Monday, March 28, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Headstones
Yo, click here.
I'd like everyone's feedback. I think these headstones are perfect. Brandon is going to go ahead and make them if it's okay with everyone. Mom gave him the go-ahead so we could at least see how it turns out. And if everyone approves, we'll slap those bad boys down over at the cemetery. I think they are cool... very old-west-just-a-rock-on-my-head look.
Brandon was thinking of doing a concrete glaze over... something pretty like a sandstone color. Also, I was thinking it would be cool to embed one of Dad's LS markers in his. Maybe one in Alex's too?
Just give me some feedback because I want to make sure everyone approves.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Ben's Birth Story: The Prologue
Was I really seeing this happen?
Late December and into early January, I had blood drawn A LOT. My liver enzymes were elevated and I had to go in often to check them. The following takes place in my doctor's office around 34 weeks pregnant.
What I was seeing as I looked down at my bare arm with the sleeve rolled up was the nurse's very long, very acrylic, very un-glov-ed blue and glittery thumbnail. It was feeling around for a vein. Feeling, feeling. Surely, I thought, she's going to wipe that spot with alcohol again before the needle pokes me. (Who hasn't seen all the 20/20 episodes about fecal matter underneath fingernails and in the beer nuts?)
The best part was that she did put on gloves. As protocol requires, I'm sure. But then she opened a drawer and fetched scissors so quickly, I'm sure they were placed there for just this purpose... to cut her thumb free! Snip!
More shocking was the fact I was watching this and letting it happen. To my body. It takes a long time to get blood out of me and the whole time I was giving myself a speech: Alana, why did you not say something? It's your body, you know. Who cares if she thinks you're being difficult. Next time you need to speak up. And I agreed with myself.
She couldn't get blood from anywhere, hand or arm. So she took the "sterile" glove off, threw it in the trash and left for a moment. When she came back, I watched the whole episode re-run. This is your chance, Alana... the pep talk to myself continued... you know what's going to happen. Didn't you agree to say something, foolish girl. And please, nurse with the mohawk, could we just drop the pretense of the glove? Just leave the ****er off!
But I let her do it. Again! And I was much ashamed of myself. I know I'm paranoid and wasn't going to get some disease but it made me mad because it was simply sick and gross and totally unexpected. It made me mad because I didn't speak up for myself and my body.
I can see that very long, very acrylic, very un-glov-ed blue and glittery nail now. It will forever be a symbol for me. I'm not going to fly a flag with The Blue Nail on it. But I will see it in my mind's eye every time I'm tempted to play the diplomat. Every time I'm tempted to toss certain expectations or standards aside to avoid being a difficult patient. Or friend. Or parent. Or person.
