6710 Grand

So, I went to my doctor to get a check up.  My OBGYN says I need to get annual mammograms now because I'm high risk.  OK.  Fine.  My GP says I need a whole host of other blood tests for people "my age".  I found it hard not to remind him that I was clearly younger than him.  At 41, I don't feel old.  In fact, I feel great.  But what do I know? So I go to my doctor.  I tell him my family history.  I tell him my mom has metastatic breast cancer but that she's had it for six years and her scans look good.  I tell him my dad has high blood pressure but his heart is fine.  He has bad knees but that's more of a usage thing.  I tell him I have one copy of the factor 5 Lydon gene. Uh oh.  "Well, you're VERY high risk." Ok, I know. "Have you seen a hematologist?" Yes.  He seemed confused as to why I was there. "So, you're aware of the risks." Yes. "Do you have chest pains?" No. "Shortness of brea

Church was my one our of peace each week.  It was the go go go of our lives that caused so much stress and on Sunday morning, I left the babies in the nursery and felt my arms lighten.  I could swing them, let them hang loose, raise them in the air--anything I wanted. It was the one place I could blend into the walls and no one really knew me.  That's what I really wanted.  To blend in.  To be one of the masses.  The "mega church" we attended was really huge--3,000 people came on Sunday mornings.  I sat in the same seat every week but never sat with the same people.  I never got to know anyone.  No one cared what I was wearing or whether or not I stood for the singing (I never did--I hate the singing.  I just like to listen.) or if I brought my coffee mug in with me. I looked forward to church in a way I hadn't in years.  It was an hour of peace, yes but also the only place I could go to ask for help from the One best able to provide it.  It was hard for me to ask