Rak & Roll

“Dance is the hidden language of the soul.”

-Martha Graham

The psychology behind belly dance comes from the fear of what the public, or family, might say. More importantly, it’s what your fears will say: Will I fall? What if I don’t hear the music change? Am I keeping time with the drummer? Am I on the balls of my feet? Am I sucking it in enough? Oh God, please don’t let the safety pin come undone and OOPS my bra falls to the ground and my tits are out in the open!! Do I look alright? Keep smiling! 

Fears are endless, but the performance goes on. 

Belly dancing is an art form all on its own. Serenity is the goal to accomplish while performing with grace and elegance. The purpose is to capture and hold the eye of the beholder during the moment that counts. Pose with a smile. Slowly undulate and move the body in a way that states I’m comfortable with my presence. Are you? 

There is pain one feels from the bottom of the jaw straight to the bottom of the feet. There is a soreness that is only relieved with rest and a nice massage. Your feet get used to dancing with splinters, which are later removed from your director, sister, or trusty friend. This is done because there is a deep love built within and around the foundation of Belly Dance. 

Starting out in this world is easier than maintaining it. I started for the love, for the intrigue, to feel different and absolute. My first class was amazing. I loved the days that I attended the studio and scheduled my life around the pounding music, the sweat, and the insight I was relatively gaining with each session. After a few months of dancing, the director asked me to perform as one of the greatest belly dancers, Fifi Abdou, in a show titled Legends. Fifi Abdou is a great dancer who did things her way, for her people, for her country. Legends is a tribute to all the great mothers of Belly dance. 

The first month of rehearsals increased. Class times increased. Nerves increased. Weight decreased. Practice, research, performances, the calm and peace consume the body while the mind operates without any thoughts of consequences, anxieties, or caution. We were learning to feed satisfaction to the audience, giving them heart, giving them soul. While the dancer feeds the pleasure principle to the viewer, at the same time, the dancer is feeding herself her personal pleasure platter: 

That wonderful feeling of completion.  Accomplishment. Triumph. In Yo Face! 

Legends was going to start and we were given the song, Ya Manga, to learn our choreography. We were practicing, practicing, practicing and it didn’t matter how much practice you put in, the nerves were still jumpin, jumpin. The first week leading up to the show, my senses were a jambalaya of excitement and fear. I couldn’t snap out of it. I was breathing, sleeping, and eating Belly Dance. 

I listened to Ya Manga ad nauseum. I was annoying everyone around me with my singing, chanting the moves, and muttering the steps to myself. Every chance I could, I embraced it with dedication to my solo. My meditation consisted of and envisioned each moment, which foot I was starting with, how I would move in time with the music, when and how I was going to walk down the stairs, to the center of the floor and to include the audience. These were essential for me to go over, to remember what, exactly, I was doing. I had a much bigger purpose here. I was not only representing myself. I was representing the ladies I was dancing with. Most important of all, I was representing my director, who seen everything in me, in us. Pressure? Nope, none. Not at all. What does that word even mean? Pressure? Ppppfffftttt. 

I was scared out of my mind! 

The night of the show came and finally, my obsession practicing could settle. I was standing in the dressing room, waiting for our memories to begin. The other dancers were already familiar with the process of performing. I was not. My heart was beating wildly, my mind was forgetting certainties, and my body and mind couldn’t keep still. Another dancer, who was newer than I was, felt the same amount of antsiness as I. Puking at that point would have been some form of relief, yet I don’t think it would have accomplished anything other than ruining my red lipstick and tangling my wig. 

The moment of memory-building began once I heard the familiar notes of the accordion beginning the road to Ya Manga. I have obsessively attached myself to those same notes for a month, so there was no way in hell, on Earth, or in heaven, that I was ever going to miss those notes. The moment was ours. My eyes directed to my equal, we smiled and I muttered Show time.  

The famous belly dancers procession of that night is as follows:

1.      Samiya Gamal

2.      Tahiya Carioca

3.      Suheir Zaki

4.      Nagwa Fouad

5.      Fifi Abdo

The ladies wait backstage and, as each famous belly dancer is called, the lady playing the part of said dancer, appears on stage to dance as the legend she is honorably portraying. She begins on the stage, makes her way to the ground floor where the audience is, performs around their tables, greets the people, makes her way back to the stage and presents the next legend. 

My legend was last. 

As I waited, I said a quick prayer asking God to do me a solid and have something take over, something to grab me so I can rightfully represent the ladies, my legend, myself. I needed a quick fix. You would too if you had 2 pairs of spanks on. The previous dancer was finishing which meant my time was coming and the quick fix was nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t a hole in the ground to devour me, and the natural disaster that I was praying to wreak havoc through Chicago at that moment hadn’t occurred. I walked up the stairs, offstage, and, like a volatile basket-case, I shakily waited. 

The dancer portraying Nagwa Fouad had finished and the singer sang the lyrics to introduce Fifi Abdou. He looked right at me, grinned from ear-to-ear and smiled. That smile meant: Rak N Roll, you’re gonna be great! As he sang Fifi Abdou, a pop sensation snapped within me and effectively took control of my body. Tunnel vision. I moved the way I rehearsed, I danced the way my director wanted me to, I didn’t hear the music, didn’t hear the cheering or the clapping, didn’t see the cameras flashing, for I was unconditionally focused on benefiting myself, the ladies, the legends, my director, and the audience. Spiritually, I was accompanying the music, performing with a specific condition and successive rhythm. I bowed once I finished. 

This psychological effect was entirely heavenly. An out-of-body experience. I can’t explain it. 

Humility, ability and skill are needed in the world of dance. Even if the skill is lacking, act as though you yourself created it and demand the attention of the onlookers. It’s important to perform with fulfillment and a conclusion: I will rock tonight! All the hard work that the team has put in together cannot be degenerated or spit upon. It’s a group effort, a relationship amongst the musicians, dancers and the audience. As dancers, there is a valuable importance to enforce ethics in a market such as belly dance, to prevent chaos, to create harmony with the self, and finally, so the audience can feel what the dancer is invigorating.

Worst Bosses & Their Teachings

(Old Man) You need to have values in this company.

(Me)…You don’t pay me enough to have values in your company.

-Maria Dionisia

That’s what I said to the last awful boss I had.

I used to work for a worthless company I call Old Man & The Wig. They enjoyed being vicious to their customers and regularly mistreated their staff.

My boss was deemed as Old Man, because, well, he was. I named his wife The Wig because her hair never moved.

The Wig was a confused person who knew how to start trouble, but acted innocently. She would take a look at a customer’s file, foul-up the account, thus wreaking havoc in the other departments. Once the file landed in our laps, we would fight amongst ourselves, tried to make sense of how it was ruined, until one of us realized The Wig jumbled up the account. When this was brought to her attention, Old Man would vehemently state that we were there to fix her mistakes.

She irresponsibly left any customer’s banking information out in the open. Disregarded their privacy and didn’t pay attention to securing any of their identities. She created violations in their files and sent them to collections. She tricked her clients into thinking that the business was financially secure. It wasn’t.

Old Man walked around as though he was a tough, sonuvabitch from the South Side. Really, he was a heart attack waiting to happen; barking ridiculous orders at his staff, punching walls, throwing papers in the air, etc. Not a healthy environment. How could it be? The office was a direct reflection of how angry his life was.

I continued to clean up the mess and kept silent. I never reported them; I was too focused on leaving. When my wish was granted, I sent the Old Man a text that Monday morning, saying that I’d rather waitress and serve juice-heads than work for his old ass and irresponsible wife.

They taught me to be honest in business, not careless. However, their bitterness did not compare to the first awful boss I’ve ever had the misery of working with.

I used to work for The Devil’s Daughter.

She was bold, savvy, intelligent and I foolishly believed that with her guidance, I was going to succeed. She was the perfect trainer with a firm grasp on business. Her primary love was money and the finer things in life. She had fancy cars, fancy shoes, fancy clothes, and fancy language, to buy you into her world. I was bought. We all were. Manipulation is a skill.  She didn’t care about work/life balance because she didn’t have one due to her extreme disconnect from reality.

I worked one winter with The Devil’s Daughter. The snowstorms that brewed around Chicago that year, were horrendous. Schools and businesses were closed due to the intense weather conditions. The cold ripped through the skin, filled the lungs with icy air, which prevented people from leaving their homes. Especially to drive.

Chicago highways are ruthless during the snowy months, as they are packed with cautious drivers, hidden potholes, black ice and limited visibility. Our roads are bad enough, and with a snowstorm surrounding the work commute, my time would be better spent getting a bikini wax by a blind man.

Chicago was warned of a blizzard that was going to attack the city. The day the snow storm began, I tried to call off from work. Her response: It’s just water. When I had gotten to work, the rest of the office had called off which further ignited her rage: Why are people freaking out?! It’s just water! By 2:00 p.m. 2 feet of snow had blanketed the city. By 3:00 p.m. I was told I could leave work and to text her when I made it home. But don’t disturb me past 9 p.m. Due to the Chicago drivers going at 5 miles per hour and trying to survive against winds and snow, I made it safely home by 10 p.m.

She would hold paychecks if she felt they weren't deserved. She screamed at people for trying to have a life outside of work, and was incapable of understanding that people don’t go to work when they have the flu.

When I gave my two-weeks notice, her rage had increased and I was mistreated for the remainder of my sentence. My last day there, she had a co-worker place two trash bags behind my car, which indicated that I had one final task to complete. A task that was meant to humiliate me.

I walked over to my car, knowing I had to load it with her garbage, drive around the back of the building, to discard it.

Instead, I ran it over. I ran over the mistreatment bosses give to their employees. I barreled through the impossible work/life balance that people desperately try to have. I charged through the notions of companies saying: Rely on us to design your future.

What they should be saying: We will teach you, to rely on yourself, to design your own future.

I wasn’t going to let The Devil’s Daughter, Old Man and The Wig, or anyone else for that matter, create drama all because of ego. Running over the trash was my way of kicking through those obstacles that have tried to prevent me from achieving what I want.

Update: My current boss is a great person and 

I would gladly take out his rubbish any day of the week. 

Surprised Me

"After all these years, I am still involved in the process of self-discovery. It's better to explore life and make mistakes than to play it safe. Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life."

-Sophia Loren

I have been very surprised this year. I’ve amazed myself.

Looking back on 2014, I’m glad my curiosity attended to the wonder that lives within. I met and concluded my own revelations. There was a strength and loyalty I have recognized through these wondrous phenomenons.

There are a few people that have stunned me this year. This reversal of good fortune from the negativity of certain people, however, with the impact of these various epiphanies, is that I, unexpectedly, created joyous liberating movements for myself. 

This year, I promised that I was going to become my own phenomenon. My own prodigy.

The journey of pursuing yourself, discovering your abilities are important, at any age, and through any trying or happy period of life. It's liberating to experience the challenge of commitment; to overcome the hardships that are needed to surpass necessary barriers. These normal difficulties of trying to keep it together, all became influential in reminding me how important I am to my goals. These became essential educators that I would not, and could not, ignore, for they were molding my life this past year.

My diligence became specific. There was a removal of hatred, and honored self-made promises. This self-assuring commitment kept my dedication strong and intact. I guaranteed my assurances; became a person deemed with a relied accuracy. There's no bullshit. 

The previous 12 months were silent instructors to overcome this inherent need of not feeling mediocre. I inspired myself to seek my potential; to succeed and to create my own future. More importantly, these quiet educators proved a reason to celebrate myself, to praise my success. The evolving demanded a profound statement of approval. I was becoming proactive with my desires. At the end of the day, these endeavors are paramount to my existence.

It’s learning to love. Love. Loving yourself through all of the intense adversity thrown in your direction. Those unfavorable circumstances were brought upon to teach me how to overcome the big, the bad, and the ugly. Although they were embarrassing and heart-rending, the humiliation does not stay afloat. I drown it and detach myself from the "negative nancies". 

Love comes in different forms, from different people. You don’t always marry the one you love, not always stay in love, and you can outgrow the lover. Rising over the mate is frightening, although it is an honest outcome, it's hard to admit that the relationship is no longer equal. The possibility that one person in the relationship can develop more-so while the other person remains neutral, is detrimentally heart-breaking. However, the love developing within stays solid as you luxuriously thrive in growth. 

If you allow it to. 

I’m on a positive track where my ambition outweighs everything else. My ears ignore the naysayers, my eyes shut when there are negative reviews, my mind doesn’t relive the hateful comments, because I chose to stay determined, not deterred. This love is quickly exalting an influence of fulfillment. I am becoming who I want to be. 

Had I leaned in on all of the unfavorable statements and irresponsible behaviors from various people, I’d be worse than them. My strength is greater than their hate. I’ve accomplished the task of relying on my instincts; to deny my animal faith just to meet prohibitory thinking or to submit myself to a nasty lifestyle, would be, to say the least, lowering my dignity, my honest estimation. My mother taught me better than that.

Like I said, I’ve never been exposed to this much surprise.

It was sudden that I have pursued the loves of my life this year: dancing and writing. I’m shocked with how responsive and interactive I became to most situations. It's profound that I stayed silent through some. I’ve met quitters this year. Was greeted with selfish and greedy attitudes. I have encountered monsters who tried to violate my body with a manipulative seduction. I firmly stood my ground and enhanced my strength. Through all of those bad traits, I was introduced, and re-introduced, to my stance, my identity. 

Next year, I will continue my path; advance upon engaging in handling my future, because that, is the most important connection I need to make. Who else is going to do it?

My ambition is purposeful as are my words. My tenacious decisions are steadfast and ring true. 

Cheers. To the Future. To the Discovery of Our Self. 

Unknowns Vs. Somebody

"No One Can Make You Feel Inferior Without Your Consent."

- Eleanor Roosevelt

We are a couple of unknowns, it’s okay to make mistakes.

Let this resonate with you for a moment.

We are a couple of Unknowns.

There are two types of people in this world.

It is okay to make mistakes.

The Unknowns and the Somebody’s.

It is not okay to make mistakes when every aspect of your life is set on one goal. Preparing. Creating. Outlining. All of the hard work that has been carefully settled is suddenly demolished by this absurd notion of: It’s Okay to Make Mistakes.

This announcement conveys reservations with a narrow degree of understanding. It also grants preconceived notions for failure. This lack of discipline, carries an absence of will power, which is all due to this idea of accepting miscalculated offenses.

Enough already!

Learn to prevent the same error from happening again and put a stop to welcoming repeated faults. They will inevitably grow to become an entity of chaotic astonishments. Take these first inaccuracies as a different opportunity to grow from, to ward off future defects. Should they continue, then it delves into a superficial excuse; a validation behind irresponsible and complacent behavior, which is, quite frankly, unacceptable. 

This offensive statement: We are a couple of unknowns, it’s okay to make mistakes screams mediocrity! This implies there is an acceptance within to hide your truest potential, to be lost in the crowd. I can’t help you to express yourself, to take away that fear.

Furthermore, I am not an Unknown. You may think you are, but I know I am not.

An unknown is a person who only walks and responds in silence, spending too much time thinking, but no time performing those thoughts. Neglects the truth, escapes from confrontation, and fits the needs and expectations of others just to be accepted.

An unknown quiets down, allows their ideas and existence to become substandard. A person who conditions others to realize that your presence is irrelevant, while distancing themselves from collaborating with individuals who are trying to make the words “NO” body disappear.

An unknown distresses emotions like a demon feeding dark thoughts into others as a way to guide them into submissiveness. They carry inclined attitudes by limiting their own success and fulfillment.

An unknown can’t, won’t and doesn’t.

I am a Somebody. I put thinking into action because no one can see what thinking looks like. I have done a lot more than what most have accomplished. I’m open, expressive, and will certainly not be deemed as an unknown by anyone. Especially by an Unknown.

It’s attitude. It’s behavior. It’s words being put into action. A Somebody who conveys ideas and inspires. Who seeks out questions, gains answers and shares experiences. A Somebody is self-assured and determined to succeed.

Thriving on the idea of challenges, a Somebody does the best, demands the best, and is the best. An unknown will respond with Lower Your Expectations.  My response: Absolutely Not. My expectations are high because I believe in an unparalleled future where I hold myself with a definitive accountability. I believe in my confidence.

A Somebody soaks in the adversity of hard work and rejects the idea of failure. They ignore the criticism and shove aside any negative noise that erupts from people who should be supportive, not discouraging.

Those opposing voices that throw shade in your direction, are the Unknowns.

We are a SomeBody.

When you dream and act big, then you become a MoreBody.

Slither & Slime All Over Me

Ma at the Reptile Festival

This South Side Kid here decided to take a mini road trip to Wisconsin to visit a reptile show. What is a Greek girl like me to do in the "Land of Cheese" a.k.a Wisconsin? See a bunch of reptiles, that's what.

This is the place where snakes, spiders, lizards and geckos are at. Honestly speaking, they creep me out. However, despite my fear of these creatures, I was talked into going to the show from a friend of mine. After all, this gave me the opportunity to try something more daring and different. So, my buddy and I headed to the Cheese State, Wisconsin, that was hosting the Reptile Festival; an event dedicated to the “scaly and the scary” creatures of this world.

I was constantly reminded that I would be surrounded by various amphibians and reptiles that will send a girl like myself, running back to the concrete hills of Chicago. I was not allowed to freak out and I made it a point to not publicly humiliate myself by peeing in my pants. But those slimy skinned, beady little eyed and pointy-tongued creatures give me the heebie-jeebies. Their tongues…it’s the tongues that bother me the most. It’s not like a dog’s tongue that greets you with kisses. No, these sharp tongues say, “What’s for dinner?”

Cameron of Immortal Reptiles

The first thing that is seen upon entering the sacred, scaly grounds are rows and rows of long tables, each one hosting, introducing and reintroducing their own company, sporting their prized creatures to the masses walking in.

The first table I walked up to was the Immortal Reptiles. It is run by a group of friends: You, Cynthia, Cameron and Chue. They started their growing firm a year ago and are all in their early 20’s. So how do a bunch of young 20 something’s get started in the field? You, the head honcho, has had an infatuation with these tiny creatures of love, and shared his passion and vision with his friends turned partners, including his girlfriend, Cynthia.

The lovely Cynthia passionately spoke to me about her reptile whom she acknowledges are her “children.” With her motherly nature, she noticed that I was not too keen on approaching her little friends. She enthusiastically tried convincing me to hold one, but I couldn’t do it. Her genuinity shone through though, and made me believe that I could eventually cradle one of those youngsters, but not at that moment. By the end of my journey through the reptile field, I promised to make my way back to Immortal Reptiles, and give comfort to one of her little bambinos.  

The next stop on the reptile train was at Madison Area Herpetological Society. Why did I stop here? Lovely Lacy was posing for pictures. I couldn’t say no.

Ma & Lacy of Madison Area Herpetological Society

Lacy is a Granite Burmese Python. A 3 year old girl who enjoys eating 3 lb. rabbits, being cuddled around your neck, arms, and torso. She’s a friendly little girl that wants to be held. Lacy travels to schools and has one motto: “Education through Community.”  Madison Area Herpetological Society loves to publicly educate and devote its work on the continuing education and safe practice on reptile culture for current and future reptile lovers.

I don't know what prompted me into holding a snake, but the experience was hypnotic. I was attracted to the spirit of the environment I was in. As a person who lives in the moment, it would have been a complete waste of time if I drove out to WI (blah) and didn’t fully experience the adventure. It was thrilling to have Lacy feel my neck, slide down my arm, and cradle her gentle head into my palm. I was told to relax; to breathe so Lacy can rest gently around my body. I felt her muscles tighten in response to my muscles that were tightening, but once I loosened up, so did she. It was a viable connection between fear and love. She was conscious of my being as I was cognizant of her affectionate character.

Got me thinking: Where does a girl like Lacy live? How big does her cage have to be? Should she live in a cage? (maybe I should live in a cage) Will she even be comfy not trekking through her native jungles?

Enter Monday’s Rock.

Monday's Rock Enclosure...Can you find the "M" and the "R"?

Monday’s Rock is a reptile enclosures company.  Enclosures are cages made specifically for reptiles and amphibians. Started by Doug and Patty Monday from Madison, WI, they began by creating an enclosure for their son. They became so successful that they would later start their own business and are now in business for a year. What’s really cool about Monday’s Rock? They custom design and create enclosures from anything: A TV entertainment set, cabinets, closets, among others. I’m pretty sure they can turn a car into an enclosure with a pond set as a drinking pool. 

What sets the Monday’s apart from the other enclosure companies is that they’re down-to-earth, passionate about their craft and will give you your money’s worth. In addition, they always put their initials "M" & "R" in their enclosures. I’m positive Lacy will live nicely in the Monday’s personal enclosures. I don’t think I will, though. 

By this point, I wanted to catch as much live action as I could. My attention was soon captured by the crème de la crème of herpetological societies: The Chicago Herpetological Society.

CHS had traffic at their table, and snakes roaming around freely on a stand. Dick Buchholz, a proud CHS member and reptile lover, noticed that I was a novice in that field. He introduced himself, and offered to educate me.

He's been a member of CHS since 1967, teaching for over 20 years and enthusiastically educating
his love for conservation and the advancement of herpetology. What makes Mr. Buchholz special was that he took joy in working with these creatures while educating children about them, at the same time. He was teaching the kids, their parents and myself, as he was holding various snakes and geckos. A little girl named Rowan was confidently holding a snake, listening to him and giggling with excitement, which had me questioning why she was so gutsy and why I wasn't? I was amazed by her courage. Another eager student of Mr. Buchholz, a 13 year old boy from Chicago named Nez, was walking around with a Gargoyle Gecko in his pocket. His Pocket! I couldn't hold a gecko in my hand, and this kid was walking around the festival with a gecko in his pocket. Fearless. Comfortable. Mature. He looked at me and told me everything about these little guys. Below are Nez's Fun Facts regarding Gargoyle Geckos:

Gargoyle Gecko

• They live on an island of New Caledonia, around Australia. I’m never visiting New Caledonia.
• If it’s orange blotched, it’s a female…but hard to distinguish between male and female at birth.
• Related to the Arboreal Lizard that lives in the trees. I’m pretty sure we’ve gotta stop cutting down the trees now because I don’t need the Arboreal Lizard falling on my head.
• They are friendly, warm and just want to eat fruit. They’re like fat vegetarians.

Ma holding Cynthia's Immortal Reptile as promised

Finally we’ve reached the point of leaving and my buddy reminded me of my promise to Cynthia from Immortal Reptiles. I walked up to Cynthia, she smiled and held my hand out so she can, with ease, place a gecko in my hand. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning, laughing with excitement and connecting with a smaller reptile that was just as anxious of me as I was of him.

Those little guys are cute and fun, and I will say, one day in my future, I would love to have a little Lacy to care for. 

For more information about these wonderful creatures, please check out these websites below.

Immortal Reptiles:  
www.facebook.com/ImmortalReptiles

Email: immortalreptiles@gmail.com

Monday’s Rock:  
www.mondays-rock.com

Email: Mondays-rock@msn.com

Madison Area Herpetological Society:  
www.facebook.com/Madisonherps

www.madisonherps.org

The Chicago Herpetological Society:  
www.facebook.com/CHSReptileFest

Dick Buchholz:  
www.mobileedproductions.com

Sticks & Stones Can Try To Break You

“One of the most painful things you can experience in life is not so much physical pain, but being self-occupied. Because to the extent you are self-occupied, that’s the extent you will be in pain”

-Joseph Prince

For the past four years I’ve ignored a stomach pain.

It wasn't fussy in the beginning, so I really didn't think much of it. It was a silent nag, quiet and completely sporadic, once a year. It was a tummy ache and that was it. Took tums, went to bed.

The first time the pain knocked me out was the fall of 2010.

The second time the pain kicked my ass was the winter of 2011.

The similarities between these two times were it only occurred once in those two years.

Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not a drinker, I really watch what I eat and I work out a lot. I’m healthy besides smoking cigs. The reason why I didn't see a doctor before was one reason: I didn't have insurance. Now, I do. 

In 2013, I experienced the stomach pains only once in July. The aches didn’t return again until February 2014. Nothing until September. The September agony occurred every weekend with an increase in intensity and frequency.

October 3, 2014, I went to the ER at Christ Hospital. They gave me a numbing drink, pills, and recommended I see a Gastroentologist. I did see one and he said they needed to perform a procedure where they’re going to put a camera down my throat to see my tummy.

October 14, 2014, the procedure happened and the results: HPylori. It’s a bacterial infection that exists in the lining of the stomach. Dr. Genius didn’t think to do an MRI or an Ultrasound. I could have avoided a week of bullshit had he done his job properly in the beginning.

I waited for a month to receive the results and for the medication, which by this point, my pains had become unbearable. Dr Genius and his staff were all sorts of terrible in delivering the results in a timely manner, in addition, he and his staff, displayed a poor attitude and bestowed 1,000% unprofessionalism to my mother and I.

November 11, 2014 I went to the ER at Christ Hospital, again. They performed the same procedure of numbing drink and pills. This time, no more advise was offered from them. Feeling helpless and a loss of control, I was hoping to get the agony resolved so I can move on with my life. It’s terrible not knowing what is going on.

November 12^th/13^th, 2014 I woke up with a different type of stomach pain that resulted in cold sweats and me calling 911 where they rushed me to Palos Community Hospital.

At Palos, the doctor said they needed to perform a CATscan because they ddidn't know anything about me. The CATscan said the issue of my tummy pains weren’t my stomach at all. It was my gallbladder and intestines.

Yeah dude. My gallbladder and intestines.

For those of you that don’t know me, I’m a logical person. If I see something that doesn’t fit in the puzzle, I’m going to call out on it. If subject X doesn’t connect, then my brain is going to assume there are missing pieces of information.

So if I’ve been having stomach pains, I’m going to assume that yeah man, my stomach hurts so let’s fix my tummy. Wasn’t the case. 

In terms of your gallbladder and liver, they produce bile. My stuff had collected sludge and stones in four years that it had malfunctioned in producing it the right way, which caused my gallbladder to fill up and spill the stones into my intestines, the duct. In order to remove my gallbladder, my intestines had to be clear of all the stones. Once that procedure was done, the gallbladder was going to be removed. And I could return to work and normal life and yell at slow drivers with Randy again.

On November 13, 2014, Dr. ER said I was being admitted and that surgery was on the list of shit that I had to do for the next few days. “Get the fuck outta here!!!” was all I could say.

           

CATscan turned to an MRI, which led to an Ultrasound, with the final conclusion of 2 surgeries. Seventy-two hours full of morphine with no food, drink, or cigs. My friends and family came to town to bask in all of my smart-mouthed glory and my loving Mother and Father took care of my bullshit.

I love them. They always create a loving environment and know how to paint the town a different shade of red than the kind average people are used to.

The staff at Palos were really great. The nurses were polite, kept their cool with the difficult overnight visitors, and laughed at all my jokes. If I pressed that button, they came rushing in and gave me more morphine. It really is great when you’re in that much pain to be waited on hand and foot.

I had two neighbors across the hall from me. An older man and an older woman. If she wasn’t screaming/freaking out, he was and vice versa. Throughout the day and night, they would yell. Well, my last night there, I couldn’t take the shouting anymore and dragged my bare ass out of my room, IV attached, hunched over, hair dirty and matted, armpits stinky, no makeup, and hungry for food. Bloated, in pain and beyond my wits end, I stood in the middle of that hallway and pulled a move that really was mostly for my entertainment. I yelled:

           

Hey! The both of you need to meet and go out on dates!! You’ll have a great sex life together!

 

The nurses smiled and didn’t reprimand me as they were clearly fed up with the two disturbing the rest of us.

I went to sleep that night with a big smile on my face.

November 21, 2014, I’m now clear of pain, a missing gallbladder, still a tiny bit swollen, back to work and completely in awe of the events from the past week.

I have great friends that kept on texting and calling, an awesome family that doted on me, and a surgeon that cleared up all my bullshit within a few days. I’m a lucky girl to have nothing but love and support. To everyone that blew up my phone and facebook message box, and email, thanks so much!

Love, it’s the one thing that cures pain.