The Plan! The Man!

The Man! 

When I was 33 years old, I decided it was time to have a baby. My career was in full swing, I had a great home, and I was married. My life was flowing in ways that it not before. At this point, I wrote down three boy names and three girl names. Convinced I would have twins, it was imperative to have all the names ready. 

Plan A. 

When I was 34 years old, my doctor suggested I get tested for block Fallopian tubes and any several other tests for infertility. Being that I was over 30 years old and had not gotten pregnant in 6+ months of trying. And, then it began. 

Plan B. 

My 'Fertility" doctor performed a series of wretched and painful tests on my body. He was anything but compassionate. His demeanor was so cold and he boasted of "his" amazing successes. After these tests and blood work and more tests, it was decided that I should be on Clomid, in an attempt to boost the production of viable ovum (eggs). 

Plan C. 

As I began to take these powerful drugs, my body became an over-achiever and created not only 18 viable ovum, but a large tumor in my uterus. My body thought I was pregnant and this tumor soon grew to the size of a grapefruit. Fast forward and I am in emergency surgery, less than three months after starting the experiments. 

Plan D. 

Let the surgeries begin! Once the tumor was removed and endometriosis and scar tissue, I was put on even more powerful drugs. Injected in my belly, the new drugs would kick start the now super ovaries into releasing the many ovum on a certain day. This brought on the "schedule" for when to be intimate with my husband. No pressure...No Fun. We are in the business of getting pregnant and it is a full time job, with a team and a calendar. Each month my brother-in-law, a paramedic, would come over and inject this drug into my abdomen. The needle was long enough to reach deep into my body and release a compound of horrific chemicals. And then it happened, I was pregnant! 

Plan E. 

After feeling a bit odd, I got a pregnancy test and took it. Negative! I was crushed and cried for an entire day. At the doctor's office, I was given a blood test; POSITIVE! The next day, and the next, and the next, I was given a blood test to determine that my numbers were rising. "You're having a litter!" exclaimed the nurse. WOAH! I was having twins. 

Plan F. 

Failure. 

Pregnant and watching my body change, reading everything about being a Mom and feeling the flutter of babies, I was overjoyed. One evening I began spotting. The on-call nurse said this was normal and not to worry. Off to bed. At some point, I recall crawling into the bathroom and howling in pain. My husband and Mom rushed me to the hospital and I was taken to surgery. When I awoke, I asked how my babies were doing. Silence. Please wait for the doctor. They are gone. Sorry. You can start again in 30 days. 

Plan G. 

Garrett! 

Pregnant, miscarriage. Pregnant, miscarriage and so on. Each time, I would blame myself, and feel like such a huge failure to everyone. Each time, someone I knew was pregnant and having a baby. One friend went so far as to hide her pregnancy because she felt guilty for getting pregnant so easily. I, in turn, decided that being a Mom is what I wanted. No more drugs. No more torture. Adoption was the option. 

On, December 26, 2002, my precious son was born. He is the gift of life. He is the reason I am a Mom. At 36 years old, and after countless experiments on my body, my life was complete with a newborn son. Surreal and so awesome! 

Fast Forward...The Man!

This year, my Man, will turn 12 years old. He is extraordinary. This precious, gentle, loving soul is a testament to the power of the universe. He is a manifestation of love. 

I am immeasurably grateful for him.

Plan H. 

Healing. 

Once my son was born, I had been off these chemicals for quite some time and I believed my body to be whole again. Then started the aftermath. More tumors, gallstones, scar tissue, even another pregnancy lost. And began what was to be 8 surgeries to remove all of the organs ruined by all the chemicals. A new Mom and quickly I became a regular at surgery and recovery. 

The light in all of this is my son. He showed me the pure joy of life. The deep laughter of discovery. The amazing wonder and purity that is a child. 

Healing. 

WALK ON...

WALK ON...

As a clinically trained massage and bodywork practitioner, I have the distinct honor of working with people in need of healing. 

I am a healer. 

This is not taken lightly, but with deep forethought and gratitude. My clients entrust their bodies and emotions in my hands and in some cases my feet, elbows, forearms and knees. 

My practice and my team are focused on complete wellness for our clients. A wellness educator and avid juicer, my goal is to create a wellness program for my clients. Getting a massage is a wonderful experience and I encourage everyone to get regular massage for better health. 

Indeed, my philosophy includes the use of massage and body work to assist in realignment of the mind and body. Included is the assessment, education plan and continued support of each of client, as they travel through their individual journey. 

As it turns out, I have a knack for working with athletes. It is such an amazing feeling to have a cyclist finish a ride and come up to my table for relief. Their tired, strained, pained muscles are looking for immediate relief. When I work on these athletes, their minds have been so focused on their ride, they have dismissed their bodies fatigue and carried on to reach their goal. The minute they get on the massage table, they are immediately relaxed. Their brain is allowed to stop racing and it settles. This is when the muscles have their BIG voice! They are tired, they are in pain, they want help. 

After assessing their needs, my work begins. It does not take long for the muscles to receive the often deep tissue body work provided. 10-20 minutes allows the muscles to release and the athlete leaves feeling relieved and relaxed. 

Miraculous! 

The power of touch.  

The Pi in Spy!

Last night my son produced a piece of paper explaining that he could come to school dressed for 'Pi' day. Today being 3/14 or 3.1414...clever and fun!

Now, having said that, my son, who is 11 years old, said gleefully, "I would like you to make me a shirt with sPikes on it." Really now. At about 6:00 pm, the night before, and I am to produce a creative twist on Pi with a shirt of spikes. hmmmm...well, I asked how we could accomplish this task together and perhaps some warning of the shirt or costume would have been appreciated. His reply, "Oh yeah, I guess that would have helped."

Quick! What does my creative mom idea powers have in her bag of tricks? How can I come up with an easy and super cool way to go to school, out of uniform? Spy, I ask? No, everyone is coming as a spy.
He was thinking Sherlock Holmes spy and I was thinking stealth, all black, secret agent spy.

Off to his closet and in a matter of minutes we have assembled the all black outfit, with black skull cap, and black wrap around sunglasses. I would expect my son to say no to this simple get up, but he is actually excited! Score for us both!!

This morning, he was up early, dressed quickly, had a look at himself in the mirror and then again, and he quickly went into his character for the day. Breakfast, stealth. Brush teeth, thorough and done! Back pack on and ready to go!

There is something to this character. He felt freedom from his uniform, freedom to be super cool. It was fun to watch!

When we arrived at school and he headed out of the car, the teacher asked "Spy for Pi?" My son, "Shhhh, I am undercover." Well played.