybe apple bobbing?
Physically, my body is stuck in limbo. I'm not in that bad of shape physically, I’m usually an average of 112 lbs which I'm not looking to lose weight really. I would just like to tighten up, be tone, have more energy, and control my blood sugar better. I don't go to the gym but I do run at least 2, maybe 3 times a week and usually 4 miles each time I run. I have my days of eating healthy, but then there's days of eating mall food because I didn't have time or any food at my place to bring for my lunch. Also I have been cursed with the condition of hypoglycemia. If I eat bad and don't take care of myself, it can become bad on my body. I need to stop being lazy, get off my ass and suck it up. Not just do things just to get by but change my lifestyle to feel and look better. Be able to not just clear that limbo stick, but run under it!
Of course my life is in limbo when it comes to relationships. This wouldn't be a blog about a single girl if I didn't talk about dating and guys now would it? Lately when I've tried to go under the stick(get your minds out of the gutter!) I've fallen on my ass. Many times. And I get right back up and try again. And fallen on my ass again or really hurt myself in the process. I've come to realize my approach is all wrong. I've been trying to get to the other side of the limbo stick as fast as possible. When you move too fast, stupid mistakes happen. You twitch and bump the pole, you slip and fall, you under estimate how low you really need to go. You get cocky and don't see the other competitors that might win over you. I think I need to back it up from being under the stick, do some stretches so I don't hurt myself, and try it again, but this time slow it down. Ease under the pole and not worry about what might happen. Slow and steady wins the race, right? Just go with the flow and have fun. If I lose, oh well. There’s more contests out there. Better luck next time.
Sometimes I can take limbo(or life) too seriously. Limbo is supposed to be fun, right? But when the limbo stick is lit on fire and lower than my knees, well then sometimes I just want to say F it. I give up. But I’m not a quitter. It took me 3 years to make the cheerleading squad in high school but by golly I made the squad. And was a damn good cheerleader at that! It might be hard to see the other side of the limbo stick, especially when all eyes are on you, your back is arched and you feel like your body might just break in half, but there is another side of that pole. And once you get there, it’s an awesome feeling. High fives all around. Cheering. Clapping. Those people who thought you couldn’t do it have astonished looks on their faces. And sometimes there’s a prize. It might just be some measly little margarita or it might be a hefty load of cash. It doesn’t really matter though, as long as you succeed and get to the other side in one piece is all that matters.
I maybe good at limbo contests, but I feel as though my life is in limbo. Every aspect of my life I seem to be under the stick, not being able to clear the pole and move on to the next level. People are passing me as I'm at a stand still, stuck under the stick. I'm stuck playing this game of "what do I want and what am I doing in my life?" limbo.
For my career, I feel like I've cleared many levels of the stick. But here I am at the same level I've been at for a while, back arched, half way under the pole, not moving. I can either keep moving, clear the pole and succeed at what I've been working towards for years, keep trying and fall on my ass but know I at least tried, or back it up from under the stick, give up, and walk away. Which would I be giving up? There's plenty of other limbo contests out there, right? Or maybe I could try my hand at other things. What about hula hooping? Pin the tail on the donkey? Maybe apple bobbing?
Physically, my body is stuck in limbo. I'm not in that bad of shape physically, I’m usually an average of 112 lbs which I'm not looking to lose weight really. I would just like to tighten up, be tone, have more energy, and control my blood sugar better. I don't go to the gym but I do run at least 2, maybe 3 times a week and usually 4 miles each time I run. I have my days of eating healthy, but then there's days of eating mall food because I didn't have time or any food at my place to bring for my lunch. Also I have been cursed with the condition of hypoglycemia. If I eat bad and don't take care of myself, it can become bad on my body. I need to stop being lazy, get off my ass and suck it up. Not just do things just to get by but change my lifestyle to feel and look better. Be able to not just clear that limbo stick, but run under it!
Of course my life is in limbo when it comes to relationships. This wouldn't be a blog about a single girl if I didn't talk about dating and guys now would it? Lately when I've tried to go under the stick(get your minds out of the gutter!) I've fallen on my ass. Many times. And I get right back up and try again. And fallen on my ass again or really hurt myself in the process. I've come to realize my approach is all wrong. I've been trying to get to the other side of the limbo stick as fast as possible. When you move too fast, stupid mistakes happen. You twitch and bump the pole, you slip and fall, you under estimate how low you really need to go. You get cocky and don't see the other competitors that might win over you. I think I need to back it up from being under the stick, do some stretches so I don't hurt myself, and try it again, but this time slow it down. Ease under the pole and not worry about what might happen. Slow and steady wins the race, right? Just go with the flow and have fun. If I lose, oh well. There’s more contests out there. Better luck next time.
Sometimes I can take limbo(or life) too seriously. Limbo is supposed to be fun, right? But when the limbo stick is lit on fire and lower than my knees, well then sometimes I just want to say F it. I give up. But I’m not a quitter. It took me 3 years to make the cheerleading squad in high school but by golly I made the squad. And was a damn good cheerleader at that! It might be hard to see the other side of the limbo stick, especially when all eyes are on you, your back is arched and you feel like your body might just break in half, but there is another side of that pole. And once you get there, it’s an awesome feeling. High fives all around. Cheering. Clapping. Those people who thought you couldn’t do it have astonished looks on their faces. And sometimes there’s a prize. It might just be some measly little margarita or it might be a hefty load of cash. It doesn’t really matter though, as long as you succeed and get to the other side in one piece is all that matters.
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| 6th grade, limboing at a friend's birthday party. |
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| Limboing at our high school graduation party. |
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| Last year at Senior Frogs in the Bahamas. |
Friday, May 13, 2011
Sweet As Sugar, But My Blood Is Not
Irritable. Nausea. Nervousness. Unclear thinking. Uneasiness. Anxiety. Difficulty speaking. Light-headedness. Sweating. Hunger. Confusion. Clumsiness. Mood swings. Headache. Shakiness. No this is not a list of side effects on one of those cheesy commericals for Valtrex or the drug that makes your eyelashes grow. This is a list of things that I sometimes deal with on a daily basis. It’s a condition called Hypoglycemia or also known as low blood sugar. It’s like diabetes but the exact opposite. Your body can’t process sugars properly or quick enough or your body isn’t getting enough healthy sugars resulting in the symptoms stated above. It’s a condition that many people have and don’t even know it. Even I had no idea I had this condition until the scariest night of my life.
Before this scary night, I was working almost everyday part time at AnF. It was my Junior year of college and I had just encountered my final exams. It was Christmas break and I had decided to stay during the break to work. During the break I was going out basically every night, drinking, not getting any sleep, working, and eating 1 meal a day that consisted of a 6 count chicken nuggets Chick Fil A kids meal. Let’s go back even further to the beginning of the semester. I had just joined a sorority, was getting into my major and finally taking my core classes, going out a lot with my new sisters, having a rocky patch with my long distance boyfriend, all while working maybe 4 days a week. So yes, I would say my Junior semester all though was really fun, it was also very stressful. I noticed by the middle of the semester I would be at work and get really light-headed. I never complained and never thought “oh maybe I need to eat something”, I just thought I was tired from the night before. I would find myself grabbing at the nearest table so I didn’t fall over and then just lean on it for support until it was time for my break or time to go home. I also found myself getting flustered, again blaming it on lack of sleep or stress. I would start sweating out of no where. My t-shirt would have sweat blotches on them even when I didn’t really feel that hot. I would get really bad headaches, but I always got bad headaches being my mother and father’s daughter and plagued with the migraine gene. I was always pretty clumsy and drinking coffee all my life I always had a shaky hand. None of these symptoms were really worrisome to me until that one scary night.
Like I said, it was Christmas break and I was working and drinking more than I was sleeping and eating. That night, my boyfriend, some of his family, and my roommates went out to a club in good ole Ybor City. I was drinking Red Bull vodkas all night. Later that night I got really pissed off(won’t go into detail but I’m pretty sure I might have broken a glass at my apartment) and ended up locking myself in my room. I laid down in my bed and my whole body started shaking. I had no idea what was going on. I couldn’t stop shaking. My boyfriend had to break into my room because I couldn’t get up to unlock the door. During this shaking episode, his phone rang and it was one of his fraternity brothers telling him another brother had died. This news made me shake even more. I couldn’t even speak at this point. He ended up taking me all the way to my parents.
There, my parents made an appointment with my doctor. My dad looked at my eyes which kept rolling around not focusing on anything and saw that my pupils were dilated. I laid down and finally went to sleep. When I went to my doctor, they did many tests. They thought someone had put something in my drink. They did many drug tests and blood tests. I think they even tested me for diabetes which one would think they would have seen how low my blood sugar was then. They couldn’t find anything wrong with me but set up appointments for more tests that Monday. The entire weekend I couldn’t drive or even just be by myself. My mom, dad or boyfriend were always there, watching me, like I was a ticking time bomb, but having no idea when I’d blow up again. At this point in my life, I had found my independence and hated having to depend on someone, especially not being able to drive. It was like I was a kid again. I went back for more tests where they did some kind of scans of my brain and hooked all these little wires to my head. The shit they put on my head was not fun getting out of my hair. They found nothing and scheduled more tests the next week. That week was Christmas and my family came down. I had a conversation with my Aunt Sharron telling her what I was feeling before and during the seizure. She told me that I needed to get checked out for low blood sugar because she had experienced the same thing. My parents called the doctor and scheduled a blood glucose test.
For this blood glucose test, I couldn’t eat anything. When I arrived they took my blood. I hated needles and asked if the nurse could just take blood out of my right arm since I’m left-handed. She explained she would be needing both arms for the amount of times they would be taking my blood. After the first prick, they gave me some nasty orange soda tasting drink. After that, they took my blood every hour for about 8 hours. By the end, I was so weak, cranky, and hungry. It didn’t help that my dad was sitting there taunting me with M&M’s. When my test was done, I believe my blood glucose was around 45 milligrams. A normal person is usually around 100 milligrams. I finally had an answer to my seizure. My crankiness, light-headedness, mood swings, sweating, confusion, anxiety, nervousness. I finally knew what the hell was wrong with me. I almost felt relieved, even though I hate living with this damn condition.
I must say, living with low blood sugar is a daily challenge. Anything and everything can mess with my body’s blood sugar. Stress, caffeine, alcohol, lack of sleep, types of food, vitamins and supplements. In the beginning of learning how to control this nasty condition, I would sometimes find myself on my apartment floor, having fainted because of not eating properly. I would break out into a sugar shock attack after a night out of drinking. When this happened, I think I freaked my friends out more than it did me. I would just down a glass of OJ, go to bed, and I was usually okay by the morning, weak and fatigued with a headache, but okay once I ate breakfast. I found myself not being able to concentrate in class because I forgot to eat breakfast. Breakfast for a hypoglycemic is vital. I found myself not being able to find my words and put them in a sentence, making no sense when I spoke. I would get confused, flustered, and just damn frustrated. I read a lot of articles on the internet and bought the book Hypoglycemia for Dummies.
I have finally learned how to somewhat control my sugar levels. I have to eat, like all the time. I always have snacks. Some of my associates at work have made fun of me because I seem to pull snacks out of my ass. If I start to feel light-headed, my sentences aren’t coming out right and make no sense, and I’m cranky, it’s time for Stella to eat! Since I’ve been drinking coffee since I was 5 years old and with my job being a high energy environment, I can’t cut out my caffeine in take, but I just don’t mix it with alcohol anymore. And alcohol is another story. I can’t not drink. It’s something that I enjoy. I enjoy coming home after a stressful day and having a few glasses of wine or going out for drinks with my friends. I just can’t go out and drink without eating first. If I do, there’s usually trouble. When this happens, I might have an attack that night or wake up weak and nauseated in the morning. I feel like death and it might be from a hang over, but sometimes I know it’s not, it’s just my blood sugar punishing me.
I hope this blog post has educated my friends and family on how I feel when I experience low blood sugar. It’s not fun at all, but if others know what I’m going through then maybe more people will be more understanding when I get irritable, flustered, tired, uneasy, nervous, moody. Just stuff some food in me! And not just any food. When people hear “low blood sugar” they automatically think I need a lot of candy. No. Candy, cake, cookies, anything with sugar is actually really bad for me(or anyone for that matter). It may help my blood sugar at that exact moment, but it sky rockets my blood sugar and quickly bottoms out and can make my blood sugar even lower after my body uses the sugar. I need natural sugars like fruits and also protein. Starches are bad even though I crave them everyday.
Also I hope this blog post has helped anyone else experiencing this condition. Or maybe you have no idea what you’re experiencing but have felt the same way I have. Go get tested! You’re not going crazy, I promise. It’s just your body not being able to process sugars properly. You would never think your body could react in so many ways just because of your damn blood sugar, but believe me, it can make you feel like you’re not yourself.
Here's a link I found interesting about hypoglycemia. http://www.authorviews.com/authors/bennett/obd.htm
Before this scary night, I was working almost everyday part time at AnF. It was my Junior year of college and I had just encountered my final exams. It was Christmas break and I had decided to stay during the break to work. During the break I was going out basically every night, drinking, not getting any sleep, working, and eating 1 meal a day that consisted of a 6 count chicken nuggets Chick Fil A kids meal. Let’s go back even further to the beginning of the semester. I had just joined a sorority, was getting into my major and finally taking my core classes, going out a lot with my new sisters, having a rocky patch with my long distance boyfriend, all while working maybe 4 days a week. So yes, I would say my Junior semester all though was really fun, it was also very stressful. I noticed by the middle of the semester I would be at work and get really light-headed. I never complained and never thought “oh maybe I need to eat something”, I just thought I was tired from the night before. I would find myself grabbing at the nearest table so I didn’t fall over and then just lean on it for support until it was time for my break or time to go home. I also found myself getting flustered, again blaming it on lack of sleep or stress. I would start sweating out of no where. My t-shirt would have sweat blotches on them even when I didn’t really feel that hot. I would get really bad headaches, but I always got bad headaches being my mother and father’s daughter and plagued with the migraine gene. I was always pretty clumsy and drinking coffee all my life I always had a shaky hand. None of these symptoms were really worrisome to me until that one scary night.
Like I said, it was Christmas break and I was working and drinking more than I was sleeping and eating. That night, my boyfriend, some of his family, and my roommates went out to a club in good ole Ybor City. I was drinking Red Bull vodkas all night. Later that night I got really pissed off(won’t go into detail but I’m pretty sure I might have broken a glass at my apartment) and ended up locking myself in my room. I laid down in my bed and my whole body started shaking. I had no idea what was going on. I couldn’t stop shaking. My boyfriend had to break into my room because I couldn’t get up to unlock the door. During this shaking episode, his phone rang and it was one of his fraternity brothers telling him another brother had died. This news made me shake even more. I couldn’t even speak at this point. He ended up taking me all the way to my parents.
There, my parents made an appointment with my doctor. My dad looked at my eyes which kept rolling around not focusing on anything and saw that my pupils were dilated. I laid down and finally went to sleep. When I went to my doctor, they did many tests. They thought someone had put something in my drink. They did many drug tests and blood tests. I think they even tested me for diabetes which one would think they would have seen how low my blood sugar was then. They couldn’t find anything wrong with me but set up appointments for more tests that Monday. The entire weekend I couldn’t drive or even just be by myself. My mom, dad or boyfriend were always there, watching me, like I was a ticking time bomb, but having no idea when I’d blow up again. At this point in my life, I had found my independence and hated having to depend on someone, especially not being able to drive. It was like I was a kid again. I went back for more tests where they did some kind of scans of my brain and hooked all these little wires to my head. The shit they put on my head was not fun getting out of my hair. They found nothing and scheduled more tests the next week. That week was Christmas and my family came down. I had a conversation with my Aunt Sharron telling her what I was feeling before and during the seizure. She told me that I needed to get checked out for low blood sugar because she had experienced the same thing. My parents called the doctor and scheduled a blood glucose test.
For this blood glucose test, I couldn’t eat anything. When I arrived they took my blood. I hated needles and asked if the nurse could just take blood out of my right arm since I’m left-handed. She explained she would be needing both arms for the amount of times they would be taking my blood. After the first prick, they gave me some nasty orange soda tasting drink. After that, they took my blood every hour for about 8 hours. By the end, I was so weak, cranky, and hungry. It didn’t help that my dad was sitting there taunting me with M&M’s. When my test was done, I believe my blood glucose was around 45 milligrams. A normal person is usually around 100 milligrams. I finally had an answer to my seizure. My crankiness, light-headedness, mood swings, sweating, confusion, anxiety, nervousness. I finally knew what the hell was wrong with me. I almost felt relieved, even though I hate living with this damn condition.
I must say, living with low blood sugar is a daily challenge. Anything and everything can mess with my body’s blood sugar. Stress, caffeine, alcohol, lack of sleep, types of food, vitamins and supplements. In the beginning of learning how to control this nasty condition, I would sometimes find myself on my apartment floor, having fainted because of not eating properly. I would break out into a sugar shock attack after a night out of drinking. When this happened, I think I freaked my friends out more than it did me. I would just down a glass of OJ, go to bed, and I was usually okay by the morning, weak and fatigued with a headache, but okay once I ate breakfast. I found myself not being able to concentrate in class because I forgot to eat breakfast. Breakfast for a hypoglycemic is vital. I found myself not being able to find my words and put them in a sentence, making no sense when I spoke. I would get confused, flustered, and just damn frustrated. I read a lot of articles on the internet and bought the book Hypoglycemia for Dummies.
I have finally learned how to somewhat control my sugar levels. I have to eat, like all the time. I always have snacks. Some of my associates at work have made fun of me because I seem to pull snacks out of my ass. If I start to feel light-headed, my sentences aren’t coming out right and make no sense, and I’m cranky, it’s time for Stella to eat! Since I’ve been drinking coffee since I was 5 years old and with my job being a high energy environment, I can’t cut out my caffeine in take, but I just don’t mix it with alcohol anymore. And alcohol is another story. I can’t not drink. It’s something that I enjoy. I enjoy coming home after a stressful day and having a few glasses of wine or going out for drinks with my friends. I just can’t go out and drink without eating first. If I do, there’s usually trouble. When this happens, I might have an attack that night or wake up weak and nauseated in the morning. I feel like death and it might be from a hang over, but sometimes I know it’s not, it’s just my blood sugar punishing me.
I hope this blog post has educated my friends and family on how I feel when I experience low blood sugar. It’s not fun at all, but if others know what I’m going through then maybe more people will be more understanding when I get irritable, flustered, tired, uneasy, nervous, moody. Just stuff some food in me! And not just any food. When people hear “low blood sugar” they automatically think I need a lot of candy. No. Candy, cake, cookies, anything with sugar is actually really bad for me(or anyone for that matter). It may help my blood sugar at that exact moment, but it sky rockets my blood sugar and quickly bottoms out and can make my blood sugar even lower after my body uses the sugar. I need natural sugars like fruits and also protein. Starches are bad even though I crave them everyday.
Also I hope this blog post has helped anyone else experiencing this condition. Or maybe you have no idea what you’re experiencing but have felt the same way I have. Go get tested! You’re not going crazy, I promise. It’s just your body not being able to process sugars properly. You would never think your body could react in so many ways just because of your damn blood sugar, but believe me, it can make you feel like you’re not yourself.
Here's a link I found interesting about hypoglycemia. http://www.authorviews.com/authors/bennett/obd.htm
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Life Unexpected
Why does life have to be so damn tough sometimes? Why can't life be like it was when we were kids? The biggest decision I had to make as a kid was picking between Capt'n Crunch Berries and Fruity Pebbles at the grocery store(which I am still faced with that decision. It usually ends with me getting both). My biggest worries in life were passing tests in school. The biggest punishment for doing something bad was being grounded or slapped on my butt a few times. When I liked a boy, I chased him on the playground or passed him a note. When faced with a problem, my mom or dad were there to fix it and make it all better. The hardest part of my day was getting up early to go to school. My weekdays consisted of going to school, having fun on the playground with my friends, coming home to watch TV, reading the Baby-Sitters Club books, and playing with my Barbies. On the weekends I was usually sleeping over at my best friends house or vice versa, swimming in her pool, playing house or school, and riding bikes.
Why can't life be like this again? No worries in the world. As a kid, I was invincible. Nothing could bring me down. I fall off my bike, I grab a band-aid, have my mom kiss my boo boo and get the hell back on the bike. Now that I'm all grown up and just inches away from 30, my biggest decision is figuring out what the hell I want to do with my life. My biggest worries in life is pretty much everything in my life right now. The biggest punishment for doing something bad could result in a hefty ticket, jail time, having to live with yourself after doing something wrong. When liking a guy, it's all so freaking complicated, there's no note passing or playground. The hardest part of my day is usually dealing with something at work. My weekdays include getting up for work, driving an hour to work, working 9+ hours, driving back home, and sleeping until the next work day. My weekends usually include a full day of work and then hanging out with my friends out at a bar. During my free time, I'm usually sleeping, running, writing, or out to dinner with the girls.
As a child, we just can't wait to grow up. We have all these dreams and goals we want for ourselves. We want to be a doctor, the president of the United States, find the loves of our lives, get married, have some kids, get a couple dogs, live in a mansion with a huge back yard, drive a nice car and live happily ever after. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a basketball player. I thought I would be married by at least 24 years old. I wanted a 3 story house. I wanted to marry a baseball player. I wanted 3 kids, 2 boys and 1 girl. I wanted a St. Bernard and a poodle. I wanted a huge wedding. I wanted a happily ever after.
My life is definitely not what I expected it to be as a kid. Here I am, single, 28, living in New York, definitely not a basketball player(why in the 3rd grade I wrote in my journal I wanted to be a basketball player I have no idea, I really don't like basketball at all) but working in retail for 8 years. No kids. My dog lives with my parents. I live in a 2 story rented house that is on the market to be sold. No baseball playing husband, just a few hand fulls of failed attempts of dating. Huge wedding? My idea of a wedding now a days is a trip to Vegas. Happily ever after? I've realized there is no such thing as a happily ever after. Yeah, you can be happy, but the ever after? Forget it. There's always going to be some obstacle, something thrown your way out of no where. Things you have to deal with that you don't want to deal with. But it is these obstacles in life that make you a stronger person. Something unexpected comes your way, you catch it and run with it, make the best of it. You learn from it and move on with your life.
So maybe my life is not what I expected it to be. I still love and enjoy my life. There's so many things I've seen, I've experienced, I've enjoyed that I never even could have imagined as a child. I like that my life is random, full of surprises, I never know what to expect each and every day. If I lived a life like I thought I would as a child, I wouldn't be Stella Elizabeth Taylor. I would be, well, just plain boring.
Why can't life be like this again? No worries in the world. As a kid, I was invincible. Nothing could bring me down. I fall off my bike, I grab a band-aid, have my mom kiss my boo boo and get the hell back on the bike. Now that I'm all grown up and just inches away from 30, my biggest decision is figuring out what the hell I want to do with my life. My biggest worries in life is pretty much everything in my life right now. The biggest punishment for doing something bad could result in a hefty ticket, jail time, having to live with yourself after doing something wrong. When liking a guy, it's all so freaking complicated, there's no note passing or playground. The hardest part of my day is usually dealing with something at work. My weekdays include getting up for work, driving an hour to work, working 9+ hours, driving back home, and sleeping until the next work day. My weekends usually include a full day of work and then hanging out with my friends out at a bar. During my free time, I'm usually sleeping, running, writing, or out to dinner with the girls.
As a child, we just can't wait to grow up. We have all these dreams and goals we want for ourselves. We want to be a doctor, the president of the United States, find the loves of our lives, get married, have some kids, get a couple dogs, live in a mansion with a huge back yard, drive a nice car and live happily ever after. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a basketball player. I thought I would be married by at least 24 years old. I wanted a 3 story house. I wanted to marry a baseball player. I wanted 3 kids, 2 boys and 1 girl. I wanted a St. Bernard and a poodle. I wanted a huge wedding. I wanted a happily ever after.
My life is definitely not what I expected it to be as a kid. Here I am, single, 28, living in New York, definitely not a basketball player(why in the 3rd grade I wrote in my journal I wanted to be a basketball player I have no idea, I really don't like basketball at all) but working in retail for 8 years. No kids. My dog lives with my parents. I live in a 2 story rented house that is on the market to be sold. No baseball playing husband, just a few hand fulls of failed attempts of dating. Huge wedding? My idea of a wedding now a days is a trip to Vegas. Happily ever after? I've realized there is no such thing as a happily ever after. Yeah, you can be happy, but the ever after? Forget it. There's always going to be some obstacle, something thrown your way out of no where. Things you have to deal with that you don't want to deal with. But it is these obstacles in life that make you a stronger person. Something unexpected comes your way, you catch it and run with it, make the best of it. You learn from it and move on with your life.
So maybe my life is not what I expected it to be. I still love and enjoy my life. There's so many things I've seen, I've experienced, I've enjoyed that I never even could have imagined as a child. I like that my life is random, full of surprises, I never know what to expect each and every day. If I lived a life like I thought I would as a child, I wouldn't be Stella Elizabeth Taylor. I would be, well, just plain boring.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Home Sweet Long Beach
April 15th marked my 1 year anniversary of living in Long Beach, New York. I can't believe I've actually stayed in one place for a year. So maybe I was gone for about 4 out of the 12 months of living here, but this is a big accomplishment for me. The last place I actually lived for more than a year was my freshman and sophomore years of college. After that, I couldn't even tell you how many different places I've lived. I think I've come to the point of my life that I've decided to settle down when it comes to where to live. I have actually fallen in love with this place and also I'm so over moving. The packing. The carrying big boxes. The driving of U-Haul vans. The unpacking. Which I just found out my landlady is trying to sell our house so it looks like I might have to move, yet again. I totally don't want to move again though! I have really grown attached to my cozy barn. So maybe there's only 1 vent in the entire house for heat and I'm usually freezing my ass off. And sometimes I feel like I might fall through the floor in the hallway. As it warms up outside, the ants invade our house. Maybe I have to wash my own dishes because there's no dishwasher. And if I'm still living in this house over the summer, I'm definitely going to invest in a window unit so I don't sweat balls this year. But I love having an actual yard. I love my little sun room with all the windows. I love being close enough to everything that I can just walk to where ever I want to go. I love living in a two story house(I've always want to have one). I love my little white picket fence with a handicap ramp. I love being able to put up a big screen in my yard and project a football game to watch. I love just living in a house again and not an apartment. Having neighbors, a real mailbox, walking out to a real street and not sharing a wall with some stranger. Oh, and did I mention I have 2 great roommates?
My handicap ramp. No one in my house is handicapped.
How did I find this gem of a house? Last year, I was a hot bowl of stress. My roommate and I were living in Lake Grove, NY and our lease was about to end. My roommate had just received a promotion that involved her moving to Japan. I didn't want to live by myself and I didn't really want to live in that area anymore. There was nothing to do and all the friends I had made were living in Long Beach. It seemed as though everything was falling through. I thought I was going to be living in my Mustang. Then my roommate told me about a place another manager had available in Long Beach. I went to see it that night, and by the end of the weekend I was set to move in.
I'm so glad I made the decision to move here. I love that others my age live here. I love that I can walk to the bars and restaurants and not worry about how I'm getting home. I love that I have the beach just steps away but the city is only a short train ride away. I love running the boardwalk. I love the friends that I've made. I love the summers. Oh boy do I love the summer.
Living in Florida all my life, summer is just another season. Actually it's kinda hell down there. You lay out by the pool and after the first 5 minutes, you're already in the pool because your ass is sweating. Don't get me wrong, I'm a Florida girl at heart and love Florida, but you don't get seasons(well maybe 1 season. It's called Hurricane Season). You get kinda chilly, warm, hot, and sweatin' balls hot. I don't think I've ever in my life been more excited for summer than I am right now. Maybe when I was a kid waiting for summer vacation, but I actually loved school back then.
In Long Beach during the summer, by day, everyone is outside. People are walking their dogs, riding bicycles, playing volleyball, laying out at the beach, surfing the Long Island waves, getting fro-yo, sitting on the outside patios of all the restaurants getting lunch. Walking out of the door of my house just puts a smile on my face. No more winter blues! And by night, everyone is out at the bars. People come out of hibernation. City people take the train here, not the other way around. It is kind of nice to see new faces out, but at the same time it can be some what annoying when you're used to being the locals and having the whole bar to yourself. For the summer, you have to weave in and out of a sea of drunk people just to get to a line at the bathroom and have to wait at the bar just to get a drink. And since everyone comes here for the summer, there's no street parking. Sometimes I have to park several blocks away from my house. My roommate and I even talked about buying bikes to put in our SUV's so if we had to park far, we could just bike it back to our house.
Going out with my girls definitely out weigh the annoying parts of living here during the summer though. The nights spent out with the B to my S, my little wine guzzlers and hot commods I never know what's going to happen. It's never a "lets just go out for a couple drinks and come back home" kind of night, even when we say that's what we are planning on doing and give ourselves curfews(which we never make). It's "let's bring a football into the bar and throw it around while trying to hold on to our wine glasses and not spill a drop" or "Are they doing limbo on the dance floor? Yeah I know I got this!" or "Are those mannequins I see in some Kama Sutra positions? Let's steal their hands!" or "Um, so, what the hell happened last night?" or "Let's get shots of Jammo! Let's do another one! Can we do another one?(cheers, tap the bar with shot,take it)". Did I mention Jameson was a Long Beach staple? I had never even heard let alone tasted Jammo until I moved here. I used to hate it, but I have grown to tolerate it. Okay, so maybe it's kinda grown on me. But I figured when in Rome.
Jess, me, Laura.
Me, Sam, Bridget after stealing a couple of hands.
Jammo!
And then there's the boardwalk. The boardwalk has become my sanity when my world is going crazy. It's a place that I can clear my head and put together all the ideas that are floating around in this brain of mine and make sense of it all, until I tripped on a board and fell and bust up my knees, hands, and face. Yes this happened. I guess I had way too much on my mind that day and the boardwalk decided to really take my mind off things and just kick my ass. Let's just say after that, I paid a little more attention to where I was running. I also love watching all the volleyball games going on during the summer while I run. I'm not a volleyball player at all(unless they change the sport to kicking the ball over the net. Until that happens, you won't be seeing me play) but I love watching others play.
Sunset at the boardwalk.
On the weekends, the beach is amazing. Everyone is out with their coolers of beer, red Dixie cups, portable chairs that they can carry on their backs, volleyball nets up, a game of corn hole going, the lifeguards sitting up on their mounds of sand. When I'm there, you better believe I'm going to start a game of football and walk down to Cabana for a to go margarita. I love going into the ocean but the water is just a bit too cold for me(maybe not as cold as Polar Bear where I went in TWICE) until around the end of July. It's not like the bathtub water I'm used to in Florida. Everyone jumps and dives in while I put my big toe in, shutter and run back to my towel.
The other day, a friend called me a local and I almost disagreed but now that I think about it, I am a local. This is where I live and have lived the past year. This is where I plan on living for a while. This is my town.
Here's a few more things I love about Long Beach. If you're a Long Beach local too, you'll know what I'm talking about.
- Irish Day!
- Taco Tuesday. $1 tacos at the Inn and deadly margaritas at Cabana. You don't know just how strong the margs are until they hit you like a freight train.
- Sunday Funday. Followed by hangover Monday.
- To go along with Sunday Funday: Ricky Roach at Minns.
- Polar Bear Plunge. Until you get thrown in. Didn't know there was a rule stating it doesn't count if you don't get your hair wet.
- J.R. sushi at 1am.
- The 2 kids at J.R. sushi.
- Block parties(except Delaware doesn't have one! WTF).
- All the bartenders.
- 24 hour bagel(even though they don't toast their bagels).
- Indiana beach.
- Watching football at the Inn(these New Yorkers really get into their football).
I'm sure I'm forgetting other things that make LB such an awesome place, but this is all I can think of when I'm suffering from some major ADD.
Irish Day! Awesome LB holiday.
Freezing our asses off after jumping into the ocean on a February day.
Watching the Jets game at the Inn.
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