When I first heard of Face Time, I thought it sounded great! What a wonderful way to stay connected to friends and family who live hundreds of miles away.
Then I tried it, and vowed to never do it again. Why? Because I look HIDEOUS on that screen! I know it's vain, but seriously ... does ANYONE look good while they Face Time? I swear I could be in full make-up and wearing a wedding gown, but would somehow end up looking homeless on Face Time. At least the creators of this App were kind enough to give you a preview of what you look like when the call comes in, so that you can make an informed decision as to whether or not you want to subject the caller to what's being reflected back to you. It always goes the same way for me ...
I hear the phone ring.
I look and see my face on the screen.
I shudder.
I say to myself, "Heck no."
I press DECLINE as if my life depends on it.
Here's a pic of the one time I actually accepted a call from Megan when she was on a trip without us:
See how I've positioned myself in such a way that half of my face (along with 3 of my chins) is cut off? It took me half of the conversation to figure out that trick.
So besides the "looking hideous" part of Face Time, there's the awkward way my children use it.
You know how when kids get together to "play" nowadays, it actually means sitting in the same room while playing games on their own electronic devices? Well, that's what happens when they Face Time. They call each other up, and then sit there playing games. Every once in a while one of them will actually speak, but not very often. That's WEIRD, right?
Then if they're not ignoring the person on the other end of the phone, they're walking around the house giving their caller a virtual tour of our home, or better yet, showing them the contents of our pantry. Really? Is this entertaining? And hello?! Could they not give me a heads up on the tour? I could seriously improve the state of our living space with a mere 5 minutes notice. Ugh.
Okay, here's my favorite. And by favorite, you know I mean most annoying, right? It's when one of my daughters sits down at the table to eat a snack with her Face Time friend, while I'm sitting there doing something. Oh. My. WORD. Hang up and call back when you're done eating. Honestly, is it just me, or is this BIZARRE??? Going to lunch with a friend, I get. Eating lunch while your friend watches you on a screen? Sorry, NO.
I obviously have issues, but I can't be the only one who's uncomfortable with this way of communication, right? RIGHT???
So I had a hysterectomy last week. How's that for an ice breaker? I suppose I should have discouraged my male readers from reading this post. And yet the title should have given them a clue, am I right? Anyway ...
After several months of pain and excessive, uh, well, let's just say that I was beginning to reeeallly relate to the woman in the Bible with the issue, my doctor ordered an ultrasound and discovered that I had fibroid tumors in my uterus. When I told my husband, he said, "Sooo the woman in the Bible had fibroids?" YES!! I'll bet she did, bless her heart.
I was then referred to an OB/GYN who asked me, before even giving me my options, what I thought I wanted to do about the situation? I told her that a couple of my friends figured I'd have to have a partial hysterectomy (leaving my ovaries in place.) She asked how I felt about that, and I said I was fine with it, all the while trying not to seem overly excited at the prospect of never having to buy another box of those, as my 10 year old calls them: Bleeding Tubes.
The surgery was scheduled for the week after I returned from my family vacation. It was on this vacation, that I had THE WORST PERIOD to date. It was as if my uterus sensed its impending doom and decided to let me pay with the cramps from HELLO!! I likened it to Satan knowing his time on the earth is short, and so he's pulling out all the stops before Jesus puts him away forever. That's right, I just likened my uterus to SATAN. If I ever felt the need for confirmation as it pertains to having this surgery, I got it. Shoot, I was ready to pull the thing out myself!
It was also on this vacation that my 13 year old daughter came to understand the reason for my excitement over my upcoming operation. When I mentioned that I wouldn't be needing those feminine products after the following week, she said, "Wait. THAT'S what the surgery is for?! NO FAIR!!" Oh it's fair alright. 30 years of that mess is PLENTY.
6 days before the big day, I received a call from Connie, an RN at the hospital. She wanted to go over pre-op instructions like not eating or drinking past midnight the day before, yada, yada, yada. My favorite part of the conversation went like this ...
Connie: Okay, and when you arrive that morning, they'll give you a cup for a urine sample to make sure you're not pregnant.
Me: There's NO WAY I'm pregnant, but okay.
Connie: Well, we just have to be sure.
Me: I understand. Wait. Am I supposed to NOT pee when I wake up that morning? I mean, if I do, I can't drink anything after that, so what if I can't go once I get to the hospital?
Connie: Yes, go ahead and go when you wake up. Don't worry, you'll be SO EXCITED once you arrive at the hospital that you'll WANT to go AGAIN.
We laughed, but guess what? SHE WAS RIGHT. I peed TWICE at the hospital before my surgery. I love you, Connie.
The big day came, and as I was waiting on the gurney in my gown, a very sweet nurse, Rosana, came in and asked me some questions. One of the questions was, "In your own words, tell me what you think you're having done today." I said, "A partial hysterectomy." She said, "And what do you think that means?" I answered, "I'm having my uterus, cervix and fallopian tubes removed, but my ovaries will remain." She said, "Okay, great." Then she went on with some other questions, like if I'd eaten since midnight, etc.
After that, I had to sign some papers acknowledging that I would be sterile after the procedure.
Can I just say, that I've never been so happy to put my name to paper as I was at that moment? NO MORE BIRTH CONTROL NECESSARY. With the exception of the 18 months I was pregnant with my 2 daughters, I've taken birth control pills nearly 20 YEARS!!! GoodNESS, that's a long time to freak out about having a 3rd kid. And you know I freaked out a LOT. Click here for a reminder on just how scared I was to get pregnant a 3rd time.
A few minutes after Rosana left, my doctor came in and talked through what was going to happen during the surgery, all while diagramming it on my abdomen. When my husband saw it later, he said it looked like a play book. Agreed. This "selfie" was taken post surgery, which is why you can see the bruising and laparoscopic incisions.
Alright, so my doctor leaves and a 2nd nurse, the one who will be assisting in the O.R., comes in to ask me the same questions Rosana had asked only minutes before. This nurse, however, had an agenda.
Nurse: Tell me in your own words what you're having done today.
Me: A partial hysterectomy.
Nurse: A what?
Me: A partial hysterectomy.
Nurse: No, you are having a FULL hysterectomy.
Me now worried that she's gonna somehow overtake my doctor in the operating room and yank out my ovaries without my consent: No, I'm having a PARTIAL hysterectomy.
Nurse all condescending like: And just WHAT do you think THAT means exactly?
Me: I'm having my uterus, cervix and fallopian tubes removed. My ovaries will stay in tact.
Nurse chomping at the bit to teach this never-been-to-med-school girl a lesson: A full hysterectomy is the removal of the uterus and cervix. YOU are also having your fallopian tubes removed. So you ARE having a FULL hysterectomy. There. Now you've been educated.
Irritated is more like it.
After that, she put something in my I.V., saying it would work pretty quickly.
And 2 minutes later I was in recovery.
Here's what I remember about recovery ... I kept hearing a beeping sound that would then go longer, sounding like I was flat-lining, and a nurse would yell, "Breathe Tamara! Big, deep breath! There you go." This must have happened 10 times if not 100. I also heard a few different medical assistants ask my husband, "Is she always this hard to wake up after surgery?" To which he would reply, "This is her first surgery." So I guess we all now know that I do NOT like waking up after surgery. Oh who am I kidding? We all know that I NEVER like to be awoken, for anything. Hence the need to stop the family reproduction at TWO children.
Another thing I remember was being quite nauseous. Like QUITE nauseous. Bad enough to warrant a shot in my rump to try and control it. GOOD TIMES.
Since I was considered an out-patient, and it was after 5:00 p.m., they were going to send me home whether I decided to fully wake up or not. I remember a nurse, I think it may have been my sweet Rosana, pushing me in a wheelchair out to the car ...
Rosana: Okay Tamara, you're going to have to stand up and open your eyes while you walk to the car.
Me: Okay.
I stood up and took a few steps.
Rosana: Are your eyes open Tamara?
Me: Nope.
Rosana: Open your eyes Tamara.
Me: Okay.
Did I keep them open? No idea.
Somehow I got home to my bed, where I proceeded to sleep through the next 3 days, with the exception of dinner time. That's because I have the best friends on the planet who brought my family food!! I get now why this is such a blessing to people on the mend. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!
The first time I woke up at home, I saw this sweet Get Well card from Megan. Of course, I was on pain meds at the time, so all I could focus in on were the boobs in the word soon. I grabbed my chest in a panic, "Good Lord, WHAT surgery did I HAVE?!?!"
Thankfully, my upper half seemed to be the same size post-op. Whew!!
I know this post has gone way too long already, but it's been a couple of months since I've had any time to write. So with this, I'll close ...
The second night I'd been home, our dear friends Rachel and Marshall came over with dinner for us. As only true friends would, they asked Henry if I'd done or said anything embarrassing while coming out of the anesthesia. Henry said, "Well, yeah, actually. She said, 'I'm more tired NOW than I was on our HONEYMOON.'"
Nice, huh?
Motherhood. Do I even remember what my vision of motherhood was before I had children?
It wasn't one of me being told that my baby needed an MRI to rule out spina bifida.
And it wasn't one of me locking myself in the laundry room, just to distance myself from my fifth grader who had successfully pushed every one of my buttons, not once, but TWICE, and was just one closed door away from meeting her Maker.
It certainly wasn't one of me holding down my screaming 11 year old daughter, on a doctor's table, while she endured the lancing and draining of a MRSA staph infection boil, ON MOTHER'S DAY no less.
They say, "Motherhood is not for sissies."
I say, "And HOW!!"
The other day I got to experience yet one more messy motherhood moment ...
My 10 year old, Megan, informed me that she needed new tennis shoes. She was on her second pair for this school year, and they were wearing out. Now what you have to understand is that each shoe shopping trip with Meg, except for the miracle trip of August 2013, ends in harsh words, huge tears, lots of hurt feelings ... AND NO SHOES. So needless to say, I was less than thrilled at the prospect of trying to find a THIRD pair of tennis shoes in the same school year.
Nevertheless, I took her after work on a Wednesday when I had exactly two hours before having to be at a choir rehearsal. It's a good thing I'm one of those moms who never EVER needs "down time", because those two hours were spent driving to four different stores, and coming home empty handed footed.
The next night Meg was wanting to venture back out to look for shoes, but she had math homework. I told her we would go after she finished her math, and she actually complied and started pushing her pencil.
After knocking out a few problems, she asked if we could go. I reminded her that she had to finish her math first.
Now I'm sure most 10 year olds would reply to such a reminder with, "Yes Mama." MINE, however, began screaming things like ...
I DON'T WANT TO!!
I HATE MATH!!
I'M NEVER DOING MATH AGAIN!!
I HATE IT, I HATE IT, I HATE IT!!
AND I HATE YOU!!
I WISH I WAS NEVER BORN!!!
Then she ran to her room and slammed the door.
At least she doesn't get worked up over the little stuff.
A few minutes later, she came out of her room completely composed, apologized, and finished a few more math problems.
Then, apparently, it was time to replay the previous scene.
That's right ... she asked if we could go shoe shopping, I told her we could after her math was done, she yelled like she was trying to break a world record for highest human voice decibel levels ever reached without electronic amplification, ran to her room, slammed the door, came out a few minutes later to apologize and tackle another few math problems.
FOR. THE. LOVE. OF. GOD. WHO DOES THIS?!?!?!?
I sat watching her in disbelief. Who yells their bloody head off at someone, then 5 minutes later apologizes and just moves on with life like nothing happened?
It was soon after pondering this, that Megan started in ...
Meg: I said I was SORRY.
Me: I know you did.
Meg: Then why don't you FORGIVE ME?!
Me: I did forgive you.
Meg: Then why do you still act MAD?!!!
Me: Just because I've forgiven you, doesn't mean I'm not still hurting from the way you treated me. You just yelled at me TWICE. You said you HATED ME. That's gonna take some time to get over.
Meg: I KNEW you didn't forgive me!! You HATE ME!!
Cue: Running to bedroom and slamming door.
And no, it wasn't me doing the running and slamming, though I was awfully tempted.
Okay, fast forward 30-45 minutes, and we've now run that same scene FIVE TIMES. I'm not even kidding, but somewhere in the midst of it, the wretched math homework got done, and I sprouted at least 50 grey hairs. There was still 40 minutes before I had to leave for an appointment, so in the spirit of the message I'd just heard at church 3 days prior about God being a God of 1001 chances, I decided to extend some MAJOR GRACE and still take her shoe shopping.
Can we all pause for a moment to meditate on what an AMAZING GRACE FILLED MOTHER I was for those 5 minutes?
Thank you.
I didn't see the next tantrum coming. I really thought we were done. Like I'd gone through all the transitional labor, pushed, delivered and now it was gonna be cuddle time.
Wrong.
All I remember is sitting in the car, waiting for Meg to come out. She walked into the garage and started going off about me not really forgiving her, so I just started backing the car out onto the driveway in hopes that she'd calm down and get in.
Oh she got in alright, but as I pushed the button to close the garage door, she jumped out of the (still parked) car and ran back into the garage before the door shut. All the while yelling at the top of her lungs about not wanting to go unless I really LOOKED like I'd forgiven her.
I glanced over to see my neighbor pretending to focus on the sweeping of her porch, wondering what she must think of me. Then I remembered that she's raised her kids, has grandkids, and a few years ago assured me that screaming children just go with the territory.
To shorten a ridiculously long story ... after Meg went back and forth to the car two more times, I snapped. I. WAS. DONE.
She knew the look on my face was one to run from, so she did just that as I pulled back into the garage and closed the door. I went straight for the kitchen and grabbed a wooden spoon, then marched to her room where she had run for cover.
As I gave her a piece of my completely frazzled mind, and let her know how hard the spanking was going to be, I had a brief moment of sanity where I realized that I was in no frame of mind to spank my ornery and obviously emotionally hurting daughter. I knew right then that I could not carry out that kind of physical punishment without doing some serious damage, so I did the next best thing ...
... took away her iPad.
Boy did THAT get the tears flowing!!
That evening, this mom, who believes whole heartedly in spankings, chose to spare the rod in order to save the child (and relationship.)
When I got home later, this handmade craft from Megan was sitting on my side of the bed:
And that is my "Messy Beautiful."
This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!
P.S. ... I just had lunch with a dear friend and mentor, who upon hearing of my struggles with Megan and her temper, highly recommended the book Battlefield of the Mind (kids edition) by Joyce Meyer. I plan on getting it this weekend and look forward to giving my precious girl some tools on how to control her actions when she feels like exploding all over us in a fit of rage. You can find it on Amazon here for as little as 99 cents for a used copy.
