Celle’s Blog @ A New Location!

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 It’s more in line with my life now. New phase; new blog. Link me up!

I hope this inspires all of us on how to love…

Written by Michelle Mayer on May 13, 2008 in her blog, Diary of a Dying Mom (entitled In Sickness and In Health):

 When Bill and I stood before family and friends on October 11, 1997, we pledged to love each other in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. For us the pledge was already relevant, Bill placed a wedding band on my cold, swollen, ring finger that day. Sickness was already a part of our reality and would become a constant companion in our marriage. My symptoms started around the time we got engaged; a few months after our wedding doctors diagnosed me with scleroderma and told me that I would soon grow very ill.

At a time when most newlyweds are planning their life together, Bill and I were gripping the idea that “Til death do us part” might be much sooner than we expected. During the first year of our marriage, Bill held onto hope for me until I was willing and able to hold onto it myself. When I tried to succumb to my depression in those early months, Bill prodded me, “You can’t just give up like this.” And he nudged and nudged like a loving but annoying puppy until I finally, literally, got off the sofa and started living again.

When I first expressed a desire to have a child, a family member advised, “You shouldn’t have children if you aren’t going to be alive to raise them.” Pursuing parenthood was the most hopeful thing that Bill and I could do in the face of my worsening illness, but it was also an act of defiance. Scleroderma was not going to rule our lives. And so, Amelia and Aidan, entered the world via my less than perfect but apparently adequate body. Soon after our third anniversary, we were a family of four.

Somehow, Bill and I managed the façade of a normal life despite my chemotherapy appointments and hand surgeries. Scleroderma had not ruined our life or our love, but it had colored it so deeply that it was a permanent part of the fabric of our union. Bill’s optimism allowed him to cope easily with the implications of my illness. Under the surface, my illness created an undercurrent of worry in me that sometimes made me feel like I was drowning. At those times I reached for Bill who always managed, somehow, to keep me from going under. The years passed by and, before long, we marked 10 years of truly living with scleroderma.

Then, with the speed of an impending front, my health declined. I found it increasingly difficult to meet the demands of a relatively sedentary job or to negotiate the stairs in our home. Bill and I attributed the shortness of breath to the winter blahs, we tinkered with my meds, we tried to carry on as usual. Despite our efforts, I soon stopped being able to run after our young children. Sores covered my hands, elbows and ears, lasting months. I coughed relentlessly every day until I was left breathless and perspiring with my head against the “Porcelain God.” By summer it was clear that scleroderma had finally decided to demand its due.

“Why are you doing the dishes?” he yells at me exasperatedly one night. I feel so angry with him. I watch him, when he thinks that I am not looking. I see the worry on his face and the weight of all his many responsibilities. Every night he leaves a demanding academic job at a relentlessly competitive medical school and he works second shift at home. He cleans the kitchen, does the wash, and readies the children for bed. After they are off, he works more on his papers and grants thus ensuring his presence every night for dinner. And he tries to manage my medical care, using his connections to access anyone who might relive some of my suffering. “Because I feel so sorry for you!” I yell back unable to see clearly past the tears welling in my eyes. “I wash the dishes because I can do that,” I stammer, “Because I love you and I feel so badly for you.”

Ours is not a marriage of romance and passion. Our lovemaking has more to do with folded clothes and unloaded dishwashers. I feel his love in the way he lays out my meds and holds my hair as I puke, yet again, into the toilet. It isn’t pretty and it is not for the faint of heart. I have had to learn to be intensely vulnerable and trust him completely. And he has respected my vulnerability with compassion. The infatuated sexual encounters of our courtship having nothing on the intimacy we share by accepting and enduring as a united front everything my illness has wrought. I realize now why old couples still hold hands, they have only just begun to discover the depths of their love. Bill and I are merely four decades ahead of schedule.

One day I unexpectedly stumbled across a file that contained every card and letter that I had given Bill during our courtship and marriage. I sat on the floor of our office and revisited dusty memories. I ran my fingers across the front of one card, me eyes welling with tears, “Someday, when we have been together for a very long time, we’ll turn out the lights and slow dance on the porch in our bathrobes … And each night, we’ll roll to the middle of our old bed into one another’s arms. Where we’ll kiss, and touch, and dream the secret dreams that only old lovers know.” Apparently, I purchased it after being short with him for being inept in the kitchen. Inside the card I apologized for being inpatient and reassured him that I picture us old together, chubbier from a lifetime of pasta dinners. I bought the card before I knew I was sick, back when I thought we would grow old together. And I sat in the middle of the floor and cried, because it will never be and because I have never mourned losing Bill and me.

Someday he will grow gray with the love that replaces me. Surprisingly, this reality makes my fate tolerable. I find comfort in the idea of him finding love again and healing in someone’s loving embrace. I hope that in watching their father move on, the children will also learn to love the mother who takes my place. But I wish that Bill and I could be a little old couple walking along hand in hand, a testament that love endures time, illness, and nitpicking. I wish that “’Til death do us part” was still off in the distant future.

One night I tell him the truth. “I think that at some point the cost of me being here is going to higher than the cost of me staying, “ I reason ever the economist. “I want the kids to have a mother who can do things with them, who can take them hiking and skiing. And I want you to have a better life than this with someone who can do more.” “But I want you,” he responds without even the slightest pause. Everything about this scenario is improbable – developing a rare life threatening disease so young, successfully having a family and a career despite the illness, and succumbing to the illness at a point when I should have been in the free and clear. But, to me, nothing is more improbable than Bill’s continued desire to remain by my side through it all.

Sometimes I realize that, unlike me, Bill chose this life. He knew that I was sick before we married, but loved me enough to stay. One night in the emergency room I asked him, “Why did you stay?” He cracked a joke in response. The next day while I lay on my bed he knelt by my side. “I honestly never considered leaving. I love you” And he says it with all the right emphasis on the word “love” that tells me how much he means it. He makes it sound like loving me is like breathing, an involuntary and necessary part of his existence. In this moment I realize how much he loves me and how very lucky I am that on a beautiful October day at the end of a church aisle he uttered those seemingly trite vows and meant every word.

Bill is fortunate that Michelle accepted his love, despite the knowledge of her impending death. And Michelle is fortunate that she experienced love which lasted until the end of her lifetime. Not everyone is so lucky. I find it hard to be sad for her.

I was just thinking…

I’m a girl. I have no family to support; and I don’t even have to save money for a future family. At the moment, I have no forseeable reason to settle down. If I so choose, once I have a reasonable amount of money, I can just pack a bag a live all over. Experience things, see the world, meet new people, live in different homes, eat different food — and I can write about all that.

I am not going to limit myself to menial jobs and living in one place for inadequate compensation — financially, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I will be a free spirit.

I would give all that up to live a simple life full of love with the person I love, but…ahh…how I wish…

But if we can’t find fulfillment in one thing, then we must seek it out somewhere else.

2009 Projects

There’s so many things to accomplish this 2009. I would do them because I have to; others I would do simply to bring some sanity back into my life. Maybe achieve some sense of normalcy one day.

• Get my Canadian citizenship.
• Launch my blog on the Classics (can anybody design this pour moi?).
• Learn to speak French like a Parisienne.
• Figure out a new professional path (to be determined, so I can’t talk specifics until I know more).
• Save money.
• POSSIBLY learn how to drive.

I am most excited about two and three. Classic novels are a passion of mine — I love researching about them, talking about them, reading them, and taking classes on them. Since it is highly unlikely that I will be able to find a reading group I would enjoy meeting with (like the Jane Austen Book Club) and my two online library groups are holding no fascination for me, I think it’s about time I just began a blog on it.

I welcome any suggestions for the first project.  Seeing that it would be the first however, please refrain from choosing ambitious novels — particular novels by Russian authors like Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, or Sholokov. Anything before the 1930s would be accepted.

Plans for 2010:

• Go to Africa! Live the life of a volunteer for a few months — but that is pending whatever responsibilities I might have then. It can’t hurt to save up for that though.

I was thinking about going to the doctor for bloodtests and check-ups this January, but I don’t think I will anymore. It’s just not…necessary, I guess. Apart from this chest cold, I’m perfectly fine. Well, I don’t know that, but I FEEL fine. Maybe the whole PCOS thing was a figment of my doctor’s imagination. Or maybe I’ve cured myself.

Bronchitis-schmitis

Well, didn’t actually go to the doctor, but it seems like a chest cold to me. Checked the symptoms! I tend to have Bronchitis a lot, so it’s no surprise. It’s just irritating. 

Luckily, I have a day off. Workload’s pretty light. I’m just gonna sleep, watch TV, stay warm (hypothetically speaking…with another snowstorm coming, I might have to shovel now and then), and do household stuff like cook dinner. But right now, I’m just not gonna do anything. My chest is starting to hurt. Bah.

Happy New Year! Lesson of 2008: Life is Unfair — So Deal With It This 2009

I won’t say anymore about that for now.

 …

Landed in Toronto last night. At the moment, I feel like I have a low-grade temperature, but when I compare my temp to fever temps, I don’t make the mark. So I’m most likely fine and would have to go to work tomorrow. Sigh…

I hope that I either feel completely better tomorrow or I’m sick enough to warrant staying at home. Not in between, because then I’d still have to go to work but I’ll be feeling miserable.

Prettiest Women in Showbiz

Hrmm… Ever notice how the REAL Eva Peron looks wayyy prettier than Madonna? (Sorry, Madonna.)

My top three prettiest women of the past generations:

Audrey Hepburn — Her doe-like eyes and sweet nature enchants us for generations.

First Lady Eva Peron — So pretty she was embalmed.

Princess Grace Kelly — Her beauty attracted the charms of a prince.

First Day

I’ve got a job! I didn’t want to mention it here since I didn’t want to jinx it. It’s cool though — the people are friendly, the workload is heavy enough to keep me busy, and it’s close enough that I could easily get home. 

That’s all the news. I’m tired and sleepy… 

Day 2 tomorrow.

What I want to see…

Is a movie starring Harry Connick, Jr. as a famous composer/musician trying to make it big in the 1930s or 40s jazz music scene. It will feature his voice, his compositions, and a love story.

Yeah. Combine REAL musical talent and Hollywood (he’s already an actor, so it’s PERFECT), and you’ve got a musical I can add to my playlist.

Bi-atch.

I honestly hate hearing the term — most people can’t pull it off when they say it. They just end up looking stupid and affected. “Feeling cool.” If it’s not your cultural lingo, don’t use it. It just makes you seem more unrefined…

Why am I saying this? That white girl, the star of Wild Child, keeps using the term. She characterizes the classic “dumb blonde.” Why must they keep promoting this obviously generalizing image? Not everyone from the younger generation’s dumb. 

Interview

Just came from an interview — young exciting marketing company. They just landed a big account, so it seems like it would be fun! But it depends… If I don’t get a good salaried position… Ah well, I hope I get it and they offer me a salary.

More Job Hunting

It’s only been a month, but I am feeling quite dejected. I need ANY job. I don’t like being unproductive like this. I no longer have school, so I really want a 9-5…

If anyone knows of any available jobs here in the wonderful city of Toronto that…

1. Offers training in an OFFICE ENVIRONMENT 
2. Appreciates psychology graduates and their versatility

PLEASE LET ME KNOW! It doesn’t have to be a permanent job or anything (though I would prefer a full-time job that could lead to a career). I just want to work and be useful.

P.S. ANYONE can do office administrative work. Why does one need a college certificate to do it? 

G Lounge

I got seven drinks for free today — two drinks from Pete, two drinks from Mark, one drink from Erin, one drink from Kathleen, and one drink from Jason. Didn’t pay for a single shot… Single drink… Single anything. Another special thing I got… The guy at Coffee Time gave me whipped cream for free. Huh? LOL. I also got to practice my Spanish — whatever I remembered from my years in Woodrose. I guess its served its purpose.

I enjoyed myself. Thank you, all! (Especially Pete who picked me up and brought me home… he also gave me two and a half extra drinks at his place so we could pre-drink. ) Now I know what it means to be a girl in a bar without having to pay for anything.  

Almost 6 o’clock, and I’ve yet to close my eyes…

I’ve been reading “The Historian” by Elizabeth Kostova. It’s a twist on the classic Dracula story — focusing more on Vlad Tepes, Count Dracul, an actual historical figure… We know him as Vlad the Impaler or Dracula, Prince of Wallachia. The story is typical but so well written that I am afraid to sleep. To dream about it, as I had had just two nights ago.

I am almost halfway through the book. So many things have happened already that I don’t know what else could possibly happen. I enjoy the way the book takes you to so many places in Europe. The main characters, when I last read, were just leaving Istanbul for Budapest…

I’ve never been to Budapest. I find it odd that I’ve yet to visit Hungary… Ah well. Eventually.

Turkey… My memories of Istanbul are slim. But I recall the smell of feet at the Blue Mosque… The Stele of St. Gregory Thaumaturgus which I couldn’t reach… The sprawling grounds and the pretty gazebo at Topkapl Palace… The Turkish delight which made Gerald’s teeth hurt more (he was in misery the whole time after that — at least until we got him to the dentist in Prague, Czech Republic)… The fine-spun silk carpet we bought near the Grand Bazaar… The hot apple cider mix and Turkish slipper keychains we bought in the Bazaar… The odd sign which said “Sorry, we’re open.”

Funny how I remember more of Istanbul than I originally thought. I wish I’d read up on those places a lot more before we went… Ah well. I will not make that same mistake.

Places to read on before this month’s trip: Denmark, Estonia, Russia, Finland, Germany, Sweden, Norway, England, and Scotland.

I wonder… Should I buy another memory card for the trip? Perhaps.

Ramblings.

This blog has been horribly neglected. I suppose if I weremore inclined to reflection still, I’d be updating this as often and as elaborately as I used to. I’m hardly ever alone enough to reflect though. My mind is filled with noise. It’s not a natural progression for me. Historically, I am an introvert. I would value my moments alone… To write in my blue notebooks. That was my pleasure before.  But now, I find myself afraid of silence. Afraid of what I may discover.

So instead, even when I am alone, I keep myself busy with my unproductive pastimes; I watch movies and play online word games much too often. But here I am. Writing. Reflecting, if you please. But not too deeply.

Too many things have happened. The long-term consequences of these events are yet unknown, and the prospect of something so negative gives me anxiety. As a result of that anxiety, I avoid. That makes me a coward, I suppose. But as a psych major, I at least know when not to hurry the dissolution of my defense mechanisms. I will face them when I am ready. Or when factors are at least more favorable that there need not be fear.

As a result of all this avoidance, I might be bringing about those negative consequences myself. Everything I fear might happen… WILL happen… Just because.

I’m just rambling… God be kind. 

…

On another note, I wonder if I am capable of writing novels on the horror genre. I believe that I have it in me to scare myself. But would I really want to unlock that part of me which houses all these thoughts of the unnatural? Or the supernatural? I sometimes wonder what Stephen King was like in person. If he could sleep soundly… Does he dream of death? Ghosts? Evil? I’ll remember to ask him if I meet him one day.

An Ode to Something Lost

Oh sweet Solace, how I’ve missed thee.

Why am I unable to summon thy presence?

Do I fear what feelings be discovered?

What troubling thoughts invade my yet lukewarm abyss?

In courage, thou shall return to me.

In courage, thous shall return to me. 

No Guts, No Glory!

Statistically speaking, unless you are a total hermit, a social retard, or ugly as a putrid bum, there is at least one person in your multiply network that has a crush on you, wants to date you, wants to sleep with you, or simply just wants to kiss you.

So… let’s play “No Guts, No Glory!”

The rules are simple.

1. If you want to date the person who posted this, send a Personal Message, not a reply to this post, saying “Coffee?”
2. If you have a crush on the person who posted this, send a Personal Message saying “You’re hot!”
3. If you just want to sleep with them & stay friends, send them a message that says “Nice shoes!”
4. If you simply just wants to kiss the person who posted this, send a Personal Message saying, “I do!”

SCARED?

The only rule is that, you must not make anyone who sends you a personal message feel stupid for feeling that way about you. Acknowledge. Say thank you. Move on.

IF YOU’VE READ THIS, YOU HAVE TO REPOST THIS, EVEN IF YOU’RE TAKEN & see who replies.

SO… re-post this as “No Guts, No Glory”, as it doesn’t matter if you’re married, in a relationship, or single. You opened it so you HAVE to repost it! A test of your bravery…

C’mon! No Guts, No Glory!

 

…

 

Just email me. 

Tornado Watch

It’s the first time I’ve lived in a place where tornadoes are a real possibility. Severe heat wave brought it about, apparently… I’m particularly afraid of the hail storm. The size of baseballs? SERIOUSLY? Freaky. I can’t even imagine being out during the “normal” hailstorms during winter — they’re freakishly loud and they sound painful. They’re usually the size of a jackstone ball or bigger.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/LAC.20080609.WEATHER09PU/TPStory/TPNational/Ontario/

http://toronto.ctv.ca/servlet/an/local/CTVNews/20080608/tornado_warnings_080608/20080608/?hub=TorontoNewHome 

WHAT TO DO:

http://www.toronto.ca/fire/emergency_preparedness/tornado.htm 

Glenn Close

Most of us only know her as an actress, but let’s not forget how bee-yoo-tiful her singing voice is. I love her power! I think I prefer her amongs the modern day singer/actresses out there. She’s the only one with real singing power. :p

Watch her in Sunset Boulevard here.

Bangungot or Sudden Unexpected Nocturnal Death Syndrome (SUNDS)

It’s not a Heath Ledger drug cocktail sort of death.

It’s unexplained… There’s lots of theories.

The old one was pancreatitis, but I don’t believe that. It would be far too violent a death (with nausea and retching) to be a "sleep thing." My own personal theory is these people either have the QT syndrome or Brugada Syndrome. Because of a particularly harrowing sleep paralysis incident, they experience a heart arrythmia and die. This is genetic, which would explain why mostly only Southeast Asians die in this fashion despite the fact that so many people from different races experience sleep paralysis on a regular basis.