In your reckless mind, you act as if you've got more lives

Not a year goes by when November 26 doesn't strike me as a solemn day. It was 12 years ago on that day that my grandpa Smith died. I was with him when he died - it is a memory that I wish I didn't have, and an experience I wish I hadn't gone through. It likely goes without saying that I wish more than anything that he hadn't died. You find out as years pass that life does go on, but that doesn't mean you miss him any less.

My grandpa was a big guy - corpulent. It seems like when he was alive, I was so annoyed with him. I mean, I was 15 years old, I was pretty much annoyed with any family member at that point who cramped my style. His weight, his coat that wouldn't button, anything and everything bothered me.

I never thought I would look back and give anything to see his big belly again. To feel him rub his stubble on my face or to put my feet in his lap to rub them. I did that so often that he once told my mom & me that I should be a foot model. :) He would drop anything to help me out - he bought me a keyboard when I saw one I thought was cool, paid for dance lessons when I wanted to be a ballerina, bought me a violin and a coronet when I wanted to be a musician. I gave all of those things up, but he was proud of me nonetheless. He was what grandpas are supposed to be made of.

So grandpa, it might be 12 years and 6 days since you died, but I love you to the moon and back.

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I think I once admitted on here (I hope so, because if I didn't I'm about to let an embarassing cat out of the bag) that I cleaned my belly button as a child with a toothpick. Totally odd & gross, but I did. Now, as a 27 year old adult, I would like to admit that sometimes I take a small flashlight and look up my nose. Yes, I just admitted that grossity. But who wants to have bats in the cave if they don't need to?! This leads me to the point that a few weeks ago I noticed when I was investigating my nasal cavity with a flashlight that it was quite bloody & inflamed. I figured this was because of my allergies/dryness in my apartment. When I mentioned this to the doctor, she confirmed it. When I mentioned it to my friends, they thought I was crazy. "Who knows what the inside of your nose looks like in the first place?" I do. But I wasn't about to admit to how and why I knew it.

This leads me to another story. I decided last week to buy a vaporizer/humidifer for my apartment. I stood in the aisle at Wal-Mart for like 20 minutes trying to decide which one to get. Do I get the cheap $13 Vicks vaporizer or the $30 humidifier? Either way, you're just seeking something to spit out moisture into the air. I went with the $13 version. It also reminded me of a conversation I had when I was about 6 years old with my grandma. It went something like this:

Erin: "Grandma, do you have a vibrator?"
Mom: "What did you just ask her!?"
Erin: "Does she have a vibrator?"
Grandma: "A vibrator?!"
Erin: "Yeah, you know, that spits water into the air."
Grandma: "You mean a vaporizer?"
Erin: "Yeah, that."
Grandma: "Yes, I have one."
Erin: "What's a vibrator then?"
Mom: "You'll find out when you're older."

Ah, good times. That was around the time I couldn't figure out the difference between half-an-hour and an-hour-and-a-half. Luckily, I've figured out the difference between that and vaporizers/vibrators.

The ovary saga continues. After having a terribly painful ultrasound, wanting to punch out the lights of the receptionist at Dr.'s office, and finally confiding to Dr. herself of the problems I have been having (which she was completely unaware of), I have been once again told that there was nothing found on my ultrasound. I feel like the boy who cried wolf. But there is something going on there: I'm sure of that. I can't quite describe what it feels like - it's almost like someone is taking a sharp object and poking one ovary or the other (it goes on in both) over and over again. But then their hand gets tired and it stops for awhile. It's just obnoxious. Sometimes I feel like there is a little alien in there that is trying to break out. That's what I said last year before I was diagnosed - boy was I on target with that! If you don't know what a dermoid tumor is, you've got to check that link out.

Anyway, Dr. is now sending me for a CT scan. That is how I was originally diagnosed, and she believes that the severity of my pain warrants further investigation.

God bless you, Dr.

And God bless anyone who reads this blog, for that matter.