I'm a Fan, and I Don't Care Who Knows.

I didn't like being bald, but I was. Maybe it was because I was a girl. Maybe it was because it was really cold that winter when my hair fell out and, with it, the last bit of pretense that this wasn't happening to me. Bald or not, I had cancer. And, thank God, I had insurance. Two months prior to my diagnosis, I did not.
In my mind, people really didn't have to have insurance in their thirties. What were the odds I would be in a serious car accident? Prior to having insurance, I worked and lived in the same town. I barely drove anywhere. And I liked to think that, if my house caught fire, I would be able-bodied enough to hot-foot it out of there ahead of the flames.
Who am I kidding? I didn't think about that at all. I didn't think about any of it, because, come on, I was in my thirties and, I thought, ridiculously healthy.
But then, the lump. But then, the surgery. But then, the news that I never believed I would hear.
I had no history of breast cancer in my family. I had never smoked. I had never taken birth control. And I was 35. Thank God for the insurance, because, in case you hadn't heard, cancer is expensive. What if, though, my husband's company changes insurance carriers? Then my cancer becomes a pre-existing condition, and I won’t qualify for cancer coverage under the new carrier. Period.
So when I first started hearing rumblings of what is known around these parts as "Obamacare" I was equal parts intrigued and apprehensive. I was apprehensive because I truly didn’t believe that anyone was going to reform our healthcare system anytime soon. I was intrigued because somebody wanted to. I was cynical because I believed that this “reform” was going to be lobbyist-driven. So I did what any skeptical person should do (oh, but that they would). I read it. I read the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. It’s a dry read, make no mistake. And it’s a long read. And I’d be lying if I said I absorbed every single word. It doesn’t matter. Nothing is perfect, but this is a big step toward repairing what once seemed an irretrievably broken system. Under the Act, cancer will no longer be a pre-existing condition for me if my insurance carrier changes. I will not lose my cancer coverage.
Although I have to wait until 2014, that’s better than waiting until hell freezes over. As with anything, there are pros and cons in the Affordable Care Act, but that’s another debate for another day. The point is that countless people with pre-existing conditions (not just cancer, but diabetes, heart disease, even asthma) won’t have to come up with the money to pay medical bills related to those illnesses. Don’t get me wrong, they’ll still get hammered with co-pays and deductibles, plus the percentage of coverage that falls to them, but THEY WILL STILL HAVE COVERAGE.
That’s huge. I haven’t tallied my total expenses from my cancer diagnosis and subsequent surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation treatments, but I started to. And I stopped once they hit $100,000. To think that I only ended up with 20 percent of that is a huge relief, even as the bills keep flooding in, almost two years after treatment. There is follow-up care, you see. There are regular check-ups, there are tests, there are all sorts of reasons that cancer and I still meet, long after the remission clock started ticking last year. We’re going to be linked for the rest of my life. Although my hair came back and the baldness is just a memory now, I still have post-chemo curls. I still have the scars from the surgeries, and from the port. I still write the checks to keep up with the debt, and I still have the bill collectors calling me when I can’t.
There are plenty of reasons to be bitter about cancer. So things like this so-called “Obamacare” are what I grasp at instead – reasons to be happy. They’re small victories, but ultimately I hope to be here when the war against insurance is won. I didn’t like being bald, but I was. And it’s a good thing, too, because it expanded my awareness to problems that big insurance didn’t want politicians to see.
I’m glad one refused to close his eyes.

So, I think my eyes are bleeding.

I got a little lazy in the last eight months or so, and I'm not afraid to admit it. In those eight months, since I graduated, I got used to bumming around, doing nothing more strenuous than playing softball and seeing how many Pinterest boards I could rack up (I think it's in the low 30's range, with roughly 29 of them being food-based boards. But I digress).
Then I felt my brain turning to mush (ever felt that? It's unpleasant) and decided that I was going to make this push to go back to school and start my master's degree. I love to learn, right? So this must be my thing, this grad school gig. I even got a coveted job as a graduate assistant to make it all really good and official-ly. That's not a word. Obviously I have a long way to go.
The point is, I went from this:

to this.
And now my head is pounding and my eyes feel like maybe they'd bleed, except they're too dry, and my back hurts from sitting here staring at the book and I'm pretty sure I have fifteen minutes to understand it before class starts and I have to discuss it. I really miss my pictures of food. But then I remind myself how mentally out of shape and complacent I felt when I was just looking at pictures of food, much less how physically out of shape I felt eating said foods, because you bet your ass I tried to make a lot of them, and, yes, it was a challenge, but not a challenge like trying to get through some Smolla. The words are beautifully written. They're just really, really hard to keep reading after a page.
As far as the new job, well, it's great. I got to do my first four mock interviews this week, and I really like it. If only I could finalize the shift from mush brain to super brain with a little more ease, things would be great. Until then, I'm going to need some dessert to get me through this three hour class I have in - now 12 - minutes. This should be interesting. Feel free to send me your favorite pictures of food, and happy Peanut Butter Day, fellow lovers!

Bucket List

I know, this is crazy. Two blog posts in one day?!? What's happening here? Well, I'll tell you. My husband is out of town and I have a lot more free time. Plus I'm not working at the theater tonight.
Moving on, I want to talk about something that is very dear to my heart. I'm talking about donuts. Doughnuts. Whatever you want to call them, I love them like they're my children. My delicious children, that I want to eat. Those kind of children. You know what I'm talking about.
I try not to think about donuts every day, and every day I fail. That's how great they are. Today's slip-up occurred when I saw a link on Facebook for Meche's Donut King.
The picture I saw was this.

It was, in a word, incredible. And then I saw a lot more pictures in my mind, starting with my wedding donuts. Yes, I said wedding donuts. Bill picked the cake (camo), so he got that while I, taking the role of the groom, had a bride's cake in the form of six dozen giant filled donuts. So then I think of this (bottom picture, obviously):

So, that brings me to my bucket list: I want to visit the top 10 donut shops in the nation before I die. Also before I'm too old to properly enjoy them. I don't want to have to gum those suckers down, I want to rip into them with relish! Not real relish. I'm talking gusto here.
Here they are, in no particular order, mainly based on location: the donut shops I want to visit. I had a lot more narrative with this originally, but, sadly, I accidentally deleted it. I'm still getting used to my new keyboard.
1. Voodoo Donuts
2. Top Pot Doughnuts
3. Randy's Donuts
4. Bouchon Bakery
5. Doughnut Plant
6. The Donut Stop
7. Psycho Donuts
8. Fractured Prune
9. Peter Pan Bakery
10. Sublime Doughnuts
11. Stan's Donuts
12. Lamar's Donuts (been there, but it's totally worth going back.)
Did I say Top 10? I meant Top Dozen. We're talking donuts, after all. Bottom line? I'm hungry.

I'm Back! The Fog has Lifted.

That title is shamelessly borrowed from Kid Rock, and I don't care who knows. It totally describes how I've felt the last couple of weeks. Being back in Pitt is incredible. I have missed the crap out of this place, and didn't even fully realize how much until I immersed myself back in the culture.
It's been awesome.
I loved my old job in that my boss was awesome, but the job itself wasn't very stimulating. There's a line in one of my current favorite songs, Forest Whitaker by Bad Books (check it out, seriously, you're doing yourself a favor unless you don't like my kind of music, in which case I'm sorry about your life) that goes a little something like this: You have a job that you hate when you're sober and hate even more when you're not. That line resonated with me a lot. I hate jobs that are boring, and I mean that in the sense that you have a set number of things to do, you do them, it never varies, and there's poor lighting in your office too, which emphasizes how depressing it all is. Oh, and your window faces a brick wall. Oh, and it's covered with a rusty grate.
So, there was that.
But my BOSS was awesome! And the people I worked with were awesome. I miss them. But not the monotony of the job. Enough about that. Now I'm in a new job, as a graduate assistant, which means that I enrolled in grad school, which is pretty awesome, and I'm paying for it myself as I go, which I hope will make me value the education even more, but we'll see. I just love taking classes from Dr. Arbuckle again. I've missed that guy.
So having two jobs that I love is great, and having two classes that I love is great.
Once my kid graduates in 2015, I'll be out of school, and thus out of a job, and I don't know how long my doctorate will take, but I'm pretty sure I can write from anywhere. I'm thinking I'll get a pork-pie hat and a pipe that I'll never smoke, just chew on, and BAM!, I'll be a stereotype, and then my writing can truly begin in earnest.
Anyway, that's what's been happening with me. The kids are still awesome, and the youngest is trying out for baseball, so fingers crossed on that, and the oldest started another semester at Crowder, which means he's on the back end of his degree, hours-wise, and I'm so proud of him for that, and if I could just convince Hunter that he isn't a failure if he works a little less and gets back into boxing, and things that HE really loves, then we'll be all set.
How's it going with YOU? I love what you're doing with your hair today, and I like your top. Talk to me anytime.

Five Types - Which One are You?

One of the best things I ever learned in a class was a lesson covered in Small Group Communication. Dr. Pogue introduced us to the five different personality types, and I was amused to realize that, of the five living in our house, each of us was a different one.
The first type is the Blamer. This one is self-explanatory, really, but in a nutshell, the Blamer never sees that he or she did anything wrong. Everything is the fault of someone else, and the Blamer never is the cause of any wrongdoing. You can't really reason with a Blamer, either. They will probably blame you for it.
The second type is the Blamer's opposite, the Placater. This is the person who blames him- or herself for everything. Rather than blaming anyone else, one who placates will accept full blame for everything, even things that that person isn't to blame for, which makes this type just as faulty in its own way as the Blamers.
The third type is the Computer. The Computer does not show emotions. This person is robot-like in that regard. Getting a Computer to break down is very difficult, if not impossible at times. This type of person is very even-keeled, but even though they seem completely laid-back, they are really just hiding their feelings so deeply that often they aren't even aware of them.
The fourth type is the Distractor. The Distractor is lost in his own head. You can identify a Distractor by asking him a question. If you get no answer or hint that the person heard you, ask again. If he responds with "Whut?" then you've likely got a Distractor in front of you.
The Distractor will do anything to shift attention away from themselves, particularly when being called to task about something involving responsibility. They don't want to admit that it's happening, and they will try to make you forget that it's happening, too. Though this type can be comical at times, ultimately it is very frustrating to get a Distractor to focus and do what they need to do.
Finally, the fifth type is the Leveler. The Leveler is the most well-adjusted of the five types. This person can also be referred to as a Fixer. The Leveler tries to make everything better, but not by sacrificing themselves in the process. They are honest, up-front, real, and caring, but they're not afraid to do what they need to do to get the job done. They neither blame nor avoid. They meet problems head-on, without hesitation.
While none of our cases in my family are extreme to the extent that they were when I took this class, we have a classic Blamer in our lives that should be pictured in the textbooks when this personality type is mentioned. I guess that's what made me remember that long-ago lesson, and realize that some things really do stick with you. Thank you, Dr. Pogue, and for the rest of you, which type are YOU?