Vox’s posts tagged reminiscing

3000 Photos

nobody@vox.com(swissmartian) — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 18:40:53 +0000

Reminiscing.
This makes me smile.

Thank you, Robbie, whoever you are.

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Parotidectomy

nobody@vox.com(queerbubbles) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 23:19:14 +0000

In July of 2005 I had a full parotidectomy. What, in god's name is a parotid and why the hell did it get ectomy-ed? Well... apparently, this is a pretty common thing. Whats not so common is how large and how old mine was.

After I was born, my mom noticed a small lump behind my ear, near my jaw. She asked the doctor about it and they told her it would go away soon enough and to just ignore it. Fast forward 19 years and I, for the first time ever, notice this centimeter large thing. I went to a doctor and they told me to ignore it since it didnt hurt and it was probably just an overlarge lymph node (although, in hindsight... a fuggin large lymph node is a bad sign by itself anyway). Another year goes by and I'm in with my new family doctor in C-ville and they're doing a quick once over for State Department. The lady feels under my ear and says, "Whats that!?" "Dunno... you're the doctor." "Have you always had this?" "Yep." "Well, is it bigger than normal?" And sure enough, that thing was about an inch big.

I got a referral to an Ear Nose and Throat dude who took one feel and said, "Oh yeah. Its a tumor in your parotid gland. That should get removed." So, we did a little biopsy. Holy frick on a stick... I can handle alot of random shit done to me, and things cut open and what not. But I can usually see whats being done to me. Not so much this time around. I very nearly passed out right there in the chair. I was crying, it was just bad.

Results come in... its benign. Doc still wants it out. Says, "How's next Wednesday for you?" Um... ok. I'm handed a packet of info that I needa give the hospital (Living Will, Next of Kin... that kinda stuff). In the meantime I was given a script for valium (Am I that transparent?) and an appointment for an MRI.

Day of the thingy rolls around. Ma and Dad, M, and his Mom... all in the room with me. I couldnt eat from midnight on till the surgery. It was supposed to go down at 11am, but at 2pm, I was still in the room. I was getting pissy, hungry, and more nervous by the second. Finally, a very nice nurse comes in and tells me that everything is ready. I sit in my wheelchair and say bye to my family. I'm wheeled all over the place and finally arrive at the room. People are everywhere, things are set up on a table... Jesus. At this point, I'm very much scared to death. I'm not talking, and only barely responding to requests. They told me to go something, I blankely did it. They told me to take something off... I mutely complied.

There is a moment in everyone's life where they realize that absolutely nothing is in their control. I had arrived at that moment. I knew that this surgery was very necessary, and that I had reached a point of no return. I laid down on the table, and a very kind man came up to me and told me that they were going to start the anestesia... and that it would only be another few seconds.

I was pulled out of my sleep in what felt like almost 10 seconds later. I was yanked. It felt like I had slipped down into a nice little hole, and was forcibly removed by my face. I vaguely remember complaining that I had to pee, and that I really had to pee, and oh my god someone please get my ass to a toilet I need to pee. I was given a bed pan, but I dont do that. I had to pee. I remember hearing an announcement that said, "Visiting hours are now over" and I began screaming and crying for M and my parents. The lady told me that that announcement didnt apply to them. I fell back asleep.

I woke up to being rolled down a hall, and a bunch of nurses around me. I, again, said I had to pee. They helped me up and walked me to my own private bathroom, where I proceeded to finally pee. I also puked. I was told that was normal. Mom, Dad, and M came in and tried to talk to me. M laughed and told me that I was in pediatrics. Lol. I was a stone's throw from 21, and I was in the little kid ward. Cute. Mom tried to put some lip balm on my lips and I groaned. Eventually, I drifted back off.

I woke up at 11 something at night. I realized that I was fuggin starving. I pressed my nurse # and said I had to pee (a recurring thing), and that I was a lil hungry. The lady came to unhook my legs from the "No Blood Clot Thing" and asked me what I wanted. I asked for chicken noodle soup and strawberry ice cream. I figured... fuck. I'm in goddamn Peeds. I called M and talked for a hot second, and then went back to sleep.

In the morning I was released and Ma and Dad stuck around for a bit to take care of me while M was in class. My entire face was twelve sizes waaay too big, especially the right side. Apparently, my tumor was bigger than they thought, and also so damn wrapped up in my nerves that what supposed to be 2 hours ended up being 5ish.

I still cannot feel my right earlobe and some of my neck. But, attached here is the picture of my scar that M took a few days ago. I cant see it, so I was wondering how it was going. Anywhoosit... thats my story. And I would love it if I never had to go to another hospital again. But I know thats not possible.

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Tales from Babysitting

nobody@vox.com(queerbubbles) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 17:56:08 +0000

No, not the movie. :P Or is it Tales of Babysitting? Does anyone know anymore... or more importantly, does anyone care?

I was a prolific babysitter. I knew I was good at it from the tender age of 12ish. The mother of a kid on my bus route in Belgium asked if I babysat. I smiled and said, "I havent yet... but I can!" She called my ma, and in the end, both decided I was too young. Pff.

My next opportunity was to babysit my next door neighbor, who was my friend at her age of 11, and her little brother, who was 5. I was 13ish. It went well, and we mostly just played. I went from there. I made the rounds and took care of children all around my neighborhood in Korea. After moving away from there, I went on to take care of my 2 year old niece during daytime hours for a summer. Pretty cool stuff, except that I was a typical 15 year old teenager who really just wanted to sleep for hours and surf the net. My niece loved watching Daria and we both learned the hard way that the 2 next to the word "salt" on the bag of the Uncle Ben's rice does not mean "cups of". Yeah, that was nasty.

Cairo was where I really shined. I never had a "set hourly rate". It seemed really disrespectful. Parents would ask, and I would reply with, "Whatever you feel I deserve." That generally brought in more than a set rate. I had my favorites, and I had my, "Noooo, not doing that again!"

I got stiffed sometimes; like the night I cared for 2 boys, a 6 year old and a 2 year old, who wouldnt eat, who wouldnt sit and watch a movie, and who wouldnt go to bed. On top of that, I was actually staying the night because I had school in the morning and the parents had gone to a Sting concert at the Pyramids. I had gotten the 6 year old in bed, and was trying to soothe the 2 year old when the power went out. Kid started screaming! He was a little bit of a pussy. I yelled back at him that I was not God, and that I didnt have the power to turn the TV, and subsequently, the show he was watching, back on. I think I got approx. 4 hours of sleep that night. In the morning, I was handed a 50 le note. The equivalent of about 20 bucks. 20 fucking dollars for that hell!? Oh no way, lady. I dont care if you are my mom's friend.

But then there were the gems. A little boy of 6 who lived in my building started playing with me while we were waiting for the elevator one day. His mom took noticed and asked if I babysat. Him, and his older 8 year old brother were pretty neat to care for. We made playdough, we made cookies, we read to eachother. The older boy was a little bit of a nerd. But the younger brother... he was so adorable, and so identified with another gender. He told me one day, "A, I want to be a girl when I grow up." I looked at his cute little face and said, "Sweetheart... you can be whatever you want to be when you grow up. I promise you!" He was so happy. He made me a ring that night out of an empty keyring and some plastic beads. I still own it, and it resides on my keychain.

My other favorite children were a set of three kids; boy of 11, boy of 9, and girl of 7. These kids would actually encourage their parents to go do something so that I could come and chill with them. Because thats what we would do... chill. I made some dinner, and we would cozy up and watch a movie. Their parents were uber catholic, so I had to watch it around them. One night I accidently borrowed, "In and Out" and halfway through the movie the girl turns to me and asks, "Whats gay?" Crap. I prefaced it with, "Your parents are not paying me money to teach you morality lessons... that being said... lets talk." I think I handled it well. The eldest boy, whom I kicked it with on Saturday, was starting to rebel. He would ask me what music I was listening to. I would smile and say something smart like, "Something your parents wouldnt want me letting you listen to." I let him listen to it anyway (and now he's a pretty kick ass guitar player). These kids were the sweetest children I ever took care of. Hands down. They even came to my wedding. And, like I said, I still see them.

I loved babysitting. It wasnt anything about the money, it was the friendships and the children I met along the way. I was able to mold mindsets and ideas, and it makes me feel like I made a very good impression on them as kids. Seeing Ross this weekend made me miss taking care of children... I hope I can get the opportunity to do it again soon.

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Tom Deluca

nobody@vox.com(queerbubbles) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 16:38:02 +0000

Did any of you get to meet him or watch one of his shows? Its mostly formulaic. There are always the same hilarious characters... and of course, with different folks, you get different shows. Each year Mr. Deluca comes to UVa and does his thing. I went every single year. I missed out on the beginning on my first year, but every year thereafter... there I was with my tarp and my friends, staking out a prime watching spot in the middle of the amphitheater. It never rained.

My friend, Elizabeth, wanted to get me on stage my 3rd year. We kinda halfassed it, and I looked like a care bear or something. It didnt work. It was bad. We vowed that next year, our last chance, we would get me on stage. M was the one who gave us the theme, an overarching idea to make it happen. It was simple. "A thinks you're fake." It was both a challenege and an invitation. Elizabeth and I hit up the Walmart and bought the biggest stick we could find. It was at least 7ft tall and make out of sturdy bamboo. It barely fit in my car. We got poster board and Sharpies. We got paper. We did not make any silly costumes, or freak out on color. Black Sharpie and white poster board. Black Sharpie and white paper.

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We made tons of signs. "Prove A Wrong!" "A thinks you're a fake!" "Pick A" and then on the big stick we attacked a giant sign that said "A" and an arrow that pointed down. I held up the stick, and it pointed to me. It rose above the crowds like nothing else. If we hadnt shown up early and gotten a front row piece of grass, it wouldnt have mattered. I was very visible at my 5'3". It also helped that I stood on my friend's wheelchair.

When it came time to start addressing the crowd, Mr. D hadnt eaten yet. There was some a-capella music to tide us over, and, since we were in the front, I showed Mr. D my signage. He laughed, and mouthed the words, "She's right." I laughed.

Finally the moment had come. He took the stage and everyone went wild. People on shoulders, chanting, screaming. My friends all had signs reading, "A this" or "A that". We handed out one word sheets of paper saying simply my name. We had an entire front quarter of the theater with my signage. Folks will hold anything! Mr. Deluca had named most of the people he wanted on stage. There was only one space left, and I had lost hope. Elizabeth was still screaming. Finally, he bellowed, "And we have to have A!!!"

Wow.

All my bravado and self-assuredness left me. I couldnt stand. I could barely believe that I was called up! I scrambled up the stage and took my seat! I looked around at the other poor saps who had the good fortune to find themselves up here, in front of about 10,000+ people. It was incredible!

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I wasnt memorable much. There was a guy sitting next to me who forgot what the Cavalier's mascot was, and ended up screaming, "R-A-T-S! Rats rats rats! NEEEEEEEE!!!" The UVa Rats are down in history. There was a chick who ended up getting sprayed with water whilst wearing a white skin tight tank top. There were the usual characters, and I was none of them. I did play it up though.

After the whole night was over, my friends and I hung out and talked about each and every second of the show. Someone, I'm sure, has a video copy of it. Its out there somewhere... me, having "lost my ass", standing up and declaring that someone took it. Either that or it's just been misplaced... and its a kinda big ass to lose.

Somewhere out there is video of me dancing with some random guy in the audience while my future husband stares on. Somewhere out there is video of me flippin the bird at an invisible cop as my invisible red Porche flies by a checkpoint. Somewhere out there is me with my head resting on Mr. Rat's shoulders. And ya know what? If you have it? Wouldja mind sharing it? Because I would love to relive it.

Since then, I managed to see another Deluca show at Piedmont Virginia Community College. It was interesting to see the folks doing the same stuff I did. I realize the psychology of it all. If you're willing to debase and humiliate yourself enough to get on stage, you will be willing to debase and humiliate yourself on stage in front of thousands under the guise of being hypnotised. And ya know what? I'd do it again.

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nostalgia

nobody@vox.com(eRLyN) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 20:25:19 +0000

have been going over to old blogs i used to frequent... it's like going over an old place where you go to to pass away the time, to get in touch with good friends. most bloggers have now moved, or have totally dropped out of blogging. somehow i felt an emptiness deep down. these people, although i knew them and got acquianted and became friends with them only virtually, at one point i could say that they have become a part of my life. so what am i saying here? well although a lot of the friends i have even way back in high school have started blogging and have been somewhat consistent with it, it's actually different. there's this hoping that i'd chance upon a new entry on their blog when i decided to visit out of nostalgia.

i guess i just miss them. during a very low point in my personal life their comments kept me going. and now one - who i became really close to at one point, is having a difficult time in her life. albeit the circumstances, i'm glad that she is blessed with a new child to hold and kiss. despite the things that has happened i know she will raise her children well.

i hope all of them are doing okay.

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photographs

nobody@vox.com(Jerusha) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 21:28:25 +0000

I've been sorting through some old photographs recently, trying to date and place them, and scanning the ones I really like, or that bring back a particular moment. The receptacle I'm retrieving them from is a vast, open-topped plastic toy box (red), and over the years they've become quite jumbled up in there. Whenever the boys have needed a picture of themselves as a baby for school (biography projects and yearbooks), or I've looked for a particular photo to show someone, the ~~heap~~ filing system has got more and more disorganised, and I have to admit, too often I just piled things back in, with a 'deal-with-it-later' attitude.

The idea is, that if I go through them packet by packet, and sort out the pictures I particularly want, they can go on the hard drive, and the rest can get put away somewhere safe - like the loft. Mind you, I have had this theory before, and they all got tipped back in before I'd finished!

But I'm having a lovely time remembering past holidays and family events - I found some photos of my grandparents in their garden when Hairy was about 18 months old, and Mouse wasn't even imagined yet. And there are quite a few of Handsome's parents, and if you'd asked me, I would have said we had hardly any. All of these I am keeping aside to scan in at a later date, but I'm concentrating on photos of the boys first of all - I want to see if I can create a kind of time-line of them growing up in my Picasa album.

Starting primary

Chatel 2007

Look how he's grown!

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