Got me a new APP!

Every now and again I write a story that deviates from my norm. And then, once done, it begs to be shared. If this were a face-to-face conversation, it would contain too much information. If you prefer to continue knowing me as a well put-together, fit, and wise woman, turn away now, and don’t look back!

This week, I got a new APP. Given the millions of free Apps available, why should you care about this one? Admittedly, only a select few of you will benefit from this unadvertised, specially adapted, life-changing APP. Once installed I will be able to do sequences and runs without any leaks.

This APP has been around for years but no one talks about it. It is a socially awkward topic, but I have such faith in it, that I am willing to leak this APP to the world.

To have my APP installed, I had to make an appointment with a specialist. Once the consultant had checked out my device, and taken a few measurements, she left the room to get some equipment. It seemed that she was more interested in how my device had been working than anything else. She did a lot of probing.

She returned with several small bags. It seemed that this was going to be a delicate procedure, as she donned gloves before approaching my device. Giving it one more careful look, she tilted her head like a dog does when humans have conversations with them. She held in her hand a circular object that was baby-doll pink in color. It looked to the untrained eye, like a small umbrella canopy; one that could have been used by Bernard to shelter the glamour-mouse Miss Bianca, in “The Rescuers”.

As she approached my device for the installation, I grimaced slightly, and looked up. The drop ceiling was classic clinic white, it had evenly spaced illuminated fluorescent lights. The panels had gray pockmarks, as if just recovering from acne; and each tile was framed by a polished silver grid that eerily reflected the contents of the room.

Well, it turned out that my specialist was a nurse named Anna, and I was at the pelvic floor clinic for the installation of this APP (Anti-Pissing Pessary).

As I mentioned, this APP has been around for ages! The pessary is a simple device that is inserted down below into parts that we make our young children pronounce accurately (Can you say va-gi-na? Regina. No, VA-gi-na. RAgina) and then stop saying altogether as we get older.

After the nurse got the device in place, I got up and gathered the back of the flapping clinic gown in the fist of my hand. She asked me to jump up and down, legs in a straddle, and cough at the same time, all while standing overtop of a white towel. I giggled like a girl playing hopscotch for the first time. We were told to arrive with a comfortably full bladder. I stared at the towel, I looked at the young nurse—I wondered, Is this the only job you could get, watching older women with failing sphincters and spurting bladders, jump up and down? I grasped my gown a bit tighter and began to jump. It was just like personal training—but not! My bottom jiggled aggressively since it was not flattened by spandex, or camouflaged in loose shorts. Up. Down. Look. Sigh. Repeat.

I passed the first test. I was sent to the bathroom to see if I could pee with the APP installed. I pissed the second test.

Anna sent me back to the room, alone, and instructed me to see if I could find the pessary. Feeling good after flying through the first tests, I closed the door and gingerly began the search. It reminded me of a time a few years back when I was undergoing pelvic floor physiotherapy (I know, I had never heard of that either). Just like every other physio. regime, I had props. My props were: a brightly colored plastic Easter egg (the ones that come covered in chocolate with surprises inside), and a box of condoms.  I felt like I was in training for a “ladies of the night” Las Vegas show!

I was not able to un-install the APP. After some coaching from the nurse, she too gave up, and said, “Well, you really only need to take it out every three months, so you can simply come back and have it removed and cleaned then.” “What?!” I stammered. Do they have express service? Do I just cruise up to the “secret” door and knock three times? And then when the door slides open, do I lie down on the bed and press the button marked “Pessary Removal”? SERIOUSLY!

So I walked out with a silicone dam wedged somewhere between north and south. It reminded me of a time when one of my close friends, who had just returned from a doctor’s appointment, came skipping into the room, “I’ve got a secret, I’ve got a secret,” she chanted with impish cuteness. She had just been fitted with a diaphragm. Seems to me that her secret was a lot more fun than mine!

That night, I had a soccer game and was keen to see if this APP would improve my internal hard drive, and restore me to my former glory. The main reason that I had this dam contraption installed is that I am capable of double-dribbling all the way down the field! I have spent the entire season wearing a pad the size of a small mattress.

Success! Now I know how a toddler feels—one who goes to bed in a diaper and wakes up dry in the morning, and who gleefully pulls down her bottoms and says, “Look Mommy, I dry!” (I spared my soccer team my excitement.)

The fact that I couldn’t remove the APP caused me a great deal of consternation. It interrupted my thoughts and kept me awake ruminating over my eventual demise.

I woke up frustrated, and said to Ward, “I can’t get this damn thing out! They are probably going to have to cut me open from here to here to remove it”. (belly button to pubic bone-sometimes I can be a bit dramatic)

“Why do you have this thing anyway? Is this because of soccer?” he asked.

“YES, it is because of soccer!” I said.

“I don’t understand why they can’t just put porta-potties on the side lines.”

Staring hard at my doctor-husband, I said, “Do. You. Even. Know what STRESS INCONTINENCE is?”

“Umm…I guess not,” he admitted.

“I BASICALLY PEE MY PANTS AT EVERY SOCCER GAME! I would need a porta-potty strapped directly to my body, and for some reason they don’t allow women to play soccer with a potty strapped on to their butt!”

Now he stared hard at me, (stuck with a picture in his mind, I am sure) “Really, you pee your pants?” (he shook his head) “It sucks to be a woman.”

“ARG.” I stormed off.

However, I know that I am not alone. A couple of weeks ago, a good friend of mine was supposed to come over for dinner, but she had a horrible cold. I sent her a message on the day of dinner, to see how she was feeling, and if she was able to come. She replied, “I want to come. This cough is bad. Just peed my pants. Awesome!”

This is the kind of sharing we really need to do, because no one is ever suffering from something that someone else hasn’t been through before.

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*Look back at the picture, and see if you can see my new APP.

The Me in Mean

For the short time that he was talking, my inner voice said, “Don’t take offense. Be calm. Validate his emotions. ….”  

A broken down, un-tended vehicle does not perform as smoothly as one that is well cared for.

There are some crazy busy weeks in our house. There are some emotional rollercoaster rides. There are some physical knock-em-sock-em battles. We have weathered many storms—together, and side-by-side. But we remain helpless on the battlefield that goes unseen—the one that exists in the confines of the brain.

Each of us carries our thoughts like stolen candy: to be hidden and brought out only when we are sure that no one is looking—lest we be incriminated for them. As I have aged, wisdom has come, but it has also been illusory. On this one thing…the thoughts, conversations and full-length movies that play in my brain, I continue to struggle for wisdom. How can I pause the movie, and tune in to what is actually happening? Or, more importantly, when I continue to live inside my head (and therefore behave poorly) how do I rewind, so that I can have another “take”, and come closer to what is required, what is needed?

In the end, I never, ever feel good when I have treated someone in an unkind way—or without thought to his or her feelings. In fact, it is often my behavior that ruins my day, not the incident itself. I have studied and read a lot about catching our thoughts, and trying to reshape them right in the midst of living. I still cannot do this effectively. However, I am not going to give up… anything is possible.

When you change the way you think, you can change the way you feel.

David D. Burns

A Cottage Summer

Sweet Peace!

Our cat jazmin, walking our dog Abby!

Our cottage at Ghost Lake has been a place of construction, exploration and experimentation this summer.

The boys—the skaters among them—built ramps and rails where they could ride and grind. Yohannes hung around, watching, learning, attempting and mastering, and then awaiting discarded parts and building a board of his own (and spray painting it in our backyard!)  They have been heard this summer in conversations like this:

Hey Alec, you wanna ride?

Yeah, I’m totally stoked.

You got a new deck?

Yup.

It’s insane!

Whoa! Cody that was so sick!

Thanks man.

That was clean.

Naw…a bit sketchy.

Construction and deconstruction is the name of the game for our boys. I came home from a day in town to find the cottage smelling like burning glue. Think what you may, it was nothing you could ever fathom. Besides the smell, which was a bit like Tupperware lids slow-cooking over a gas burner, the evidence was as follows: a lighter, a roll of duct tape, a wax candle melted all over the table, a steak knife, a roll of paper towel, and a canister of spray paint. I painstakingly pieced together the following story:

1) Cody (a 14-year-old friend) had a hole in the bottom of his shoe. He wasn’t particularly attached to the shoe; it was just that he had it in his mind to fix it—at our place (while I was away). 

Yohannes was either his assistant, or the mastermind—I can’t figure out which.

2) They searched our basement for supplies, and brought up Gorilla glue duct tape, and the spray paint, as well as a whole myriad of tools.

3) Cody thought he would use the tape to fix his shoe.

4) Yohannes thought that if they lit the duct tape on fire, it would stick better to Cody’s shoe. 

That is what they did!

And they were damn proud of the job they did!

For my part, once I came down from the “glue-high”, I stared at Yohannes for a long time, a really long time—I was trying to see inside of his brain. And then I reminded him of our house rule around the use of “fire” when there isn’t an adult present. I told him that fire was dangerous, that it could burn down our whole house. He said, "Yeah, but it didn't." Aggravated, I said, "BUT it could have!" He stormed into the bathroom, yelling things at me that I did my best NOT to hear… la la la la la.

Eventually, I called him back. I talked a bit about trust, and a mother's worry--things he couldn't really fathom. He stared, quietly (probably trying to see into my brain!)  Finally, I congratulated him for working out a way to fix Cody’s shoe. He ran, like a dog to a toy, and grabbed the shoe to show me. He was so pleased. And so was I.

God forbid that Cody would have to ride his board with a hole in his sole!

The girls at the start of summer spent (painful) hours experimenting with hair and make-up artistry, in the centre of our kitchen, or hovering like dragonflies in front of the bathroom mirror.  By summers’ end, the make-up was lost, and they sported sun-bleached, tangled hair, tanned bodies and carefree attitudes.

Teens and tweens not old enough to drive have learned to ride motor-scooters and drive “golf-carts”, barefoot, without helmets, and with wild abandon. They drive around and pick up friends—shoving more bodies on than there are seats for—test-driving a life they will ease into in the coming years. Our kids, not the lucky ones’ with orange, red or white golf-carts to drive, have shunned us as inadequate parents for not supplying the bare essentials of tweenage cottage life!

Our “collective” children here are growing up—bodies changing, blossoming, filling out—now garnering looks from the opposite sex. It is amazing how much they change in the “off season”. They have been friends in summers past—but are clearly twitterpated this year—still friends. But now, they are experimenting with chemistry (if not biology), just beyond our gaze.

Such keeners, studying during the holidays!

Our cat, Jazmin has been out exploring the countryside—mostly at night. She has perhaps contributed more to the family than any other member—besides (of course) Ward. Her exceptional hunting skills have meant that every morning we awaken to fresh meat! It has been a Cottage Club mouseacre! She alone has been responsible for wiping out the mouse population on the entire north side!

ON my Yoga Mat!!

For me, a cottage summer has allowed an opportunity to explore the word on the page, exercise in a variety of ways: hiking, biking, in-line skating, and walking, and pursue my new hobby of drinking fine wine.

Hiking at Heart Creek: Faven, Laurèn, Yohannes, Aiden, Wendy, Abby, and Kristin.

Ward has been a part-time member of our cottage summer—I think staying in the city (alone) is part work, but also part holiday! Toward's the end of August,  we sat together on the front deck of our cottage as resident hummingbirds choreographed a magnificent dance for us. They have been particularly pleased with the wild orchids growing in our flower garden, and I have seen one bird fairly regularly. Ward had never seen it, and on this day, there were four hummingbirds flitting between flowers and feeder, and quite literally hovering--to check us out. 

There was definitely something else going on because at one point, we stood mesmerized by the deck rail as one bird approached another bird, who was getting quite friendly with a third bird; he spread his tail feathers in a fan, and chased the suitor away. It was pure magic. That turned out to be their last day here, as they fattened up and started their seasonal trip to Mexico.

None of us were willing to pause summer and prepare for the coming of September. And yet, it came, with force (and SNOW!) September used to be my favorite month—the crisp air of morning, the sweet gift of warm afternoon sun, the changing color of nature. But now, it is chaos and change: a change that I am somehow never ready for. 

Someday it will be returned to favorite. But, not this year.