God was here

SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 2012 3:22 PM, EDT

God was here

There are 3 places that I can think of any time as places that created the mold that is Bean – like most people these are home, school and church. Each of these has subsets worth mentioning, but one that is especially important is Camp McDowell.

Every year I looked forward to the break from school, ballet, and home…the break that brought me to the Episcopal Camp McDowell for a week in the summer. And I loved every element of camp: the friendships foraged; kitchen patrol (KP) duty; the daily Compline service; the canteen; the care packages; the ropes course; the talent competition (where the Blueberry Gang sang Hard to Handle; hiking the swinging bridge to the cross. You name it, I loved it. Pretty sure I streaked a time or two to get my laundry from the dry line outside of the cabin. I took full advantage of the fact that the boys were on the other side of camp. I was free at camp. It was the first place I felt truly safe away from home. College boys would come to our cabin at night and we would swoon over them as they sang songs and played the guitar. Every year I dreaded the last service, knowing that after we sang “Surely the presence,” our families would be standing outside to greet us, removing us from the free world of camp to return us home. And every year, I took my nail polish and painted into the screen windows Tina was here (and the year). It was a rite of passage. It was my way of leaving my stamp on Camp McDowell.

I interviewed in Reno, Nevada in late October 2006. The organization flew me out, put me up in a fabulous hotel, and had a gift basket in my room upon arrival. The interview for my first management position in health care was 2 days long, included a dinner with prospective co-managers, and 2 free days to tour the city, look for houses, and sight-seeing. I felt as if I was being wooed. Closing my last interview, I asked what, if anything in Reno, I should see before I left, to which my prospective Director replied, “Well, Tahoe, of course.” I hadn’t realized that Lake Tahoe was only 30 minutes up a mountain from Reno.

The next morning, I awoke at 4am Pacific Time. It was a crisp 34 degrees. I bundled up, sent the Valet after my rental car, and had a quick cup of hotel coffee on my way out the door. I had an old-fashioned handheld map, which was difficult to use while driving alone in an odd place, and I ended up forgoing the map to rely solely on street signs. The mountain road was bumpy, and it was starting to change from mist to snow as my rental car was challenged to climb the altitude. I was finally around the northwest side of the lake, and I called BF Jacci. Jacci had just spent two years in San Francisco, so she understood the idea of living away from family and friends. She was on the phone with me as I watched the sun rise over Mt. Rose and the orange glow hit the lake. I burst into tears and said, “I know this is where we’re supposed to be.” It was a spiritual experience for me.

Tahoe is truly one of the most amazing and beautiful natural wonders of the world. That lake is the number 1 reason that Nathan and I moved to Reno, which will forever be in our hearts as the place we started our family (Logan was born there in 2008). I recall watching that sunrise on the beach of Tahoe City, and through my tears, thinking, “God was here.” It was as if He carved his name upon the earth and left his stamp on Tahoe.

People often ask me in a very round-about way what no one really wants to ask: What do you really look like under there? It would be easy to say that I look like Barbie…perky nipple-less breasts, but unfortunately it’s not that pretty. But it’s not ugly either. My scars have healed beautifully. They are straight across my chest (where the center of my breasts would be). Each scar is about 6 inches across, but they are flat and almost colorless. When I have my implants placed in mid-April, they should sit “naturally” on my chest, without the perkiness of the expanders. But for the next few weeks, the expanders will continue to project like the perky breasts of a childless woman, and I will enjoy it while it lasts.

I thought that the scars would really bother me. As it turns out, they are like my children in that they are a part of me that was always missing. It just took having them to realize it. They are battle scars that I wear with pride, badges of courage, signs of strength. And as far as I’m concerned God has left another stamp…but this time it’s on me.

Surely the Presence is still my favorite camp song. I sing it to the boys, and through this journey these words have brought me great peace. 

Surely the presence of the Lord is in the place 

I can feel His mighty power

And His grace.

I can feel the brush of Angels' wings

I see glory on each face.

Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place.

Miscellaneous Updates: I was filled for the LAST time on Friday!! Tootles to the “filling station” (at least as a filling station; I’ll still have follow up visits as Yvette and Shelby make their debut). Thanks for the PITAs. And to the PITAs…thanks for nothing.

On May 4, 2012, I will walk in the 4th annual Survivors Parade at the 138th annual Kentucky Oaks race. It will be on television at 4:50pm Eastern time on NBCSports. Thank you all for your support in the voting process! I am very excited about attending my first every Oaks on Derby weekend!! More on that later!

Queen B

THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 2012 4:52 PM, EDT

The Queen B

I can’t remember the first time I saw my first Barbie. I imagine with an older sister, it was at a very young age. But I fondly remember many things about Barbie. Of course, she always had the best hair (except for my little sis Jayme, who has what I like to call Martina McBride hair because she can wear virtually any style), the prettiest make-up, and the sassiest wardrobes. But Barbie was more than just a pretty face (and a 17 inch waist) – she was a career woman! And she must have been pretty savvy because she had every job known to man (pun intended). She was an astronaut, a teacher, a doctor (or both the animal and people variety), and a rock star. She was the first thing out there that said that a girl could be beautiful and smart at the same time…she could be anything she wanted to be. Barbie was the Queen B.

My friend Anne had the best Barbie collection I have ever seen to this day. She had her Mama Marcia’s Barbie dolls, which were meticulously cared for. One thing about these Barbie dolls I will never forget because it seemed so strange to me at the time – Marcia’s original Barbie dolls had plastic hair. Yes, plastic buns piled up on top of their heads instead of long, flowing blonde locks that we are all so familiar with. And as Anne and I played with Barbie and listened to the tunes of the Beach Boys well into the 5th grade, I was mesmerized that in a trunk-like box, Anne had wigs for these plastic haired Barbie dolls. The wigs were coarse, but well-styled – bobs, pony-tails, and medium length hair styles, some with bangs. You name it, she had it. We could change the identity of those Barbie dolls in the blink of an eye…and we did.

I was at the Filling Station a couple of weeks ago – just a routine fill. Dr. Q and I got into a good discussion about nipples. He did say that he doesn’t normally have this discussion until he is prepping for that surgery (yes, another surgery), but that since I was inquiring, he would discuss it. When I told him I was done after the implants, he was horrified! “But that isn’t a finished product!” I’m paraphrasing, but for the most part he said that every surgeon wants to see the completion of his work…and in my case that involves nipples.

Forgive me graphic description here…but what “nipple” surgery is like when you don’t have any nipples is this: Dr. Q will take a piece of skin from my inner thigh. He will curl it between his sterile fingers, into the shape of a long nipple and sew it to a section of my now bare chest. This will conceal some of my scars. Over a couple of weeks, this skin graft will essentially dry out and die because it will have no blood supply, and I will be left with a couple of nubs of dead skin where natural nipples otherwise would have been. Then, after they are completely “healed,” I will get to choose the skin tone or color of my nipples, and they will be tattooed. 

Take it from someone who doesn’t have a tattoo because in 33 years, she’s been unable to commit to just about anything permanently – the idea of having lopsided or discolored fake nipples makes me want to crawl into a corner and draw up into the fetal position. As if the scars and fake breasts aren’t ugly enough, I have to be concerned with how my fakenipples are going to look? And I was just starting to relish the idea of not wearing a bra for the rest of my life. It’s been fairly nice up to this point, and I quite frankly can’t imagine going back! So I hate to tell you, Dr. Q, but I’m not convinced that this product is ever going to be finished! But trust me - I won’t see you as anything less than the miracle worker and artist that you are!

I returned to the filling station yesterday…ahead of schedule. It appears that Parker grabbed my chest a couple of days ago and may have busted (or at the very least displaced) my other expander. PITAs. So I return tomorrow, and I am expecting Dr. Q to fill’er up as much as I “can tolerate.” Then we will schedule my implant surgery! If you are wondering, this is a GOOD thing! These expanders are hard as rocks, and I cannot wait to have a softer silhouette. 

Logan, Parker and I went to Montgomery last weekend for Jayme’s baby shower (which was SO very nice – good job, girls). After all of the baby in the belly talk, we returned home. When I put Logan to bed Tuesday night, he cupped his hand around my expander, patted it and said, “You got a baby in your boobie?” It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I removed his hand, and looked at him. “No, I do not have a baby in my boobie.” To which he replied, “Your boobie is growed up?” I looked down at my numb right hard as a rock expander to find it covered once again by my 3 year old’s hand, which I promptly removed.  “Yes, baby, my boobie growed up,” I said as a tear rolled down my face. To me, this is a moment of realization that he remembers my flat chest over the last few months…observant little creature.

While we were at the shower, I told Mama that I was ready to blog about Barbie. She asked what in the world the Queen B had to do with breast cancer. Well, she’s obsessed with the color pink; she has perfectly perky breasts…and no nipples. (I had to remind Dr. Q that Barbie didn’t have nipples…and she was “perfect.”) It’s so obvious that she’s a Survivor, right?! As it turns out, that plastic-haired original Barbie must have been in the chemo stage. But you know what, it didn’t stop her from anything…she’s still evolving, and she’s still a rock star.