Morgue for Breakfast

First of all I would like to apologize to all my readers for my absence on the blog. I truly love to write, but I have been suffering from major writers block and I think that I know why. I first must warn you though....this blog is far from funny.

Any day that starts in the morgue is not a good day. Part of my job as nursing supervisor involves receiving DOA’s into the morgue and dealing with shocked family members who come to identify their loved one. It is with great difficulty that I must admit that this is a routine aspect of my work day...and I consider myself quite lucky to be able to step outside myself and morph into an indifferent person to deal with this aspect of my job. For the most part, I really thought that I was left unaffected...but I have come to the grim realization that I am not left unaffected...my deep seeded emotions and subsequent actions scream that I am.

Every time I deal with a tragedy in the morgue, I say to myself “life is too short...start living for now...don’t waste one more day waiting to be a size 14 to start living...live right now!” I say this, but I have just realized through my feelings and actions (or inactions) that this mentality is not working for me at all. What I am actually feeling is...”there but for the grace of God go I.” Now this all sounds good in theory....but let me tell you what this really means in my world. In my world, this actually means instant gratification....and instant gratification my friend...is extremely dangerous.

If tomorrow never comes I want a full tummy. If tomorrow never comes, it would be truly be tragic had I passed on having ooey-gooey- caramel- soaked brie cheese with baguette chunks. If tomorrow never comes, I may have been croaking for a cigarette just before I get wiped off the planet....and that is just not right (smoking like a chimney right now...there is a smoke hanging from my mouth as I type...and I will light another when it is done.) Being a morgue traffic controller shows you that chances of being wiped off the planet for absolutely no rational reason is higher than dying from smoking long term. Now, statistically this is totally untrue...but in my subconscious brain it is my reality. I am a mess.

I pride myself on my tough bullet proof exterior. Throw it at me...I can handle it. I actually thrive on split second life and death situations. I have worked in high intensity areas to expose myself to just that. I have worked in emergency, intensive cares, flight nursing, and now supervisor...and supervisor gives me an all inclusive back stage pass to everything. What a rush! I truly love my job (most times)...but when I get home and out of the chaos...I fall to pieces...and unfortunately it is not a conscious expression of emotions....it manifests itself into an eating-smoking-out of control-frenzy. I pride myself on control...which paradoxically is knocking me “out of the ball park” out of control.

One time I received two young DOA’s under 30 years old. During the “admission” process into the morgue, their cell phones were ringing off the hook with text messages. “Hey dawg....where u at?” “Party tonight!” “What’s taking u so long?” In my sick twisted brain I want to text back....”sorry dude I am dead”...but of course I don’t...I turn them off. Then, I think to myself...all these friends and family members have about 30 more minutes of a “normal” life left until they find out the truth. This boy’s mother has less than 30 minutes left...before her life is shattered into a million little pieces forever. The boys both have a new package of cigarettes in their pockets. In my twisted brain I say to myself “well nobody is going to throw $10 on a pack of cigarettes if they know they are about to die.” In my sick twisted brain I think... “well I may as well smoke them then”...but of course I do not...I discard them...”what a waste”....and I am not talking about the cigarettes as I watch them land in the trash...I am really talking about the loss of a young life...a STUPID loss of a young life. The ringing text messages from the morgue fridge haunt me...still. For as long as those text messages keep coming, the dead are still alive...still a part of this world. Next thing you know, I am staring at an empty plate...I had somehow managed to eat two cheeseburgers, three chocolate bars and a real coke without any recollection. I have no memory of leaving the morgue....walking to a vending machine... going to the coffee shop...ordering the food...or eating one bite of it. I can only thank God that I am not a drinking woman...I eat until I am comfortably numb...or think I am anyway...the food didn’t do anything but make me fatter and feel like shit...no soothing effect at all!

My breakthrough came yesterday, through a breakdown of epic proportion. Before I could take a sip of my first morning coffee...I had to go to the morgue. Any day that starts out in the morgue...is not going to be a good day. A family came to see their loved one in the morgue....because they had to see it to believe it. I escorted them to the family room to wait and then I set about my task of preparing the viewing. I washed her face and hands, covered her in clean blankets and made her look as best I could. Her son proudly introduced his aunts (the deceased sisters) and his brothers. He was a well brought up brave boy in his 20’s. When he saw his mother...when he broke down and whispered “mom, mom, mom” over and over again...I LOST IT!! I finally lost it...the damn broke loose and there was no stopping it now. I was able to maintain a minimal level of composure to get the family through this and escort them back to their car. Then, once left alone to my own demise...I found an isolated place to sit and smoke...and had one hell of an out of control ugly cry. I released months of captivated grief over the course of 3 cigarettes in a row. I admitted my perceived weakness of losing it to everyone I encountered that day...and believe it or not...the world did not crumble down around me...people did not say “you suck.” This unexpected release...released me of this ridiculous coat of armour that protected myself with...an imaginary but all too real titanium shield...that I hid behind...actually crouched behind in fetal position sucking my thumb.

I am not asking for a back-pat or a “junior G man badge of courage”. I do not want to be told that I am strong or wonderful or courageous or special. I could not write because I felt like a fraud...how dare I think of motivating others when I am a mental mess? How dare I try to make you laugh when I am dying inside? I am begging you to please help me...I am free falling...and I am trying to get back up.


I've never gone so wrong
As to telling lies to you
What you see and what I am
There is nothing I could hide from you
You see me better than I can
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
Til I can gain control again
And like a lighthouse you must stand alone
Landmark a safe journey's end
No matter what sea I've been sailing on
I'll always come back home again
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
Til I can gain control again
~Blue Rodeo

Lynn

;)

The Sex Kitten and the Rolling Pin!

Several years ago, I went away to Cuba with a group of 8 people. Again, I grieved about being so big and going with 2 other couples who were comprised of skinny and perfect chicks! On the very first night, the smiling Cuban men started staring and smiling, pointing, waving and following me! My husband got nervous again! Everyday, the workers gave me flowers for my hair, grasshoppers made from palm leaves, and any other tropical plant treats they could think of. One of our waiters gave me a cross necklace! I even got marriage proposals! Now, you have to remember there were 2 skinny girls and 5 other men everywhere we went. The Cubans did not acknowledge them…just me. It became a fun 'theme' for the week...the sex kitten goes to Cuba! BUT, there are dangers to being a sex goddess in a foreign land…let me explain.

One day while the bunch of us were lying on the beach and soaking up the sun…the physician for the resort wandered along and offered massages for $20 USD. I could NOT believe my ears…only $20 USD for a full body massage? I did not even hesitate…I was all in!!! No questions asked. I mean he was a physician…and resort staff…so why ask any questions besides where and when? The guys in the group had absolutely no interest in massage by a man at all…they did not want anything to do with it. I am certain if it were a female physician of the Latino persuasion who was offering a full body rub with oil that they would look at it differently…but there was no talking them into getting a massage with a man! So, that left only my sister-in-law Kim and my gal pal Trisha to convince…can you imagine that…having to convince anyone to get a massage? Now…here comes a jaw dropper…both gals admitted to me that neither of them had ever had a massage! I was like….WHAT??? What do you mean you’ve never had a massage? Like….never had a massage in Cuba before…right? No…never had a massage….like ever! Both women explained that they were uncomfortable with the entire concept of being partially naked and touched by a total stranger…worried the masseuse might see something...yadda, yadda, yadda. I explained that the masseuse does not look at a massage in a sexual nature in any way. I even went so far as to compare a masseuse to a nurse to alleviate their fears. I explained that we nurses see all kinds of wieners and ‘hoo-has’ and in no way do we ever regard the human body in a sexual way at all. I also threw in a little extra…that there is no need to wear clean under wear everytime you leave the house just in case you get into an accident…because we do not check your underwear before we cut it off in the Emergency Room…and you will most likely shit your pants if you are in an accident anyway!!!

I digress, I could NOT believe that I actually had to try to convince them of what they were missing…I went on and on about the benefits of massage…extreme relaxation…and the total endorphin rushes from it…to name a few. Then I carried on and on about the ridiculously cheap price…nothing to lose….yadda, yadda, yadda. I finally broke them both…and they too (albeit reluctantly) signed on for a massage with the physician for the next morning. My sister-in-law Kim was first in line at 8am, Trisha at 9 am and my massage was booked for 10am. I was so excited for them both to experience their very first massage…I could barely wait to see their faces! We agreed to all meet up at the beach afterwards.

The next morning I showed up at the doctor’s office bright-eyed and bushy tailed…ready for my massage at 10 am. I stripped down to my bra and panties lay on my stomach and covered myself with the sheet. Let the good times roll…let the massage begin! The physician/masseuse cracked his fingers and dug in. For all intensive purposes, the massage started out as any other would and it was great…until the rolling pin came out. You heard me right…the ROLLING PIN! At first he rolled the pin up and down my legs and back…kneading my muscles like I was a piece of dough…it felt great…wow…what a great idea….oh my. Then…OH MY…did the handle of that rolling pin just poke me in the hoo-hah!? No it couldn’t possibly have been aimed for my muffin! Surely, he must have slipped! The rolling pin started up the inside of my right thigh…and then on the way over to my left thigh…KERPLUNK…poke right in my hooch again! Out of all the things that could have been racing through my brain at that point… images of Kim and Trisha’s horrified faces during the rolling pin violation were screaming at me…then images of them beating me to death with a rolling pin came to mind. I was mortified that I talked them into this! The TRAUMA of it all!

I abruptly said “Ok…that’s enough of that!” As I sat up he said “I do you front now.” I flipped over on my back and the massage resumed normally again…until the doctor’s male assistant waltzed in. He said “Oh me so sorry…I need medicine for a people here.” He went over to a medication cupboard and removed a bottle and went back out…slowly. Then, as the massage resumed the little man sauntered in again and said “Oops, me forget something.” This time he stared…with a big huge smile on his face. I said “Uh…didn’t you forget something?” He nodded yes…and while smiling broadly and staring at my lady humps…he reached into the cupboard without looking away from my juicy white bosom and grabbed a bottle. Sensing my agitation, I believe the doctor got a little nervous and he dismissed the little assistant in Spanish and out he went. Then the massage started again.

Everything was great…until the rolling pin came out again. He started rolling the pin up and down like he was kneading dough again…and it felt great…until he started rolling my boobs! You’d think he was Michelangelo working on a beloved sculpture the way he went at them. His tongue was sticking out like a little kid concentrating really hard on something. I broke his concentration when I said “those ain’t muscles you know!” He looked embarrassed as he snapped out of his reverie and resumed the massage….or the rolling I should say. Up my right thigh…and HELLO!!!...another pit-stop probing into my monkey again! I said “OK…we are done here!” At this point he looked petrified….mad Canadian guest in Cuba most likely equals a kick in the nut sack and a firing at best. I grabbed my clothes and left with the sheet wrapped around me. He ran after me…”you like?” I answered “NO ME NO LIKE!” and marched off.

At this point I was less worried about me…and more worried about Kim and Trisha’s first experience. I whipped on my bathing suit and nervously headed to the beach. I found them both there with all the boys… chatting and laughing …most likely plotting my death! As I joined the group I very sarcastically said… “What did you guys think about THAT massage?” They both answered that is was “amazing”….”awesome”…”everything I said it would be”….they loved it! I was shocked…puzzled….and scratching my head I said “What did you think about that rolling pin?”…and they both looked bewildered and said in unison…” WHAT ROLLING PIN?!?”

“You have to be born a sex symbol. You don’t just become one. If you are born with it, you will have it until you are 100 years old"~ Sophia Loren

Lynn
;)

Weight Watchers Can Kiss My Ass (Part Deux)

Ten years ago I went on my first trip south. Instead of being excited like most 'normal' people... I spent months grieving about my size before-hand. I obsessed over how HUGE I was going to look on the beach. Tons and tons of grief for months before I even got on the plane…and the grief continued in my head throughout the entire trip! I decided this time that life was far too short (and expensive!) to ruin a perfectly good holiday down south by tormenting myself over the number on the scales! So, I finally did it! I said I would…but never thought I could ever actually follow through with it! I managed to go away on a vacation down south without crucifying myself over my weight and/or size….not once…and it was fantastic!

For starters, I got sick and tired of being limited to those plus sized potato sacks at the local plus sized store. I HATE those HUGE sack-like dresses in dreary gray or black with tacky bedazzled rhinestones on them or bozo-esque three ring circus themes on them. Now can you please tell me which BBW designer says…”please make me a little something that screams I am huge as an elephant and belong in a circus tent-like dress? Make sure you put obnoxious patterns, rouging and ruffle on my trouble spots too please! Oh and please make it pull and stretch with all of its screaming might across my gut and ass please! Put letters across it too….that draws some more attention to my sweet spots” I was disheartened and disgusted. So, I stepped way out of my comfort zone and did some online shopping. I measured myself…found stuff I liked….and ordered it on a wing and a prayer! I can hear all of you sucking in air in disbelief….but yes…I did it with NO REGRETS! I got a couple of funky bathing suits, a sassy hot pink wrap dress….and the BIGGEST prize of all was my plus sized Barbie dress!!!

My plus-sized Barbie dress is a purple sequined number…the tank-style-top of the dress is covered in various sparkling shades of hot purple sequins, then a black elastic band waist (a la 80’s style) and finished off with purple chiffon ruffles that stopped at the top of my thighs! When the dress arrived in the mail, I whipped my nightie right up over my head and threw it right there it on the floor by the front door (I closed the front door first by the way!). I whipped the dress over my head…and it slid right on me like a glove! The hem is a little short….so short I cannot bend over or sit in public without showing my Brittany (hooch)…but I didn’t give a shit! I immediately woke up my husband by posing on his bed like Wonder Woman and I squealed “Look at me Boo!!! LOOK!” His jaw dropped and he said “Oh my God that dress is fantastic!” I agreed immediately and said “I hope you like it…because I am wearing it to breakfast, lunch, dinner, the pool and to bed every day of the cruise!” LOL! Throughout our entire vacation…I wore big sparkly jewellery, brightly coloured fitted funky tops, and outfits that hugged my curves…I felt amazing! I always wanted gel nails (so I got my hands and feet done!) I dyed my hair the lightest blonde possible…and VOILA….a sexkitten was born! All those things with a wickedly cool dark tan…and I felt like a million bucks every single moment of every single day. Step back! I felt like I am ten feet tall and bullet proof throughout the entire vacation.

So, one day last week I was standing at the Panama Canal….minding my business…and all of a sudden I begin to feel a little nervous… like a ‘virgin at a prison rodeo’ kind of nervous. I was getting WAY too much attention from the male Panamanians! While I am waiting for my guide, workers in passing trucks whistled and ogled at me. One guy almost hit another car because he is rubber necking in my direction. Tons of passing workmen were pointing, smiling, waving and calling me “precioso” (precious), “bello” (beautiful) and “linda” (pretty).! Then in my usual innocent-like fashion I batted my eye lashes and in an utter-disbelief-like-fashion I ask incredulously…”are they talking about me?” Some of them snapped photos of me with their cell phones! One guy asked to have his picture taken with me! I felt like a plus-sized version of Madonna!

When our guide Elvis arrived, I asked him “Elvis….do Panamanian men tend to favor big white women with bodacious ta-tas?” The big black man blushed from ear to ear…giggled like a school boy….and while twisting his feet in the sand like a little boy he whispered (giggled)….”yes…there are not any blonde white women here…especially as BEEEEEG and CUUURRRRVY like you! You are like a rare gem here!” A rare gem huh? My proclamation from previous trips south echoed through my head…“Weight Watchers can KISS MY ASS!!!”

So ladies…are you feeling down? Crucifying yourself over another failed diet? Are you disappointed about your current size? Do you cringe at the thought of squeezing into a tummy tuck bathing suit and walking in public? Well, worry no more! Get your ‘cottage-cheese-esque’ asses on a plane to Central America….because in Central America… Plus-sized Barbies and BBW’s are nothing less than GODDESSES!

"Confidence is the sexiest thing a woman can have. It's much sexier than any body part."~Aimee Mullins

Lynn
;)

Check out this fabulous video!!!

Embrace your Curves!

Suck-Me-In Suits

So, what is a “suck-me-in” suit you ask? It’s most commonly known as SPANX but goes by many other brand names as well. In short, SPANX-like apparel is the girdle of the 20th century! Bottom line, it is the apparel equivalent to a “sausage casing” for women. Many women (and some men) will attest that these ‘suits’ are the best thing since sliced bread...but in my humble opinion it is all in the way you look (“squeeze”) at it (and if you don’t eat too much sliced bread you don’t need one!) I consider these “super-stretchy-gut-sucking-ass-flattening-zone-compression-stocking-suits” to be a psychotic testament to the twisted view of today’s society! God has secretly blessed you if you haven’t a clue what I am talking about!

I find the name SPANX itself is indicative of something painful (pleasurable to a few people) but for the most part...painful, so the name has been well thought out, planned and appropriately chosen...for one thousand-bare-bummed spankings would be far less painful to endure than an ‘event’ in one of my suck-me-in suit selections. Yes, I said ’selections’. I have a full suck-me-in body suit, suck-me-in panties with panels that go up to and tuck under my bra, suck-me-in thighs to waist, suck-me-in thighs to bra, suck-me-in camisoles that go down past my butt; all in that all too familiar nude color...I am not sure what options (if any) women of color may have, as I have only seen the across the board white woman nude. All I have to say to those people who testify that these torture devices are ‘so comfortable’is “PHOOEY YOU LIARS!”

From the very beginning women have squeezed themselves into teeny corsets that restrict breathing, Asian women have had their feet bound to fit into too-small shoes, women have and still do have their ribs removed to emulate a smaller waist! I truly believe it is genetic because women have been doing this to themselves ever since the beginning of time. I have no doubt that even EVE probably wrapped herself tightly in palm leaves to suck it all in. I mean she considered an apple a ‘cheat’...I don’t get it...I could understand chocolate dipped strawberries...but an apple for a cheat...was it worth it? I doubt it! She didn’t need a palm leave girdle or a cross your heart bra! I digress. I can definitely relate to the twisted thinking of no pain…no gain all for the sake of beauty.

My earliest memory of a girdle involved my Grandmother. Well beyond her curvy years...I recall my Aunt Esther placing her foot in Nanny’s back and pulling with all her might to hook those damned little hooks and eyes;about a million clasps from arsehole to appetite. I remember Esther and Nanny both gasping for breath and sweating profusely...but the end result was worth the effort because my Nanny felt gorgeous...and that was all that mattered! I myself chose a much more ‘civilized’ route. I bought too-tight jeans thinking that if I fit into them I would automatically look that size! How on earth do you explain a bleeding blister and callous on your index finger from pulling your zipper up with an untwisted coat hangar? Sometimes I drew blood...but my God I looked good! Of course, my tops would be loose fitting to hide the prominent ‘muffin top’ of fat drooping (and screaming) over the edges of the too-tight jeans. One night, the zipper decided to commit suicide as the pressure was simply too much...and gave out...a total blow out! I had somehow located a bag full of safety pins and proceeded to safety pin the zipper closed. There started my romance with bartering not to pee...as it was not worth the effort! From there, I graduated to simply emptying my bladder, lying down on the bed….sucking in my gut and holding my breath until I was blue in the face and hallucinating from lack of oxygen and pulling up the zipper with all of my might! Then I found the SPANX!

My full suck-me-in body suit is the most challenging of all of my shape-slimming suits by far. It has a special crotch clasp opening that is beyond impossible to open at any time whilst the suit is donned. Besides being impossible to bend over and reach the tiny twisted clasps at a critical moment of need (full bladder or my personal favourite...sudden-onset of explosive diarrhea!) if and when you could manage to undo the offensive crotch clasp...it would whip open and flip upwards; releasing all of the oppressed (excuse me zone-compressed) body infarctions! I can see it now (from personal experience)...just like those out-of-control horizontal blinds that whip up right to the top when you lose control of the draw-string...I liken releasing the crotch clasps in this psycho suit it to pulling the pin on a grenade! Just wait a few seconds and then KABOOM...major GUNT and perineal fall-out (now there’s a pretty picture for you!).

I wear these damned things all the time...well not at the beach or under my nighties. I sometimes imagine that taking a leap off of my dresser into it would be far easier than my wiggly squiggly callisthenic routines of getting into these suck-me-in suits….then be all breathless pissy and sweaty! I must admit that when I am all ‘sucked in’ I do feel like a million bucks...from an aesthetic perspective...definitely not from a comfort perspective! When I have to pee...I will confess I do the old ‘pull the crotch to the side trick’...otherwise I would have to take off my top, slip out of the full body suck-me-in suit, drop my drawers, sit and pee in a ridiculously small public washroom cubicle, and then endure the nightmare of trying to get the damned thing back on without lying down or having room to jump about. I have done this once or twice...and I have had images of being knocked out (and subsequently discovered) unconscious on a bathroom floor with my SPANX twisted around my ankles!

Up until last night, I thought wearing any garment that requires you to barter and plead with God to avoid urinating, sneezing and/or sometimes even breathing...should be banned! But...a strange thing happened when my night was almost over. I was undressing and my husband came rushing in excitedly asking when I got the new lingerie. Lingerie? Where? I have managed to hide the fact that I am wearing suck-me-in suits for over 10 years and I finally got ‘caught’. I was about to remind him that this was not lingerie...that the politically correct term was ‘suck-me-in-suit...but before I could he said “that suit is so SEXY baby!” Instead, (in a sex kitten voice)... I said " What this old thing?"...and brought in the New Year with a KABOOM!

During a trial in which she was accused of indecency on stage:

Judge: 'Miss West, are you trying to show contempt for this court?'

Mae West: 'On the contrary, your Honor, I was doin' my best to conceal it.'”

Lynn
;)

The "Magic" of Chistmas

Don't you wish that you could actually "bottle" the magic of Christmas back from when you were a kid? Back when you were a kid...you didn't have to worry about Christmas shopping, baking, those GD Santa Swaps for under $20 for people you don't give a shit about, Christmas decorating...and worst of all...the entire hang over of Christmas debt. You didn't have to worry about calories, pay attention to what you ate or stress about gaining weight. All you ever had to worry about was your mother actually completing the phone call to Santa to tell him not to bother coming....when you have been saucy or a naughty girl/boy...I still can't believe that I bought that scam year after year...it's the same as when Dad would scream "don't make me stop this car!"... my brother Lloydie, Lori and me would instantly shut up and be scared shitless. But, what would have happened if he stopped the car? Did anybody's parents ever actually stop the car? Would he have left us on the side of the highway? NO...irrationally we would all sit in fear...fear of the car stopping! I digress...back to the threat of the phone call...the simple movement of lifting the receiver of the phone... not touching the dial...stopped me in my tracks...and I am still a naughty girl who is scared shitless of the phone receiver in my Mother's hand!!!

I remember many Chritsmas' staring out of our large picture window...desperately looking up to the sky for the sleigh. I still swear to you that I saw Rudolph's bright red nose leading the other reindeer and Santa's sleigh over my house! Every Christmas Eve my mother cranked up that "Santa Sleigh Tracker" on the radio...somehow the 'sleigh' was almost on the edge of our town right around bedtime...(highly suspicious and perfect timing I'd say!)...but I was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster ride anyway. When I was a kid, time sure moved super-agonizingly-slow on Christmas Eve! I even tried to go to bed one year at 4pm because I just couldn't stand the wait any longer! But...I got out of bed for church and Christmas Dinner with my grandparents....which was awesome. My grandparents made my Christmas complete. Every Christmas Eve before they left for their 'rounds'(cousin Sherry!) we were allowed to select one present and open it. Nanny and Grampy always gave me and Lori the same thing...mine was pink...Lori’s was blue...whatever it was it was awesome!I spent the weeks before Christmas studying the packages and shaking them in order to make the best decision for which gift to open on Christmas Eve! I was a slow learner back then...because we always opened our grandparents’ gift while they were still there...but the following year I started the gift studying all over again.

When we were kids, my sister Lori and I shared a bedroom. One night when I was about 4 years old, I distinctly remember waking up and hearing the sounds of presents being moved around....both of us almost shit our pants with excitement. Being the ballsy girl I am...I decided that Santa would like nothing more than to actually meet me in person...so in my "kitty pyjamas" (those once piece PJ's with feet included and a snap open bum)...I jumped out of bed...and started to make my way to the living room to greet the jolly fellow...but my plans were foiled when my Dad stepped into my path. My Dad is a big man...blocks the light from coming through a doorway kind of big...so if he steps in front of you...you stop. He asked "where do you think you're going?" In my little voice (like Cindy-Loo-Who)...I pulled my thumb out of my mouth... and very authoritatively informed him that I was going to meet Santa. He crossed his arms and shook his head back and forth in a no. He said "are you kidding me? You better get back to bed quickly because Rudolph is on the roof right now!" At that very second...Rudolph (aka my brother Lloyd) scuffed his hoof(boots)...on the roof directly above my head!!(The roof of our house was flat by the way!).If I knew the meaning of OMFG back then I would have screamed it out...but in a 4 year old mode 35+ some years ago...I remember my heart stopping! Now...my memory gets a little blurry after that...somehow...faster than the speed of light...I landed back into my bed from 20 feet away without my feet touching the ground...and against all rational odds I somehow fell asleep until the morning.

Waking up...I remember those butterflies doing cart wheels in my belly...so much excitement simply by opening my eyes! I had that moment where I simply woke up...and then the reality that Santa had been to my house....and a pile of gold was waiting for me just around the corner would set in. I would scream "NORI (Lori=sis)....NORI get up....come on!!!!"...and off we would go...running to the living room! In our house...Santa did not wrap his gifts...the gifts from Santa were staring right back at us as we rounded the corner into the living room. There we stood...taking it all in. My heart skipped a beat...I couldn't breathe....right there in the center-front of the tree stood Wendy Walker...the big and tall doll of my dreams!

Wendy Walker was 32" tall and she had the most beautiful blonde hair with ringlets. She did not actually "walk" at all...her legs moved back and forth from the groin...no knee action...no chance of walking...I think maybe "Walker" was her last name. It didn't matter ...I was only a few inches taller than she was...and I drugged this life-sized, stiff monstrosity around with me everywhere. Thumbelina was going to be so jealous! Do you remember Thumbelina....she was a soft doll...you pulled a string in her back and she wriggled like a real baby? Thumbelina had no need to be jealous...I still miss her the most...I LOVED her! The following year Wendy Walker was discarded to the back of the pile and replaced with Baby Tender Love...like children though...you loved them all...just in a different way than the others! I loved Baby Tender Love so much I actually almost chewed the legs right off of her!(Don't even try to tell me that you did not chew on Baby Tender Love or your Barbie's feet...because I know you would be lying!).I also had Mrs. Beasley...that doll is just plain old scary UGLY...but somehow I managed to fall in love with her too! Mrs. Beasley was a plastic headed old lady wearing a blue and white polka dotted suit from neck to toes...she had thick black framed glasses and when you pulled her string she said loving things like a Grandmother would. I don't remember what she said...but I loved her just the same.

I digress...back to Christmas Day with Nori(Lori). After everything was opened...I would take a breath or two to regain composure and I would re-examine everything...and take in that "new" smell of Christmas presents. I have no recollection what Lori or my brother Lloyd got...I didn't care. They were older and got fewer toys and more clothes...like grown-up things. I also got a can of hot pink "Silly String" that year too! I LOVED that! I can still smell it...my parents must have been some pissed at Santa that year because I made one hell of a mess all over the house with that stuff!

Then, years later...you wake up whenever...and all the gifts are wrapped...and soft...like clothes only. There are no toys at all. No excitement leading up to the days before Christmas...no 'sleigh tracker' on the radio...no need to look out the window. No more ripping through the pages of the Sears Wish Book as soon as it crossed the door step. No more worrying about Santa burning to death in the blazing fire in our fireplace...no more Grandparents. Every year after they died...I would look to the door like a loyal dog....waiting for them to come home...which wasn’t going to happen. Christmas just wasn't the same at all. In fact, it turned out to be a tremendous disappointment...I desperately searched for that "magic" feeling year after year...and I never ever found it. As a grown up...and a nurse...I would sign on to work every year...saying I wanted people with kids to have it off...but in reality I was trying to avoid the disappointment that would inevitably come anyway.

Then, out of the blue...the love of my life jumped into my world with children in tow. On that first Christmas with my step kids (aged 6 and 9)...I didn't see it coming....but that "magic" feeling rushed right back into my heart. I spent the weeks before the event searching for that 'perfect' gift for them...and it was worth every minute for the look on their faces. When the kids opened those gifts it was magical...priceless in fact...you cannot beat a front-toothless grin with the accompanying spitty speech impediment....thankth tho much Nynn(Lynn=me) !!!I'm tho happy!!! Tears of joy flowed freely from them (and me) as they opened the perfect gifts...giving oodles of hugs and kisses...all day! Before the step kids stomped into my life...I had the perfectly manicured Christmas tree with clear lights, crystal ornaments and burgundy bows...but after our first year together...and every year afterwards...I had multicoloured....dysfunctional crooked trees with randomly placed items...perfect! I also got to play "Barbies" and color all day too! I LOVE COLORING!

As it turns out...the magic of Christmas was not lost forever...it was simply 'on hold'...and within me the entire time. Can you imagine my surprise when I discovered how much Santa cursed and swore when he attempted to put the toys together (FYI-the Easter Bunny swears alot too!). I found myself too excited to sleep...waiting for that pile of gold to be discovered that Santa left at my house by the kids. I will admit that it was very challenging answering questions about how Santa was able to find them (the kids) at their mother's house...and at our house. How Santa managed to get into the apartment without a chimney or key...and best of all...the highly scientific answer that I had to conjure up when I blared the radio...and was asked how the "Santa Sleigh Tracker" worked while they desperately searched and stared up into the sky!

"Until one feels the spirit of Christmas, there is no Christmas. All else is outward display - so much tinsel and decorations. For it isn't the holly, it isn't the snow. It isn't the tree not the firelight's glow. It's the warmth that comes to the heart”~Anonymous

Nynn
(aka Lynn)
;)

Death Becomes Her

For those of you who do not know me I am a nurse. I never wanted to be a nurse...ever! Because there was no roll call in university,I decided to be the cribbage champion of the student union building and subsequently failed out of my first year of university! Now, considering that I graduated almost at top of my class in high school with a 94% average...plummeting to the lowest depths of the earth with “academic probation” followed by a “see you later” at the end of the school year was simply unacceptable to my mother...a teacher. FAILURE WAS NOT AN OPTION! So, with fists clenched she ‘nicely’ cornered me one day and said “Navy or nursing”...take your pick”. I started to say “Well, I don’t think that I am interested in either really”... but then she simply (and very sternly) repeated herself...”Navy or nursing...it is not a question of anything else...take your pick.” I thought about peeling potatoes somewhere over the North Atlantic Ocean and with head bowed I quietly answered “nursing”.

My Grandmother was technically the first nurse in our family. She did not graduate from an accredited nursing school...she did not have a cap or black stripe...but she was the epitome of what a nurse is. Nanny assumed the care of every single sick family member in her home until they died. This is where I believe I got my innate nursing capabilities from. When my Dad was a young boy it was ‘just another day’ for the relatives to be taken out the door “feet first”. "Feet first" is the exact translation of French "les pieds devant", which is a metaphorical humorous/slang expression meaning "dead". It is frequently used with "partir" (leave) and there is always an indication of movement, as of a coffin rolling, or lying on a stretcher. So, years before I was even a glimmer in my Father’s eye...death was just as ordinary as lunch...sometimes it even came between lunch and dessert!

The death theme spilled over into my world and continued to be an everyday ‘normal’ occurrence in my life. My earliest childhood memories and bonding moments with my Mother involve regular visits to the funeral parlors and going for walks in the Fernhill cemetery. I absolutely loved the cemetery...I actually remember begging Mom to take me! At the funeral parlor there was plenty of great food, punch, and socializing galore...everyone was glad to see you...it just made sense to me that the first three letters of funeral spelled FUN! I did not have a clue that going to the funeral home or cemetery was not what every kid loved doing. Little did I know... this life-and-death experience (my Grandmother’s huge heart and the unintentional funeral-parlor-etiquette-training)...during my early formative years would come in very handy and would prepare me for my life’s profession!

My current position as nursing supervisor involves being a family advocate at cardiac arrests and traumas. Over the last week, I have dealt with the sudden deaths of a 58 year old, a 59 year old, people with terminal cancer, elderly patients, some newborns and still births and some forever young DOA’s (dead on arrivals) from accidents. During these events, it is my job to seek out the family...keep them updated...hold their hands...offer an official shoulder to cry on...pass the Kleenex...provide unlimited hugs...and introduce the physician to deliver the verdict. I am their ‘ROCK’...and I feel honored to be there for them.

For all intensive purposes...my 'death-training' prepares me to stand strong...remain strong and in control...to be a ‘rock’...but in reality I am a mess! I relentlessly carry the family members with me for days...sometimes my heart feels twisted like a sponge as I think about the mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers whom I have never met. I think of them...imagine what their Christmas will be like...wonder how they are getting through the day...worry for their futures...and their present. I liken myself to be more like a Cherry Blossom than a rock...you know those chocolate treats that resemble a rock? They have a hard chocolate and nutty exterior...but with some persistence and a good bite...a soft and gooey pink center oozes out all over the place? As tough as I would like to appear on the outside...these experiences inevitably result in a break and subsequent explosive flood out in the dam!

A couple of weeks ago, two birds who were flying along and having the time of their lives...crashed into my picture window with a big loud thump!I jumped up to see what was going on...only to catch a glimpse of one bird lifting its head...looking both ways...taking it's last breath and dying right there on my lawn at the base of my window! The other bird was head first in the ground...ass up...and struggling to get back up. My first instinct (and absolute terror) was that I would have to kill it in order to end the suffering and save its helpless body from the jaws of a hungry kitty. I immediately picked up the phone and called my husband at work...I hysterically told his supervisor that it was an emergency...and when he came to the phone...I imagined myself pummeling this helpless bird to death with a shovel...and I LOST IT! I screamed and wailed and cried myself into out-of-control hysteria. Thankfully, my hubby works next door...so he rushed home to remove the dead bird...and in the process...when he helped the ass-up bird get upright...it woke up from its reverie and it flew away! You would think that this would make me feel better right? WRONG! I re-imagined myself pummeling this thing with a shovel to save it’s suffering...and the possibility that I could have murdered a living bird made me even nuttier!!! My husband held me through my out-of-control-heaving-crying spell...and after he went back to work, I ate my way through the rest of the day...wishing to God there were melted cheese vats or tubs of chocolate pudding to dive into...extra melted cheese...deep fried anything. When I get into these ‘states’...there is not enough chocolate in the world that will help me feel better! I had to lie down for a couple of hours to recover...damn that oozing pink center! Damn...a Cherry Blossom would be really really good to eat right now!

I graduated from nursing 20 years ago this week. Over the past two decades I have been privy (and blessed) to be present for the most frightening and/or miraculous moments in the lives of complete strangers. I have been there when people who fear bad news are given good news...and I have been there when people who didn’t see it coming have been delivered a devastating blow. I have seen births, deaths, miraculous recoveries, inexplicable tragedies and sudden deaths. It is during these times that I can't help but to reflect on my life and death training...I have realized that I was born to do this...prepared to guide people by the hand through these painful life moments. Bottom line here...my Mother did not pick nursing...nursing picked me. Nursing has molded me into the person I am today...and for that I am forever grateful for this amazing and blessed life experience!When you're a nurse you know that every day you will touch a life or a life will touch yours. ~Author Unknown

God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled~(Author Unknown).

Lynn Casey RN
;)

The Olympic Torch

This week the Olympic torch came through my town. My hubby and I went to watch it. It was a really cool event. There was a Coca Cola truck before the torch bearer that passed out free Coke, Canadian flags and neon shiny things. There were a couple other official vehicles with the media and torch runners in tow and then the torch runner. Lucky for us, there was a torch pass over right in front of us! I went to snap some amazing photos...and much to my chagrin...my camera was DEAD! I could have screamed! I joked that ‘oh well...at least this memory is ‘burned’ into our brains!

The following day, I happened to go to my home town 90 miles away for a visit, just to see my family and friends for the day. Well, low and behold...didn’t I get stuck in traffic right in the middle of the torch relay? I was surprised and I could not believe I’d get a chance for an actual picture of the darned thing! Well, traffic was stopped...and as soon as the torch bearer came into view a big ass truck drove right in my view. My picture of the torch bearer is a blurred mess of a flame with a truck grill in the way! I admit that I was pissed...but I laughed it off. I realized that I was fortunate enough to see the flame relay twice and that in itself was really cool! The ‘old’ Lynn would have freaked out...she would have went down on the floor kicking and screaming in a full fledged temper tantrum with red faced rage!

When I was a young nurse, I was’ bright eyed and bushy tailed’, ready to take the world by storm. I quickly voiced my opinions and rallied for change. I believed in action, not reaction. I could not understand the resistance that I had met along the way. All I ever wanted was to make our profession better. Unfortunately, I became a scape goat for negativity. I was confused and disappointed. How could I have been perceived as exactly what I have learned to hate? Much to my demise, my passion for change turned into rage and years of frustration.

A couple of years ago, I broke 4 teeth from grinding in them in my sleep. I was not sleeping well and I would cry at the drop of a hat. I reached ‘the point of no return’ and I didn’t have the energy to turn around. I found getting out of bed to go to work challenging. I noticed that I would become anxious days before my shifts. I knew that I was ‘burnt out’. I tried to ignore it. But my body would not allow me too. This burn out spilled over into my personal life. I am normally an outgoing and sociable person, but I began to withdraw and avoid social situations. I knew that I needed to do something. In the past, I would apply for another job and move on. However, I discovered that this ‘band aid’ only lasted for a short time. What on earth was I going to do?

I decided that I could not climb over the brick wall, and banging my head against it was not productive for my career or my health. I chose to take a detour instead of stop at this dead end. I realized that my fight begins with myself. I had to stop being bitter and learn to be better from my experiences. Well, I decided to change my lifestyle, instead of locations. I started to run, eat healthy, and change my attitude. I was judging myself according to what I did, rather than who I am.

Did you know that the Olympic torch has a secondary flame that kicks in if the main flame extinguishes? This is such an important analogy! To be the best person you can be you must guard your inner flame first! Now I am far from perfect! I have fallen off the wagon many times...and I have not been running for a couple of years now. But, every time I fall off...I get back on...fall off...get back on. Exercise always sneaks back into my life...never totally gone. I most definitely eat healthy...with a slip now and then. I set aside special 'me time'...take long baths by candle light, read a book, get my nails done....whatever strikes my fancy. I realized that change begins within. You cannot change the way people think...you can only change how you react to them. I think back to the song we used to sing at Camp Medley: “it only takes a spark to get a fire going...and soon all those around...will warm up to it’s glowing.” When times are tough...dig down and spark up that inner flame.


“Success is not the result of spontaneous combustion. You must first set yourself on fire.” Fred Shero quotes

Lynn
;)