Pledge My Playoff Beard–Please!

This is me with a beard and standing next to Bob. Sexy–I know. Why a beard–you ask? Well, for those of you non-NHL informed people, it’s the Stanley Cup Playoffs. Everyone grows a beard during playoffs–at least the cool people do. Why should you care? Because I’m sporting facial hair is to help raise money for children who need assistance AKA the Florida Panthers Foundation. Plus, I HATE the “c” word. In order for me to stay in the running, I need at least one daily vote. So please click this link and vote for me for free *shameless plus*! Come on, my favorite #9 is blowing me out of the water!  Of course, the whole point is to raise money for to fight pediatric cancer by pledging. You can donate $10 (or more) by clicking the link as well. Thanks in advance.

http://www.beardathon.com/panthers/pamelarossow/profile.aspx

My beard even made the news–thanks NBC Miami!

Mammo Whamo

Guys, you can stop reading now. Really. I mean it. Going into women’s world and will be back in a bit. Until then, find a comfy chair and read something else. Or look bored. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m probably not even supposed to write about it. I’m most likely breaking some female code. But I’m a rebel and I’m going there. Or should I say, I went? 

I experienced what hundreds thousands hundreds of thousands of women have already experienced and it wasn’t fun (even if the nurse was nice). It didn’t sound fun. Not when I was getting advice like, “Take a Motrin before you go” and “Don’t go when you’re PMS” (too late) etc. If I didn’t get advice, I got the look. A combo smirk riddled with pity from women with a long history of being squashed. I went anyway. Unprepared for the tiny band aids with silver beads that made me feel slightly burlesque (was that wrong?) or the plastic shelf that was smaller than I thought it would be or the tape to make sure they didn’t move an inch or the pain (everything relative to having given birth, twice) or the fact that my ribs/costo. didn’t like the weird angle for the sideways shots or that a machine was crushing squishing my girls! I was relieved to hear, “That’s it,” nodded my head, uttered a “thanks” (did I really say that?) and headed for the door.

I got the The Callback and returned for an ultrasound because of “an area that needs more evaluation.” Apparently, they can’t spell since the (s) was left off in areaS. Lucky me. I returned and was whisked off to the dimly lit “Sand Dollar” room (slight spa feel minus the bulky tech equipment). A witty nurse glopped warm slime on my chest and began her quest. She made small talk to try and take my mind off the fact that she was pausing, going over the same areas, and click, click, clicking images on the screen (oh, shit). I told her about my dad. How he was a prostate cancer survivor. How lucky I was to have him around. How his surgery had been in September. I closed my eyes and pretended not to notice the clicking (dammit) and tried to think of the ocean, the waves, the warm sand, sand dollars. . .okay, I was still there and a nurse was finding s-t-u-f-f.

“Oh, yes, very dense.”

“What, exactly?”

“The average woman is 180 thread count. You’re 800.” Lucky me.

“The doctor may come in and check when I’m done” (warning, warning, bells).

After 45 minutes of seek and find, she left and Doctor came in. A cute, baby faced guy (I was forewarned, not like it mattered) with a serious look shook my hand and promptly went to work.

Nurse: “Over there, 12 o’clock.”

Doctor:  “Oh, yes, two of them close together.”

Nurse:  “See that? Could be a third. That’s it for that one.” Next.

Doctor:  “Oh, another.” I twisted to look at the decent size black hole on the screen. Baby Face stopped to look at me.

“Good thing is I don’t see any vascular activity around them but you’ll need to come back in 6 months to be rechecked.” I exhaled. Lucky me.

I don’t know what I would have done had the Doctor uttered different words. Sentences with “needle” and “biopsy” in them. I didn’t feel brave. The clicking had scared me, senseless.

Every day, women go to have their girls crushed squished and some of them get The Callback. They have ultrasounds, get biopsies, and find out they have “c.” Their lives whirl before their eyes. They hear. They feel shock. The life they had before they walked into that office is now different. They fear. They tell themselves they will survive. They live. They are B-R-A-V-E.

“They” (some insurance companies) are now recommending that women get their first mammo at 50 yrs. of age (laughable really). I should have gone a few years ago but I was told I didn’t need to until I was 40. Be proactive about your health, ladies, and follow your instincts. Don’t let monopolies and big business determine when you should or should not establish your baseline. 

If you’d like to donate to Susan G. Komen for the Cure, just click the image below:

Friday Moment

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. Photos – no words – capturing moments from the week. Simple, special, extraordinary moments. Moments you want to pause, savour and remember. “This Moment” is a ritual found on  SouleMama’s blog then grabbed by the Wee Man which was lifted from Almost there by Sarah-Jane and snagged from Alejandro.

On the Flip Side

 A quick post in the throes of preparing, readying, prepping, steeling oneself for what lies ahead. Time, that elusive fate thrower, has taken aim and hurled darts this way, leaving us dodging left, right, up, down. Attempts to avoid the pain of biting steel punctures. Present has accelerated.  Near future breathes heavily on our necks. There is no inkling of what will be. No psychic knowledge. No spiritual prophesy. Just time and life and waiting plus that impenetrable shield of hope. See you on the flip side . . . .

The “c” Word

So many people use it every day. It’s one of the most hated words (probably THE most despised word). Yet, we hear it over and over again. It’s not until it’s used to describe what’s happening to OUR friends, OUR grandparents, OUR selves, OUR moms, OUR brothers, OUR sisters, OUR children, OUR dads, OUR aunts, OUR uncles, OUR loved ones that the word slams us face down onto the asphalt and tries to drag us backwards. But to positive test results, we say, “sCrew you!” Those of us who either receive The Call or hear about The Call (later when our loved ones tell us about it) encounter the initial effects of “c.” During those moments, “c” seems to have us pinned. We cry. We rant. We get pissed off. We crumple. Then, we maneuver out of its grip. We stand up. Put on the gloves. Step into the centers of the rings. We don’t wait for the first punches. We throw them. We fight, hard. We love, fiercely. We feel, deeply. We live with awareness. Thankfully, there’s no “c” in H-O-P-E. Just a whole lot of positive energy and prayers.

(Dad got The Call today)

Waiting. . .

Have you ever been worried about someone you love? Concerned for a legitimate reason? Yeah, most of us have been. Most of us know that once we get “news,” there’s waiting involved. . .and more waiting. . .and more waiting (some of us, at one point or other in our lives, have experienced “news” regarding ourselves).

It’s not fun–none of it is. So those of us who are not great at waiting get to practice patience when we’d rather be doing something else. . .like living without life’s shadow visibly lurking.

Those of you who are waiting, too, I’m here with you in spirit–connected by that reality of a global humanity. We will exercise our patience muscles and, in the meantime, pray.  We’ll try to appreciate each day for what it is. . .a gift (especially when we are surrounded by people we love and who love us).

If you are one of those individuals who blunders through life without much introspection or delving, it’s never too late to start (actually, if you wait too long, it may become too late). So while there’s still time, feel. . .think. . . go deep. . .ponder life. Appreciate what and who is good in your life. . .and be grateful.

Graham

 

 

 

 

 

crucifix gleamed round your

neck spoke without words of

pain wounds that couldn’t be

loved away

you knew what it felt like to be

lanced cut hurt you smiled and

suffered that couldn’t be

taken away

stitched together you were an

exploding fast ball let loose to

test life’s velocity until you were

taken away

crucifix gleams round my

neck speaks without words of

pain memories that can’t be

loved away

Pamela A. Rossow



Mr. E.F. Duncan, Owner Duncan’s Toy Chest: Well, two Turtle Doves. I’ll tell you what you do: you keep one, and you give the other one to a very special person. You see, Turtle Doves are a symbol of friendship and love. And as long as each of you has your Turtle Dove, you’ll be friends forever.
Kevin McCallister: Wow. I never knew that. I thought they were just part of a song.
Mr. E.F. Duncan, Owner Duncan’s Toy Chest: They are. And for that very special reason.

(Quote from Home Alone 2)