A few weeks ago I mentioned I had gotten a tattoo as a tribute to my oldest son who is a cancer survivor. (he has been in remission for 317 days…not that I’m counting) Now, I sailed through my last two…this one? Not so much. I had anticipated  pain and I actually kind of like it. Did I anticipate the pain being comparable to that of having 1,000′s of small nails pounded into my veins causing the sensation my toes were seconds away from exploding? Not so much, I kind of didn’t like that. I was a trooper though and after a high-five and a fist bump with the tattoo artist paying for my new ink I hobbled to my car.
It was pretty sore the next few days, and the next few days after that. I hadn’t anticipated the healing process to take so long, nor did I anticipate redness, swelling or the pain that accompanied it. Although my “foot tattoo leads to amputation” “death caused by foot tattoo” Google searches only directed me to encouraging news, I wasn’t convinced. I might have even snapped into O.C.D. mode. You can ask my family, you can ask my friends…heck, you can even ask the sales lady at Target that directed towards the cream you use for red, swollen, painful tattoos.
“Follow me” she says, “I just found it for someone else for the same thing.”
Somebody else might need an amputation too? The tattoo industry sure is going to pot!
“Oh really?” I asked pointing to my foot, “Did theirs look like this?”
“No, I…I think it was a butterfly.”
Clearly that’s not what I meant. The fact that I had even turned to the Target lady was humiliating enough. Responding would only make it worse…if that’s possible.
Suddenly, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I remembered I had a doctors appointment in a few days, I could just have him look at my foot while I’m there. He would be able to assure me everything is fine, or he could tell me having my foot amputated was the least of my worries. Maybe that light at the end of the tunnel is really an oncoming train?
The morning of my appointment, I was thrilled to see my foot was redder and much more swollen. At least I wouldn’t appear to be such an O.C.D. hypochondriac. Right? I finished up the appointment but for some reason was hesitant to bring my foot up, the red, swollen, irritated, tattooed foot. Was I in denial? Possibly, as inevitable as it was, nobody wants to hear, “yes, we will need to amputate your foot. Do you have someone to drive you home today?” I put my big girl panties on and explained my dilemma. The doctor took a quick glance as he walked back over to me,
“Looks like cellulitis ”
“Huh?” I quickly came to my foots defense, “Because it’s swollen…because it’s red and swollen? Both my feet are swollen, look at both of them…they’re fat…I have fat feet!!!” I wailed.
Still standing on the examination table with a syringe in each hand, I warned them not to come any closer. My obsession of being reassured had just backfired on me. After a closer inspection, both the doctor and his nurse were in agreement that it looked o.k. The nurse explained she had a tattoo in the same place, and it did the same thing. (I wonder if it’s a butterfly and she bought her cream at Target? hmm…)
“It’s a very tender area…every time you walk…it takes much longer to heal.” Helllooo?? To be on the safe side, I was given some antibiotics. If all went well, I wouldn’t need my foot amputated. As I walked to my car on my fat feet, I had a skip in my step…I had really handled that pretty well! I took an antibiotic when I got home, and another before bed. I generously applied the topical antibiotic to my (irritated but not infected with cellulitis, newly inked, fat) foot, laid down and closed my eyes. (continue)

Don’t forget to set your clocks ahead an hour!

A few of the blogs I follow on a regular basis will occasionally do a re-post, a blast from the past. Surprisingly, even as long as I’ve been following them, a majority of them are new to me. You know where I’m going with this, don’t you? I thought I would be a copycat and every month or two, throw in my own random blast from the past. This was the first one that came to mind, as it was brought up in a conversation I had yesterday. Originally posted in July 2008…just another typical visit with my best friend.

Via text message:
D- “I have cramps so bad, I feel like I’m gonna die.”
H- “Put some frozen ground beef on your tummy.”
D- “Nobody should go through life without a friend like you.”

Perhaps she is relieved we can laugh about it now, and we are both alive to do so.
She is one of the best friends I have ever had and I absolutely love my mini-vacations to visit her in Ventura. My last visit was memorable in more ways than one.
We had spent the evening doing ‘girl’ things…painting our nails, eating, talking, laughing, crying, etc… We eventually fell asleep, safely watching t.v.
She awoke a few hours later with a toothache…
“Anbesol, use some Anbesol” I mumbled between snores.
After fumbling around for a few minutes, she informed me she couldn’t find anything she thought would work. Afraid of missing anymore ZZZZ’s I told her to get an ice pack, (2 ice packs…just let me sleep)
“It always works for me” I lied.
Evidently the coldness was adequate, at least long enough for her to fall back asleep.
What seemed like just a few hours later, the sun began piercing through her bedroom window just enough to slightly bring me out of the coma I had fallen back in to. I lay there with my eyes closed anticipating my morning walk to the beach. I had dolphins to see and couldn’t think of a better way to start my day. I decide if I got up sooner than later, I would make it back in time to see her off to work. I slowly open one eyeball at a time and roll over to take a quick glance at the clock. Beside me lies a puddle of blood. Oh dear God, what have I done now? I remember the fine print on my Ambien, the warning. I remember the stories I had heard of people sleep walking, driving, etc…
Had I unconsciously killed my best friend? I am now in panic mode.
“D” I asked, “you alive?”
After opening her eyes, we both lay there in shock.
“Uh-huh, you?”
“Yep”
Her t-shirt was soaked, as were the sheets and her pillow case.
“You o.k?” I ask
“I think so, you?”
Now I am wondering, am I o.k? Perhaps one of us was bleeding to death and were too numb from the loss of blood to realize it. It had to be her, after all, it was her pillow and t-shirt that were soiled.
“Don’t move” I warn her, “I am going to stand up”
Left leg, check.
Right leg, check.
I am now in an upright position and I’m o.k., Hallelujah!
(*note to self: reconsider the Ambien thing)
Not to get too excited, my friend after all is laying next to a puddle of blood. I bravely walk around to her side of the bed. Not too sure what to do next, we decide she should try to get up as well.
Left leg, check.
Right leg, check.
She is now in an upright position and she’s o.k., Hallelujah!
So now we both stand, upright, alive and confused. We decide to slowly disassemble the bedding, one piece at a time….th, th, that’s when we saw it. Imagine the horror/relief we felt when we discovered the “ice pack” she had grabbed in the middle of the night turned out to be a pound of frozen ground beef that had now thawed out.
As disgusting as it was, we laughed so hard we nearly peed our pants. We might have! She made me promise I would never tell anyone, I am her best friend, I wouldn’t do that! I have a feeling we’ll be friends forever, after all, we have been through so much together. If we could survive a ‘bloody toothache’ together, we can get through anything! Love you D!

I could barely contain the excitement as I approached the front door. I had some news, some great news and like any other 7 year old girl bursting with joy, I could not get home fast enough to share it with my mom. (Back in the olden days, 2nd graders were perfectly safe walking to and fro school.) As I walked in grinning ear to ear, my mom came to the door to greet me. So this is what I remember…

“HEIDI ANNETTE what do you have?”
Noting she had used my middle name, I assure her, “It’s just a kitten”
“Who’s kitten is it?”
“It’s mine” I said in my proudest voice, “it’s all mine.”
I loved animals and had always wanted my very own cat, something I made clear more than enough times. As persistent as I was, the answer was always the same, you can get one…but not right now. Obviously cats must have been very expensive and my mom was just waiting until she could afford to buy me one. How else would a 7 year old rationalize having to wait?
“No, it’s not yours. Where did you get it?”
Convinced she would be relieved that she would no longer have to put all of her money in a kitty savings, and would be just as happy as I was, I proudly announced to her, “They were free today, so I thought I’d grab me one!”
I wasn’t kidding either. When the nice lady…with the box of kittens…sitting outside of an elementary school…as it let out…told us we could have one for free…today, I literally reached my hand through a crowd of people, into a box, and grabbed me one. MY new cat, Pixie fit in beautifully with our family. While it was made clear that it wasn’t o.k. to bring home an animal anytime I wanted, it doesn’t necessarily mean I didn’t try.

My mom still laughs about that day. I learned fast that it had nothing to do with building a kitty savings, animals are a lot of work…even for a 2nd grader!

That was the first of many “Pixies.” My love for animals, all animals has continued to grow throughout the years. Given the opportunity, I would have 1 of everything…or at the very least a sloth, a bear, a dolphin, a penguin, a deer, a monkey, a kangaroo, a manatee, a elephant, a Shetland pony and a opossum. I would also want an Avery with a large assortment of birds (any color would do thank you.)

I have also done my share of rescuing strays throughout the years. Both of the cats I have now were strays that had decided to claim mi casa as their casa…and they are both purebred Persians. (Seriously, what are the chances of that?) What’s even more interesting is they weren’t siblings, or even playmates, they came to us 7 years apart. I have had a few sick or injured animals appear as well. When I say appear, I’m not kidding. Despite my efforts, some of them recovered and some just didn’t make it. One of the more notable experiences was finding a 4 foot iguana in my garage. I opened the door to get the lawn mower, and there sprawled out on top of it was what appeared to be a mini dinosaur…staring at me. Huh? I couldn’t tell you how long I stood there rubbing my eyes and shaking my head before calling my kids out to confirm what I was seeing. This was one of the many situations that prompted some of my friends to start referring to me as Dr. Dolittle.

After determining he she it was friendly, we offered it some food and water. I sent the kids out to question the neighbors and I started making phone calls. About an  hour later, we loaded him her it into my car and headed to the mini dinosaur expert. It was in need of some medical attention, but was expected to make a full recovery. We went and visited “Mini D” a few times while it was recovering and were happy to find out that the mini dinosaur expert himself, had decided to adopt it. I love happy endings.

One of my favorite babies was Stella2. During nesting season we would end up with a variety of nests. I watched closely each year as the eggs were laid and hatched…naming each hatchling. Shocking, I know. (We had 4 finches hatch one year on the 4th of July. They were appropriately named: Ima, Yankee, Doodle and Dandy. Pretty clever huh?) A few years ago, we had 2 baby mockingbirds hatch right outside our back door, I had named them Stella and Stanley.

As I went to peak at them in the evening, I noticed that Stella was gone. We searched for her that night and then again in the morning…she was nowhere to be found. Stanley continued to thrive and oddly enough, stuck around for about 6 months (we moved, but he’s probably still there!) With his knock-knees, he was always easy to spot and could usually be found amongst a group of finches…with his mouth open. He so loved a free handout!

A few weeks later, my mom called and asked me to come over. Her and my dad had just returned from camping for a few weeks, obviously she had missed me, right? As I walked in grinning ear to ear, my mom came to the door to greet me. So this is what I remember…

“MOTHER what do you have?”
Noting I had called her MOTHER, she assures me, “It’s just a mockingbird”
“Who’s mockingbird is it?”
“It’s mine” she said in her proudest voice, “all mine.”
“No, it’s not yours. Where did you get it?”
(Alright~ so maybe that’s not exactly how it happened…)
They had found the baby mocker on the ground the day before. Thinking it had fallen, they returned it back to it’s nest, only to find it out again that evening. If a nestling is sick or deformed and the parents knows it has little chance to survive, they will get rid of it to make sure the food goes to the healthier ones. My mom knew the inevitable was bound to happen, but did not have the heart to leave it behind. (woot-I taught her well!!!) She brought her home to me  knowing I would be more than willing to keep her warm, comfortable and fed. I named her Stella2.

Having been through this before, I knew all I could do was hope for the best, prepare for the worst and let nature take it’s course. By the 2nd day, I started to wonder if this was my mom’s way of paying me back for grabbing me one of those free kittens. It didn’t seem like Stella2 was sick at all, as a matter of fact, Stella2 had more energy than Heidi. Since she wanted no part of being couped up, this is how we spent a lot of our time.

I really wish there was sound to hear her chirping.  

It was this same day I noticed something…Stella2 didn’t have tail feathers. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was the reason she was booted from the nest, but was otherwise healthy. I looked online, everything I found said it was a “sign the bird was struggling to survive.” I then pulled up several pictures of other baby mockingbirds and compared them to Stella2. Although she did not look sick, there was a definite difference when I compared to a healthy baby. Poor Stella2, I hate sad endings.

She lived her short, little life to the fullest and did not have to die cold, hungry and alone. (*sniff* I still get teary eyed…) She was an absolute busy body joy and I wouldn’t have done a thing different. I’m so glad I have these videos!

So I have yet to encounter a bear, a kangaroo, a monkey or a elephant that needs my nurturing…but if I do, you can count on hearing about it! For now I’m content with my 2 cats, Filthy (don’t ask) & Oliver and my turtle, Kiwi.

By the way, did I mention my mom presented Kiwi to me and my kids in the midst of doing a 1,000 sq. foot addition to my house…on top of working 50+ hours a week? When I gave her that you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me look, she smiled and said, “I got it from a lady at work, they were free so I thought I’d grab you one.”
Gotta love karma!

Edited to add…then there was
Ace Ventura
Buena Ventura
Oscar
Cleo…

In November 2007, my oldest son was diagnosed with cancer. Needless to say, when we found out it had gone in to remission, it was cause for celebration. It was an unbelievable feeling, one that I never wanted to end, ever. I decided I wanted to get a small tattoo to remind me daily of his courage, his strength and his determination. To remind me how blessed I am, to remind me never to take life for granted.
Now, I already have 2 tattoos, neither of which my kids were thrilled about. I had gotten the talk after each one, “Do you know they’re permanent? What if you change your mind in a year, or 2 years or 10 years?” (I know!?) So although this sounded like a great idea to me, I just wasn’t sure it was the best idea. I wasn’t in a great big hurry to bring it up, I really hadn’t even figured out what I wanted to get yet.

.

Obviously, great minds think alike! A month or so later, I receive this picture in a text message…from my son.
Obviously, he got the talk, “Do you know it’s permanent? What if you change your mind in a year, or 2 years or 10 years?”

.

I laughed and I cried, I loved it! Truth be told, he could have tattooed BARTHOLOMEW in neon letters across his face and I would love it.
He’s here. He’s healthy. He’s happy.
Again, I am reminded how blessed I am.
Score! This tattoo conversation just got a whole lot easier!

A few days later I talked to him about what I wanted to do, explaining I still had no idea what I wanted to get. He suggested an Orchid. While doing research and trying to make his own decision, he learned that Orchids represent the type of cancer he had. I loved the idea and my decision was made. When I told my mom, she not only thought it was a great idea…she wanted one too! (Huh? But you’re my mom…you can’t get a tattoo….do you know it’s permanent…what if…)

A few days ago we went and got our Orchids, to remind us daily of his courage, his strength and his determination. To remind us how blessed we are, to remind us never to take life for granted.

No worries, I’m totally a pro at this now!

Maybe not so much…

…do you know how tender the top of you foot is?

(F.Y.I.) Pretty darn tender…

…but I’m not complaining, I’m celebrating!

My mom chose to put hers on her ankle. (I better get permission before I post pics. of her funny faces!)

Five Seconds Abs

Brilliant.
Life. Is. Good.

I started working on a post a few weeks ago. Note I use the word post lightly. Thirty-seven pages, handwritten, and counting, I’m headed more in the direction of a short story, a novel or carpal tunnel syndrome. I shudder at the thought of typing it out!!!

Totally been craving salads lately, lotsa, lotsa salad. This by far…is a favorite! Yeah, ignore the name because just between me and you, it’s berry special! I can almost assure you that if you were to order a “Nuttin’ Berry Special Salad” at your local eatery people may start whispering…about you. I haven’t a clue what the politically correct name is, this is just easier than addressing it as a salad with nuts and berries in it.
I think.

I know, those aren’t even blueberries in the picture, I had to improvise with cranberries. No, that’s not blush wine vinaigrette dressing either, I had to improvise with red wine vinaigrette. Improvising is good sometimes, and in this case it was just as tasty! (Berry tasty )
A. Must. Try.