Saturday, May 17, 2008

So, I haven't been blogging

I made a vow I'd post every day this year. Basically, I've been sucking at it. Meet my nemesis, pictured above.

When I was a kid, my step-dad had problems with his sacroiliac. I thought that was hysterical....not the fact he was in the pain, but the NAME OF IT! Really, it's ridiculous, isn't it?

Anyway, I've been having pain there since I was 18. I remember EXACTLY when it started. Of course, I was taking 6 dance classes a week, sleeping too little, working and studying too much. I could actually pop it back in myself.

Fast forward a few years, and it took a MAJOR back seat to my endometriosis. In fact, when I'd show doctors where it hurt, they immediately all thought it was referred pain.

So, the older I get, the worse it gets. I mean WORSE. I mean beyond painful. How do you do it, Sean?????

Now, I've found a doc who has shown me on an x-ray that I'm not imagining the pain. Actually, the technical term he used was that it was ENTIRELY mucked up. He wants me to get an MRI and have someone stick a giant needle in in the joint. Every three months.

If I could even afford that, I might consider it. But worst of all, HE. HAS. BANNED. ME. FROM. BELLY. DANCE!!!!!! He has NO IDEA how wonderful it feels to balance a sword on your head! He has no idea how dance has carried me always. You name it - I started with ballet (pre-ballet, actually), tap, modern, jazz, African. And middle eastern dance, the one in which I'd found myself. The dance of the desert, of women, of just goll-durn fun!

How belly dance SAVED. MY. SANITY. during my divorce. AP-PARENTLY, though, hip circles and ohmis aggravate the SI joint.

And my hypermobile joints don't help.

I didn't even blog for Mother's Day.

A most troubling day for me.

My mom died when I was 10. I loved her as all little girls love their moms - with an unconditional and all-encompassing love. I remember the love of reading she passed on to me. The nights we'd stay up late, snuggling and watching Alfred Hitchcock movies. The way we ate artichokes, and the marrow out of bones. The way she cared for me when I was sick, or when I burned my leg when I was nine. Though it must have been horribly difficult, she cleaned my 3rd degree burn every day and convinced me I would live (since I'd heard that people with 3rd degree burns died, I was convinced it was happening to me). She was so beautiful. She was, really. She was a model, and started a modeling agency in LA with Nina and Virgina Blanchard - really, look it up.

The night my parents met at the Trocadero restaurant in LA. My father, the Russian, saw my mom across the room. The next day the "Daily Variety" had a headline that told what he said when he saw her. "My heart is on fire!" Big time.....

So, when Mother's Day rolls around, I used to just withdraw, because I get cranky. It got a little better after I became a mom myself, but I still MISS. MY. MOMMY.

And frankly, when the kids were younger, it still didn't mean that much.

But this year, Jake wrote me a letter:

For Mom, by Jake.
Mom, you are:
Lovely as a puppy, lovely as a kitten, and beautiful as a diamond.
Mom, I love how: you care for me when I am sick, you are full of surprises, and I love you very much.
You are my mom.
You are my hero and my role model.
Happy Mother's Day!
Love, Jake

I think Mother's Day is my favorite holiday, after all.

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