Month: June 2012

I grew up poor. My parents had me when they were very young. Mom was 16 when she got pregnant with me, Daddy was 20. She got pregnant on purpose so that my grandparents would sign for her to get married. They were married October 26th 1974, Mom turned 17 on November 15th, Daddy turned 21 on December 3rd, I was born the following April.

Mom had no diploma, Daddy had only a high school diploma, and a job. They were young, living back in his hometown of Niagara Falls, which was 500 miles from my Mom’s parents.

They worked hard. Daddy was a welder and worked his ass off, he had several injuries that put him out of work, including one that burned his legs severely and left him with permanent scars all over his lower legs. Mom stayed home with us kids, all four of us, and worked evenings while Daddy was home.

Us kids came into their lives quickly. Me, two years later, Mary, not even two years after that, Katie, then four years later, my little brother, Richie. I was planned, my siblings were not. In fact, Katie is an IUD baby. She was also using birth control for the other two, so obviously the universe wanted my siblings here.

I remember being a kid and my parents using food stamps to feed us. The colored paper in the little booklets that made other people give you dirty looks in the grocery store. If you grew up poor, you know the looks. The one where they sneer down their noses, looking at every item on the belt, judging whether or not they should be there.

The angry look when they see an item they don’t think should be there. Yes, Mom bought us a bottle of pop as a treat, how awful, they shouldn’t be allowed to have food stamps. You still hear it, on certain “news” stations and on blogs, how “welfare queens” are driving expensive cars (ha ha, if you grew up poor, you’re laughing too) and eating steak on food stamp dollars.

For crying out loud, we didn’t eat steak. We ate hot dogs, ground beef, lots of carbs (carbs are cheap and filling.) When my parents were finally doing a little better and we did eat steak once in a blue moon, it was the absolutely cheapest cuts.

I have heard people bitch, “That woman bought a birthday cake with food stamps.” Ok, it is cheaper to bake a cake, but, you know what? I’d rather my tax dollars go to pay for some little girls birthday cake, than another damn bomb to kill brown people over in the middle east. How do people know that the Mom has a working oven or that she has the time between jobs to bake a cake.

Congress is working on a new farm bill. This bill also covers the SNAP (what food stamps is now called) program and they are trying to cut funding. When our economy is still not doing well, Congress wants to literally take the food out of children’s mouths.

Share our Strength has a place where you can contact members of Congress and ask them to not cut funding for SNAP or other nutrition programs in the United States. Please, if you are in the US take the two minutes to do so.

Just posted….

I just posted this comment on XOJane.com and I wanted to post it here, for me to return to, so I don’t forget how lucky I am.

My husband (of almost 14 years, together 16 next month) has cleaned up my vomit, my shit, anything you can imagine when I was extremely ill. I had food poisoning one time to the point that he had to clean up both.

He is a rockstar husband though and I can’t imagine most men would be able to do all of that.

There isn’t a single thing that would embarrass me anymore. He has seen me right after major surgery, stoned on pain meds, with an incision that covers 17 inches, no clothes on as he gave me a bed bath. That was not the first time either, when I had a spinal headache following a screwed up mylogram, he bathed me, as I couldn’t lift my head without wanting to kill myself.

He has held me while I cried because I thought I was going to die (after my cancer diagnosis.) He has heard me fart, vomit, moan, groan, and go through so much.

He has bandaged the open wounds on my leg, from the lymphedema, (caused by the cancer) and told me I’m adorable, even when I feel my worst.

My husband, Tony, is such a great man. I am blessed and oftentimes I don’t remember how blessed I am.

I had to add something. When we are in public, if by chance I fart, thinking no one is near us, then someone comes up, he will say “Ooops, sorry about that.”

He takes the blame for me. That is true love, my friends

I am lucky, beyond belief.

I love you my husband.

I was…

I was heading to bed. Really, I was lying down, but the pain in my shoulder is just too much. I have been having pain in my shoulder blade for a couple weeks. Bad pain, that is not treated by my normal pain medications.

Of course, the first thing my brain goes to is thinking it is a cancer met. I hate this. Having cancer changed me entirely too much. It is ridiculous. At times I think I have PTSD from it. Every time I have pain that lasts longer than it should, I automatically go to it being the cancer back.

Fucking renal cell carcinoma is a horrid disease. It can sit and wait and attack years later. I am not tired of worrying about it. I am tired of cancer being in my thoughts all the time. I am tired of being in pain from the after effects of treatment.

I’m just tired and I needed to spill this out, really quickly, a two minute entry and hopefully now I can lie down without crying in fear.