REST

Instaurare omnia:  to restore all things.  What is restoration?  Is it to restore something or someone back to what they once were... is it to renew... or is it really both?  Weekends away can have a restorative effect on ones mind and body.  But are we returning to what was, or embracing something new?

I love getting out of town.  I'd like to go away every weekend.  Unfortunately, the pull of responsibilities around home prevent this from happening every Friday afternoon, so I must enjoy the opportunity whenever it presents itself.

There are the joys of laying in a bed that isn't mine, being lost in someone else’s kitchen and the sampling of another's cooking - all a part of the "getaway" experience.  October brings rich fall colors, as the vineyards turn marigold and aging sweet grapes hang their purple bounty. Hills of brown grass roll into dusty green oaks, then down to rust, red and yellow colored trees.  It's a painted landscape for the senses, as a short Indian summer befalls us.

This past weekend,  a "getaway" experience presented itself to me.  I jumped at the opportunity to get out of town.  It was heavenly to leave my world behind.  With every narrow winding curve of the country roads leading me away from home, I was able to shut the door temporarily on my current life in this boring town.  It's like the mini great escape.

I was also able to go for a 3 mile walk this weekend.  It was interesting to process this experience now that I am on these new thyroid meds.  I noticed the different times when I felt tired, but was able to work through it, which is a big change for me.  Normally, over-exertion will force me to sit or lay down for a while.  It felt great to push myself.  I was concerned about my body's ability to recover, but come Monday morning I was ready to go.

I hiked three miles on Monday, up and down small hills, over rock infested trails.  I handled it without a second thought.  Again, I notice how tired I am at about 45 minutes into it, but am able to finish.  Monday evening I fell asleep on the couch, but it could have been more recovery from the weekend, than the walk in general. 

One of my thyroid emailers told me that I should continue to see improvement the longer I am on Armour.  I do have to remember that it has only been, what 6 weeks?  Thyroid recovery can take months. 

I hate waiting.

And for some reason I don't feel like writing - we have those times.  It all feels like "blah".

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

AN GORTA MOR...

Every now and then I come across a great article on thyroid issues that explains it better than I ever could, and must be passed on:

Thyroid Hormone

Adapted and updated from the book Resetting the Clock,

Copyright © 2005 by Elmer M. Cranton, M.D, and William Fryer

The thyroid is an important part of your glandular system. It maintains your body's temperature and controls the production of energy in your cells. If your thyroid malfunctioned too wildly, you'd simply die. Some people with that problem do, you know.

Thyroid hormone can't be regarded as a pro-longevity hormone, but the thyroid does affect how your other hormones work. If your thyroid is out of kilter, then the energy factory in every cell in your body is functioning less efficiently. You're healing less efficiently, constructing new protein less efficiently, and making use of your other endocrine hormones—the pro-longevity hormones—very poorly.

Let's consider what can go wrong with your thyroid, because if you're doing everything else right and you're still not feeling good, there's a very good chance that abnormally high or low thyroid function at the cellular level is the culprit. Up to 20 percent of people over sixty years old have thyroid problems—women more commonly than men. An appallingly high percentage is undiagnosed. According to current estimates, an estimated 27 million Americans have thyroid disease, and about 13 million of them are undiagnosed.

HIGH OR LOW

Thyroid hormones are produced in the thyroid gland, in the front of the neck, just under the Adam's apple. The pituitary gland controls production by its secretion of thyroid stimulating hormone (TSH), which increases or decreases according to perceived need. The pituitary gland in turn is triggered by thyrotropin releasing hormone (TRH), which is released by thyroid sensors in the hypothalamus at the base of the brain.

Thyroid hormone can become excessive because of a tumor on the thyroid or pituitary gland or because of an immune system imbalance. The body can produce and immune related globulin that mimics the action of TSH. When thyroid hormone is abnormally high, nervousness results with excess sweating, tremors, weakness, weight loss, and sometimes a bulging of the eyes. In older people, this condition, known as thyrotoxicosis, also called Grave’s disease, can even cause heart failure.

The more common thyroid disorder, however, is a deficiency. This can be caused by an allergic reaction, really a form of autoimmune disease. Viral infections can also destroy thyroid function. But, in many cases, thyroid activity declines to abnormally low levels without any obvious cause except advancing age. Diagnosis and treatment can sometimes be very subtle and time consuming.

Low thyroid—hypothyroidism—causes sluggishness and low energy. Body temperature goes down, weight gain is common, fluid retention occurs, and cholesterol rises. Generally, the victim of this condition exists in a state of chronic fatigue, and, in extreme cases, the outcome can be coma and death.

In the majority of cases, such disorders are relatively easy to diagnose using common laboratory blood tests of thyroid hormone and TSH levels. If such a deficiency is measured, a doctor will prescribe thyroid hormone tablets taken by mouth. I prefer to use tetra-iodothyronine, abbreviated T4 (Synthroid® or Levoxyl®, adding a small dose of natural, desiccated thyroid extract (Westhroid® or Armour®)  to provide a bit of di-iodothyronine, abbreviated T2, and tri-iodothyronine abbreviated T3. I aim for T3 equal to 2 percent of the dose of T4. Dr. Ken Blanchard, M.D., PhD, an eminently qualified endocrinologist, describes this regimen in his book, What Your Doctor May Not Tell You about Hypothyroidism. Click here to order his book. I sometimes use a small dose of time-release T3 instead of natural desiccated thyroid.

Some patients do very well receiving only T4 replacement. Others do better with natural desiccated thyroid extract, which has 20 percent T3. That much T3 may cause problems for some people, and no T3 may cause problems for others. Dr. Blanchard has determined, after many years of experience with thousands of patients, that a dose of containing 2 percent T3 and the remainder with T4 seems to works best. If 0.1 mg  (100 micrograms) of T4 (Synthroid® or Levoxyl®) is administered, then 2 micrograms of T3 is added, either from a small dose of natural thyroid extract (Westhroid® or Armour®) or by having a compounding pharmacist make a time release capsules. Such a capsule could contain the desired dose of T4 and T3, along with some T2 by combining prescribed amounts of T4 with natural thyroid into one capsule.

Professionally accepted standards of practice in the medical community use laboratory measurement of pituitary derived thyroid stimulating hormone (TSH) as the gold standard for diagnosing hypothyroidism. If T3 is low at the cellular level, sensors in the brain signal the pituitary to release more TSH. High TSH is therefore a sensitive test for hypothyroidism. TSH can be misleading however, if the brain is converting more T4 to T3 than cells elsewhere in the body. In that case, TSH remains normal but only the hypothalamus in the brain is adequately converting T4 to active T3.  T4 can also be at a normal level, while conversion to active T3 remains sluggish.

As you can see, diagnosis and optimal treatment may require some trial and error, which can be time consuming because of several weeks delay to experience the results of each change.

 WHAT IF YOUR TESTS ARE NORMAL?

Unfortunately, it's quite possible to get back normal laboratory tests and still have symptoms of hypothyroidism, including low body temperature, chronic fatigue, and just not feeling up to par. This is sometimes called  functional hypothyroidism and is not recognized and even disparaged by many health care professionals. The problem may be that a normal amount of thyroid stimulating hormone can be released into the circulation, but the T4 thyroid hormone is not having its full effect at the cellular level.

To explainthis we need to look more closely at the various thyroid hormones. Thyroid hormone is made in the body from an amino acid called tyrosine, which is obtained from dietary protein. On the most common form of thyroid hormone, there are four sites that bind to four iodine molecules, and it is therefore called tetraiodothyronine, or T4 for short.

Another form of thyroid hormone, which is four times as potent as T4, has only three iodine molecules and is called T3. Although the thyroid gland produces three times as much T4 as T3, the liver and other tissues in the body then convert T4 into T3 for maximum effectiveness within organs and at a cellular level. T3 is the most important hormone at the cellular level. The thyroid also produces di-iodothyronine, T2, and recent evidence points at a role for that form also.

We have only recently understood that there is also a third kind of thyroid hormone, really an anti-thyroid hormone. It is part of the body's mechanism for conserving energy. Normal thyroid hormone helps us to utilize energy. Under certain circumstances, however—famine and fasting are the most outstanding examples—the body wants to conserve energy, and it does so by lowering body temperature, lowering energy production, and, generally speaking, slowing us down. It does this by converting T4 not to T3 but to reverse T3, or "rT3." A mirror image of true T3, rT3, has an empty iodine receptor on the reverse side, which may bind tightly to thyroid receptors within cells. It may thus blocks the action of normal T3 by denying it landing zones. This may be what happens in what has come to be called the Euthyroid Sick Syndrome (ESS) or Non-Thyroidal Illness Syndrome, and remains poorly understood. Click here for scientific information about ESS. Another name sometimes used for this condition is Wilson’s Syndrome. Click here for patient information on Wilson’s syndrome.

The effect produced is somewhat similar to hibernation, and clearly during a famine this decreased energy consumption might be precisely what allows you to stay alive. Highly efficient varieties of this famine response seem to be what makes it so difficult for some people to lose weight. Many people have a hereditary tendency toward prolonged rT3 production, which dieting or illness activates. Lower energy production partly cancels out the effect of lessened caloric intake, and this low metabolic rate may continue for some time even after the diet is over, causing a rebound weight regain.

Routine laboratory tests will not detect this abnormal ratio of rT3 to T3, although newer and more expensive tests are now available to do so. Even that test does not always show resistance to T3 at the cell level. Conversion of T4 to any form of T3 may also be blocked. A much easier test, which costs nothing, is to measure body temperature several times daily with an accurate clinical thermometer. If the average body temperature is consistently below 98 degrees Fahrenheit, then ESS caused by inappropriate conversion of T4 to rT3, or by increased cell resistance to both T4 and T3, may possibly be the cause. Other illnesses can do the same, however.

How to Test Thyroid Function Yourself

Obtain an accurate clinical thermometer made from glass with metallic column inside. Glass thermometers containing mercury are being phased out because of environmental concerns. A new type of glass thermometer with a non-toxic metallic column is now available online. You may click here to order a thermometer online. Electrical, digital, and color-stripe thermometers are not accurate enough for this purpose.

Take your temperature several times every day—during the part of the day when you are active. Wait for at least three hours after you are out of bed in the morning before you take the first reading and take an additional two readings at least three hours apart. (Click here to print a chart for recording.) Hold the thermometer in your mouth, under your tongue, for at least five minutes. Keep your mouth completely closed while the thermometer is inserted. Do not eat or drink anything for at least twenty minutes prior to taking your temperature. You want the inside of your mouth to reflect your core body temperature, not what you recently put into it.

Write down each reading to the nearest tenth of a degree. Women should not do this during the three days prior to or during their menstrual period because the temperature is often higher then. Also, your readings should not be done during an acute illness or on days when you are unusually inactive.

Average the three readings for each day (add the three readings together and divide by three). Do this on seven different days. They do not have to be consecutive days.

If the average of the three readings for five or more of the seven days is below 97.8 degrees Fahrenheit, your metabolism is definitely slower than normal and you might have either an absolute deficiency of thyroid hormone, have ESS from producing too much rT3 relative to T3, be converting too little T4 to T3 in the body, or have so-called Wilson’s syndrome—which I do not yet truly understand. Additional laboratory testing is available from a clinic can help to make a more accurate diagnosis and rule out an absolute deficiency of T4 production by the thyroid gland—classical hypothyroidism. In any case, some trials of thyroid replacement in various doses may be necessary to determine what works best in your particular case.

If repeated measurements show that your body temperature is consistently low and the usual lab tests are normal, you may want to get the more expensive lab tests mentioned above so that your health care practitioner can determine your precise levels and ratios of T4 toT3 and rT3. The ratio of T3 to rT3 is best  ten-to-one or higher. If your ratio is lower than that and your body temperature is consistently low, there's an possibility that you've found your problem. Even if that ratio is normal, treatment with thyroid hormone replacement may help.

Natural desiccated thyroid extract (Westhroid® or Armour®), containing both T4, T3 and T2 works better for may people than more commonly prescribed T4 alone (Synthroid® or Levoxyl®).

Just as most of the pro-longevity hormones decrease with age, it now appears that the conversion ofT4 to rT3 increases with age, partially blocking normal thyroid activity in some people. Major stress, such as that resulting from surgery, clinical depression, serious infection, or severe psychological stress can also trigger an increased production of rT3. The condition may become permanent, in which case the body does not return to its normal ratios after the precipitating stress has passed. The problem is best dealt with by taking daily doses of a pure, time-release formulation of T3 by mouth. According to Dr. Wilson, slowly increasing doses of time-release T3 can often reset the body's thyroid thermostat. This full program is complex and should be prescribed and supervised by a knowledgeable health care practitioner. Self-tinkering with ones own thyroid gland would be exceptionally foolish. After a month or so of treatment, the time-release T3 is slowly tapered and stopped. If body temperature remains normal, it indicates that normal thyroid regulatory mechanisms have been restored.

Dosing with timed-release T3 is complicated and requires periodic adjustments. If you choose to follow this path, you should find a knowledgeable heath care practitioner with expertise in this area. Unfortunately, the number of practitioners who are currently familiar with this approach to thyroid is quite small, but if you suffer from this problem you may want to find one. To get pure time-release T3 you will need to have a prescription filled by a specialized compounding pharmacy. The one I use is Medaus Pharmacy and Compounding Center, 2637 Valleydale Road, Suite 200, Birmingham, Alabama 35244, (205) 981-2352, (800) 526-9183, in Birmingham.

In many cases, the appropriate treatment is not time-release T3. It may be the more commonly recognized type of thyroid problem, such as an inability of the thyroid gland to produce enough thyroid hormone. Routine laboratory testing is adequate to make that kind of diagnosis. In such situations, the best answer is usually long-term, if not lifetime, treatment with thyroid hormone. I prefer to use tetra-iodothyronine, abbreviated T4 (Synthroid® or Levoxyl®, adding a small dose of natural, desiccated thyroid extract (Westhroid® or Armour®)  to provide a bit of di-iodothyronine, abbreviated T2, and tri-iodothyronine abbreviated T3. AS recommended by Dr. Blanchard, I aim for T3 equal to 2 percent of the dose of T4. For some reason most doctors still only prescribe the less active synthetic T4, and they rarely measure the T3 to rT3 ratio.

Thyroid problems—as this short introduction may already have convinced you—form an intensely complex area of medicine. But if you do have an over- or under-active thyroid, you will not feel physically well until the problem is fixed. Active energy-consuming creatures such as we are can never feel right with a broken thermostat or with the internal metabolic furnace turned down.

My ansestors survived the famine, and my mother and I have often wondered if my Hashimotos is a famine-type reaction, a way of the body trying to save itself by slowing down the metabolism.  We wonder what happened with me to trigger this response.  Hashimoto's disease, also known as chronic lymphocytic thyroiditis, caused the inflammation of my thyroid gland which lead to an underactive thyroid (hypothyroidism). It's an autoimmune disorder in which my immune system inappropriately attacks my thyroid gland, causing damage to my thyroid cells and upsetting the balance of chemical reactions in my body.

I do know I don't handle stress well at all anymore ... it exhausts me, and makes my body insist that I rest. The big question is can I reverse this immune response ... and how.

Send me your thoughts-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/ 

I DREAM OF GENIE...

Does life often seem to stay in a place of never-ending expectation?  Does it feel like we are all in an endless line waiting for our real life, but there's a person at the front of the line who forgot their checkbook, needs one more item, or whatever irritating thing is holding up our dream life ... forever.

I hate waiting.  I have a great deal of patience for children and animals, but I hate waiting.  Books from odd-looking gurus would have us believe that if we just write it down "it will come". If we just focus, focus, focus the proverbial genie in a bottle will magically appear revealing the way to our nirvana.  Hmmmmmm ... I think someone moved my genie.

Now there's my new book title, "Who Moved My Genie?"

If dissatisfaction is a true motivator, then I have been motivated for some time.  Now that I am feeling better, motivated is an understatement.  However, my line isn't moving.

What do women do when their life isn't moving?  Get a new haircut and style.  It's our way of 'moving on'.  When we break up with a guy ...new hair.  A guy breaks up with us ... new hair ... weight loss and several new outfits.  A job interview ... hair trim and a new outfit.  A first date ... a bang trim and new shoes.  Somehow HAIR is always a factor.  Today I got a new cut and style.  Much of my missing pieces of hair have grown back - and come back deep red.  (Part of that last sentence sort of sounds attractive).  It was time to take the plunge and allow my stylist to update me.

My stylist is Lisa, an owner of a hot, trendy downtown hair salon who should be creating do's for the stars.  Instead, she loves beautifying us "little people".  THANK GOD.  She notices my hair feels different and tells me my new health is showing in my hair.  This is excellent news, as I understand it takes some time for thyroid meds to work properly.  She gave me a slightly rocker redhead look ... I like it.

The other day, while reading online I came across the story of a woman who suffered from Hashimotos disease for 7 years before the doctors finally figured out what was up.  It took another 8 years for her to find her way to natural thyroid medication.  I cried as I read her description of her life when she too, suddenly felt better.  She wrote, "It was as if I awoke from being knocked out during a tornado, and as I came to and looked out upon my life, it was completely decimated.  My marriage was over, my kids were grown, my career gone, my finances destroyed.  I was stunned.  When did this all happen?"

She was 54 and starting over.  Somehow by the grace of God something reached out and saved me before this was my story.  I was dangerously close to her... dangerously close.  I look back on so many things, like Patrick's x wife.  He would tell me stories about when they were married; she would lock herself in her bedroom and sleep all the time.  Her exhaustion, and the lack of answers destroyed their marriage, along with the loss of interest in sex, a common complaint of hypothyroid women.  (Luckily for me this wasn't an issue.  I will discuss later why I think this is).  Now looking back I am sure she has an untreated thyroid issue.  Considering what a selfish egotistical man he was, there was little chance for support to find what was wrong.  He just blamed her - for everything.

Ladies ... never trust a man that blames his x for everything.

Like Sleeping Beauty I have awakened to find a life I don't recognize.  So now what?  I'd love to move to Saratoga, Folsom, San Diego or Las Vegas.  But ... there's Brian.  He is my little hero who stuck by me through all of this.  He's scrambled eggs for dinner brought me toast when I lie in bed, and always found a way to make me laugh.  His dad is here, his Grandmas are here, and Aunts, Uncles, cousins and his long list of best friends are all here.  I am not able to put my own needs aheadof his ...  I can't. 

So I suppose I continue to stand in line.  At this point I have to leave it all up to God, the missing genie or magic, because something else seems to guiding all of this.  Oh yeah, and at some point I do have to write how I have never stopped thinking about sex...(laugh)... even while hypothyroid. 

Until next time-

C 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: redhead bloggers, lsquared, hair salons, mommy bloggers, rapieress, a week in the life

WHAT ARE LITTLE BOYS MADE OF...?

"Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails - that's what little boys are made of!"

When I was a little girl, I had a tiny little curl ... right in the middle of my forehead.  When I was good ... I was very, very good ... but when I was bad...

I plotted against my brother and the boys in my neighborhood. 

I was surrounded by boys… scheming was my survival skill. If something bothered me I would muse about it until I came up with a plan. 

When I was eight I remember my brother picking on me mercilessly.  He was three years older, and wished for a younger brother.  Since I somehow ruined his best plans for this,  he brutalized me as if I was his younger brother.

He didn't understand that deep inside me lay the diabolical mind of a redhead.

I prized all my girly-girl possessions and believed that each cherished toy was real - even down to my rocking chair.  I would talk to just about every item in our home growing up.  (I only do this now when drinking too much wine).  My brother loved to extort vengeance using this little known fact about me.  If he wasn’t hanging my dolls by my ceiling light, he was burying them in the backyard dirt with their feet sticking out.  I was forever telling on him.  No wonder our parents drank martinis.

One Saturday he decides to use my rocking chair like a bow to a ship.  Hestands upon the seat with sword in hand, rocking back and forth like he is traversing a storm at sea.  I, on the other hand, am screaming at the top of my lungs for him to get down off my rocking chair.  I am sure the pitch of my shrill woke up my dead ancestors in Ireland. My rocking chair hated him, and at that moment so did I.   He refused to get down and kept pushing on my head with his left hand. 

We began to fight.  I was trying to kick him with my perfect black baby doll shoes.   In his effort to balance and push me down by my head, he fell over backwards (rocking chair and all) on to my bedroom floor.  By now I am yelling and screaming for our mom.  She enters the room in time to see my rocking chair split in two, as he lands with full force on the back of the chair hitting the floor.  In anger, our mother (she is also a redhead) grabs the top of the splintered back of the rocking chair and spanks him.  He races out of the room to avoid her further killing him as “Catherine the drama queen” (me) sobs over the broken rocking chair.

My brother ends up on restriction for the week.  My dad, the man who could fix everything, promises me that he can make my rocker just like new.  He takes it out to his workbench and begins his painstaking reconstruction of my beloved rocking chair.  But this was not good enough for me.  Every night as I sat across from my brother at the dinner table I vowed I would get even.  Little did I know in two short weeks I would get the opportunity…

Growing up we also had a Persian cat named Mittens.  My mother, the nurse and scientist allowed Mittens to breed every now and then so my brother and I could watch the birth of kittens.  I think this was some sort of sick effort on her part to make sure we never had sex.  We then were made to care for the kittens and sell them for money, which went towards something we wanted (as long as our mother approved it). 

At this time, Mittens had a new batch of kittens that were housed in a 5-foot bin in the garage.  They were about four weeks old at this point.  My father built the bin in such a way that Mittens could climb out, but the kittens remained there unless we removed them.

Also at this same time, my mother and father temporarily gave up the use of the garage for one of my brother and his friends massive train cities.  About once a year they would all bring over their train tracks to our garage and set up this huge landscape of train tracks, stations, houses, trees, cars, dirt and about 5,000 army men.  They would spend weeks getting their landscape absolutely perfect.  At some point in the future they would get together and destroy it all in one big pretend battle scene from World War II.

The week my brother was on restriction, he spent the time he wasn’t doing chores, finishing up the landscape for just such a battle day with his friends.  The Saturday after he was let off restriction he went to gather all his friends and bring them back to the garage.  I didn’t have much time…

Don’t ask me where my mother and father were at this time, because I have no idea.  But I quietly moved passed the kitchen like a lion stalking her prey.  With the precision of a bank robber, I slowly opened the back door to sneak into the garage.  Every inch of the floor was covered with cars, trucks, trees, rocks, dirt, train tracks, bridges, and a long 6 foot train set sitting ready at the station.  It was perfection.  In the background I can hear the tiny quiet meows of eight furry, fluffy kittens.  I maneuver my way over to the bin and push an old chair up against the high wall.  I stand on the chair and reach over to scoop up one kitten at a time, and then I gently release each kitten to the floor of the garage.  Now mind you, the garage door is closed.  Shortly, all eight kittens are out of the bin and on the floor of the garage.  As I slowly exit back into the house, I turn to view the kittens.  One was already sitting on a train, another had a tree in her mouth, and a third was beginning to bat at the line of soldiers nearest to the bin.

I crept back into the house un-noticed with a big grin on my face.  About two hours later I hear all this yelling in the garage.  My brother is having a fit over the fact the kittens somehow got out of the bin.  I guess they did a pretty good job at destroying his train country.  I never went to look, as I was afraid I would some how give away the fact that it was I. 

I never told him until we were well into our 30s…

So today a friend sends me a link to the following You Tube video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcKOQrz19Yg

And I think, “Yep, this is how boys are when you trust them with your stuff”…

Occasionally I catch Brian and his guy friends getting into my stuff to create God only knows what.  Their idea of heaven is to find something to dig up ...  blow up ... or torment.

But I am on to them ... I have had practise with boys.  I am great at intercepting before they successfully pull down a neighboring oak tree.  Poor Boonie our terrier dog ... Brian can't ever see this video.

And guys... you never change.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekofthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

KINDRED SPIRITS

Sometimes we meet people of similar nature or character, like a twin, which make us realize we are not alone in our particular set of circumstances.  It can be a stranger who shares a story, a family member that confides a secret, or a story we read about where someone is going through our same experience.  It can come in an email, or a phone call - often when we least expect.  Their twin experience comforts us, and we relax our scolding hold on our own conscience.

 

There is an emotion that coincides with the connection to the vulnerability of another person's truth, which matches our own. It hits us in our hearts and we are forever connected.  It is as if somewhere in our soul we recognize a 'kindred spirit'.  There is a sense of relief that overtakes us.  It feels like home.

 

I was cautioned when starting this blog, that it can have far-reaching implications.  There are those bloggers who have been fired for their posts, and sued for content.  There is a risk of opening up a part of ones life for the "raw" public.  There are future employers scouting the Internet for web pages by interviewees.  Bloggers run the risk of not being hired by conservative employers. 

 

But all I know is many years ago when I was 18, I had an English teacher in college who required her English students to keep journals, which we turned into her every Friday.  My father died at the end of August that summer.  I entered her class fresh with a broken, aching heart.  I was an avid writer growing up, keeping a trunk full of stories, poems and diaries.  I wrote about everything and everyone, but I never wrote about my father's cancer.  I ignored it, as if by not acknowledging what was happening, it would go away and everything would return to what it once was.

 

My first entries in this college English journal were awkward.  I was still in shock and numb from the experience of watching a man I treasured die a slow and agonizing death over five years.  The teacher kept telling me to write ANYTHING even if it was just the word, "blah".  So I began to write, "Dear Journal. Love Catherine".  The English teacher would comment under my seven entries of "Dear Journal, Love Catherine".  She would write clever comments in red like, "Good week!"  "Tough decision!".  They would make me laugh and slowly I began to write my thoughts for her to read.  

 

I don't know when it exactly happened, but one day I found myself angry at the bizarre nature of funerals and death in America. I poured out my heart describing the ritual of picking out my father's coffin.  I saw the irony and the humor.  The following Monday when she returned my journal, she wrote, "I have never read anything that touched me like this story.  I sobbed through the whole journal entry.  You have a gift, please share it."  And that was it.  Words began to gush, revealing my anger, bitterness, sadness and loneliness onto the lined pages of my English journal.

 

Then my mother and I had a fight.  The kind of fight two heart broken females have when one is a teenager and the other is the parent.  I moved out in one day.  I packed everything into my car and just drove off.  I burned the journal and stopped writing.

 

I stopped writing for 18 years.

 

Fast forward to 1997 (yes my mother and I long ago made up and she forgave my brattiness) when a funny thing happened at work.  I was given a laptop computer and access to the Internet.  I was to test software and how a loan officer might use the Internet.  Once home, like a chocolate addict given the keys to Sees, I used my computer as a magic carpet and flew all over the world exploring events and cultures I only imagined.  (Who cares what a loan officer uses it for...!).  One night, while quietly reading about Ireland and Gaelic language, my very first Instant message popped up on the computer screen.  It made this great little sound ... like a bird whistling.  I almost dropped the laptop, as it startled me so.

 

Suddenly there I was, from my lap in our little cottage home ... writing.  I love the back and forth banter between two people in an instant message.  Truly this is a writer's paradise.  We are most at home when typing a conversation, rather than delivering it in person.  The ability to write to new found friends over the Internet gave me the strength to leave an unhappy marriage.  I became fascinated with the written word and adored my new by-coastal friendships.

 

Meanwhile, I was dealing with corporate America, with all the acquisitions and mergers watching job after job disappear to the East Coast, the Southwest and then to India.  Throughout this, my online friends encouraged me.  Each new company gave me a new laptop and my Internet skills grew along with the number of online acquaintances.  My magic carpet was now a turbo jet.

 

I became sick with Hashimoto's somewhere around 2002 and went through a particularly rough period in my life.  One day, while lying in bed I came across the opportunity to begin this blog.  I had so many thoughts running through my head which were screaming at me to be written down.  Without even thinking, I naturally followed the steps to create a blog and dove head first into writing.  I was back.  It was very difficult at first, like stretching a new muscle.  But over time it evolved into the flow of a person's life story.  Maybe not everything, but an idea of what my life is like.

 

Then the emails began.  People writing to me about their thyroid problems, opening up and sharing very private, painful experiences.  Experiences I can all too well relate.  Suddenly I am surrounded by kindred spirits.

 

The most recent surprise is from an old friend who helped me through my divorce.  A wonderful, kind man who now lives on the East Coast.  In his email he confides his own personal thyroid hell.  He has suffered in silence these many years we have known each other.  How interesting that we end up with the same health issue.  Through reading my blog it allows him the opportunity to share his story  - one very much like my own.  

 

I am pretty much ok with my own story until I read it through someone else's words.  When I read their suffering, my heart aches because I know exactly how they feel.  It is a painful truth how many doctors out there allow thyroid patients to suffer chronically without lifting a finger to help them.  And now I can share my experience with him and help him find a way to feel good again.  Such a tall, handsome man should feel better and be able to enjoy his fascinating life to its fullest ... my kindred spirit.

 

How can it be said that blogging is unwise?  To open up part of ones life to the world in the hopes it helps another find peace within their own is a selfless gift.  It is a gift that we writers share with the world.  It is who we are.  How else can we bring the world together in a common bond?  I remember when online dating and meeting others online was thought to be insane by the general public.  Look at it now ... it seems odd when people don't meet via the computer.

 

I can't worry about corporate America anymore.  I haven't found it to be a place that has the employees best interests at heart.  If the company stocks go down, you could be the best thing since the computer chip, but you will still find your butt in an unemployment line.  It no longer matters how much education you possess ... it is all about the price of the stock.  You are just a dollar number of some accountants excell spreadsheet... and you cost too much.

 

But blogging and writing... I do know there are writers out there telling their stories and changing people's lives.  No amount of stock climbs and crashes will change what we write.  I'd rather fall on the side of writers and search for more kindred spirits.  And leave corporate America to chew up and spit out someone else.

 

Until next time-

 

C

 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

FOR NAMES SAKE

When naming our children, many of us go through a lengthy process to decide the most perfect one.  Some, name their children after favorite relatives, others after a favorite place.  Often we see the very pregnant clutching the latest baby names book trying to come up with exactly the right one.  Some parents worry about what the initials will read, like BAD.  I have even known parents to add up the name and see what number it creates, and then see if the number is lucky.

 

Today Brian asked how I got my name, ‘Catherine”.  Many times we have discussed how he got his name, but I suppose we have never talked much about how I got mine.  I figure he only knows me as “Mom”.  If someone were to ask him his mother’s name, he would steadfastly reply, “Mom” (First and Last name). 

 

My mother’s real name is Catherine too, but her stepfather always called her June.  She is born in June and decided to keep the nickname.  Catherine is also the name given to the Irish women in our family tree. 

 

However, for our mother, the ever devout and practically-a-nun Catholic, I am named for Saint Catherine of Siena. Saint Catherine was the 25th child of a wool dyer in northern Italy.  Yes, I did type 25.  (I think I'd find a way to glue it shut - saints forgive me).  She started having mystical experiences when she was 6 - seeing guardian angels.  At the young age of 16 she became a Dominican tertiary, and it was said that she would have visions of Christ, Mary, and the saints. The church feels St. Catherine was one of the most brilliant theological minds of her day, although she never had any formal education. She was an avid writer and persuaded the Pope to go back to Rome from Avignon, in 1377.  Her letters “Saint Catherine's letters” and a treatise called "a dialogue" are considered among the most brilliant writings in the history of the Catholic Church.

 

Saint Catherine is the patron Saint of of Fire Prevention, firefighters (must be why I like them so much), bodily ills, illness, miscarriages, sick people, sickness, nurses, and nursing services, sexual temptation (thanks mom) and Italy.

 

How’s that for a friggin namesake?  No pressure though.

 

Can we picture the "deer in headlights" look on Brian's face when he said, "Huh?" as I explain where my name comes from.  I think he better understands how he got his name and prefers my method to my mother's.  Brian is named after Brian Boru, the first King of Ireland,  But what really cemented the name for me is when Monty Python's Life Of Brian came on the television while I was in hard labor.  I love Monty Python.  The doctor became upset with me for paying more attention to the movie, than to my final pushes.  Hey folks, this time I did consider it my "sign".

Thus the life of Brian came into this world.

Little does he know that in the background when he was taking his first breath the following was coming out of the television:

"Brian: I'm not the Messiah!

Arthur: I say you are, lord, and I should know... I've followed a few.

Followers: Hail Messiah!

Brian: I'm not the Messiah! Will you please listen? I am not theMessiah, do you understand? Honestly!

Girl: Only the true Messiah denies His divinity!

Brian: What?! Well, what sort of chance does that give me? All right... I AM THE MESSIAH!

Followers: HE IS! HE IS THE MESSIAH!

Brian: NOW, FU** OFF!!!!

Arthur: How shall we fu** off, oh Lord?

Brian: Oh, just go away! Leave me alone."

Brian proceeded to bite the doctor as I lay there laughing at the joy of being done with labor and the sound of Monty Python in the background.  I am sure when he is a teenager he will find reason to be mortified at the story of his birth...

Which I will enjoy telling his new girlfriend when he is trying to be cool.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife

NI HE LA NA BAISTI LA NA BPAISTI...

The blue sky has turned ash in color, similar to the gray of pewter goblets.  Large storm clouds roll over the horizon resembling puffs of thick cigar smoke, which blow down onto the quiet city streets below.  The first winter rain has arrived in Northern California. Raindrops fall like thousands of soft crystal beads bouncing like tiny wet rubber balls on the pavement below.  Cats and dogs run for cover and the smell of wet pavement permeates the air.  Beds feel extra comfy on such days and the will to remove oneself from bed is lost in the warmth of the embrace of soft sheets.

 

... Until Boonie the spotted terrier dog decides it is time to pull off the covers, exposing skin to the shock of the cool morning air.  Rain, sleet, heat or snow when a dog is in need, we must go.  The grass feels like damp wash cloths, as the wet blades push up between my toes.  Raindrops hit my face and Boonie's fur.  She is oblivious to the weather and runs to every corner of the wet landscape.  How I long for those warm summer mornings.

Rushed dog walkers pull their rain hats over their heads and hurry down the street tugging at their pets who resist by pulling back with childish defiance.  The smell of burning wood brings the realization there are those who rise to a warm crackling fire.  It smells like Halloween.  These are the times I miss a married life.  Soon I will decorate our place with visions of ghosts and witches, goblins and bats.  Shortly we will be deep in planning Brian's costume.  I long for our old home, a husband and one of my crazy Halloween parties.  Maybe in my next life.

Brian wishes for a snowstorm that will render it impossible to go to school.  Unfortunately for him, we picked the wrong part of California to make a home for this wish to come true.  We can regret many things, but often the life we are given is the life we'd chose again.  He must go to school, and I must work.  Life 101.

Hot showers become our warmth as the floor begins to feel like chilled wine bottles.  The lower setting of the heater is no longer set high enough to warm us.  Soon, Thanksgiving will be here and our thoughts turn to snowflakes.  Turtle necks and knee high boots become the norm as we greet our front doors in complete darkness before 5;30 p.m.

By the time we come back up for spring Brian will be well on his way towards Junior high and I will be closing in on yet another year nearer to 50.  My own father died at age 48 ... it seems so young.  I look at those about me and ponder why they are wasting time getting on with their lives ... getting married...having children.  The seasons move so quickly.  Before we have a chance to say "Merry Christmas", it will be St. Patrick's Day and another winter will be lost to time.

With each passing day I feel better and better.  Like a slow moving train leaving the station, my engine begins to pick up steam. I wonder how great I will feel come next Spring.  Already, the difference is amazing.  Within the month the hills turn to emerald green and Sonoma County begins to resemble Ireland.  How I dream of my home country, far away from so many unhappy Americans.  I long to return to the home of my ancestors, raise horses, plant roses and walk to town.  A small field of clover blooms just outside my back gate.  I wish upon them every day.

Later at the office, the slow sound of the doorknob opens to reveal an old friend.  His offer for lunch is perfect for this rainy winter day.  The walk to the restaurant frizzes my Irish red hair and my skin becomes pink.  We talk of Boston, Detroit and Chicago ... how I miss traveling to other cities.  I forgot the difference between California men and Mid-west men,  Each time I walk, he automatically takes the outside lane.  He  makes sure he reaches the door ahead of me and opens them with a smile.  He fuses about me like I am someone to be carefully cared for.  I am saddened that I rarely see this.  We sacrifice a lot for the so-called sunshine that is California.  His manners soften my resolve and we are lost in laughter on our rainy walk back to the office.  With a hug and a kiss he is back in his car on his long drive back home.  I am once again left behind in this town.  

Brian decides to come here, as it seems he prefers to stay at our home these days.  We decide to roll out the hide-a-bed and eat cold chicken, like a picnic, while watching TV.  He lights a fire and makes me laugh.  He really does know how to create paradise.  I can endure anything for him.  Soft candles flicker on the mantle as we exchange turns reading Dickon's Oliver Twist.  

"Surprises, like misfortunes, seldom come alone." (Oliver Twist)

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead, rain drops, rain. rainy days, problogger

WHAT MALE LOAN OFFICERS ARE REALLY LIKE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My friend Jen sent me the following link and I have to share it:

http://www.ritilan.com/archives/2004/12/08/10.26.46/

Click on the photo at the site.

C

THIS SITE IS A MEMBER OF ...

Click to join healthylivingwithhypothyroidism

This site is a member of WebRing.
To browse visit
here

This site is a member of Search4blog.   To browse visit: http://www.search4blogs.com/bloggers/index.php

Catherine is proud to be part of The Natural Healing Web Ring

[ Prev | Home | Join | List Next | Random ]

 

 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

PERFEZIONE!

Some days ... perfection happens.

Today was one of those days.  Through some sort of shift in the matrix I had a perfect day.  On a Monday no less... hmmm there is some good redhead mojo floating around.

Fall is appearing with a vengeance, as this year is the first year in many where northern California isn't experiencing an Indian Summer.  The trees are beginning to lose their leaves.  The night air has a slight chill, which catches with a crisp snap in the back of my nose.

Another summer comes to a close, with memories of water balloon fights, bare feet and wet boys in swimsuits.  Brian has entered his last year of elementary school ... his final years before he becomes a teenager and I ... his goofy mother.

I passed my test with 100%.  The last time I got 100% on a test I was going to technical school and working on my certifications.  Brian was a newborn.  It's funny... because I just hate taking tests.  I would rather eat brussel sprouts and raw liver.  R E A L L Y.  Maybe its more the 'discipline' it takes to study for the test that I hate... either way I am glad it is over.

On my way to the test I did run into an old friend I have lost touch with.  Her name is Helena, and she is one of the women that took the crazy workout boot camp I was in for 3 and a half years after my divorce.  It was 5 nights a week, an hour a night of pure boot camp hell.  Helena, Jen and I always heckled the teacher.  Jesh I was physically strong back then.  That class was brutal.  We had to do everything with these strapable weights strapped to our calves and arms.  I was always sore.  During our hugs we realize it has been 4 years since we saw each other.  We exchange all current information.  Her son is the lead guitarist for Wonderbread 5, a great dance band who performs all over the US.  She ribbed me for not going to see them play, as I would find her in the crowd, and we could have enjoyed old times.  I guess I did step away from the things I once enjoyed...

It must have been in the fall air, as a former salesman from ATG (a company where I once worked) came in the office this afternoon.  He is delightfully cute and one of my favorite people from those crazy Telecom days of yesteryear.  He put his hand on his heart, jumped back and said, "Good God Catherine is it really you?"   Thankfully, I must still look the same.  He pulled up a chair and we exchanged laughs for over an hour.  We then exchanged business cards.  He has two great boys who used to play soccer with Brian.  God how I miss those days of ATG and Eric...  It was uplifting to see him.

As more of the old moves away, some will not be forgotten and they reach out into my new life, reminding me not to forget the good that is my past. 

Some days are picture perfect with profound meaning and joy.

Is this my sign?

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

OLD SKELETONS

This weekend is spent deep in study for an upcoming test.  Brian is with his dad as I return to those college days of sleep, study, workout, and study, TV, study, eating and more study.  The only thing missing is 20 college friends in my living room, wine and an episode of Knotts Landing.

 

While studying Saturday night I did manage a break to watch Austin City Limits on PBS.  Austin is one of my favorite training cities from when I was a trainer, and this program always transports me back to this wonderful town.  [KB...do you think there are water snakes there..?? (Sorry side joke).]

 

Speaking of Austin City Nights ... ColdPlay, a favorite band of mine, is the featured artist along with the lead singer of REM.  As Coldplay begins, “Scientist” I laugh aloud as I remember one of my final training trips for The Royal Bank of Canada.

 

I am terrible at names ... I don't know what it is... but my good friends, like KB have accepted this disability.  They have found a great deal of humor about this at my expense. 

 

Back in 2002 I keep hearing a haunting songon the radio ...over and over.  I never quite catch who the artist is.  I am a music nut.  I become a woman obsessed when I can't find out the artist, so I can buy the album or download the song.

 

Over several weeks I keep hearing this song repeatedly.  Finally, when KB and I are on a training trip to Seattle,  a DJ says the name of the band.  WHEW HEW ... I can now track the CD down and buy it.  So....one night leaving the north Seattle office,  I decide to stop at the mall on my way out of town and buy the CD.  I think how great it is to be stuck on one of the many Seattle bridges listening to my new CD.  To remember the band, I keep repeating in my mind, “Coldplay… Coldplay… Coldplay  … I wonder if KB has had dinner …it is Cold… I miss Brian … Cold…  look at the guy in that car… ok smile big … he’s probably a jerk in real life… play … I’m hungry … I hope I don’t get lost…ohhh there’s a Target store… Cold… my feet hurt… I hate being lost in a store … I’m hungry… ohhhh there’s the CD section … I’mhungry …ok the band is… ummmmm… is … ummmm is….shit....”.  It is at this moment that I realize I forgot the band's name.  Maybe I can just eye all the CDs and recognize them somehow…

 

My eyes stop at a CD covered with a bunch of skeletons.   The name sorta looks familiar… oh what the hell … this has to be it and I am starving.  I try to call KB … she doesn’t answer.  I buy my new CD and race out to my cute rental car with the great stereo.  I tear the CD out of the wrapper and place it in the CD player.  I don’t turn it on, as I want to be on the freeway when I begin to rock out to my new band.

 

As the car reaches 65mph I push the CD in all the way, anticipating this great new song.  Suddenly the sound of screeching tires combined with fingernails on a chalk board with a snare drum and some sort of awful sound is coming out of the speakers.  WHAT THE HELL?  Wow .... this is sure a different sound for the band; maybe it is the next song … I fast-forward to the next song… and the next.  Where is  the beautiful song I heard on the radio?  Could it be just a "one-hit-wonder"… ?  I forward to the next song and then the next.  I fast-forward through all the songs, none of them is my new favorite song, and now I am stuck on the bridge without my band.

 

KB calls my cell.  I tell her my story and she asks me who the band’s name on the CD.  I tell her and she busts out laughing.  “That isn’t the band the band is COLDPLAY” she shouts.  “Well duh… what do I do with this damn CD?”  I ask.  “I’ll give it to my husband”, she says, “he’ll love it”.

 

As I watched Coldplay on ACL I laughed remembering that damn CD.  Her husband still has it and loves whatever grunge band it is.

 

Between practice tests I also manage to watch the story of Paula Dean of the Food Network.  I love watching her interact with her two grown sons.  The older one reminds me of Brian.  I too enjoy cooking in my kitchen with Brian’s help.  This particular Paula Dean show included her life story.  I have been unusually hard on myself for where my life is.  This is the longest I have gone without continuing education, or achieving a particular goal.  Frankly, I’ve been afraid that somehow I have “lost it”.

 

It seems Paula Dean became divorced after 27 years of marriage at the age of 45.  She was broke and raising her two sons on her own.  I sat up in my chair as she talked about her life with her sons and that difficult period.  Things are not as bad as I thought.  Maybe I was suppose to stay in and study just to catch her life story… to remember all that I have going for me.

 

I can’t say that the last few years been without successes.  Brian is doing unbelievably well in school.  My x husband changed and decided to quit fighting me.  I was able to participate in my son’s classrooms … go on field trips.  I found out who my real friends are and released the rest.  I located a great doctor, and started taking my new wonderful thyroid meds.  I have made new great friends and dated wonderful men….so all is not lost.

 

So what’s next…?

 

Was Coldplay my sign…?...

 

Until next time-

 

C

 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/