"SCARS"

I know my blog is called "Why God Made Me Funny" and most of my blog posts are at least mildy entertaining, this one will not be. I want you to know a head of time that this will not be a funny post. I am a multi-dimensional person, that has many layers. One of the reasons I think that I CAN be so funny is my way of looking at things. What someone might see as a normal trip to Wal-Mart, I can see as a horrific injustice to mankind...it's just the way I am. This blog post talks about breast cancer, women, scars and my outlook on these things. This is a raw look inside my mind, and my soul.  I hope you continue reading. 

A couple of months ago I saw a link on Facebook called "The Scar Project". I clicked the link and immediately became mortified by the images of these women. These women had been mutilated to save their lives. Cancer had came into their bodies and the only choice was to take a scalpel and cut deep into their flesh. I won't get on my soap box about cancer research and how I feel like so much money is wasted on other things in this world. We put a man on the moon, we should have a cure for cancer...ok, maybe a small soap box.

Tears streaming down my face, I clicked on image after image, after image. These women, mothers, sisters, aunts, friends, and wives bearing their scars for the world to see. Photograph after photograph of their story. These photos telling the silent struggle these women went through in order to save their lives...then...I thought of the other scars. The ones we can't see. The scars on their hearts, the scars on the hearts of their loved ones. The deep scars, that no one can look at and gasp at the tragedy. Scars women of all ages carry around with them their whole lives. Even as young girls we are injured with words, leaving scars that only we can see.

Are these scars any different? Not really, only these scars we can hide. There is no proof of the internal scars and they can be buried deep within us, only being shown to our closest friends, if ever seen at all. Sometimes as women, we are hurt by words and it leaves a lasting bruise on our heart. When were we taught that it was ok? Being talked to inappropriately by men, treated poorly by peers, not standing up for who we are, and the hell it took us to get there. My scars are deep, some are small, some are large, some fresh and some old. Every scar on the outside has a story, and so do the scars on the inside.

A lot of people frown on women who are confident. They look at you as "cocky" or "arrogant" when the truth usually lies in THEIR insecurities, again.....scars. I love me. I love my scars. I love that I am loud, funny, OCD at times,  I wear my heart on my sleeve yet I am the master of keeping my emotions in check, I act tough but never want to hurt anyone intentionally, I am still struggling with my appearance, and I am harder on myself than I need to be. Those things make me..."me". It's ok to love "me". When you love yourself, AND your scars, insecurities, strong points, and weaknesses, you can grow and learn about yourself. You can start to heal from the inside. My scars are my truth, MY TRUTH. Some self inflicted, some inflicted by others, but they are all mine.

After my minor "scar meltdown" I decided I wanted to do something to bring this thought to light. I wanted to take some photos of a young woman that loved herself. True beauty is when "You Love You", which in turn prompted another idea. I decided to have women, who were my friends on Facebook, e-mail me why they loved themselves and in return they would get a free photo shoot highlighting just that.

The response was amazing. I have had so many wonderful women email me, most directed their "self-love" to reasons of being a good mother, good person, Christ follower, but one in particular stood out. I fell in love with this response....

"I will stand up in the face of adversity and build a life based on what is right for me. Using confidence in myself and a firm belief that I have a light within me that will brighten if nothing more a small corner of this world and make a difference for someone. And knowing through it all that my life in it's successes and failures was mine alone to make." -Alexis




Final Thought:

Alexis is 15 years old...This is what it is all about. Love you, be you, insist others love you and take nothing less in return. Make YOUR light shine. Whether you live in a small town, a big city, the country, or island in the Bahamas, shine. Never be afraid, your scars are you. Be YOU, be proud of what makes you, you. When women stop being afraid of what really lies inside of them, and start loving themselves for who THEY are, they will shine from the inside out. SCAR- Stay Confident And Real. Let your scars heal...and SHINE!

* A special thanks to "The Scar Project" for the inspiration for this post. The photos and women are beyond amazing. If you want to learn more, or purchase the book featuring these brave women, click the link below.

http://www.thescarproject.org/exhibition.html 

"Dear Gorby"

A couple of friends of mine are in the process of adopting a child from Russia. They have set up a "financial assistance program" that they have jokingly named "The Gorby Fund" (don't try to type that on your iPhone, the auto correct is totally inappropriate, ok, do it...it's funny) Anyway, they have asked that everyone that has been a part of the adoption process, either monetarily, spiritually, emotionally, or any other kind of "-ily" to write the baby-to-be a letter explaining why he/she is important to them. Well here ya go Brock and Ash, you asked for it. 

Dear "Gorby", 
For the record, I would have never, ever nicknamed you "Gorby", what kind of people are they? I would have named you Anastasia, like the chic that won American Idol back a couple years ago? I think she's already a has been...anyway, I just want it to be known I had NOTHING to do with the nickname. The photo below is NOT what I want to picture you looking like, however, ya....that's all I got.

Let's talk about your Dad...He's a nice guy, most days. Easily excited, especially if he thinks you might need some life/car/house/boat insurance. He likes to have a good time, take pictures at random gatherings, roots for Mizzou ( Pssst, you need to be a Razorback fan) and enjoys being with family. I guess for the most part you are going to do fine in the father department. I've included a picture of what your dad looks like when he started the adoption so that you can see how the thought of you light up his eyes....

Your mother, she is a gem. A gem of all gems. Her sparkle can light up a room. She is totally, madly in love with you already, and you aren't even in her arms yet. She has worked so hard to make a life for you and talks of her "Gorby" all the time. Now, be ready for ridiculous outfits, lots of "Momma sugars", church gatherings, and a lot of women folk, pawing all over you...that's the kind of mother you're gonna have. It's gonna happen, I'm just warning you. Again, I have included a picture of your Mommy so that you can see the twinkle in HER eye....

Unfortunately by the time you are old enough to get the humor in the included photos, Brangelina will probably be divorced and (fingers crossed) he will be back with Jennifer Aniston. (Ask your Mom, she'll explain) 



So sweet "Gorby", I leave you with this....You are loved beyond your comprehension. You have an entire community that loves you and are ready for you to make your big debut. You are going to have two wonderful parents that will give you your every hearts desire. They've worked hard for you so you had better be a good child, don't make me come and beat you...you won't like it!

Finally, here are your real parents...a goggle wearing weirdo, and a smiley lady in a sombrero, good luck sweet baby. Can't WAIT to meet you!

If you would like to donate to the "Gorby Fund" click the link below...These parents deserve a little cash after this blog don't you think?

http://apps.facebook.com/fundrazr/activity/5e89b46b47ac4e64a85905d9b5ce4812?

*No celebrities were hurt in the making of this blog entry. All parties/friends should always be under the assumption that they may be part of a blog post at any given time. If you do not approve this blog post, please speak to my imaginary attorney, as I am broke ass and have no money to pay for a real one*

Inside My Mind

I finally made the arrangements to have this surgery to remove my Jo and Angela's (tumors). To be perfectly honest, I am a nervous wreck. To let you inside my mind a little and show you HOW my thought process gets out of hand, I have included a couple of photos.

THIS- Is a picture of what my doctor looks like. She has such a kind, warm, welcoming face.

THIS, is what I dream of.... Edward Scissorhands chopping up mah lady parts.




Final Thought: I am scared shitless.

Toga's and Tumors

As you are all VERY aware, I have been having some "lovely lady part" problems lately and have spent a lot of time discussing my vagina. I swear, this is not a normal thing for me. I have never had ANY problems in my 31 years of existence. I didn't even know sex made you pregnant until I was 17 years old...

Friday I had a doctors appointment scheduled, along with an ultrasound of my uterus and some blood work. My pre-arrival instructions were as follows...

1) Nothing to eat or drink after midnight on Thursday night.
2) Drink 32 oz of water before ultrasound and do not empty bladder.

Ok? So I can't have anything or I can? Drink water or have nothing to eat or drink? Why is this so difficult? I chose to continue being the over achiever I was born to be and not drink ANYTHING, I didn't even cheat when I was brushing me teeth. (Which I later informed the lab girl)


I arrive, fill out paper work, and take my seat. The nurse calls me back to the ultrasound room. It's a dark room, rather warm, a T.V. screen mounted left of the exam table and a computer screen and stool to the right. She requests I lay flat on the table and pull my pants to my pelvis. I pretty much knew what to expect with this as I have had a child and it's basically the same thing. The ultrasound was uneventful, looking at an empty uterus wasn't all that exciting. I was trying to see animals or faces in it actually, like when we look at clouds, just to make time pass. She hands me a towel and motions me to wipe off my stomach and I do. Then she turns around handing me a folded sheet and says....

"Ok, step in the restroom, empty your bladder, remove everything from the waste down and wear this sheet like a toga" I gasp. "Um, why?" I ask puzzled. "Dr. Blah Blah has ordered a trans-vag utlrasound as well, was that not discussed?" Of course, this is ME we are talking about here, of  course no one discussed it, otherwise there would be no irony, no funny story and no blog. "Nope, I knew nothing of it, I don't even know what 'trans-vag' means but I am sure I am not going to like it judging by the apparel." She smiled and apologized for the misunderstanding. I changed clothes and take my toga wearing walk of shame back to the exam table where I mount my behind.

"Bottom to the end of the table, feet in the stirrups" she says. After this is all over, if I NEVER hear that line again, it will be too soon. As I am shifting into position the ultrasound tech pulls out a "wand", and by "wand" I mean something that looks like a light saber. I am waiting for her to disguise her voice like Darth Vader at any moment. "Deep breath in" OH-MY-GOD! *blank stare* *awkward face* *butt cheeks tighten* Annnnnnnd *exhale* This women just placed a vacuum extension into my vagina, I there is no turning back. Please, please don't let this thing pulsate or vibrate or any other weird motion.

I just want to go home.


After the exam I dress, and take my seat back into the waiting room. Now, I have been violated by Mr. Light Saber and I am looking around the waiting room wondering if anyone in here can tell? Like it's written on me somewhere that I just got more action than a stripper at the Pony in the name of medicine. Why don't they tell you these things? Why wasn't I told about this "trans-vag" ultrasound, probably because I wouldn't have came back... Dr. Blah Blah-1 Jamie-0

A different nurse calls me back to a regular exam room and asks me more questions regarding my lady cha-cha and let's me know the doctor will be in momentarily, and I wait. This time Taylor Swift is playing over head through the speakers as I exam the nice diagram of the vagina, and cervix, and vulva....*knock-knock*

"Hello, sorry to keep you waiting" says that sweet smiling face of my doc. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT A TRANS-VAG ULTRA SOUND IS?" I ask. She laughs and apologized again for the miscommunication. "Your pap came back normal, but there seems to be a tumor on the inside wall of your uterus" My smile fades, and I can start to hear my heart beating inside my head. "Actually, there are two and they need to be surgically removed" I know she could see panic on my face because she rolled her stool closer to me to discuss it further. "90 % of these tumors are benign, but until I can remove it and have it tested I can't be sure" I start to tear up, so I push my tongue against my teeth, someone told me that works....it doesn't. "Ok" I answer as I take a tissue being handed to me. "We will get this scheduled as soon as possible, everything is going to be ok, I will take good care of you." I smile, as she pats my hand and I pull myself together.


I am planning to have surgery soon. They will remove the tumors and do a DNC. It should all be same-day-surgery, worst case would be and I will have a complete hysterectomy the same day and remain in the hospital for a day or so. Any further treatment options would be discussed at that time.

Final Thought: I am trying to let this effect my life as little as possible. Though I truly appreciate all the well wishes, you people know that kind of attention weirds me out. God knows what's up and I would rather all the concern go through him. For now, I have named my tumors "Jo & Angela" after the girls I work with and plan on drinking wine daily for mental health purposes. In the event of my death, Jason has been instructed to donate the $0.30 this blog has generated to the "C-Fight" Fund. Until next time....Jamie, Jo & Angela OUT!

While Your Down There...Make Me a Man

I guess I need to catch everyone up on the gyno appointment that I talked about in a previous blog. The transmission issue clouded my mind of anything else. Now, I will never, ever apologize for being a woman, but I do apologize to any male reader I might have had before all the vagina talk that is fixing to take place. However, the last thing men want is for their woman is for them to have a sick vagina, therefore, doctor appointments are a must fellas.

I show up for my appointment 15 minutes early, because that's what "over achievers" do and I sign in. I speak with the front desk lady about my insurance, medical records from my previous doc and get my photo made for my file. I finish up with all the information and take my seat in the waiting area only to realize that I had dropped a piece of chocolate from my cereal bar on my neck and it had melted. It now looks like a grotesque mole-growth on the side of my neck in my chart photo...great...I hate my vagina already.

They call my name and I go back to the scales, take everything off I can while still being appropriate and then explain to the nurse how I've lost a bunch of weight and I work out, and....she wasn't amused. She leads me back to my room and asks me about problems and my medical history. Really? There are still questions that WEREN'T asked on the 6 page, online questionnaire of shame? Apparently so...we discussed a recent problem I've been having and I will spare any details on here, and then I am directed to put on the cloth gown. "Open side in the front" she explains, as if I am unfamiliar with procedure.

Now I sit, cold, partially exposed, listening to the soft music playing over the intercom system and waiting for the doctor. There is a slight knock at the door and she enters swiftly. "Hi, I'm Dr. Bla bla, how is every thing going today?"  It's here that there is really no turning back. I glance at my clothes, neatly folded and sitting within arms reach thinking that I can grab them and run....I stay."Everything is good!" Even if my vagina was on fire I couldn't tell her about it. I don't know this woman, and with the things she is fixing to do to me, I'd rather not be BFF's about it.

We discuss normal gyno stuff then she requests I open my gown and bring my bottom to the edge of the exam table. This is BY FAR the most vulnerable position in the world. I am a control freak and allowing a perfect stranger the access and angle to violate me, not to mention paying her to do it, just seems unfair. A nice steak dinner over candlelight first seems much more acceptable for allowing someone this close and personal to my lovely lady parts.

It always seems strange to me that the doctor wants to talk to you while they are down there. Striking up a conversation while you are staring at someones vagina doesn't seem like the first appropriate thing.  Is there a class in vagina doctor school that teaches you how to hold a conversation while doing a pelvic exam? I'd rather the awkward silence suffocate my shame. She then moves into position to begin the exam when the song "That Lovin' Feeling" flowed melodiously from the overhead speaker. Perfect, while your down there...please make me a man...



Final Thought:
Just the beautification process that women go through is ridiculous. We make sure that our eyes are bright, hair is shiny, clothes are presentable, and shoes match our belt. We dye our hair, wax our mustaches, shave our legs and pluck our eyebrows. We then factor in children, a job, and getting our parts poked and prodded once a year to ensure health. My only hope is someday the invent a "do-it-yourself" kit or to allow exam rooms with dim lights and an open bar, maybe a name like "Vodka and Vagina's"?  It has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?

Since When Does God Wear Suspenders?

I'd like to think I am very open minded when it comes to religion. I don't talk about it to my friends usually, just because I want to keep them as "friends". I have a pretty good relationship with my God. He knows how to get his point across with me and it's usually through humor. He has never answered me back in an audible sense, but he answers me in a way that I can understand...humorously. 

If you are keeping up with the blog at all or my Facebook then you know that I have taken up "running" in an attempt to become more physically fit and to train for some up coming 5K's. I usually run 3-4 times a week at a local cemetery were the entire thing is made up of hills. Lots, and lots, of hills.

I typically go at sun down, one-because it's hot as hell, and two- because the less people to actually witness this horrid event I call "running" the better. I start my routine by walking up the first hill and then from there the boob flopping, thigh fat slapping, booty jiggling begins. Now, I am in no way ashamed of my curves or the fact that I have them, and I am also not ashamed to say that I mirror a rhinoceros in the wild but it's still nothing I want a lot of people talking about.

Night before last was no different for me. I drive to my "gym", get out and turn on the ipod, and the Nike's start to hit the pavement. This particular evening I'm feeling especially sorry for myself and wondering if there is even any reason for working so hard to lose weight in the first place. My husband loves me. My friends love me. My kids don't care what I look like. Yes, the "poor Me's" were a plenty.

So I start talking in my head.

Me: "Why would God make everything so bouncy if he wanted us to run?" "This is awful to look at and it's painful and....

I had no more thought those thoughts when I pop over the hill and there were two old men. I mean OLD men, with canes, and suspenders. These old men were walking. They were out getting fresh air and getting there hearts pumping. At this exact moment, I knew that was God's way of saying..."regardless of the bounce, keep running fatty"...and I smiled, because I knew he was right.

Final Thought:

I am in no way a picture of health but I am a picture of perseverance and dedication. I am in no way an athlete but I am determined. I am in no way going to beat any world records or train for the Olympics but I am going to beat MY record and train for a 5K. The "poor Me's" have a way into our minds and they cause doubt, frustration and feelings of defeat. The reasons why I "can't" sometimes out weigh the reasons I "can" but that's when God shows up, sometimes in the form of old men in suspenders, we just have to open our eyes.

Pork Fritter to Fruit Salad in 3 Easy Steps

Those of you who know me personally, know that I have struggled with weight my entire adult life. I've been chunky, tubby, lean, muscular, fat, frumpy and average. I have tried every diet out there to lose weight. I didn't have Daddy issues or a bad thyroid or asthma, I had lazy ass. Yes, a case of serious lazy ass. I wanted a magic pill to make me thin, tone and tan...ya...that didn't happen.

About a year and a half ago I decided I needed to make a change. After reading Eat, Pray, Love and watching Dr. Oz on Oprah (and the heart palpitations that landed me at a cardiology appointment, but the other crap sounds better) I decided that I if I wanted to live a long, healthy, active life I would need to make a change. So, I did.

First thing, stop smoking...well, I didn't want to gain a ton of weight so scratch that.

First thing, lose weight...well, I couldn't do a lot of exercise because of the weight and the smoking so that isn't going to work.

First thing, ANYTHING....portion control, maybe just eat less? 

So I started with eating small amounts all the time. Constant snacking. That seemed to control my hunger enough I didn't want to put salt on my stapler during the day and devour it in silent shame. I kept that up for several weeks, just trying to account for everything I put in my mouth. "You are what you eat" is the saying, and I was tired of being a deep fried, southern style piece of pork. This might just work...


Several weeks went by and a few pounds dropped off, so I started walking some and lifting some light weights, all of which I despise but participated in non the less. More weight came off, a pound here and a pound there. Fall came and I had lost about 30 lbs, which sounds like a lot but trust me I was quite the lard ass and it was barely noticed by my peers.

I went to the gyno earlier that year for my pap and had decided while I was there I would ask for Chantix, a stop smoking pill, just to try it out. Six month later I decide to get it filled. The courage to get rid of a 17 year crutch was a little overwhelming. I filled it, and took it as directed, no strange dreams, no homicidal thoughts (or more than normal I should say), no suicidal ideations, mainly just extreme nausea if I tried to smoke. Chantix is a 6 month program that I, being an over achiever, completed in 3 months. October 17, 2009 I smoked my last cigarette.

I get asked a lot if I miss smoking. I'd love to say no, but truthfully, I think about how nice a cigarette would taste sometimes. Then, I remember the first time after I quit smoking that I could smell my hair, the smell of my hair was intoxicating. The smell of honeysuckle and my deodorant, my Cinnamon candle, pizza, lots of things I'd not truly smelt in almost 17 years. That in itself has been worth quitting.


Here I am almost 2 years later and I have lost 65 pounds, stopped smoking, stopped biting my nails (just to see if I could), stopped drinking sodas twice (that one I can't kick) eat healthy, and exercise regularly. It's sounds like a big accomplishment but the truth is I had to work hard to reverse what I alone had done to my body. "I" had started smoking at age 13, "I" had gained weight to the point it was unhealthy for my 29 year old heart, "I" had stopped working out or caring for my body. What seems like an accomplishment to most, seems like a correction to the damage I had done to this wonderful body I was given. To me, I was righting my wrong.


Final Thought:
People say "it's what is on the inside that counts" and that's true in lots of ways. Inside, is also your heart, lungs, kidneys, brain and all the other stuff smashed in there to make you, "you".  I try not to congratulate myself too much, or put myself down either. I strive to keep a good balance of healthy living and honest indulgence when the need hits me. I'm in no way perfect and I am a constant work in progress. Every person is different. Every body is different. Everyones body is a result of their decisions. You can be a deep fried pork fritter or a fruit salad, the choice is yours. Some days I'm a chicken nugget and some days I'm a piece of chocolate but EVERYday, I'm taking responsibility and NOT making excuses.