The Flo Jo Theory

 As I have told you all before, I am ASTOUNDED that I am not one of those people who is completely unphased by death. I spent my childhood handing out with my old grandma and her old friends at a senior independent living facility. Someone she knew was always dying. And it was never really a sad occasion. Grandma and her friends would hear the news about someone who died in their sleep or had a heart attack, and they'd shake their heads, talk about what a shame that was, and go back to their ceramics. Being in that environment, I was completely death-jaded. It just felt like something you did, like picking up groceries or washing your clothes. 

Now, as I slide into middle age, I feel like I am as mature about death as I should have been then. When the avalanche of death hit my family, I was confused and irritated as if death was yet another subscription service that I didn't want to be a part of but was enrolled in. Yet as we know, death is not Hello Fresh, it's a scary, inevitable thing. 

That brings me to Ms. Nadine. She was a 40-something year old woman who attended my church. I e-met her during the pandemic when we were all going to church via Zoom. She was in my prayer group and was a very nice, perky lady. She was a mother and a caregiver to her mother who had Alzheimer's. And this woman had a heart for God. The joy she had after she got baptized. Let me tell you, you could feel the sunshine in her eyes through the computer screen. There was no way you could tell that she was in horrible, excruciating pain, but she was. One minute, she mentioned that she had bad stomach pains during a prayer call. Soon after that, I prayed with her about it in the wee hours of the morning. She was in so much pain, she couldn't sleep. Soon after that, she found out that she had stomach cancer that was spreading. We all prayed for her. She prayed on her own. Her family prayed. She died a couple of weeks ago. 

She was in a lot of pain after a long time of chemo treatments. The last time I saw her was Easter, and she had lost so much weight that I didn't immediately recognize her. Look, I get that people die. That I will die. That the people I love will die. But what I can't wrap my mind around is the attitude about death that the Christians in my life have. 

"I just called to tell you that Ms. Nadine has lost the race," my spiritual mentor told me. I honest to God didn't know what she was talking about. Then at church during a dedication the prayer group put together, the attitude was that she had now won the race because she was Jesus. It took everything I had not to boo my minister. Won the race? I think that Ms. Nadine would have liked to be healthy and alive to live and spend more time with her family, not pulling a Flo Jo in an imaginary sprint! I mean, what is wrong with people?! 

I am having hard time with people. Ms. Nadine was a sweetheart who is dead. Meanwhile, there is some pedophile serial killer out there on a beach vaykay and living his best life. It seems to get more confusing for me with each death of a loved one that I experience. I am not sure what to do. I guess I should keep a bag packed with sweats and a pair of Nikes, just in case I myself have to make a spiritual run for it. 

The Homecoming Zero

Everyone who has gone to college is familiar with what is called "The Freshman Fifteen". This refers to when you inevitably gain fifteen pounds as a freshman, far away from your mama's grilled veggies and baked chicken and full of cafeteria fried fish and starchy carbs. By the second semester of freshman year, most girls get it together and start working out and eating right, afraid that they will no longer look hot in their club clothes. I am currently experiencing "The Homecoming Zero". This is where you are obese, but you make a crazy, impossible goal to be skinny by the next homecoming, only to end up losing no weight at all😞. 

Guys, I started off so good. My girl LD was my accountability partner. We shared our snacking struggles and took pics of our lunch to keep each other on the right track. I started wearing my Fitbit again. I cut back on sugar. I EVEN STARTED MEAL PREPPING DISGUSTING SALADS FOR LUNCH! Yet as the year went on, I began to get depressed. Seeing that I deal with my emotions by overeating, not eating to deal with my issues was making me very, very sad. Seven months in, gummy bears and sodas had made their way back into my diet. Now, homecoming is less than 30 days away, and I am royally screwed! 

Not only am I disappointed in myself, but I am not at all excited about seeing some of the girls I graduated with. Many of them have a house full of kids and yet they are still bikini ready. Their skin is flawless. Their titties sit pretty. Their butts are high and firm. It's like being in a very uncool version of The Twilight Zone! I at least wanted to be small enough to walk my campus without collapsing to the ground in the unyielding New Orleans heat. Sigh. Dream a little dream. In my defense, I wasn't really able to do that while I was in college. 

I am also upset that I will not be able to look as slutty as I wanted to for the club parties. I had big dreams of sheer, sheer, and more sheer. It looks like it is going to be another year of toe-tingling shapewear and sack-like granny dresses. No fun and no fair. My Fashion Nova Curve cart was TOGETHER, do you hear me?

Well, it's not time for homecoming yet. There is still time to starve. My family loves this. This is when I eat only when I absolutely have to, crankily barking and yelling at everyone around. I can also wear all black. Do they make burkas in plus sizes?

The Girl and the Gyno pt 2: Gyno Heaven

Let me just say this: I have come to the conclusion that quality feminine health care is just not in the cards for me. By the time I am 40, I will be carrying my vagina in a freezer bag in my purse. Three weeks ago, I was excited about the new gynecologist I had been referred to. Today, I find myself Googling how to perform my own hysterectomy/oophorectomy at home. This is my story. 

Those of you who know me know that my gynecologist visits are not like that of the average bear. They are very emo and exhausting and tiring. There will be guaranteed tears, no matter how much I pray beforehand. However, I tried to be optimistic about my upcoming visit. I decided to make the change from my last doctor. His exam tables were high, and I nearly disconnected my hip trying to get on them.  My last visit to him was so Stephen King that we both walked away visibly shaken. So, as much as I loved the nurses at his practice, I decided to find someone else. My primary care doctor gave me a referral, and I had high hopes for my next exam. That was my first mistake. 

The office is in one of those shiny high-rise buildings with a security guard at the front entrance. I took the elevator to the office, and it was very much like a gyno office that you would see in a movie. The furniture was gorgeous and sparkly! It was like I was in Gyno Heaven! That didn't stop my anxiety from going through the roof as I waited for my appointment. 

By the time I got to the nurse to get my blood pressure taken, I was already in slow, quiet tears. I was so amped up inside that she couldn't get an accurate reading. Big surprise. So, she dumped me in an exam room and said that she would be right back. We all know that that was a lie. When doctors or nurses leave the room, it's a wrap. You are lucky not to be old and gray when they return. But the nurse did return and began asking me those stupid visit questions that have nothing to do with anything. She seemed nice, and I didn't want to get an attitude with her. But if she asked me one more stupid question about my hobbies, I was going to throw my wallet at her head! 

She could tell I was agitated and ended the questionnaire early. She handed me some Kleenex and left the room again. When she returned, she said we were switching rooms, and when I walked into the new room I gasped. It was a room with a low, fat girl friendly exam table! I couldn't believe my eyes! Two years of playing exam room double Dutch with my old gyno's exam tables and there was such a thing as a fat girl exam table?! I was in shock, and in a good way. 

This visit may go well, I said to myself. 

WRONG! Moments later, I underwent a Pap test that would have made Wes Craven nervous. Well, sort of.