Hurricane Irene and Poppa Sye.

Posted on August 28, 2011 by Meleah

Blissfully sleeping within the confines of my ever-so cozy oasis, a strange yet familiar ringing woke me up. I sprung out of bed, wiped the crust from my eyes, and blinked myself into consciousness.

Who the hell is ringing my doorbell at 8am on a Saturday morning? I wondered. I peered out my bedroom window and saw my neighbor Ira standing there. I grabbed my robe, and raced down the stairs.

Flinging open the front door, I exclaimed, “What’s going on?”

“Is your grandfather okay?” Ira inquired.

“Yeah, what do you mean is Poppa Sye okay? He’s in his bedroom watching the news.” I said, still half-asleep.

Ira sighed, “Well apparently your grandfather has already called the Police, The Fire Department, and you parents, several times, because of the hurricane.”

“What!?”

Yet, there wasn’t even a cloud in the sky, much less a drop of rain.

Ira told me about the phone conversation he had with my parents. He explained how my grandfather was completely freaking out. And at that moment I knew it was going to be a very long day ahead of me. Poppa Sye is famous for being paranoid, over nothing. But now that he had a legitimate reason to worry? You can bet your bottom dollar he went into full-blown-panic-attack-mode.

After Ira left, I went to ask Poppa Sye what’s going on.

I knocked on his bedroom door and waited for him to answer.

“Poppa Sye, can I come in?”

“Yes, dear.” He replied in a weak little voice.

I stood in the doorway, “Can I ask you a question?”

He sat up in his bed, “Yes, dear.”

“Why did you call the police?”

“I didn’t call the police.” Poppa Sye lied.

* Poppa Sye is also famous for lying.

So I rephrased the question.

“What did you ask the police when you called them?”

“Well, I just asked if they had any suggestions about the hurricane.” He admitted.

“Okay, well, just so you know, you’re not supposed to call the Police or the Fire Department unless it’s an actual life or death situation. The township called everyone yesterday specifically for that reason.”

“Yes, dear.”

“You’re not going to call the Police or the Fire Department anymore, right?”

Poppa Sye nodded, “Right.”

“Promise?”

He started laughing, “Yes.”

I gave him my stern look and said, “Okay” before going back to bed.

An hour later, I heard all kinds of noise coming from downstairs. It sounded like we were having another earthquake. Once again, I sprung up out of bed, wiped the crust from my eyes, and blinked myself back into consciousness.

I ran down the flight of stairs, thinking there was an intruder, only to see Poppa Sye desperately trying to re-arrange the furniture. Mind you, he’s 91 years old, and he’s incredibly frail. He can barely lift a coffee mug, let alone lift a lamp.

When I saw him struggling to move a plate, I took matters into my own hands and agreed to help him ‘Prepare The House’.

Poppa Sye was determined to get everything away from the windows, because as far as he was concerned all of the glass in the house would shatter. So we moved the knick-knacks from the windowsills to middle of a coffee table. After his remodeling, the family room looked as if it had been hit by ‘Hurricane Sye’.

And I thought that was going to be the end of it.

But I was wrong.

As the day progressed, Poppa Sye watched constant coverage of ‘Hurricane Irene’, blasting the television so loudly; the sound literally ricocheted off the hallway walls. And the more news he watched, the more he became riddled with anxiety.

Whenever there was a commercial break, Poppa Sye would come downstairs and to perform a mental sweep of things, while walking laps around the house. He paced nervously, clenching his jaw, and wringing his hands together.

“Mel”… He called to me.

“Yes, Poppa Sye?”

He collected his thought and asked, “What are we going to do when they shut off the water?”

“Who is going to shut off the water?”

“We aren’t going to have any water.” Poppa Sye reiterated.

“Okay, I think we are going to be fine, but would you like for me to fill up the parents bathtub. Just in case?”

I could see the fear in his pale, blue, cataract-covered eyes, “Yes. Please.”

I was more than happy to oblige.

Another hour later, the rain started and the winds began to intensify. Poppa Sye came back downstairs for one of his pace-around-the-house-checking-on-things, maneuvers. After making a full-lap around the house, Poppa Sye stood in the living room doorway staring at me.

“Melee…”

“Yeah, Poppa Sye…” I looked back at him.

“Do you have a flashlight?”

“Yes, grandpa, it’s right here.” I held it up to show it to him.

“Do you think we have enough candles?”

“Yes. Absolutely. They are lined up on the kitchen counter like soldiers ready to deploy for combat.”

Poppa Sye, walked away and proceeded to go to the back door. He opened it, and much to my surprise, he went outside. At this point it was pouring sideways. I chased after him.

“Poppa Sye!” I shouted, “What the hell are you doing out here! Get back inside, now!”

“I need to check on this furniture.” He firmly stated.

“It’s all tied down. And it’s heavy. It’s not going anywhere.”

But he didn’t believe me.

Nope.

Instead, he fussed with the blue rope, tugging the strings as tight as he could.

Later that evening, when it started to get dark outside Poppa Sye became quite fixated with one window in particular. He was absolutely certain if any window in the house would break, it would be this one.

No matter what I said to him, he refused to stop obsessing.

Thanks to my friend Leslie, I handed him some masking tape to secure the window, in an attempt to help him relax.

Here’s another thing about Poppa Sye you may, or may not, already know. He’s completely blind in one eye, and he can barley see out of his other eye. And, ever since his stroke, he does NOT have good balance. In fact, he tends to fall down. A lot. Plus, he refuses to turn ON any lights.

The thought of him walking up and down the hallway, or the going up and down the stairs, IN THE DARK, was enough to make me a nervous-wreck. Because while he spent the entire day concerned about the hurricane, I spent the entire day imagining him taking a spill down the stairs, careening wildly out of control, and cracking open his skull.

I invited him to, “Please watch a movie with me downstairs on the sofa?” I thought if I could keep him in one spot, and get his mind off the news maybe we’d BOTH be able to calm down.

And here’s how that worked out.

Not more than three seconds into the movie, Poppa Sye squirmed on the sofa, noticeably anxious. Rocking back and forth while tapping his metal cane on the floor. I knew exactly what he wanted.

“Do you want me to put on the news?” I asked.

“Yes. Let’s just check.”

Now, I had also spent my entire day avoiding the news, because I cannot stand the hyperbole. However, I did not want Poppa Sye to make yet another trip upstairs. And by this time the winds and rain had really picked up. Out of sheer curiosity I agreed to put on The Weather Channel.

That was my first mistake.

As I watched in horror, Poppa Sye kept telling me why we needed to stay away from the windows. He talked about living in Florida through other hurricanes, and exactly how damaging the winds could be. He carried on and on about possible dangers.

And I started to believe him.

That was my second mistake.

Somehow, Poppa Sye managed to project and transfer all of his irrational fears onto me.

“Do we have any wood in the garage to cover a broken window?” He asked.

“Um…” I paused, “No. I don’t think so.”

Poppa Sye’s voice cracked, “What are we going to use to fix the window if it breaks.” His white hair, turned even whiter. “Maybe we should have bought some plywood to board up the windows.”

“I have no idea. I guess I should ask Ira?” Suddenly, feeling very unprepared for the impending disaster, I unleashed my very own brand of anxiety. The very anxiety I had been suppressing all day.

Maybe Poppa Sye is right? Maybe he does know what he’s talking about?  Maybe I shouldn’t have dismissed his concerns as being overly paranoid?  Maybe the cast iron chairs outside really are going to blow through the windows, and crush us to death!  Maybe my mom’s copper weathervane from the garden could fly through the house and decapitate one of us!  Maybe the roof of the house will get ripped off from the 85 MPH winds, or the trees will come crashing down upon us!  Maybe the power, and water will be shut off for days, and we will be stranded here, starving, dehydrated, and filthy. Goddamn it, I knew I should have bought some vodka! And, HOLY SHIT I’VE NEVER BEEN IN A HURRICANE. AND NOW THE NEW SAYS WE HAVE A TORNADO WATCH/WARNING TOO? JESUS H. CHRIST! WE’RE ALL GUNNA DIE!

I mentally tried to talk myself off the proverbial edge, to no avail.

Fortunately, we still had electricity and phone service, so I called my brother. I left Poppa Sye alone on the sofa and went into the garage to have a private conversation with Abercrombie.

And here’s how that went:

“Grandpa is a nervous wreck. Which was cute at first, but now that I hear the wind, and now that I’ve watched the news, HIS anxiety is giving ME anxiety. And now I am freaking out because he keeps going up and down the stairs, and he won’t sit still. And he keeps checking everything, and he wants to hide out in the garage, but this door isn’t very sturdy. And what if the power goes out and he falls down, and what if the phone lines don’t work, and I can’t call 911. And what if he’s bleeding to death on the floor, but the big tree’s are ripped from their roots and block the roads so the Emergency Vehicles can’t get to us. And what is with this tornado watch, isn’t it enough we are in the middle of a hurricane……?”

My brother quickly interrupted my insanity, “Calm, down.”

I took a deep breath, and lit up a cool menthol Newport 100.

Then my brother reminded me how to ‘find the funny’ in what Poppa Sye was going through by taking photos and texting them to him.

And thankfully that helped. A lot.

Poppa Sye and I retreated to our respective bedrooms around midnight. And we both kept our doors WIDE OPEN. I made him *pinky swear* that if the power went out, he would NOT attempt to travel downstairs, under any circumstances, without me.

But, I didn’t trust him.

So, I spent the duration of the evening listening to him.

And playing ‘Words With Friends’ on my iPhone trying to distract myself from the creepy howling sounds from the wind, and the freakishly pelting sounds from the rain.

I didn’t sleep very well, if I slept at all.

Every time I heard a strange noise I had a mini-heart-attack.

And while WE managed to escape ‘Hurricane Irene’ virtually unscathed, I can’t say the same for the rest of New Jersey.

Here is a picture of Hightstown NJ, leading into Route 33, located all of ten minutes from my house.

And here is the devastation Jamesburg NJ is suffering.

Another town, less than 15 minutes from my house.

And this photo, is in my actual home town.

Oh hello, Main Street.

So, tell me boys and girls….

Have you ever been through a hurricane/tornado/life-threatening-weather-condition?

And if so, please tell me about it.

Posted in Drama Drama, Family, Humor, Life, Links, Photos | 70 Comments

On Moustaches…

Posted on August 21, 2011 by Meleah

I am not a big fan of facial hair.  No.  Let me rephrase that.  I don’t like facial hair at all. I think beards make men look ‘dirty’. I think the goatee makes any seemingly attractive man look like an escaped convict. And I think all moustaches are creepy.

That is, unless you’re Tom Selleck.

Seriously.

He’s the only man that can sport a moustache. And make it look sexy.

There are various types of ‘Lip Sweaters’.

According to WikiPedia some of them include the following:

  • Natural – Moustache styled without aids.
  • Mexican – Big and bushy, beginning from the middle of the upper lip and pulled to the side.
  • Dalí – narrow, long points bent or curved steeply upward; areas past the corner of the mouth must be shaved. Artificial styling aids needed. Named after Salvador Dalí.
  • English – narrow, beginning at the middle of the upper lip the whiskers are very long and pulled to the side, slightly curled; the ends are pointed slightly upward; areas past the corner of the mouth usually shaved. Artificial styling may be needed.
  • Imperial – whiskers growing from both the upper lip and cheeks, curled upward.

Other types of moustache include:

  • Fu Manchu – long, downward pointing ends, generally beyond the chin.
  • ‘Pancho Villa’ moustache – similar to the Fu Manchu but thicker.
  • Handlebar – bushy, with small upward pointing ends. Also known as the “spaghetti moustache”, because of its stereotypical association with Italian men.
  • Horseshoe – Often confused with the Fu Manchu style, the horseshoe was possibly popularized by modern cowboys and consists of a full moustache with vertical extensions from the corners of the lips down to the jaw line and resembling an upside-down horseshoe. Also known as “biker mustache”.
  • Toothbrush – thick, but shaved except for about an inch (2.5 cm) in the center; associated with Adolf Hitler.
  • Walrus – bushy, hanging down over the lips, often entirely covering the mouth.

Pretty extensive list, eh?

However, I would like to see an ‘Additional Definition’ added to the directory of moustaches. Courtesy of my friend, Terri.

Word: “Molestache”

Definition: Any creepy looking mustache that makes the wearer look like a child molester.

[*Disclaimer: I have no idea who this guy is. I just typed ‘Creepy Mustaches’ into Google and this was the first image that came up.]

Scary.

Right?

Sadly, most men with facial hair are ‘Doing It Wrong’.

As demonstrated here, by comedian Jon LaJoie:

So tell me boys and girls, what do you think about moustaches and/or facial hair?

Posted in Humor, Photos, Videos | 112 Comments

Remember When America Tried “Dumbing Down?”

Posted on August 17, 2011 by Meleah

Well, no more.

We have at last arrived.

Clearly.

*BLINK*

*BLINK*

*BLINK*

Here are just a few thoughts ….

Please leave YOUR THOUGHTS in the comments!!

PS: Thanks to my dear friend, Jim, for sending me this photo. It may or may not have been taken in a ‘Best Buy’ out in ‘Somewhere Pennsylvania’.

Posted in Humor, Photos | 55 Comments

Sticky Readers: How to Attract a Loyal Blog Audience by Writing More Better.

Posted on August 15, 2011 by Meleah

I just finished reading the book: Sticky Readers: How to Attract a Loyal Blog Audience by Writing More Better, by my friend, Margaret Andrews.

Not only did I learn valuable tools about writing, I found myself laughing out loud, a lot.  This book is insightful, smart, witty, educational, hilarious, and quite frankly a MUST READ for every single writer.  Because let’s face it. Whether you’ve been blogging for a day, a week, or years, who doesn’t want to write more better?

After reading Margaret’s book, you will walk away with a smile on your face and a pocket full of knowledge. Her conversational style of writing captivates and teaches what you are doing wrong, and what you are doing right, all while making you laugh.

Margaret points out how it’s important to grab your readers with a hook, even when you are writing about something mundane like grocery shopping, or cleaning the toilets. She goes in depth about showing verses telling a story. She explains how to incorporate the five senses, and how to use an active voice to bring your blog posts to life. She discusses why you should never leave the house without your camera. And she dispels the myth about Writers Block, while putting ‘Inspiration Man’ in your corner. She also includes a handy ‘check list’ of things you should do before hitting the publish button.

It’s a quick read, but that’s only because Margaret has mastered how to eliminate those annoying superfluous words.

In my opinion, ‘Sticky Readers’ is as essential as the book ‘The Elements Of Style’.

* To read an excerpt, or to purchase Sticky Readers, go the Sticky Readers website.

* Or, you can get it at Amazon and download it to any device using Kindle, by clicking HERE.

* Please feel free to “Like” her Sticky Readers Facebook Fan Page.

So tell me boys and girls, have you read any good books lately?

Posted in Books, Friends, Links, Other Bloggers, Writing | 47 Comments

Boobies!!

Posted on August 10, 2011 by Meleah

With constant advances in medical, and specifically surgical technology, more and more people are deciding to change their appearance as they grow older, or simply if they are not satisfied with the way they look. In fact, procedures are now so practiced and perfected that small surgeries and physical adjustments are really becoming quite common. One such procedure that is commonly considered by women is breast augmentation. Much like other forms of plastic surgery, breast augmentation has been changed and improved over the years, to the point that it is now a fairly reliable procedure. However, there are a few things to be aware of, many of which can be found on websites such as AboutPlasticSurgery.com when considering breast augmentation for yourself. Specifically, there are things to know about how to prepare for your surgery, as well as what to expect after it is completed.

First off, you obviously want to consider your health above all else. Like any other surgery, breast augmentation can, if not dealt with properly, leave you vulnerable to physical discomfort or, in some cases, infection. To prevent any of these unfortunate results, prepare in advance by consulting with your doctor and doing all that you can to ensure a clean and comfortable environment following your surgery. You will want to go over your medical history (including past procedures, allergies, etc.) with your doctor before the surgery, and, if you are prescribed any pain medication, you will want to go ahead and have it in hand on the day of your surgery, so that you can use it immediately. Additionally, and perhaps most importantly, it is recommended that if you are a smoker, you suspend your habit as far in advance of your surgery as possible. While you do not have to quit smoking completely, it is recommended to stop long before your surgery, and to allow yourself to heal completely after surgery before smoking again.

There are also a number of things to consider after your surgery to ensure the highest level of comfort and the best results. Most importantly, you do not in any circumstances want to remove the bandages covering your newly augmented breasts. Whether you want to look at them to see the changes, or simply remove bandages for bathing or comfort, it is highly recommended that you resist such temptations and allow your breasts to heal fully before exposing them. Of course, each individual recovery is unique to the patient involved, as well as the specific surgery, so you will want to double check with your doctor and surgeon that you are doing everything possible to keep yourself healthy. However, these are a few basic things to get you started when you consider the time leading up to and directly following your surgery.

So why the heck am I telling you all of this?

Well because six years ago, I had a boob job.

And a lot of people ask me a crapton of questions about it.

In fact, I even agreed to give an interview.

Welcome to my ‘AUGMENTATION NATION’ and ‘TOO MUCH INFORMATION’ Interview.

1. What made you want to get a boob job?

Well, that’s quite a bold question. I’m not sure that I WANTED to get a boob job; as much as I am sure I HAD TO get a boob job. Either way, I am happy to share The Reasons Why I decided to have cosmetic surgery with you.

Once upon a time, I had regular breast. My boobs were nothing special, but they weren’t terrible either. I was slightly self conscious because my right breast being a little larger than the left. However, that was not particularly noticeable to anyone other than me.

When I was about 18, I became increasingly aware of other women’s bodies and their physical attributes. Considering the environment I was working in at that time, it was pretty hard Not To Notice. Nevertheless, I maintained my natural physic.

It wasn’t until after I had my child, when I became profoundly depressed over the damage I caused my body. You see, I was 103 pounds, with a small B cup, and 20 years old when I became pregnant. I delivered my son at 187 pounds, with double D cups, at 21 years old. That’s a whole lot of weight gain, which inevitably resulted in massive skin stretching.

(Seriously, people. My stretch marks make me look like I am a survivor of ‘When Animals Attack’)

After 6 months, I had lost all of the ‘baby weight’. (80 pounds to be exact.) But, I was never so devastated. At 21 years old, I was left with unshapely, flat like pancakes, and sagging, hanging, lifeless breasts much like the old lady from the movie ‘There Is Something About Mary’. I joked about the state of my bosom by saying, “My boobs look like tennis balls at the bottom of a tube socks”. In all reality that is what they looked like.

As such, I became terribly self-conscious. I was riddled with shame and humiliation. I would not, and I could not, let anyone see them. Ever. I was way too embarrassed over the way my body looked. As soon as I took my top off, I went directly into covering them up with my hands as a standard position.

That made things extremely difficult romantically, because I wouldn’t let anyone see them, or touch them, or even look in the same direction as them. On the off chance I was intimate with someone; it was only under very specific conditions such as: the lights had to be off, preferably in the pitch black, no touching allowed, and my bra stayed on.

I wore a bra 24 hours a day. In fact, I wore TWO BRAS every day. I used every kind of lotion and tried every type of gimmick that is supposed to ‘naturally increase bust lines’ or remove stretch-marks, to no avail.

Eventually, I discovered that Victoria Secret carried a breast enhancement product that you could insert into your bra. They are flesh toned and look sort of like “Chicken Cutlets” and I loved them. I wore them all the time. Sometimes I even wore the Cutlets when I was romantically involved.

It wasn’t until long after I left the bar scene and entered into a different life when I was presented with the opportunity to undergo Breast Augmentation. I leapt at the chance.

After 9 years of torturing myself, feeling embarrassed, hiding my shame and the uncomfortable misery of wearing TWO BRAS every day … I would finally be free from all of that self-inflicted hatred about that part of my body. Finally I would be able to look at them, and look at myself, without feeling disgusted. It was the easiest decision I have ever made in my life.

2. Did the risks worry you at all? Or are they really just hyped up by the media to freak people out?

I was definitely concerned about the risks. You hear horror stories about bad boob jobs, because they are true.

I have first hand knowledge about tragic events such as “When Boob Jobs Go Wrong” because of where I worked. I saw some fantastic before and after boob jobs and I saw some seriously detrimental before and after boob jobs. I was terrified to end up as one of the girls from surgeries gone awry.

Side Bar: When considering breast implants, it’s really all about the doctor. It is of utmost importance to find a good doctor, the right doctor, talk with the other women who have previously been to that doctor, and ask a lot of questions. If the doctor gets annoyed by all of your questions, you are with the Wrong Doctor.

3. Were you treated differently after the boob job?

I treated myself differently afterwards.

4. Were you given grief by friends and family?

Absolutely not.

My mother completely supported my decision. She stated that if her breasts had looked like mine (pre-surgical) she would have done the same exact thing. In fact, she is the one that pointed out this was “Corrective” surgery NOT “Elective” surgery.

5. Did the operation hurt and how long before you recovered?

Well, I had TWO surgeries. (Because I am a stubborn asshole.)

The first time I went to have my procedure, the doctor suggested I go from my floppy A cup all the way to a full D cup. I told him there was no way I wanted to be a D cup. I am an insurance professional, not a porn star and I did not want to walk around my office with flotation devices attached to my chest.

He explained to me in numerous ways, that I needed to fill up the loose skin, in order to fix the horrendous sagginess that was part of my ugly boob situation. Yet, I remained firm with my decision to only go to a C cup. Begrudgingly, the doctor complied with my wishes.

The surgery went well and I went home the same day with a wonderful device attached to me. This device distributed Novocain in a steady stream via catheters to each breast 24 hours a day for 3 days. I didn’t feel an ounce of pain. Not. Even. A. Little.

One week later I went back to the doctor. The cathedra was removed and the bandages came off. Much to my surprise my breasts were even prettier than I had ever imagined possible. They were perfectly symmetrical and full. They were not too rounded, or shaped like a disks. I hate that look. You know that look. It’s like someone took a grapefruit, cut it in half and super glued them to their body. I was amazed with how ‘real’ my boobs looked. I was thrilled with the fact they moved with me, rather than sitting frozen solid or rock hard. Even with all of the swelling they were still very soft to the touch.

Alas, a few weeks post-surgery, I had a severe panic attack. I thought my boobs had ‘broken’ and/or were leaking because they seemed to be deflating. I was seriously scared. And I didn’t know what to do. I called the doctor immediately. The decrease in size was simply due to the swelling going down. That’s when I realized what the doctor had been trying to warn / tell me on all of my earlier visits.

2 or 3 months after my first surgery, just as my doctor had predicted, I had soccer balls (which beat tennis balls) at the bottom of a tube socks – for boobs. The dreaded saggy-droopy-ness was back. I had two options at that point. 1. Have a Breast Lift- a very painful surgical procedure which leaves hellashish scars on your body. (The last thing my body needs is more scarring.) 2. Go to a bigger size implant.

Teary eyed, I returned to my doctor pleading for his help to rectify my own mistake. “Okay, Okay. I see now what you have been trying to tell me. Let’s go to a Full D Cup.”

And that’s just what we did.

My second surgery went as smoothly as the first one. In fact it was even easier than the first one. The ‘pocket’ where the implant belongs was already formed, and since I was merely changing the size of the bag the 2nd procedure took only 24 hours ‘recovery time’ before I was back at my desk.

6. Would you recommend other women to get one if they were thinking about it?

Honestly, that depends on each individual woman, and her specific circumstances. Do I think getting a ‘boob job’ strictly for vanity purposes is all together healthy? No.

It also depends on the expectations the potential candidate has about the final outcome. Most good doctors will also request a complete psychological evaluation prior to engaging plastic surgery. They need to make sure the candidate is being realistic and not going through these measures for attention seeking behavior purposes.

I will say, without any hesitation, that my choice was the right choice, for me.

$10,000.00 and six years later, I am still ‘In Love’ with the final result. I am confident and comfortable in my own skin.

And it sure is nice to fill out a dress properly.

Posted in Life | 84 Comments

The Results Are In

Posted on August 7, 2011 by Meleah

The last few weeks of my life have been incredibly difficult, to say the least.

Let’s recap.

Shall, we?

First, I almost died. Like for real.

Then, after seeing my allergist – per ‘Medical Instructions’ I survived on a steady diet of cheese, and chicken broth, for thirteen days, in a row.

My doctor, determined to find the cause of anaphylaxis shock, reviewed my medical history and decided he needed sennd me for some rather extensive blood work.

Now, anyone who knows me can tell you that I will absolutely faint at the mere sight of a needle. It’s a legitimate fear that I simply cannot control. Thankfully, the fine people over at Lab-Corp are quite accommodating. And they brought me to the children’s ward, again.

I am proud to announce that I did not cry and I did not faint. And, according to my friends on Facebook, I’m officially a ‘big girl’ now.

But then I paced around, anxiously waiting for the test results, for the next three days.

I couldn’t sleep.  I couldn’t eat.  My stomach practiced jumping jacks and cartwheels.

And then I finally got the phone call.

My results are in.

Food Allergies, By Class Category:

Here are the foods I am NOT allowed to eat, because they will actually KILL me.

[* Insert Drum Roll *]

And then I fainted.

And then I cried.

A lot.

And then I slept for two days.

I should probably either be suicidal or homicidal by now.  But, luckily, thanks to all of YOU, I’m not.

My “New Diet” basically consists of the following:

Cheese, Beef, Chicken, Pork, Bacon, Turkey, Anchovy, Basil, Clams, Halibut, Lobster, Oyster, Tuna, Shrimp, Salmon, Scallops, Swordfish, Crab, Cantaloupe, Banana, Cranberry, Black & Green Olives, Black Pepper, Mushroom, Sugar, Salt, Milk, Eggs, Tea, and Coffee.

Thank god I don’t have to give up coffee. Seriously.

Now, before ya’ll go and start to feel sorry for me, rest assured, I have already scheduled an appointment with a Professional Nutritionist. And hopefully, she will be able to help me construct an appropriate ‘Menu’ to fit my allergic / dietary restrictions.

Because let’s face it…

I could write about how I wished I knew that was the last slice of pizza I was ever going to eat, or the last beer I was ever going to drink. Because if I had, I would have eaten a whole pie to myself and washed it down with a case of Corona.

And…

I could…complain for weeks on end, because I’m an Italian that can’t have any pasta or any sauce. I could cry from the rooftops about why it’s not fair and how hard it is going to be over the holidays when I will have to sit and watch everyone else eating all of the things I love.

But, I wont.

Instead…I will delve head first into three pounds of Lobster drizzled in obscene amounts of melted buttery goodness. Delighted, in knowing I never have to ‘share’ any of my food. I will consume extravagant and expensive fish products, until I get Mercury Poisoning. (Ah yes! ‘Gluttony Is Good’.)

I could…write about how I feel ‘Completely Insecure’ and utterly humiliated when dining out in a restaurant. I could describe ‘Totally Self-Conscious’ moments when faced with ordering a meal with such specific restrictions.

And…

I could…go into graphic detail about how unnerving, stressful, and upsetting it is to be a lady and have a ‘leaky ass’ in public. Or, I could post funny pictures of what it is like for me to be trapped in the bathroom during an attack. Because ‘Ya’ll Will Never Know How Much Time I Spend In The Bathroom.’

But, I already did that.

So, I won’t.

Instead…I will find out just how much cheese and bacon one person can eat before succumbing to congestive heart failure.

I could…write about how I am ‘Depressed’ because ‘These Annoying Medical Conditions’ have hijacked the ‘Quality Of My Life’ on so many levels. I could justify why I am so ‘Angry’ over how my body has betrayed me. Or allow myself to become so ‘Anxious’ over things I cannot control, that I have panic attacks just thinking about them. I could ‘Circle The Emotional Drain’ from the crushing and debilitating guilt I feel for being such a burden to those around me.

But I won’t.

Instead…I will do my best live my life the best way I can.

And there you have it.

In closing, I truly appreciate all of the love and support I’ve received from all of my wonderfully amazing friends. Honestly, I would not have been able to get through any of this without you.

Ya’ll “Rock The Casbah.”

Thank you, Internet. From the bottom of my heart.

I am one lucky lady.

* PS: Next week, I’d really like to change the subject!

Posted in Drama Drama, Life, Links, Photos, Strong Medicine | 90 Comments

Waiting…

Posted on August 1, 2011 by Meleah

“The doctor will see you now,” a stout, redheaded, nurse called out from behind the glass partition.

I put down the gossip magazine and kept replaying the events of my Near Death Experience over and over in my mind. Still hoping it was all a bad dream, I slowly made my way back to the exam room.

The smell of rubbing alcohol lingered in the air after the nurse took my vitals. I can’t tell you what she looked like because I was too distracted by the sound of the sterilized, white, paper crunching underneath me. Gazing around, I noticed my purple chart covered in bright orange sticky notes:

Allergic to Aspirin. 

See Attached Lists.

I went to grab my file for a closer look inside, when the door flung wide open. “And how are you today, Meleah?” Kindly asked my allergist.

Startled, I quickly replied, “Um…I’ve been better.” A wave of panic began to set it.

I hate seeing the doctor. My visits usually end with bad news. Especially with all of my Annoying Medical Conditions.

“Looks like you had quite a scare the other day. I received a copy of your discharge papers…” his soothing voice trailed off while he read the report.

I nervously twirled my brown hair around my sweaty fingers, anxiously waiting for him to finish. What did the report say? What’s going to happen now? Will I be sent for more tests? A million questions raced through my mind.

My doctor abruptly closed the file and put it down on the shiny, black, desk. He took off his thin, silver rimmed glasses, smoothed his salt and pepper hair, and looked me square in the eyes. “Do you understand it’s a miracle that you’re still alive?”

In that instant, my shock must have worn off.  This was no dream. And I broke down.

Sobbing, all I could manage to say was, “Yes.”

I wiped my face with the bottom of my yellow t-shirt, and tried pulling myself together.

“We are going to take good care of you.” He handed me a blue box of Kleenex.

He put his glasses back on, and picked up my file again. “The last time we ran a full-blood-test panel for your food allergies was back in 2008. I am going to order new ones. By the look of things here, you already have an extensive list of ‘Do Not Eat’ foods. We need to find out exactly what else you are allergic to.”

“M’kay.” I nodded, with tears streaming down my red-hot cheeks.

“Because you have Crohn’s Disease, it makes your hypersensitivity to food all the more severe.”

“Why…?” I asked.

He smiled, “Let’s pretend that everyone’s body is like an exclusive Night Club. And, at the door there are two bouncers keeping out the riff-raff.”

I stopped crying and started paying attention. “Okay, I like that analogy.”

He continued, “However, in your case, since the intestines are so damaged, the door to your Night Club is much wider. In fact, it’s probably triple in size. And you still only have two bouncers. They run back and forth trying to keep out the riff-raff, but sometimes, things just slip through. The more stuff that slips through, leads to higher histamine levels in your body causing an Anaphylaxis reaction.”

He put my file back down, and took off his glasses again. I couldn’t decide if his eyes were baby blue, or sky blue, and I couldn’t believe I’d never noticed the color of his eyes before.

His dark brown pants crinkled with each move, before sitting down and crossing his legs. “Let me ask you a few questions…Have you been under a lot of stress recently?”

“Actually, yes.” I sighed.  “I was in a car accident about two months ago. And things in my household have been extremely tense, lately.” I really didn’t want to delve into specifics and I hoped he wouldn’t probe any deeper.

Titling his head to the left he explained, “When you only have two bouncers working an already oversized door, it’s very important they don’t get too tired. When you are stressed, anxious, or worried, the bouncers run out of steam – and then they can’t do their job properly.”

“Oh.” I sighed.

“I am also going to run some tests to see if you have ‘Leaky Gut Syndrome’.”

My voice cracked. “What the heck is that?”

“Basically, it’s inflammation and irritation to the lining of your digestive tract. Over time, the intestinal lining begins to wear and break down. That’s from Crohn’s. Large gaps form between your intestinal cells, which then allow toxins, pathogens, and undigested food particles to enter your bloodstream. Soon after, your liver becomes overloaded with toxins. Your immune system becomes impaired after being continuously assaulted by unwanted substances. Your hormonal system becomes fatigued after trying to keep up with both the stress of the intestinal permeability along with the stress of everyday life. Your body is just not designed to handle this chronic state as there is no time to properly rest and repair.”

“Right….” My head was spinning. “Is there anything I can do to help alleviate some of these symptoms? Or is there anything I can do to prevent another allergic reaction?”

“Maybe. In addition to ordering Epi-Pens, I am going to prescribe a medication called GastroCrom. You will need to take 2 ampules 20 minutes before eating any meals. It’s a liquid that should work to coat the insides of your intestines. It’s kind of like adding more bouncers to your door. It’s not a cure. And you still need to avoid the foods you’re allergic to. But this might help prevent future outbreaks. At best, it might lessen the intensity of such reactions.”

“Alrighty.” I almost felt a restored sense of control.

He clicked his pen and started writing, “Here’s the prescription you will need to take to have your blood-work done. We have to find out what you are allergic to on this list”

All I could see were check marks next to everything.

“Seriously?” I shouted.

“Yes. Seriously.” He smiled at me. “You could be allergic to any and every thing on this list.”

And that’s precisely when my jaw hit the floor.

“The hell….”

I stared at the paper.

“In the meantime,” He cleared his throat, “I highly suggest you steer clear of these foods. I am placing you on a restrictive diet, until the blood test results come back.”

“Well….what can I eat?”

“Funny thing is, most people are allergic to dairy, and/or shellfish. And those are the only things you’re not allergic to.”

“Oh yeah, that’s hilarious, Doc.” I said sarcastically.

“I know. This is going to be difficult.”

Still baffled, I asked, “So…I can eat cheese?”

“Yes. And, you can have PLAIN meats. No spices. No sides. No bread. No wheat or gluten-products. No fruits or vegetables….”

For some reason, at that very moment a Seinfeld episode popped into my head, and I interrupted him, “No, soup for you!”

Thankfully, my allergist has a good sense of humor and laughed along with me.

Long story short, I have not eaten anything other than meat and cheese for the past 12 days. And I cannot eat anything other than meat and cheese until the test results come back.

And so, we wait….

* Have any of you ever been placed on a restricted diet? And if so, why? And, for how long? And, how did it work out for you?

PS: I’m counting on all of you to help distract me. Okay?

Posted in Life, Links, Strong Medicine | 82 Comments

Happy 5th Blog-o-versary, Momma Mia Mea Culpa!

Posted on July 31, 2011 by Meleah

 

Yes people, that’s right.

Five Years Ago, I wrote my very first blog-post. And quite frankly, I had no idea what I was doing. Sometimes I still don’t know what I am doing. Blogging has had an incredible impact on my life. Writing in this here space has enriched my life in so very many ways, and I have been very fortunate to cultivate some amazing relationships.

I want to say, “Thank You” to every single person/reader that has ever taken the time to read my words, leave a comment, participate in a meme, or hand out an award. Ya’ll have taught me a lot while making me laugh, making me think, and even making me cry. I am truly blessed to be a part of such an incredibly, talented, funny, and brilliant, community of fellow writers. I love each and every one of you with my whole heart. I will be forever grateful having been able to share my journey in life with you.

 

Posted in Life | 50 Comments

Woman Verses Food: Attack Of The Killer Lettuce.

Posted on July 23, 2011 by Meleah

When the police arrived, my throat had already swollen shut.

“She’s going into Anaphylaxis shock,” the Officer radioed the paramedics while strapping a cold, plastic, oxygen mask to my face.

“What did you have to eat?” He asked.

But I couldn’t answer him.

I motioned to my 15-year-old son, Justin, who called 911, to get me a piece of paper to write on.  While sucking down the oxygen as if it were my very last breath, I quickly scribbled: Chicken Cesar Salad, Two Martinis, 5 Benadryl, 1 Allegra, and ½ a Xanax. I had taken those medications the second I felt the onset of an allergic reaction.

My earlobes and eyelids itched like a bad case of athlete’s foot. My sinus passages closed, and my cheeks looked like a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter. My lips puffed up like Mick Jagger, with a collagen injection. And, my hands and feet blew up to the size of baseball gloves. My whole body felt as if I was being stabbed, repeatedly, with burning-hot-itchy-spiky-needles.

One by one the EMS stormed into my bedroom wielding medical supplies. And suddenly there was a sea of people wearing navy blue uniforms surrounding me. Everything seemed to be happening so fast, and yet, in slow motion. My son explained the situation to the paramedics, as I nodded in agreement.

A member of the EMS asked, “What are you allergic to?”

I desperately tried to talk, all to no avail. Snapping my fingers, I pointed to my pocketbook. My son handed me my gigantic, red, leather, purse and I rummaged around inside, until I pulled out the list of food I am not supposed to eat.

Then the paramedics asked my son if I had an Epi-Pen. But, I didn’t. However, there was one in my mother’s bedroom closet. Alas, they were unable to distribute the shot, because my name was not on the prescription.

The next thing I knew, another EMS member had to place an IV in my right hand. I have a history of passing out at the mere sight of a needle. I ripped the oxygen mask off my face, gasped, and squeezed out the words, “I am going to faint.”

That’s when the only female paramedic, Tracy, took my left hand and held it tightly inside her purple glove. There was something very comforting about her face, and I felt safe with her watching over me. Meanwhile another paramedic simultaneously wrapped a tourniquet around my left arm and swabbed the inside of my elbow with alcohol wipes. I thought they were going to draw blood, however, they were only trying to distract me, to prevent me from losing consciousness.

All of a sudden, my right hand felt very wet and very warm. I looked over to see blood tricking down from the IV and onto my green, silk, duvet cover. Spots flashed before my eyes. A whole new level of fear and anxiety washed over me. I whipped my head back around toward Tracy, and locked eye contact with her. She could see the desperation plastered on my face. Huffing and puffing, I took several deep breaths of oxygen.

“You’re doing great.” Tracy stated as a matter of fact, “You’re going to be okay.”

After I calmed down a little bit, the paramedics helped me to my feet, and put me on the gurney. I was being taken to the Emergency Room.

Once we were in the ambulance, the paramedics placed heart monitor leads all over my chest and stomach. Then, they gave me an injection of Epinephrine in my upper thigh.

And then my blood pressure spiked to 187/114.

I started shaking. I thought I was having convulsions.  I heard the words hypertensive and tachycardia, before receiving another shot of something in my arm.

My heart rate skyrocketed and then rapidly plummeted.

And then my blood pressure dropped to 90/51.

Shivering from deep down inside, my teeth chattered uncontrollably.

I knew I was fighting for my life.

I really don’t remember very much after that. It’s all kind of a blur. I can only recall little snippets.

I remember getting to the hospital and feeling a tiny sense of relief, yet still feeling absolutely terrified that I was going to die. And I remember my mother, my father, and my brother showing up. I remember mildly freaking out about my health insurance cards being put back into my wallet in the proper place. Because when I feel that out-of-control, my OCD kicks into over drive. But, I don’t know how long I was in the hospital. And I don’t know what kind of medications they distributed.

I vaguely remember the drive home after being discharged. I sat in the passenger seat of my mother’s car thinking it was all a bad dream. I have no idea how I got upstairs, or into my pajamas, before climbing into bed utterly drained.

I can honestly say – this was the single most frightening experience of my entire life. And I’ve been held-up at gunpoint, ya’ll.

I’ve been wandering around aimlessly for the past few days. While I am EXTREMLY GRATEFUL simply to be alive, I can’t help but feel incredibly sad, very confused, and completely traumatized. And of course, I am petrified to eat food. Because if something as simple as LETTUCE, can potentially KILL ME? I’m not willing to gamble my life and throw caution to the wind, by eating ANYTHING. Apparently, because I am allergic to so many foods, and because my list of ‘Do Not Eat Foods’ is forever changing, even if I eat something that I’ve had 100 times before, I still might run the risk of facing a life-threatening reaction.

As of right now, I am on a steady diet of cheese and chicken broth. And I am on a prednisone + benadryl cocktail, per hospital release instructions. I have to schedule an appointment with my allergy specialist next week. Although, it’s highly doubtful he will ever be able to exactly pinpoint the cause of my violent reaction.

* On a lighter note, maybe I should get my own version of “Man vs. Food.” Except in my version, I can actually die. It’ll make that Adam Richman look like a totally pussy compared to me. And just think of the ratings!

PS: During this whole debacle, my best friend ‘Amy The Bartender’ knew something wasn’t right when she saw my son’s Facebook status update: “Paramedics at the house.” Then she knew something was really very wrong when she didn’t receive any text messages back from me. And my own Facebook status hadn’t been updated. But what made her the most nervous was the fact that no one had taken any photos.

In any event, I would like to thank my son, Justin, and, the Manalapan Paramedics, from the bottom of my heart, for saving my life. Without them, I would not be here today.

And a tip of the hat to EVERY SINGLE volunteer that helps save lives – every single day.

*REVISED/UPDATE*

My brother, Adam, was the only one who had the wherewithal to take a photo. I have no idea why it’s all crooked. But here I am.

PPS: I wrote this post using some of the tricks/skillz/techniques I learned from reading this book, written by my friend Margaret Andrews. [But more on THAT, another day.]

So, have any of you ever had a near-death experience?

And if so…do tell!

Posted in Drama Drama, Links, Strong Medicine | 125 Comments

The Top Ten Reasons I Need To Go On A Diet, Like Immediately.

Posted on July 19, 2011 by Meleah

 

Okay, so maybe my symptoms aren’t quite as bad as that graphic…but that last sentence is most certainly true.  I knew had I to start doing something when my own mother told me I look like I am gaining too much weight.

And she’s right.

Here are my real reasons for going on a diet.

10. My family and my friends have been calling me a ‘Chunky Monkey’.

9. I have gigantic cheeks on my face, and, on my ass. And, I can’t exactly pull off the ‘Pumpkin Head’ look very well.

8. When I am walking, I can feel my arm fat, and, my neck fat jiggling. WTF.

7. I can’t wear my rings anymore, because they cut off the circulation to my sausage link fingers.

6. I do not particularly enjoy having to wrestle and shimmy myself into my favorite pair of jeans. And after I finally mange to stuff my flabbiness into my pants, I still need to use a pair of pliers to zip them up. Uncool.

5. I am definitely in the beginning stages of growing a ‘Muffin Top’. And I don’t want to end up looking like one of those ‘People From Wal-Mart’.

4. My inner thighs have been rubbing together, causing such friction, that I could start a fire in my pants. The very pants it took 30 minutes to get on my body.

3. Even my shoes are beginning to feel a little tight. And that really can’t be good.

2. I seriously can’t use the excuse, “I’m bloated from PMS,” anymore.

1. I bent over inside the store, to pick up something I dropped. And I split my shorts, in half, AGAIN.

And there you have it people.

So, I started my diet, yesterday.

And I need your support.

All kidding aside, in the past six months I have gone up from 118 pounds to nearly 140 pounds. And I’m only 5’4.  I don’t know what’s going on with my body, or how my metabolism has seemingly changed overnight. And I am REALLY unhappy/uncomfortable in my own skin.

Oh, just one last thing.

Please consider this fair warning: I am going to be moody, cranky, irritable, and miserable for the next 30 days. Many apologies, if you hear me having a nervous break-down on Facebook.

Thanks In Advance!

PS: Does anyone have any good dieting suggestions for me?

Posted in Humor, Life | 97 Comments