Halloween Candy: What a JERK....

Halloween Candy:  Hey there!

Me: Oh!  Shit.  I didn’t see you there.

Halloween Candy:  Oh yes.  It’s that time of year again, Robyn!  You can eat as much as you want of me!!  I’m so small and unassuming.  There’s no WAY I have as much calories or sugar as you think!  How can I?  I’m so SMALL……

Me: NO!  No way.  I’m sorry, Halloween Candy.  I just can’t this year.

HC: What do you mean?  We’re best friends, you and me.  Remember Trick or Treating when you were little?  You and your sister used PILLOW cases, you loved me so much.  You’d lay me out on the living room floor and trade the things you didn’t like, remember?  Then when you were a young adult, you’d buy me for the trick or treaters, but no one ever came by so you ate all of me before the 2^nd week of November!  Now that you’re an adult, I’m in your office!  Every woman named Barb, Nancy or Kathy has an orange pumpkin bucket filled with delicious treats!  You can’t get away from me…..

Me:  I know.

HC: That’s right…….just take one……then another…and another…….and another…..no one’s watching…..

Me: OK.  But, just the Tootsie Rolls, I heard they are fat free, which means good for you, right?  Then I’ll just have ONE fun size Snickers.  No biggie.  Oh!  And one of those peanut butter chocolate balls with the foil wrap that looks like an eyeball.  Score.  OK, ONE tiny bag of Skittles.  ONE two pack of Starburst.  OK.  Now, that’s it.  That’s really it.

HC:  NO WAY!  You can have more!  The pieces are so teeny tiny!  It’s not like eating a WHOLE candy bar.  You deserve this little treat anyways, Robyn.  You’ve been working so hard.  Please.  Enjoy…..

Me: Shut up, just shut up, just.  Shut.  Up.  (Garth from Wayne’s World style).  You’re a JERK!  You were never my friend.  You trickster!  You chocolate devil!  You false sized little minx!  I had my Tootsie Roll, baby Snickers, eyeball, Skittles and two Starburst.  They were delicious!  But, that's it.  They were TREATS.  That means a special indulgence not to be had too often because it will lose the very definition of treat!  Be gone with ye!

**POOF!**

Happy Halloween!!

XOXOXO    

Cat Tick Fever.....

I once had a cat named Mia.  She was white with black spots and she was not very nice.  She would scratch and bite me when I walked by, but I loved her.  She was my constant companion throughout my twenties and think about her often.  Like this story, for example:

I had just gotten Mia a few months prior and was not quite sure what to do with a cat.  I had dogs my entire life and I always thought of myself as a cat hater.  But, she was cute and nice to have around the house, even if she tore through my sweaters and sliced my skin wide open with her raptor claws.  She rarely let me pet her, but when she did, she really liked it.  One day, she was letting me pet her and rolled over on her back so I could pet her belly.  I happily obliged when my hand ran over a little bump.  What the hell?  That did not feel normal.  I had read that outside cats sometimes get ticks and Mia was from a greenhouse.  She had spent most of her baby kitty weeks outside!  Could it be that she has had a tick living under her skin this entire time??  I panicked.  I felt the spot again and, sure enough, the bump was no mirage.  It was there and it was hard.  I quickly ran to my bathroom and grabbed a pair of tweezers then grabbed a box of matches.  I saw this on TV once; you burn the head of the tick off and pluck it out.  OK.  I can do this.  The burning was out of the question, upon further inspection.  She had WAY too much white, fluffy hair.  OK.  I’ll just pluck it out, right?  I grabbed her, she hissed and flailed around.  I finally got her pinned between my knees and I started looking for the culprit.  She was hissing and growling and not very happy.  Doesn’t she know I’m saving her life??  I finally find the tiny hard bump and begin to wildly pluck at it as Mia is flailing and not making this very easy.  I grabbed it and pulled and nothing happened.  I tried at least 10 more times and nothing came out.  Not even the head of the little bugger.  I let her go and called the vet.  I didn’t know what else to do!  When the nurse picked up, I told her what was going on.  Sensing the panic in my voice, she promptly got the veterinarian on the phone.   He asked me what the tick looked like.  I told him I couldn’t see it because of all the fur, but I could feel the bump.  He asked me if I felt any other bumps.  I grabbed the cat and began to feel.  No.  Just the one.  WAIT!  There’s another one!  Oh my GOD, there’s another one.  OH SHIT!  There’s THREE!  He told me to calm down and pull Mia’s hair out of the way to really get a good look at the bumps.  I pinned her down, pulled her hair WAY back from the tick bump and took a good look.  The bump was pink.  I told the vet that the ticks were so deep in her that her skin grew back on top of the tick.  He asked me then to really give her a once over and count the bumps.  I did.  Holy SHIT.  There were EIGHT!!!  EIGHT!  He said….. “Robyn?  Those are her nipples.”

Oh.  Thank you for your time, Doctor.  CLICK.

XOXOXOXO

It's very hard......

I work for a cancer hospital and it is very hard. It is very hard because I talk with people every day who are battling a disease that I have only known to kill. It is very hard because I have to talk with human beings, who are scared that they will die, about money…the absolute last thing they want to talk about. I can hear in their voices that they are scared. I can hear in their spouse’s voices that they are mad that this disease is infecting their partner’s bodies. I can hear in their adult children’s voices that they are serious about fighting for their parent’s life, just as their parent’s fought for them their whole lives. I can hear all of this just by talking to them,because I know what it feels like to be on the other end of that phone and not know what the hell is going on except that someone I love is sick.

I’ve often thought about looking for another job. Every single day I am reminded that both of my parents are gone because of cancer. Then I’m reminded how my Dad forged a new family when my Mom died, and how I was left all alone when my Dad died. Then a patient will come to my office to talk face to face and I have to smile while looking at the same bald head I looked at 16 years ago when it was my Mom.  Then I look at the framed picture of the two most important people in my life and have to remind myself, again, that I can't call them after work.  These are not great things to think about every single day from 8:30am to 5:00 pm.  But, if I'm not there to help patients and family members that are going through the same thing I went through, who will?  Someone with regular old customer service experience?  Someone who looks at the computer screen and sees numbers instead of people going through the worst time of their lives?  No way.

 I have been cursed out by people who say that all we care is money, not healing their wife/husband/sister/brother/mother/father. I have helped people get all of their balances written off without having to pay a dime of the $250,000 their insurance refused to pay. I have cried with patients, I have laughed with daughters, I have argued with husbands and every emotion and type of person in between. It’s exhausting. But the thing that keeps me there is just knowing that I am making a difference. I am helping someone who is going through the same thing my family went through the best way I know how without having a medical degree. I’m helping people understand their insurance benefits and I am arguing with those same insurances to get our patient’s claims paid so they have one less thing to worry about.  Sometimes I get a chip on my shoulder and find myself thinking, "MY parents died, why shouldn't they?"  That's not right and that's not fair...but I think it anyway....sometimes.  My job is exhausting, but I truly do love it.  I try to take the coldest part of health care - MONEY - and make it warm and caring.  I try to go about it in a real but compassionate way.  It's hard.  It's really hard.  But I do it.  I do it for my parents.  I do it for my sister.  I do it for myself.  But, I especially do it for everyone who is going through this fucked up roller coaster that is cancer, so they can have one less thing to worry about because they know I'm on the case.

XOXOXOXO
  

MMMM....Zombies.....

While watching The Walking Dead, my boyfriend and I were discussing what we would do in a zombie apocalypse.  I asked him if he would protect me if we lived in a world full of zombies and, without hesitating, he says “I won’t be around to protect you.  I’m gonna be a zombie.”  He went on to say how cool it would be to consume all-you-can-eat brains, walk around and never get tired, and not have to worry about being caught/maimed/eaten/bitten/killed by zombies.  Then we talked about how much easier it would be to just give in and become one instead of constantly running.  I was on the same page as him for awhile, but then I thought of something.  I probably wouldn’t have the CHOICE to become or not to become a zombie because I probably couldn’t outrun whoever I was with, leaving me to be the one attacked.  Yes folks, my fat ass has even affected my make believe ZOMBIE escaping abilities.

First off,  after destroying my stairs (duh), I would be forced to accept that sooner or later I would have to eventually eat the tofu noodles in the plastic bag full of fish-smelling water that I bought because someone on Food Network once told me it tasted EXACTLY like real pasta, with 75% less calories.  Ugh.  Those three baggies are in my vegetable crisper right now.  Gross.  I'd probably eat my boyfriend's Pop Tarts first.  In the first 10 minutes.  Then, after about a week of eating the stock piles of chicken broth I have because I was going to make some delicious soups and stews with it, but never did because I'd have to, like, COOK.  Soon the cupboards would be bare and my boyfriend, I'm sure, would STILL uphold the argument that the cat was a member of our family and is not to be eaten.  Then what?  No food.  No way of getting out of the house as we live on the second floor and we have destroyed the stairs to keep out the invasion of zombies that used to be our community.  No connection to the outside world because the power, to be sure, would have been out for weeks.  No way of going to the Walmarts to pick up provisions.  And especially no way of doing what I would LOVE to do at the end of times; eat every kind of cake and candy bar ever created.  No thank you.

Next we have the fact that you have to be at least the slightest bit fit to outrun, well, anything.  The other survivors trying to stay alive, the zombies that want only to consume you, and maybe even the wild animals that suddenly feel more comfortable hunting humans as they have always wanted to but couldn't because we lure them into our backyards with our garbage then shoot them.  I would easily be the one sacrificed by my once trusted group of comrades that formed our own tribe.  They would either push me down while trying to evade the army of zombie behind us or kill me themselves for eating everyone's week-long rations in one sitting.  Either way, I'm fucked.  I probably wouldn't even have the upper arm strength to lob off the head of a zombie with and axe.  I certainly couldn't wield a machete, and everyone knows THAT'S the weapon you want in a zombie invasion.  I could go on and on about the physical challenges of the human vs zombie world, but this is a blog, not a dang novel.   

The moral of the story is this: I want to get in shape, if for no other reason then to survive a Zombie Apocalypse.

XOXOXO    

Office Donuts...so much you could GO nuts.....

Why do people insist on bringing donuts into work for any kind of celebration?  Birthday donuts, anniversary donuts, Bosses Day donuts, promotion donuts, pay day donuts, I got to work on time donuts, both of my socks are matching today donuts.  When did donuts become synonymous with office treats?  I get that milestones need to be celebrated, I’d freak out if ANYONE forgot my birthday…..ANY.  ONE.  But can’t we think of a more appropriate treat for such occasions?  There doesn’t have to be a caloric equivalent to a warm “congratulations”, does there?  Here are a few suggestions for congratulatory tokens to be given and received freely in any office setting, for any occasion, instead of donuts:

1.        Money.  I mean, who doesn’t like money?  Even if it’s a dollar.  If everyone gave you a dollar in your office, you’d have at LEAST $50 bucks by the end of the day.  Then you can go out and get a manicure, or pay half your phone bill, or grocery shop at the EXPENSIVE store in town for tonight’s dinner….I don’t know.  I don’t really care what you do with the money; just don’t buy donuts to bring into work with it.

2.       A cute pencil.  Personally, I keep many different colored and patterned pencils in my drawer to match my outfit each day.  Who says I can’t start a trend of pencil-shirt matching?  I think if we all collectively agreed on this option, we could trade, borrow and collect all kinds of fun and funky pencils from each other.  FUN!  SO fun.  Start the pencil thing in your office tomorrow.

3.       A token of some kind.  Remember Shrute Bucks?  Similar principle.  There could be, like, wooden nickels that everyone gets when they first start in your office.  Maybe 20.  Then you can give your tokens out to whoever you want to congratulate!  Don’t worry; people will be giving YOU tokens when you do good stuff, too!  Win/Win.  What can you redeem with the tokens you collect?  I don’t know, you figure that part out.  I don’t know where you work and what your people would like.  Shit.

4.       OK, you know when you have a document and its 1 page long, but you don’t notice that there’s a blank second page, so when you print it, you have a totally blank piece of paper along with your document??  Use that piece of paper to make a card!  Simple.  And the dirty hippies will thank you for not wasting paper. 

5.       Why don’t you guys just bring in a donut box full of vegetables?!  People will be very excited to see the box, then when they open it….BLAMMO!  Veggies.  They will be forced to eat the vegetables as to not be rude.  Again….Win/Win.  C’mon.

I’m sure there are many more examples of replacement gifts instead of donuts, so use your imagination. 

I guess the bottom line is this:  If you work with me, please don’t bring in donuts.  I will eat more than my fair share when no one is looking and when someone says, “Hey!  Where did all the donuts go?” I’ll be like “WHAT?!  All the donuts are gone??!  MAN, some people are pigs.  Why didn’t we just give Barb a cute pencil that matches her blouse for her Birthday?!”

And……scene.

XOXOXO

In the meantime, in between time....

I was sitting here wondering why I haven't been writing this blog for the past few days.  I've been going to the gym, playing a whole lot of Xbox Kinect, working, spending time with my boyfriend and generally enjoying my life.  Then it dawned on me.  Maybe I needed to write this blog, motivate myself and get the support I've been craving for a very long time now....and I got it.  My mood has been better, my energy level is through the roof and I'm really very happy.  Maybe writing this blog has finally given me what i needed....I good swift kick in the pants and an opportunity to air out the skeletons in my closet so I can finally be free.  Free of the self-doubt.  Free of the thoughts that were plaguing my day to day life.  Free to do what's best for me and my body.  Free to let my past stay there and forge ahead.  For the first time, I'm not counting calories or being forced by guilt to work out.  I'm saying no to treats and only eating when I'm hungry.  I'm working out after work because I really enjoy it and I know my night and morning will be better when I do.  I'm feeling better then I have in years.  And it's only been two weeks.

Now, I don't think I'm cured of my addiction to food or my slothful nature, but I know I'm headed in the right direction.

I don't want you guys to worry, though.  I have plenty of stories and memories to write about.  Like the time I made cupcakes from scratch, ate most of them and told everyone I had them on a beautiful tray and I dropped them down the stairs.  Or the time I found my Mom's old VHS tape of Richard Simmon's Sweatin' to the Oldies, tried to do it, and got winded by the end of Sugar Pie Honey Bunch, or whatever it's called, and it was the FIRST song.  Or even the reason  I think I began to eat and get the way I am now.  I have them all in my memory banks and one day I'll tell you all....most of them.

XOXOXOXO

Strawberry Mrs. Fields.....

OK, remember the chocolate chip cookie story?  I know I do.  Well, that very same lady who made those delicious cookies came into work this morning.....with more cookies.  These ones were twice as thick and looked amazing.  I was prepared to decline her offer of her homemade goodness when I heard her coming toward my desk.  "Robyn?" I heard her say.  I turned around.  No cookies.  But something was behind her back.  She proceeds to say, "I know you've been watching what you eat and I'm really proud of you.  I made everyone more chocolate cookies, but I brought THIS for you..."  I looked down and an immediate tear came to my eye.  She had brought me my very own little Ziploc baggie of fresh strawberries and a granola bar.  I was so touched.  I couldn't believe she would think of me and my quest in healthy living.  I hugged her, thanked her and hugged her again.  That really meant so much to me.

See?  Just when you think you have to alter your entire world to be healthier, someone notices and supports you in the most unique and kindness ways.  Thank you, lovely lady.  You're a real pal.

This one's short and sweet.  Just like my co-worker. 

XOXOXOXO