Category Archives: Figuring Stuff Out

Hello world! It’s me, Val…

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I’m not the most tech savvy so please bear with me as I try my best…

About a year ago, I created my own website and started blogging. It’s been great! But recently, I’ve outgrown my host. So I’m testing the waters with new (to me) options.

While I’m adventurous in so many aspects of my life, this isn’t one of them. And since I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to this, I’m taking baby steps. I’m starting by transferring a few blogs from my site (www.valeriezane.com) over to this one. I also plan to post new things once I find my footing. And eventually, I plan to (hopefully) move my URL entirely. But in all honestly, I have no idea how to do that yet. Stay tuned.

If you have tips, please feel free to share them. Thanks!

xoxo

Take the Poem’s Advice

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Sorry I haven’t posted in a while.

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time inside my head. I’m currently revising two novels and writing a third, while trying to simultaneously work through some real life stuff. There are days when I write and write and other days when I can’t seem to assemble a sentence or write a single word. I know I can do it but there are times when I question even the most obvious things.

Don’t worry. I’m still my optimistic self. But I’m only human.

A friend of mine posted this poem on Facebook. I have no idea who wrote it but I can certainly relate. And today I needed to read it.

I’m reposting it because I thought some of you might need it too.

Don’t Quit:

When things go wrong, as  they sometimes will, When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill, When the funds are low and the debts are high, And you want to smile,  but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest, if you  must, but don’t you quit.

Life is queer with its  twists and turns, As every one of us sometimes learns, And many a  failure turns about, When he might have won had he stuck it out; Don’t  give up though the pace seems slow– You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer  than, It seems to a faint and faltering man, Often the struggler has  given up, When he might have captured the victor’s cup, And he learned  too late when the night slipped down, How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned  inside out– The silver tint of the clouds of doubt, And you never can  tell how close you are, It may be near when it seems so far, So stick to  the fight when you’re hardest hit– It’s when things seem worst that you  must not quit.

– Author  unknown

(Thank you to Shelley Anderson for posting this today!)

Today

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Today is a significant day in our nation’s history…

But let me begin by telling you that it’s also my mom’s birthday.

Since she is the most amazing woman I know, and that’s saying a lot since I know a lot of pretty amazing women, I’d like to take a moment to honor her.

My mom is the one who taught me how to love by loving me every second of my life. She has given me her undivided, unconditional support every step of the way. She has held my hand through all of life’s challenges. She believes in me and my dreams. She gives me advice when I need it yet never says “I told you so” when I prove time and time again how stubborn I can be. She has been my #1 fan since the day I was born. I couldn’t ask for a better mom or friend.

Ten years ago today, I woke up thinking that the day would be significant simply because it was my mom’s birthday. I hoped I wouldn’t forget to call her.

I was 25-yrs-old, living in the NYC area and working at the National Basketball Association. I was on my way to work when the first plane hit the World Trade Center. I saw the smoke from my car. The DJ on the radio said a small plane had crashed. His tone made it sound like no big deal. It seemed more like a nuisance than anything else. Of course he turned out to be wrong.

As I pulled into the NBA’s parking lot, my then-boyfriend called me from the subway platform beneath the World Trade Center. He switched trains there on his way to work nearby. He said there was chaos there, alarms going off and he was stuck underground in a mob of people. He wanted to know if I’d heard anything and if I could tell him what happened. I told him what I thought I knew – that there was an accident, that a small plane had crashed into one of the towers. My tone probably made it seem like no big deal. At the time, I didn’t think it was. Of course I too was wrong.

Moments after we said goodbye, I parked, entered the building and climbed the stairs to my desk just in time to see the second plane strike Tower II.

Like millions of other people, I watched it happen live on TV.

Suddenly it was a very big deal.

I tried to reach my boyfriend but couldn’t. For hours, I tried to get him back on the phone. But cell phones were useless that day. All circuits were busy. No one could get through.

In pure panic, I called my mom. I was in shock when I said, “Happy birthday.” She was in shock too when she thanked me for the flowers I’d sent her. Then she told me that my dad was in New York too and that she hadn’t been able to reach him either. But she put her own worst fear aside to focus on me. Was I OK?

I wasn’t even close to OK. Neither was she. No one was. We were all scared to death that day and rightfully so. What was happening? No one knew for sure. As the details unfolded throughout the day, it only became scarier and more confusing. None of it made any sense. It was all too horrifying to be true.

My mom’s voice was the only thing that comforted me. Even though we were in different states, knowing she was there somehow helped. It gave me hope. And with her there on the phone with me, I wasn’t alone.

People were leaving work to go home to be with their loved ones. Some stayed behind, glued to their desks or huddled around television monitors. Like me, maybe they didn’t know where else to go. Should I have gone home to my empty apartment? I practically lived at work so it made more sense for me to stay there. At a point, that too became too hard to bear.

I could no longer sit there waiting. I needed to go out and physically search for him. I’d heard people were flooding out of Manhattan and many of them were heading for Hoboken. So a coworker/friend drove me there.

I remember how oddly peaceful and eerily beautiful it was outside that day. It felt like the first day of spring. Was it all a bad dream?

My father eventually got out of New York and came home to my mother, giving her a birthday present that blew my 1-800-Flowers out of the water.

My then-boyfriend made it out of the city too. His ordeal was far more traumatic. He’d finally made it to his office after speaking to me that morning and from his window he later told me that he could see the towers burning. His office building was eventually evacuated and he managed to make it on foot to the Hudson River, where he somehow got across and then walked home.

He couldn’t talk about what he saw that day. He gave me blurbs here and there. I tried not to press him for the details I was sure I could already see on his face. I was horrified for him when he eventually told me some of what he’d seen, like people jumping from windows. I could only try to be there for him.

While a day that didn’t make sense continues to not make sense 10 years later, it’s true that the whole world changed that day. I know my life did.

For one, I am obviously no longer with that same person. He broke up with me exactly 2 months later. That’s OK. It simply wasn’t meant to be and it didn’t take me long to figure out what was.

I know how lucky I was that day.

It breaks my heart when I hear stories of people who lost loved ones. Tears fill my eyes and I get the exact same lump in my throat every time I think about it. But in a way, my experience on 9/11/01 helped set me free. I learned a lot about myself that day and in the days and months which followed. I learned to appreciate my life and not to take anyone in it for granted. I learned to follow my heart and to go after my dreams.

You and I live in a post 9-11 world. It’s a world where anything can happen. We can choose to keep on living and trying to achieve great things or we can run and hide in a corner. I don’t know about you but if there’s a chance that it could all end tomorrow, I refuse to waste this moment.

Today is a significant day in our nation’s history. It’s a day to look back and remember something we could never possibly forget, to honor the heroes and pay tribute to all those who lost their lives or loved someone who did. But most of all, it is a day to be thankful for life itself and for the people who love us.

And today is my mom’s birthday.

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you. And I thank God for you every day.

Blocked!

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I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again… Writer’s block sucks.

I probably shouldn’t complain considering it’s been a while since my last bout with block. In fact, I started this blog to combat writer’s block but then haven’t had it since. Maybe the blog is more effective than I’d imagined.

Or maybe writer’s block doesn’t just happen. Maybe something or multiple somethings cause it. Not quite as obvious as a cold sore or a bad case of the runs, maybe the culprit is not something as simple as a kiss or a day-old bean burrito. But something had to happen to activate the block.

If I can figure out exactly what triggered this particular block, will I have a better chance of defeating it? Or possibly avoiding it next time?

I don’t know.

But not-knowing has never stopped me from obsessing. Instead, it brings out my super obsessive control freaky side. Ha! I bet you didn’t even know I had a freaky side. Well I do. And that side of me will happily accept responsibility for my own writer’s block (and pretty much anything else for that matter) if it means I can control it, overcome it, accomplish it, destroy it!!

OK… So let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I somehow unintentionally caused my own block. Perhaps I did something or simply adjusted my routine and, in doing so, possibly sparked the block through a series of fortunate and unfortunate events. Several things have recently transpired. It would be hard to pinpoint just one thing. And I refuse to bore or horrify you with all of it. Besides, I need to save some of it for future blogs.

But I’ll share one biggie from each side of the spectrum…

On the fortunate side, I had family in town last week. Yep, the Zanes invaded Iowa. My mom, dad and brother flew in from Philly for 8 days of family, fun and (for them) extreme culture shock. We had a great time celebrating my daughter’s 2nd birthday, discovering new things in Iowa together and hanging out. Having a houseful of people was stressful at times but mostly it was fun.

But while they were here I didn’t write (almost) at all. I took a mental vacay. While my husband swears I needed it, I’m not 100% sure. But I definitely needed them here. I’d missed them so much (and now that they’re gone, I miss them more). So if their visit caused part of my block, well then I’ll anxiously look forward to being blocked again in the (hopefully near) future.

On the less fortunate side, an agent rejected me. She did so in the nicest “it’s not you, it’s me” way possible. But still. It’s not that I think I caused the rejection or could have done anything to prevent it. I am simply not the writer she wanted me to be. That’s OK. It doesn’t mean I’m a bad writer. But I may have handled it poorly. I got overly emotional and maybe even a bit depressed. I typically handle rejection better than I am doing right now. The funny (not ha-ha but interesting) part is that I didn’t even really want her. I’m not trying to sound like the bitter x-boyfriend who announces that factoid after being dumped. Really, I’m not. She’s great, amazing actually. I couldn’t and wouldn’t say a bad thing about her. And don’t get me wrong. I would have jumped at the opportunity of being represented by her and I certainly wouldn’t have kicked her out of my proverbial (for lack of a better word) agent-author bed for eating crackers… But she wasn’t (and still isn’t) my first choice.

My first choice agent is still considering me… and my writing samples… hopefully. Well, at least, I have no reason (knock on wood) to think otherwise. I want to believe that she hasn’t secretly stopped considering me. But what if she’s one of those people who break up simply by halting communication? No calls. No texts. No emails. Nothing. Not even a fax. Just the assumption that she fell off the face of the earth. I did that once (not fall off the face of the earth, but break up with someone in that manner… don’t judge me!). This paranoia isn’t helping my blockage. It’s just that, in my humble opinion, she would be my perfect agent. We bonded immediately and had a solid rapport. But I promise not to stalk her (even) if she dumps me (I might cry, but I will not stalk!).

I think I’m just nervous. I’ve gotten myself all worked up worrying that this recent rejection might spark other rejections. I guess I’m concerned that the other agent (let’s call her #42 and not for the reason you might think). So #42 was the first agent who I loved at first chat, who made me laugh, who spoke to my inner nerd, who seemed ~ and still seems ~ so perfect and who I met at the same conference as the agent who sent me the Dear John letter. What if #42 feels the same way as agento-rejecto? What is she rejects me too?

Well I’ll eventually get over it.

I know it’s not doing me any good to think negatively and worrying never helps either. The only thing that ever helps is action. But what action should I take?

The little fat kid inside of me wants to stuff his face with Cool Ranch Doritos, but that’s not the kind of action that will help. The pissy pissed off angsty teen in me is picking fights. That’s no good… for me or for you. The neurotic workaholic adult in me is running an extra mile on the treadmill and trying to write through the pain. That helps more but I’m still blocked.

What I need is a writing enema or a chunk of writer’s Ex-lax, if only there was such a thing!! One of you good-at-math-and-science types should invent that!

In the meantime, I’ve taken all of my own advice and none of it has helped. I’ve walked away, then came back and tried to restart my engine. I tried to push through it. When that didn’t work, I took a nap. I woke up and meditated. I worked out feverishly. I played with my daughter. We went swimming. I did some yoga. I went for a long walk… then a drive… then went shopping (just groceries, but still). I came back and tried again to write through the pain some more. Nothing. I took a shower (always a good move!), watched some TV (an hour of Judge Judy never hurts… but didn’t help either), cooked dinner for my family (I made a very healthy stuffed peppers that involved an actual recipe!). I ate. I sulked. I’m still blocked. What the $#&!

Ugh! What should I do next?

Seriously, tell me what to do and I’ll do it.

Tonight I’m going to make and then drink a whole pot of coffee (please don’t tell my nephrologist) and write, write, write… well, I guess I’m actually writing right now… hmm… maybe I’m not as blocked as I thought…

OK, gotta go!! See ya later.

Target

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My daughter, Lyla, turns 2 in about a week. Today, getting an early start, she decided to showcase her terrible 2s in Target. She had clearly been practicing!

In case you missed it, she was the one who wiggled out of her restraints, climbed out of the cart, tore off her diaper, then ran up and down the aisles screaming and giggling devilishly as she removed random items from the shelves and tossed them into our cart faster than a contestant on the retro game show Supermarket Sweep.

My husband was at home recovering from nightshift so I was flying solo. It was toddler verse Mommy. Sadly, I couldn’t compete. I could hardly even keep up.

By the time we made it to checkout, I was sweating, dizzy, unsure of what I was buying or where I was and desperately in need of both a bottled water and a nap! Lyla was ready for Round 2. When we finally made it home (thankfully the little demon slept in the car), I put her down in her crib, carried in every last bag of groceries by myself, then when my husband woke up I told him all about the traumatic ordeal. His response was, “You can’t let her get away with that.”

Hmm… that didn’t help. It didn’t help me and it most certainly didn’t help him.

Before I go on, let me reiterate the fact that I love my husband and our daughter very, very much. My husband is a wonderful father and partner. He happily works his ass off for our family. Our daughter is the perfect combination of me and him. She gets the good and the not-so-good from us both (pretty much) equally. Now that we’re clear on that, let me also state for the record that they are both Leos. I’m not sure this fact has any true bearing on my situation or any other for that matter, but I sometimes blame astrology when I don’t want to flat out blame a person. It’s a defense mechanism.

As a Scorpio, while I am astrologically compatible in many ways with Leos, I have read that there will be times when they will, without even trying, drive me to the brink of insanity. Well, I was there and back today.

Now back to my rant…

What would my husband have done differently? When I asked him that question, he gave me no answer. I would have loved to see how he would have handled our “little situation” at Target. For that matter, I’d love to see him do all of the things I do on a regular basis. In addition to writing, I am a stay at home mom. I change at least 90% of the diapers, clean up at least 90% of the messes and kiss at least 90% of the boo-boos. Everything I do and everywhere I go, there is a toddler at my hip. I write while my husband works and while my daughter sleeps, both during her naps and through the night. I get an awful lot done in minimal time. I take zero breaks and I get very little sleep.

Like most moms out there, I do what I do with little assistance or acknowledgment. When my family or friends are struggling, I stop what I’m doing to listen and to love. When I’m struggling, I push myself harder. Most times, I don’t have time to complain and besides it usually doesn’t help.

While I try not to criticize those whom I love (I said try not to), I seldom get the same courtesy in return. I try to extract positive feedback and constructive criticism, both professionally and personally because those things, while sometimes painful, help us to learn and grow. I try my best not to take too much of it personally and ignore the negativity. Unfortunately, that doesn’t always work. Like now, for example.

It is challenging enough to take a toddler shopping by myself. And that, by the way, is something I get to do all the time. I wave and smile to the other moms (or stay at home dads – of which there are many!) as I pass them in the supermarket, as our children pretend to drive the big plastic car attached to our shopping cart while we do the pushing and steering. We are kindred spirits.

I often help other parents when their sons or daughters drop their sippy cups for the 100th time, lunge from their arms in the frozen food section, scream for a cookie or a lollipop or a Dora snack or when they have a complete and total meltdown during checkout (or anyplace else for that matter). I like to think that they would help me too and sometimes they do.

My daughter turns 2 next week.

If you were considering criticizing my parenting skills, voicing your opinion on potty training, reading, haircuts, juice consumption, bedtime etiquette or any other similar topic, this is probably not the right time.

If you see me or another parent struggling, please don’t hesitate to help us. For the record, pointing, whispering and staring do not help. Being critical or judgmental isn’t a bit helpful either. And those snide comments… well, I’ll be happy to suggest a place where you can put those.

The terrible 2s are upon us, my friends. What happened today in Target was just the beginning. I’ve heard horror stories from other parents about what to expect next and I’m not going to lie, I’m more than just a little scared!

If you really want to help me, offer to babysit.

Seeing the Good in Some Not-So-Good News

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I received some not-so-good news the other day regarding the current status of my kidneys. It wasn’t the worst news in the world, but it caught me off-guard and hit me pretty hard. For a moment there, I was down and out about it.

Thanks to some soul searching and a few punches in the arm from some very good friends, I’m feeling much better now.

Basically, my latest labs came back and there was a higher-than-usual amount of blood found in my kidneys. This is most likely a sign that some of my cysts ruptured. It sounds scary, and in a way it is, but it is also pretty standard stuff when it comes to Polycystic Kidney Disease.

I was told that I needed to make additional life changes in order to slow down the rate of my kidney digression. If my kidneys continue getting worse in the next 6 months, my doctor may want to put me on long-term, potentially permanent medication. Something you should know… I don’t like taking any medicine (cold medicine, Tylenol, anything) or putting any chemicals (aside from alcohol but that doesn’t count) into my body. And I hate the thought of being on medication permanently. It’s just not me.

None of this should have or would have upset me. Under normal circumstances, I would have waved my “Philly” finger (that’s the middle one for those not in the know) in the air and said “you’re not the boss of me!” then, I would have simply gone to one extreme or another to prove my doctor wrong. Because that’s what I do. But there was more to it.

The part that upset me was when my doctor said that if my kidneys get worse or if I go on the medication, then I wouldn’t be able to have more children.

To quote my husband, “Well, ain’t that the drizzling shits?!”

Now I could take the easy route and simply “say no to drugs” and hope for the best, but if my kidneys get worse I probably won’t be able to have more children anyway. My kidneys might not be able to handle it. This feels like one of those damned if I do, damned if I don’t situations. I hate those.

Now, the thing is, I have no idea whether or not I even want more children. I know that I love the one I have more than anything in the world. I know I wouldn’t trade her for all the tea in China (or chocolate in Switzerland, or anything else anywhere else for that matter). She is the second greatest thing that has ever happened to me.

But do I want more children? Now? Later? Someday?

Oh, I don’t know. But I do know that I don’t want to be told that I can’t.

So I’ve done some extreme soul searching. Well, first I had a bowl of ice cream to soothe my aching heart but when I quickly realized that wasn’t helping then I jumped right into the soul searching.

I cried… I ranted and raved… I meditated… I got over it.

I am not ready to make any huge life decisions. I’m not quite ready for a new kidney or another child. I’m not sure if or when I will be ready for either. If something changes or if one or the other happens to happen while I’m still trying to get ready, well then I’ll hurry up and get ready.

And, you’d better believe, I will embrace every change that comes my way and love my life and everything and everyone in it no matter what.

Of course, it probably goes without saying that, I’m not ready to give up. That’s not how I roll. So, instead, I’ll try harder because that’s what we do when we know that quality (and quantity) of life is the most important thing.

For the sake of my life and for the sake of those I love and who love me, I will make additional changes.

It’s not going to be easy. But it’s the least I can do, really.

The Squirrel

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We have surround sound. Well my husband does actually but, since we’re married, it’s technically 50% mine. I don’t know much about it or what all the doodads and thingamawhats are called, but recently I performed surgery on one of the speakers. He wasn’t home at the time or I’d never have gotten away with it. But it had to be done, and you’ll understand why in a moment…

The particular speaker in question is the self-standing kind, the one that sits all alone on the floor beside the TV. It’s black, rectangular and not very tall, but just tall-or-small enough to have recently become a piece of furniture to my daughter Lyla. It’s quite stylish actually and fits in rather nicely with her other living room furniture, including her bean bag chair, rocking horse and Sit n’ Spin. To her, the speaker is a multipurpose table. She sits beside it, rests her snacks upon it, plays with her toys on it and occasionally climbs on top of it. But I hadn’t realized until recently that her new “table” also converted for storage.

While relaxing on the couch one day, my husband spotted something inside the speaker. He said (and this is a direct quote), “Hey, do you see that nipple?” I didn’t see it at first but on closer inspection, I did indeed see the nipple. The nipple in question was attached to a baby bottle. It was inside the speaker. How did it get in there? Well, we had an idea… the culprit had to have very dainty hands and fingers small enough to fit through the tiny, tight round opening. I imagine, to Lyla, it was like a toddler’s version of the board game Operation.

It took us a while to retrieve the bottle, since neither of us could fit our adult-sized hands inside. Once we finally got it out (a combination of gravity and kitchen tongs), we learned it was half-filled with moldy apple juice. Ewwwww! There was no way of knowing exactly how long it had been there. Let’s just say, the juice and the bottle had both seen better days and, sadly, neither was worth saving.

Every once in a while we run low on bottles. Nipple rings go missing too. It’s as if they disappear into thin air, and now I know why. Lately, other things have been disappearing too. I have a sneaky suspicion who’s to blame, but I have a feeling she has other hiding spots not yet discovered. Of course, the speaker continues to be among her favorites.

It’s only a matter of time before I find my cell phone in there.

Just yesterday, I was about to run the dishwasher and decided to do a last minute bottle roundup. I found two in her crib, one under her crib and, as suspected, one in the speaker.

But this time, it wasn’t just one lonely juice bottle. The speaker was completely full. Its contents included: 1 juice bottle, this time no mold; 1 Weeble Wobble; 1 red crayon; 1 sock; 1 piece of partially chewed celery; 3 animal crackers; 2 broken pretzel rods; 1 lollipop; 2 cubes of cheese (yuck!); 4 Teddy Grahams; countless Cheerios.

This is the reason why my husband has started calling our daughter The Squirrel.

Writing Class

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I’m taking an online writing class, and so far so good. It isn’t my first writing workshop, but it is the first one I’ve taken online. So far, it’s been great, informative and worthwhile. While I’ve been learning a lot, I’m not sure my favorite things about the class have much to do with the class itself. The fact that it’s online might be the coolest part actually.

These are my favorite parts, in no particular order:

  • Wearing PJs during class chats. Priceless! Not having to wear a bra? Even better!
  • Watching American Idol in the background. The live chats take place on Thursday nights, during the AI decision shows. I half pay attention to those shows anyway. Since 24 ended, I don’t have much to live for – in regards to TV anyway. American Idol and Food Network are practically all I have left! Last week, the instructor switched days to Wednesday, and that’s AI performance night. I almost dropped the class. Thank God, the move was only temporary!
  • While I’m learning stuff, my husband, Jason, plays with our daughter, Lyla, for a whole hour without me. By the time the chat time is over, they’re both exhausted. Plus, he brings me drinks during class! So, it’s a win-win and sort of like being on vacation.
  • Not having to smile and nod in a room full of people, pretending I remember everything about everything they wrote. I have mommy brain. Some days, I hardly remember what I wrote!
  • I can sneak in extra minutes to write during class chats. Every minute counts! I’m writing this blog during class just to prove to myself that I can do both simultaneously! Mommies (and former event planners) are phenomenal at multitasking.
  • Getting to read some truly excellent work from other writers struggling to get published, while getting their feedback on my writing. It’s like a support group! Lord knows, I need one of those!
  • The teacher is a real editor at a major publishing house (read: the mother ship of all publishing houses). I know! I was excited too. She’s big time. Plus, she’s really nice! Her insight and professional feedback are just as important to me (probably more, but it’s a close race) as the not having to wear a bra part.

It’s only been a few weeks, but the class has been fun, interesting and definitely worth the time and the price of admission. Plus, this is so much better than how I remember college actually being. Well, the learning portion anyway. Lecture halls, prerequisite courses, labs and studying through the night? Those parts were dreadful. The other parts were awesome, if my memory serves me right.

This class has inspired me in so many ways, and I will definitely take more classes in the future. I might even consider going back to school at some point to get my MFA in Creative Writing… online, of course!

Happy PKD Day!

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Today is PKD Day. March is Kidney Month. March 12th was World Kidney Day. This reminds me of how I like to celebrate my birthday. November 11th is my actual birthday, but every day when the clock says 11:11, I have mini celebrations. Then, come November, I like to celebrate all month long!

So why not celebrate my kidneys for a whole month too?

I have plenty to celebrate. After waiting a year to take the MRI I blogged about a few blogs ago, my results came back and my wonderful doctor said my kidneys look pretty much the same as they did a year ago! Mind you, they didn’t look great a year ago. They were already each three times the size of a “normal” kidney due to swelling and cyst growth. BUT, they haven’t gotten any worse, and I’m so happy!

I feel like I won the lottery! I’ve cried several times since hearing this news. The news means so much…

It means I have more time. More time to enjoy my current kidneys, even the left one – the one I complain about regularly (it has a tendency toward being a jerk). More time to do the things I want to do and enjoy my life in its current status with my current kidneys before having to think about the possible next step. Chances are strong that I will someday receive a donated kidney, quite possibly from a loved one. Kidney transplants do not frighten me. They are highly successful and highly necessary. But, I’d still like to put it off (for me and for my future donor) as long as possible. But if and when the time comes, I will not hesitate. I love life, and I will do whatever it takes to live.

It means that if my husband and I decide to have another baby, we can do so without worrying too much about whether or not my kidneys can handle it. Now, I have a little more faith in them. Of course, that road won’t be easy. It comes with complications worth discussing. Estrogen increases cyst growth, and getting knocked up releases a flood of estrogen. Kidney infections are typically treated with Cipro (Ciprofloxacin), a very strong antibiotic that’s a definite no-no for fetuses, preggos, infants and nursing mommies. If I was to get an infection along the way, and chances are that I’d get at least three, I’d have to be hospitalized and hooked up to an IV to treat the infection. It’s a lot to think about. We haven’t decided yet, but I’ll keep you posted.

It means that we’ve been doing something right. Research shows that water is important and on recommendation from my doctor, I’ve been drinking a gallon of water a day to flush and saturate my kidneys. Also, animal protein has been linked to harming the kidneys and speeding up cyst growth. So, originally, I switched to a 100% vegetarian lifestyle. After six months or so, my husband and I started incorporating fish and important meats, like bacon, back into our diet. Let me tell you, a little bacon really makes a veggie burger sing! Now, we’ve found our balance. We eat mostly veggies and fish, occasionally incorporating meats and poultries. It works for us. And (knock on wood) it seems to be working for my kidneys.

My husband, Jason, is a Godsend. He walks with me and holds my hand through all of the crazy things this crazy life brings. He has since the day we met. Since my first Walk for PKD last year, he has been wearing a yellow “Donate Life” bracelet. He never takes it off. He loves meat (He’s a man! Plus, he’s from Omaha!), but he didn’t hesitate to give it up with me, for me. Of course, I picture him binging on burgers and Slim Jims in his car on his way to work and whenever I’m not around, but that’s OK. In similar fashion, he’d previously supported every silly diet I did back before being diagnosed, from every detox diet to Atkins (very bad for kidney function by the way!), so why stop now? I’ve said it before and I’ll never stop saying it, my husband is the most amazing man on the planet! If it wasn’t for him… well, I don’t even want to think about it.

For people with Polycystic Kidney Disease, everyday is PKD Day. If you or your loved ones have a disease, any disease, you have it and are affected by it every day. Whether or not you have PKD, please celebrate with me this month. And, celebrate YOU and your life every day. Celebrate each and every opportunity you’ve been given. Celebrate your birthday, the month of your birth, the time you were born. Celebrate sunrise and sunset each and every day. Love your life and everyone in it.

We must appreciate the wonderful people in our lives and the time we have been given to spend with them. This life is a gift, a blessing, a miracle. However you choose to define it, it’s pretty stinkin’ awesome, and we have every reason and every right to celebrate.

So, happy PKD Day! Happy Every Day!

My Brother’s Penis

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My brother accidentally uploaded a photo of his penis onto FaceBook. Need I say more?

OK, I needn’t but I will.

Yes, I’m actually blogging about my brother’s penis.

This is actually a relatively old story, since it happened late December (the 25th to be exact). But, I promised (or threatened) him that I’d eventually blog about it.

Well, Frank, your time has come (so to speak)!

Think of it as a Christmas story, if you will… It was (or ’twas) Christmas Day, and we had family over for dinner. My husband cooked a huge, yummy feast, as usual. We had just said the prayer (like good Catholics, we pray on Christmas, Easter… and Thanksgiving). We were stuffing our faces and chit-chatting. It was nice, but then again, I love all events that involve family and food. Then, out of nowhere and with no warning whatsoever, my brother brought up (not out, up… well, up isn’t much better, I guess) his penis. Not exactly your typical holiday dinner conversation, he told the tale of how his penis ended up on FaceBook.

He had very recently bought a new cell phone, and he was at home alone testing its features… by, uh, sexting (unfamiliar? look it up) with his girlfriend. At her request, he took a naughty picture of himself, and texted it to her… or at least he tried. It was meant to be a private communication between two consenting adults. Harmless fun, right?

Anyhoo, the photo somehow took a wrong turn somewhere in cyberspace and ended up on his FaceBook feed. Yep, right there on his wall, for all eyes to see, was a picture of my brother’s penis!!!

At first, he didn’t even know it was there. But then, how would he? He was obviously busy at the time. He didn’t even find out until later (how much later? Minutes? Hours? I’m not sure) when my best friend (Hi, Diana!) saw it and contacted him.

Not believing her own eyes, she assumed it was some sort of virus, a hacker’s penis perhaps, certainly not my brother’s. For a bit of back story, Diana and I have been friends since the 9th grade. She was my college roommate, my maid of honor. She’s family, like a sister. Therefore, my brother is like a brother to her. When you look at it that way, it’s almost like seeing her own brother’s penis! See how I managed to make an already icky story about my own brother’s penis that much ickier? You’re welcome. Being a ‘do the right thing’ kind of girl, rather than pretending it never happened or poking out her own eyes, she notified him discreetly via email to avoid any potentially awkward conversation.

Horrified, he rushed to remove the picture.

This story would’ve (and probably should’ve) ended there. But, then he had to go and tell me!

Of course, the awkward conversation started the moment I found out, and the end is nowhere in sight. Don’t look at me like that! He brought it up. The blog on the topic practically writes itself! In all fairness, Diana would have probably never told me. She wouldn’t have wanted to cause him any embarrassment. Had he not mentioned it to me, I would’ve never mentioned it to her and she would’ve kept it a secret (at least from me) forever.

I have to give her credit for that too because I would have told me immediately!! Heck, I’m telling YOU! Because funny stories should be shared, that’s why! It took all my willpower to keep it this long. In fairness, I called her the very next day after hearing my brother’s version of the story. I needed to get the rest of the story and I’d have called her sooner, but it was Christmas Day! I couldn’t have possibly waited any longer. I needed to tell someone, anyone, everyone. I had questions. I had comments. I had jokes!!

So, I called her, and said “Merry Christmas. So, I hear you saw my brother’s penis?!!”

Funnier still? She told me that someone else had actually seen it first and told her about it! Yes, that’s correct. She was not the first or the only person to see what she saw that day. Another mutual male (not mentioning any names but you know who you are) friend saw it too, and called her about it. So, two people definitely saw my brother’s penis posting. Well, two who we are aware of, but it seems that word gets around real fast when you post your parts online!

Personally, I never saw it. Thank you, God! If I had, I would probably be far too busy with therapy sessions to write this blog.

The best thing about having a relative (especially one with a great sense of humor, like my brother) accidentally post his penis online is the fun you can have with it. Hmm, that didn’t come out right, but I hope you get what I meant. Since then, I’ve started more sentences with “My brother’s penis” than any sister ever should. It’s been three months, and I still can’t stop talking about it. My brother’s penis is a hot topic!! It’s all the rage. It’s inspirational!

It’s impossible not to somehow work my brother’s penis into practically every conversation. Humor-wise, it may just be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me and my family. Think of the endless joke possibilities! I bet your mind is already filling up with never ending innuendos. I’ve had so much fun with the one-liners, which often come to me at the strangest times.

There are far too many to list, but here’s a sample:

  • My brother told a story about his penis, and my poor mother nearly choked on it
  • I realize the topic may be a bit hard to swallow
  • But, it sure is fun to slip it in as a conversation starter
  • I’ve tried hard not to think about it, but it penetrates my thoughts and the ideas come so quickly
  • At first, it seemed like such a limp topic, but now it’s the climax of conversation
  • Realizing we’re discussing my brother’s penis, keep in mind that this was meant simply for play
  • And, please take a long, hard look at yourself (and your own brother’s penis) before judging me!

This has been huge fun. It’s been a ball, if you will. Until now, it’s been an inside joke amongst close family and a few friends. But, now you know. And, I must admit, it feels darn good sharing it with you.