The smile

The photo on this blog is me at 14. We had just moved from Indianapolis to Corpus Christi a few weeks earlier, during hurricane Carla. I was not in high school, as I would have been in Indiana; Texas had junior high - grades 7, 8, and 9. I was never to be a freshman in high school.

However, I was more popular in 9th grade, attracting boys, which was totally different from back home in the Hoosier state. (Frankly, I have never considered Texas my home, no matter how many years I have lived here.) I went on my first date with some tall boy. We walked from my house the six blocks to the bowling alley. He never asked me out again because by some freak of nature I bowled 219.

Anyway, the lady next door complimented me one day. "You have the prettiest smile."

No one had ever complimented me before. Not about my all A's or my swimming medals or my writing. I have always remembered that first compliment, but it is a sad memory now.

My smile has become grotesquely warped. Parotid (salivary gland) cancer slowly paralyzed my seventh cranial nerve over a forty-year period. This was due to radiation treatments to my left ear, when I was nine, in an effort to stop my chronic ear infections. It worked, but the radiation mutated the parotid cells until they enveloped and strangled the nerve.

Back in the fifties radiation was a new and exciting cure for just about everything. Those of us who were treated with it have developed various cancers all over our bodies. They stopped these treatments on children in 1959, because the scientists finally realized there might be damaging side effects. Duh!

I was 27 when I first noticed a slight difference in my facial muscle. My mouth didn't seem to be symmetric as I was making faces for my new daughter. I looked in the mirror and didn't really notice any change in my smile. Five years later I went to an ophthamologist, because my left eye seemed to be bulging. He sent me to a neurologist, because he thought I had a tumor. The neurologist checked me out and gave me some exercises to do, just saying that I had a degenerative condition.

Over the next 18 years, I went to several doctors for answers. No one could explain what was happening. Bell's palsy usually only lasts 6 months.

Finally, when I was 50, I decided to have some reconstructive surgery done to try and correct my smile. Tests showed there was a slight nerve reaction and that a nerve transplant might work. However, during that surgery, a strange pulpy, gray mass was found. It was excised and sent to the lab. The doctor did not tell me the results until three days later. He could not reassure me that the smile would return. It was cancer, localized. No one had found it before; no one even considered that it might be cancer.

I went online and looked up salivary gland cancer on the American Cancer Society website. There, as plain as could be, was the number one cause of this cancer: childhood radiation treatments! I was furious, because I told every doctor I ever consulted that I had radiation treatments as a child.

Here's the kicker - I didn't need chemo, but the oncologist wanted to radiate me again to make sure that no microscopic cells could traverse the nerve into my brain. Because of that small possibility I let him and underwent 33 treatments, which was like receiving 5500 sunburns. Some of my hair fell out, my neck turned purple, and I completely lost hearing in my left ear. This last side effect I was not warned about.

Although this happened 10 years ago, I quit smiling for cameras fifteen years ago. I hate having my picture taken - and my family is one heck of a picture-taking group. I look like I have had a stroke or Bell's palsy. Kids are never shy about staring at me or asking me what's wrong. I just say my smile doesn't work anymore.

It still feels strange to be happy and laugh, then see a snapshot of me unguarded - I look like a freak.

Oops!

Just got back from San Antonio, where I took the grandkids to see their mother at the finish line of the marathon. We went out to celebrate the 13- mile run and her birthday, as well. (You don't really expect me to tell you which birthday, do you?)

So, I'm exhausted from the four miles we had to walk to/from the Alamodome, I unload the Costco stuff I bought on the way home, and think about a nap. Of course, the three glasses of iced tea I had at lunch has filled my bladder. As I head to the bathroom, I discover my skort zipper is down. Yikes! When did that happen? At the restaurant, I think, and I only went to Costco. My shirt covered the "oops," I hope, the whole time I was there.

This immediately brought to mind a couple other fashion disasters. Many years ago I dressed for work in the dark on a winter morning so as not to wake my husband. When I got to work, I saw that my sweater was inside out.

Several years ago I needed some new jeans. I found some, bought them, and put them on. When I got to the grocery store, I looked down and saw that the long, sticky size-label was still adhered to the thigh. Geez, talk about embarrassing!

A few months ago I was in a hurry for my niece's shower and pulled a pair of loafers out of the closet. After greeting everyone, I sat down and happen to see my feet, upon which were two different colored shoes. (That happens more than I like to think because, when I like the fit of shoes, I buy several pairs in different colors.)

Locked doors

Today I came home with arms full and fumbled with my keys to unlock the door. I resented having to lock it, but we had a break-in last year. Only our laptop and a camera were stolen. I was gone less than an hour during the middle of the day. (Previously, because of our "safe" neighborhood, we usually only locked the doors when we were going to be gone all day or overnight.)

A policeman took notes and the serial numbers, etc. Our neighbors saw nothing awry. No detective came over to take fingerprints. The door had been unlocked, so it was our fault. Neither item was ever recovered; they weren't pawned locally. It was surmised that someone was just walking along, saw our empty driveway, tried the door, and took what was close at hand.

These things were replaceable, but that isn't the point. Someone invaded our home and stole from us. The police weren't helpful or encouraging. Our security had been compromised, so now we have to lock up every time we leave the house. That sucks!

Our belief in the innate goodness of others has been chipped.

In the wee hours of the mornin'

Took hubby(Danny) to the airport this morning. Been up since 4am. He's going to visit his daughter(Megan) and 1-year-old grandson(Necalli) in CA. It's just a long weekend visit; he'll be back Monday night.

It was foggy out on the freeway, but some drivers ignored it. Traffic wasn't heavy at that hour, but I still was amazed that there was any at all. I expected the semis, which run heavily up and down the I-35 corridor. That there were so many others driving was surprising. Who needs to be at work so early? Then I thought: Well, Toyota's in San Antonio, probably with 24-hr. shifting, medical personnel at the plethora of hospitals, airport personnel and passengers for the six o'clock flights, and all the rest of the 24-hr. places. In a city of a couple million, I guess, those are reasons why there is never "no traffic."

I like to be the only one on the road, but that only happens in rural areas and not really that much anymore. Texas' wide open spaces are becoming narrower.

Driving in the pre-dawn hours on a Sunday is about as good as it gets. The sky gently dimming up, houses still lightless, neon road signs beckoning - sighhhh.

Words

Lists are about words. And, I worship words. Therefore, I write.

I love to see my thoughts on paper, the words flowing so readily. Besides the computer, my office is filled with files, folders, books, stationery, and scores of writing implements.

Through the years my words have filled hundreds of folders with letters, stories, word lists, plots, and a couple of books. Twenty years ago my husband burned all my work up to that point, including stories I had written as a child. He killed a part of me by destroying all my thoughts, dreams, letters, and imaginations. (I divorced him a few years later.) I lost my portfolio of all the published work. This emotional disaster became the start of my second writing life.

"Texting" with all its shorthand doesn't interest me in the least. Actual letter writing has gone by the wayside. It is a crying shame that time and technology have taken over for the few million of us who revere the written word. Cursive writing is no longer part of the educational curriculum. What on earth are they thinking?

The hurry-scurry life that so many people lead does not lend itself to thoughtfulness, which is a part of writing. Yes, I'm blogging, but I do my serious writing with wonderful #2 pencils and pads of lined paper.

Listing

I love lists. Guess that would make me a lister!

It all began when I was a child and made a list of what I wanted from Santa. Then I would write to my best friend and list all the presents I received. Bam! I was hooked.

While I was raising my three children and working, lists were a must. At night I would make a list of the following days activities/errands. In the morning I would expand and embellish that list. Then, throughout the day another list or two would be necessitated.

In the past few years, for the most part, my listing has been limited to shopping and I seem to have managed. Of course, there are days that would be too confusing without a list to guide me. It has nothing to do with age and memory loss (I am grinning here).

I make lists of names, unusual names, while watching football. There are a lot of weird names on the backs of those jerseys. It's really fascinating!

In the medical transcription course I am taking, lists abound. It's soooo exciting!

Quit messing with time

I am soooo glad we are back on normal time. The morning hours are longer and I can get much more done. I hate daylight savings time. Did you know that there is a lobbyist in D.C. getting paid over $70K just to keep daylight savings time on the books?

If it isn't nationwide, why is it still happening? Several states and cities do not participate. The initial reason for daylight savings time has been lost; each generation seems to have a different cause to keep it going.

Well, I protest - again. Quit messing with mother nature!