How I almost died from an ingrown hair...

When reading this, try to remember it's ALL true!

This absolutely ridiculous tale, all begins, with an ingrown hair. One teeny tiny ingrown hair on my who who. It had been there for a few days, but just didn't seem to be healing. I didn't really think anything of it, because it's winter, and sometimes shit like that happens. So I kept putting alcohol and polysporin on it, but nothing. Nada. Bugger all. Then it kinda turned into a pimple looking thing, so I popped it. It kept coming back, so I kept popping it. On Sunday night I was in bed reading, when I got up to pee, I felt this sort of stiffness in my groin, but I just thought maybe I was laying funny. I woke up on Monday morning sick as hell! I felt like I had the worst flu I've ever had. I had a doctors appointment later that day, so I called in sick, and went back to bed. By this time the whole right side of my groin had started to swell and get really hot and red and angry looking. By the time it was time to go to the dr, I couldn't even sit. I had a temp of 103, and the redness and swelling had started to go down my leg, and up over my hip. I had to get my friend to drive me to the doctor (and thank goodness she did too, I was a bit of a mess), where he gave me an "examination", a wildly incorrect diagnosis, a prescription to treat what wasn't wrong with me, and 60 Percocet (which, I'll fully admit came in unbelievably handy after). On the way home I called my mom. To say I was hysterical would be a gross understatement. Anyway, we went to the pharmacy, got my drugs, and put me to bed. Mom came out and kidnapped me on Tuesday morning (an act which very literally saved my life), and set me up on her couch. In the evening (I was very honestly getting worse every minute) we called the nurses hotline, I didn't know if I should go to the hospital, or just wait...maybe it was just a really weird flu? Then I called my doctor, who chuckled and told me to stay home, and that I was fine. I was pretty sure I wasn't fine, but I figured he's the doctor, so he would know. Now bear in mind at this point, I can't sit, I'm taking 2 Percocet every 4 hours, I'm in excruciating pain, I can't eat, I can't get up without help, I haven't eaten anything since Sunday, and every time I did get up, the floor decided to wobble. 3am comes around and I can't get up, so I end up barfing all over moms living room (good thing I'd only had water for 2 days...). It was at this moment that I decided that I wanted to go to the hospital. Mom and I decided we'd go in the morning. Surrey hospital had just had that big flood, and RCH was beyond packed. So in the morning, moms got a massive migraine, and couldn't stop barfing (perfect timing). I had to pee, so I rolled off the couch onto the floor, and tried to crawl to the bathroom. Didn't work. I got stuck halfway there. I couldn't move. I've never actually not been able to move before. Worst feeling ever!!! We decided barfing or no barfing, it was time to go. Mom grabbed a couple barf bags, loaded me into the car (which took about 20 min), and off to the hospital we went. We had planned on going to Langley, but mom needed gas, and I honestly had never felt this awful in my life, so we said screw it, and stayed in new west. I walked into emerge, started balling my face off, looked at the lady behind the glass, and said "I need help. " She gave me a wrist band, took my pulse, and told me I'd be called in a minute. I hadent even managed to attempt to sit down, before I was called. This lady took my pulse and my blood pressure, called for a wheelchair, and straight into trauma bed 2 I went. So now I'm worried. The ER waiting room is packed, but I went straight in. I didn't go into emergency, but into trauma. There are people everywhere! Taking off my clothes, poking me with needles, asking me questions I couldn't answer, hooking me up to machines...it was beyond terrifying. My mom wasn't allowed in, there was an overdose in the bed to my left, and a stabbing in the bed to my right. I had absolutely no idea what was going on, and I had never been that scared before. Ever. Turns out I had a pulse rate of 165, my kidneys were shutting down, my body had gone into septic shock, and for all intents and purposes, I didn't have blood pressure. They stuck a tube in my neck that went straight to my heart, held it in place with 2 stitches (also in my neck), stuck in a catheter, and poked me with some of the biggest needles I've ever seen (and this coming from someone, who at some point or other, has had most of her body pierced). Now all this, combined with being absolutely terrified would be enough, but just to make it a little more fun, all of the above procedures were done without a drop of freezing! Not. A. Drop. Cause everything didn't hurt enough, right? Anyway, I saw about 5 doctors, had 2 CT scans, more people than I ever dreamed possible took a look at my who who, and by 5 I was in surgery. Before they put me out, they did some other incredibly painful things, such as stick a needle into the artery in my wrist (I still have bruises from where he was trying to keep my arm still). The actual surgery itself took less than an hour, which was really good, because (and of course I didn't know this at the time) the more time it took, the more damage the strep had done. After recovery, they took me up to ICU, where they stuck a tube down my throat and hooked me up to a respirator, then tied my arms down so I couldn't pull it out. Thursday they took me off the respirator and put me on the bipap machine, which forces air into your lungs through a mask strapped very tightly to your face and head. Friday they moved me to HAU (high acuity unit). Which is basically the same thing as ICU, except you can't be on a respirator. Turns out my ingrown hair had somehow (I blame the tiny people at the preschool I was doing my practicum at, lol) become infected with strep A (yes folks, that is the flesh eating strain!). I only remember little snippets before Saturday (and even that's fuzzy), and by that time, I had developed pneumonia. When I was in the trauma unit, they I.V.ed in about 7 liters of fluid to try to flush the infection from my tissues, so I was really, really, swollen. So swollen in fact, that the skin on my hands and feet started (and is still) peeling off because it got stretched out so much. All in all I was in the hospital for about 2 weeks, acquired an incision that's about 7" long, 1" deep, and 1" wide (that they couldn't sew up, because if there's any lingering infection it would be trapped), had to learn how to breathe again, and will be a resident of my mothers couch for at least another 2 weeks. My kidneys recovered really well, which is wonderful! No dialysis for me!! There is a fair amount of pain involved, some rather serious drugs, but I'm alive!! Which is very literally amazing, it could have gone either way. They also informed me that if I hadent of come in right when I did, it would have been game over. So yay!!! I'm alive!!! And have decided to go amazon, because if you think a razor is even coming close to my who who ever again, your crazy!!

Hearts and bones and things that break...

Charlie Sheen said "the best way to not get your heart broken, is to pretend you don't have one." I don't buy it. I have a heart. A big one. It gets broken often. And even after all the crap, I'd rather have a heart that is capable of love that gets broken from time to time, than one that is made of stone. I put myself out there, I trust, I hope, I wish, I jump in with both feet, I give it my all, I give my heart to those I feel deserve it, and one day I know I will give it to one who will not throw it away. One who will not break it. One who will understand what it takes to give it, and will give theirs back in return. Sometimes I wonder how wide the line is between strong and jaded. Cutting yourself off is just all to easy. But when does it end? When do you find it? I don't need a knight in shining armor, just a nice man in blue jeans, who can occasionally rescue me from wilder beasts. That's all. But where is the elusive Mr. Right? Where does he reside? Where would I even begin to look for him? Maybe it's just not the right time. Maybe it is only when I have given up the search that I will find my match. Who knows. All I know is I'm tired. I'm tired of looking. I'm tired of perpetually feeling like crap. I have no idea what to do to get out of this funk I have so masterfully gotten myself into. It's not even about a person, or lack there of, it's me. I'm the one who's broken, and unlike everything else, every other situation, I can't fix this. I can't make myself feel better. It doesn't matter what I do. I can't smoke it away, drink it away, eat it away, sleep it away, talk it away, fuck it away, it just never goes away. Never gets better. The pills, the therapy, the daily pushing of myself out of my comfort zone, the trying new things, the going new places, nothing. Nothing works. I'm broke, I'm so fucking tired I could cry, I can't even see the light from hope. I don't quit, ever, but I'm getting close to feeling that I'm out of options, and I'm wondering what the point is. What is the point of an existence that is basically wasting space? I'm simply asking, what is the fucking point?? It either needs to end, or it needs to get better, but either way, something's gotta give

When I grow up....

When we are small, we often get asked, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" My answer was always "mermaid!" I thought this was a great life choice, swimming around all day, singing my mermaid songs, playing with my fishey friends. Until one day, after spending all day in the pool, my father very ernistly told me I had the wrong parents. Now from here, there's many directions we can go. We could examine the "wrong parents" comment, for which I would agree, insofar as yes, I definitely did have one wrong parent. For a plethora of reasons, including but not limited to his lack of mer heritage. It has taken me a very long time to forgive his rather harsh way of teaching life lessons. I have forgiven, for the most part, but unfortunately, I will never forget. I will never forget living in constant fear. I will never forget the corporal punishment delivered for falling off my bike. I will never forget hiding at the top of the closet with the door closed, curled up on a stack of blankets, holding my breath, and trying for the life of me to figure out what exactly it was that I had done to deserve what I knew was coming. My point in all this is, I think that as I was growing my mind was so focused on survival that it just didn't have time to worry about what I was going to be when I got big. Which brings me to this constant, nagging, overwhelming feeling, of being completely, totally, and utterly lost. Other than a mermaid, there was nothing that I wanted to be. Not a fireman, policeman, teacher, ballerina, doctor, lawyer, tightrope walker, lion tamer, tile setter, gardener, architect, chef, marine biologist. Nothing. Mermaid was it. And unless I start sprouting fins and acquire a seashell bra pretty quick, I'm going to have to come up with another course of action. But what will I do? How will I do it? Who, but me, can answer this question? I recognize I'm the master of my domain, designer of my destiny, queen of my castle, but I'm haveing a seriously hard time figuring out which direction my vocational compass is pointing. I need a direction, a path, a goal, but right now it feels like I'm stuck in the middle of the Bermuda triangle, walking around in circles. It's irritating, it's so far beyond frustrating that the light from constellation frustration will take about a billion years to reach earth. I'm sure the fact that I'm turning 30 this year isn't helping, fear of turning into a pumpkin and all that... So what's a girl to do? I guess I just thought I'd have my shit together by now, marriage, babies, career, house, etc., but alas, I am lost. If only my parents had fins...

Lies...

We are taught from a very young age, that if something hurts, or is uncomfortable, that it is good for you. In my opinion, this is simply not the case. For instance, bladder infections hurt, they're not good for you. Stubbing your toe hurts,that's not good for you. Missing someone hurts, that's not good for you. Burning yourself on the oven hurts, that's not good for you. Diving into an empty pool and landing on your head hurts, and that's definitely not good for you! I could go on, but I think you get the point. Where in our history did we decide that if something sucks it's for your benefit? "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger", "no pain, no gain", "your never given more than you can handle", "the truth hurts", " love hurts", "life is hard", "no one said it was going to be easy", and on, and on, and on... Lies! I am tired of constantly waiting for the "other shoe to drop", being weary of things that are "too good to be true", not "counting my chickens before they're hatched.". I want to count my chickens damnit! I want something to go well without the constant black cloud of impending doom. I want love at first sight, eternal bliss, and no more penis shots on dating sights! I really don't think I'm asking for all that much. I'm harboring no delusions that things are going to be hunky dory everyday, for all time. I understand things (love, life, etc.) take work. It's not the work part I have problems with, it's the constant nagging from my subconscious that if it's not hard enough it's not worth it. I'm not even going to get started on the damage fairy tales cause, or romantic comedies for that matter, but clearly this "life is shit" notion is something that the human race has been struggling with for millennia. I think it's the love part that sends things sideways. This whole sex for recreation vs. procreatin thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge proponent of sex for recreation, but I'm not gonna lie, sometimes I think the animal kingdom is onto something. Most notably when it comes to online dating. Though I suppose the cock shots do reference the mating rituals of animals, and times long past. I propose we change our way to thinking, we shift from "life is suffering," to "life is good." I want my happy ending, I long to wake up beside my true love, everyday, for the rest of my life. I say thumbs down to constant struggle, and bring on the kittens and daffodils!

The greatest thing a friend has ever done for you...

One of my absolute bestest best friends lives and teaches English in China. I know she's out living her life and learning new things, but everyday I miss her just a little bit more than I did the day before. We've had some great times together me and her...travels, adventures, laughs, tears, and some very interesting food (FYI, if anyone asks you if you want to try fermented bean paste sushi, just say NO!), but the most personal thing we have ever shared, is my undies. You see, she's rather freckely, and has spent many an hour in the sun, so when one of her moles changed shape, it was time to go to the doctor. She needed a biopsy, but before the actuall cutting could commence, he had to check the rest of her to see if there was anything else that needed to go. Now, this is the thing, her momma was not a fan of undies, and as she grew, she inherited her mommas dislike of them herself, which is why when the doctor said "ok, now, just strip down to your bra and panties and get on the table, and I'll be right back to check you over" we realized we had a problem. Truth be told the doctor was a little odd, and there was NO way she was getting on that table naked! So, when he left, she started to panic. And this is when I had my most brilliant idea, "do you want mine?" I asked. "ummmm....yes please" she said, and thus began the great undie caper of 2009. First you must understand the gravity of the situation, her mom passed away from cancer, her dad has cancer, she has had cancerous spots before, and right then she was preparing to have two inches of tissue removed from her arm. What you must also understand is the logistics of two women removing their pants, tossing undies across he room, one getting on a table while the other puts her pants back on, and both regaining their composure and acting like nothing ever happened amid fits of giggles, in about 2 minutes. Never in my life had I seen a doctor leave and return so promptly! As you can imagine this truly cemented our friendship. Which is why when she emailed me to tell me about her grade 12 English assignment, I couldn't hold back the tears. The assignment was, "what is the greatest thing a friend has ever done for you?", and of course they needed an example. I would have loved to be there to see the faces and hear the stifled laughter of the students as she retold our story! We have shared many experiences, but this one by far, demonstrates the true extent of love and friendship!

And again...

I think Jackson Pollock put it best when he said, "I feel like a clam without a shell." This describes my existence thus far. I can not even count the times I've wished I was a turtle. Where I could hide my sensitive self in my rock hard shell, pack up and move somewhere else. Hide until the storm passes. But I can't. Alas, I am a human. Thin skin and all. Which I'm sure is why I'm having so much trouble with my current situation. I'm not talking about being sick, or being so broke its actually laughable, I'm talking about being single. It's actually not being single perse that's getting to me, it's the fact that I've decided I don't really want to be any more. I know who I am, what I want, and equally important, what I don't. I think my issue with this whole thing is that I thought I'd found it. The big it. The big "L". Clearly I was wrong. Once again. So in the interest of finding my perfect person, the one who compliments me so completely, I've decided to give this online dating thing another go....I've met some amazing people. I've also met some people I thought were amazing until they vanished into thin air. I've met some hostile people, some lonely people, and let's not forget about the douchebags; I've met lots of them too. And after all this, I have some questions, when does "hey hottie" actually work? Are we 15? No shit your single! Or, why would your first message to me be about bending me over the couch and making me squeal? Why even bother? Go to he bar. Find some easy chick whose lacking just enough self esteem to go home with you, and bend HER over the couch. Also the cock shots, those are nice too; stay classy boys. Also, what's up with the "wants to date but nothing serious" , or "casual dating/no commitment". Why are you wasting everybody's time? Why are you putting in all the effort to write a profile, post your pictures, send messages, receive messages, and reply? It seems rather nonsensical to me. However, I'm out of options. I've come to the conclusion that the best cure for someone that makes you cry, is someone that makes you laugh, and unless I want to "die fat and alone, and be found three weeks later, half eaten by wild dogs" (thank you, Bridget Jones), I'm going to have to put myself out there. So, I will persevere. I will weed through all bullshit until I find someone Who is worth my time, my energy,my love.

The things we learned on el camino...

Generally when people tell you about the places they've been, they tell you about the beautiful scenery, the wonderful people, the great food, the cheap booze,the incredible four star resort they stayed in...this is not one of those stories. I had just broken up with my boyfriend, my friend had just broken up with hers. We were on one of our weekly quests to use up as many coupons from the current entertainment book as possible. Then genius struck. "Let's walk across Spain", she said. To which I replied "sure." And just like that the decision was made. There were things we would need of course, plain tickets, backpacks, a plan... We decided we would start in Madrid, after all, we only had ten days, and that seemed like as good a place to start as any. From there we took the train to Leone, and thus began our journey. We got off the train, and we walked, and we walked, and we walked. We ate, we drank, we slept in ridiculous places, but most of all, we walked. We walked all the way to Santiago de Compestella. We collected stamps, we made friends, we got up before the sun rose and chose a direction based on nothing but feeling, we followed seashells, peed in bushes, ate more bocadillos than a human ever should, and, we walked. We walked in silence, we walked and talked, we walked and sang, we walked in tears, we walked. And this is what we learned: Everything always works out. Sometimes, not having a plan is the best plan. People are willing to help, if we are willing to let them. Trust and Faith go a long way. Your speed is good speed. It's OK to eat bread. Just be nice! Sometimes it's all you need. Sometimes you just need someone to hold your hand. Wobbly bits-we all got 'em! We are truly thankful for google, or as we like to call it, the orcal. My travel buddy is my Spanish HERO! How much we miss yoga. And the most important thing we learned, other than shitty shoes lead to a broken foot, is mascara is NOT mandatory!

In the beginning...

I'm gonna give this blog thing a go...I've always thought my life would make a great book, and a blog is just a free book, right? So here we go... I could tell you about the time I got stuck in Mexico, or the time I walked across Spain with a broken foot, the times my heart broke, or I made such an incredible fool of myself I actually wished I wasn't real. How about the time I almost died, the time I almost killed, the time I was so happy on the back of that bike, that if we died, at least it would have been together? I could tell you about the time I burnt down, broke down, got beat down, and completely lost my shit. Or, maybe, the time I met Hercules? Learned to salsa? Thought I was so awful I tried to cut my heart out with a kitchen knife? Was convinced I could breathe under water? Tried to capture clouds in a jar? Dyed my hair every color of the rainbow at the same time? Painted my house? Took pictures of a person I love in a way I could never love another? I might also tell you about how the death of my father was my salvation, and if not for this event I wouldn't be here talking to you today. Honestly, I have no idea what I'm going to tell you. Just trust that I will tell you something... So, I think, today I will tell you about my mom. She is without a doubt the strongest person I have ever met. I don't have her writing tattooed on me for nothing! It's probably not for the best for you to believe that our relationship is perfect; we fight like cats. But what you should believe is that without her I would be lost. I don't tell her everything, in fact there a things I pointedly don't tell her. I have many reasons for my censorship. Sometimes I don't want her to see my weakness, sometimes I just don't want to hear it, and sometimes what I am thinking hurts me so much, that I couldn't possibly imagine her feeling that way on my behalf. I won't tell you about her life, because, frankly, it's not my story to tell. What I will tell you however, is what I have learnt from her. I have learnt that a human being is far stronger than they think they are; that I'm stronger than I think I am. That being scared is not a good enough reason not to do something. That sometimes a person can love a monster, because that person has the ability to see the good in everyone, even the monsters. That if you have Kraft dinner and ground beef, you will never starve. That sometimes people say things they don't mean. And, above all, that I am loved. Oh, and sometimes, all you need in life is a bacon sandwich, a glass of wine, some chocolate chip cookies, and a good ol' fashioned momma hug. From my momma, I have learnt how to be a good person, and hopefully, one day, a damn good momma myself.