Microtia and Me

     I was born with unilateral Type III microtia. Which in words I can understand means I do not have an ear. In my case, I do not have a left ear.  According to the Texas Department of Health the definition of Type III microtia is: The external is a rudimentary soft tissue structure with no cartilage; the auricle does not have a normal appearance.  For me, all I have is the lobe on the side of my head. 

     Although I lack an ear, I do not lack intelligence. My IQ is not in the single digits because I cannot hear on my left side.  I speak, sing (off key), wish stuck to my guns to be the dancer/choreographer  I dreampt of being, plus kept up with the piano lessons---I had a thing for Beethoven (Oh wait--he couldn't hear either! :)   

     My bit of a tirade comes from the training of my new job. Not all the PC's work, so we are huddled two and three at a PC.  My PC has all its systems, hence I have two ladies at my desk. The first day we huddled set the tone.  I explained to them, if they sit on my left, I will  not be able to hear well. So if it seems I am ignoring them, please tap my arm, get my attention someway--I don't want to miss out. 
     Well none of that happened. I found myself asking them to repeat again and again, or I missed their words. For a few days after, the ladies, spoke to me as if I were a toddler. Asking me repeatedly-"Do you understand this?" Which was a moot question, because after the trainer explained/reviewed our work, I was correct for the majority of it.  My co-workers had decided to not listen to me, hence our work was wrong.   
     So today, it was my turn again.  I explained I needed someone to  be on my right so I could hear for sure what was being said. Our office is loud, I asked to be met half way. One co-worker did get on my right. We made it through most of the work. I am not so sure either was happy.
     I have explained more about not having an ear these last few weeks.  I explain to folks, I am hard of hearing on my left side. Please tap my shoulder or arm to get my attention. If they ask why, I tell them. I do want to give information you are not asking for or could care less about. However, there are times, which I am learning with my two co-workers, a bit more education is needed.  We have a communication disconnect. We don't need to be best buds, yet we need to be able to work together. Stay tuned on all that. 
     I was born with just one hear. However, sometimes I hear better than you want me to. 

Friday, Special Olympics and Me

Had the day off from work today, yet I did not stay all curled up in bed. Nope. Did not have cats cut off my circulation because they curled so night. Nope. Instead I volunttered for a Special Olympics bowling event. Was there all day. Exhilirating, feet hurt, yet humble experience. In the morning session, I worked with seven little girls who were capable to pick up and throw the ball down the lane, yet all with special needs. I tied shoes, shot them a look to sit down, persuaded a girl to put back ON her shoes, because she was tired and hi-fived till my hand went numb. :) The afternoon session, I was responsible for 5 girls on two lanes. They were a little older, the oldest being 19 and all used ramps to get ball down the lane. All needed help to get to the line. The girls then pushed the ball down the ramp--with a little help from family or coaches. Two were in wheelchairs, another was 14 yrs old and mute, while another girl's mom came up to me and said her daughter "can't see." I looked at mom and told her I had trouble hearing at times, because I was born with one ear. She smiled at that. Her daughter wound up scoring the highest out of the five. :) ***I was born with microtia, which is usually a malformed or no ear. I do not have a left ear. Only a piece of a lobe. I do not know if my folks ever thought of reconstructive surgery. My mom passed while I was so young. I don't remember asking my dad when I got older. It was just my little ear. I remember all the hearing tests, and can she, will she be able to learn? My grades were more than average in grade school--some exceptional. I've been in contact with those with microtia and even parents who wondered if their kids would be 'normal'. The ultimate choice is with that family for surgery, however I stress it is whatever their child's normal turns out to be, is their child's--also, I inform them I took dance and piano lesson. The missing of an ear, or any limb, does not mean you can't still be a productive person. You make your *****That's what I thought of the couple hundred kids, young adults and their parents I had the pleasure to meet today. At the end of the it all, parents thanked me and told they were glad I was there. I made their bowling experience a good one. I nearly cried. I told them they all made MY day a good one.*****Special Olympics are indeed special and make for a great, great day!

Terra Cotta Pots...Where Were We?

So much has happened, in these last few days. Met with a different university advisor who announced they really couldn't tell me what credits would transfer until I applied and enrolled into their school. I didn't like that. Of course, the advisor was about 23 and telling ME what I should think of my future. My job changes. Same department. Same seat. Different tasks. This happened Tuesday. Champs crowned on both Dancing With the Stars and American Idol. Just fine with those choices. Last night the Dallas Mavericks became Western Conference Champs and headed to the NBA Finals. Nice to have something to cheer about after the Super Bowl fiasco and the current NFL lock out. City is going nuts and I Like IT******So after all this, I took a crafty chum's suggestion to do a little show n' tell on my first completed terra cotta pot:

Treated the 4-inch pot's inside with Thompson's Water Sealant. Primed the outside (should have done the inside too). Folk Arts acrylic blue paint with Folk Arts Gems painted on after the blue dried. The Gems are gorgeous blue 'diamonds'. Compliments the paint in splendid fashion. Got more Mod Podge on me than I smothered the pot with (if that' s even possible! ) Learned lots doing this pot. Kind of hesitant to show y'all because it is not as good as it could be---will be.*****The paw prints were made with one of those hand punches. One toe is missing. I Mod Podge'd it off--by accident. Didn't realize it until the pot was pretty well dried. Decided the gone toe would signify me being born with microtia. I was born missing an ear. In my case, I have just a lobe where my left ear should be. And finally, the snoozin' kitten photo is suppose to be on the fuzzy side. Used colored pencil filter. The big ol' tabby cat out the pot is actually said snoozin' kitten once upon a few years ago.*****The first time. Got it out of the way. Thanks for being patient! *****

So Sunday All That

Got my Praise ON today at my church, Inspiring Body of Christ Church (IBOC) for short. The message, by Pastor Rickie Rush, dealt with the oppression Satan put on you so long ago. It's part of your life and you've just excepted it. There could be something other folk see wind up prejudging you.

I thought of lack of a left ear. Microtia, it's called--born without an ear. Got a teeny tiny lobe on my left. A full right ear tho. Back in the prehistoric age, when I grew up, I'm sure questions of my able to hear and learn, were asked daily. Nobody really knew--except me.

Then I thought how I was one of maybe three black kids in my entire class. In fact, by the time I graduated high school, I was the ONLY black student in my class, and one half of the black student body in the entire grades 9-12 to boot.

How I have two first names and a hyphen separates them. Oh, and yes, I do have a middle name. My classmates didn't know all that until we graduated. I felt I was singled out with the ear because it seemed I took a million hearing tests a week, being black, and then two first names? Of course, I need to add my mom died when I was 13.

As I sat in the church house today, I pondered

So did Satan oppress me?

I do believe he did.

And on this day, I do know Who possesses me.

Satan ain't likin' that

Good. mic

-the picture posted is part of IBOC's aquarium-

Sunday Stuff 2

See my curl? Pretty darn proud of that curl. In fact, my entire head is pretty much covered with em. My hair is about the shortest--kinda--than it's been in awhile. Which brings me to one of the birthdays I missed recently. It was May 26th and the day belonged to my chum, KC.

Been knowing KC since 1978, which I'm amazed since I claim NOT to have been born yet. We worked at the same place. Had a crush on him. Even informed his name was so 'macho'. Come to find out, KC was gay. When I heard that, I thought KC was just happy. Not too versed on anything not heterosexual I was.

Well, KC taught me. And good.

You're asking what does this have to do with my curl. Well, to me--lots.

Anyway, KC introduced me to my first gay bar, the healing powers fruit juices mixed with vodka and gin and at the holidays, yummy spiced wine. Oh, did I mentioned I smoked my first joint at KC's house? And for the first time ever, had a crush on a guy where another guy had a crush on him too. We'll call the object of affection, Jiffy Jeff. If KC reads this, I can see his smilin' face! All in all, let's just KC showed life did exist beyond what I knew. One of the most memorable times was at a bar called The Baghdad" where once upon a time, I could dance to the entire eight plus minute version of "We Are Family" take a swig of an adult beverage, and dance some more. These days, I'd need an oxygen mask...

So where DOES the curl come in-especially since the picture posted here was snapped today?

Well, for one of MY birthdays, KC treated me to a haircut by a stylist who actually had a license to cut hair. I'll be honest, I was thrilled about the hair cut, because I did need one, yet I was a bit worried because the stylist was Caucasion. What did she KNOW? I thought. She might have even said, they don't do black hair, KC will have to remind me of that.

Anyway, what she did do: cut off alot of my hair. Damaged she said and not more she could do with it. The result was a small afro about an inch off my head, which I didn't know what to do with. My hair had NEVER been that short, plus the fact I had NO left ear, would be visible to the world. I had been born with microtia (all I had was the tip of an ear lobe on my left side) and had covered that side of my head for most of my life. And at this moment in time, I was 20 something. I was petrified to go to work on Monday, in fear of what my co-workers would say. My little ear, that's what I called it, had never been exposed so. What to do?

Well, KC babbled how I could now get a 'jheri curl'--the IN style for black hair then. My hair would be healthy and all's right with the world. When my boyfriend (KC and he hated each other--but that's another post) saw my hair the next day, his first comment was, "Well, you look black now." He was serious. He was also an idiot. And KC now remembers on the way to see another chum, we were 12 miles from our destination were, he began to lecture me about said boyfriend...

OK-back to our story--I did get eventually get a jheri curl. I loved it, even with all the goop you put on your hair to keep the curls activated. If you were round back in that day, you know what I'm talking about. Fast forward to 2010.

My hair is now kinda short. A wisp of hair barely covers my little ear. Doesn't much matter these days if my ear shows or not. When folks meet me, they folks can't decide whether to look at my little ear or the top of my scar, courtesy of my open heart surgery. I don't hide either one anymore.

On the hair, I chose willingly to have my hair like this. I've gone natural, since right before Christmas 2009 . Back when KC treated me to my first really good hair cut, I didn't know I could still get curls withOUT putting chemical on it, ala the jheri curl. All was so foreign to me. I didn't know anything, and really thought I was going to come out of there with some really chic 'do. In my opinion, I didn't. Quite disappointed.

Today, I have soft, wrap around your finger curls. The stylist who trimmed my ends, a couple days ago said how she wish she had my curls and my hair was 'beautiful.' Also she couldn't wait to flat iron my hair next time, because my hair is long--well, it'll be close to my shoulders.

Natural hair has shrinkage when you apply products to curl it or even in water-so the actual length is misleading. I use about three ingredients to keep my hair curly and experiment with stuff to find what works. I'm amazed of the compliments received. Shocked really. When I was younger I didn't feel the natural look--too plain. Too militant. Too scared to try it, is more like it.

So I thank KC for the hair cut those years ago. If I hadn't experienced that then, I wouldn't know what to do now. I LOVE the feel of my hair. And to also think, I never once thought I would ever be as attractive as other black women. Intimdation spread with a layer of lack of self-confidence I had...then.

Black IS beautiful, baby.

Happy Belated Birthday, my Love, and THANK YOU!

Birthday Eve Bit

My father, Big Daddy Don, as a friend could call him, passed away in October 2001. I think about my Sweet Daddy every day. Today was no different. Bittersweet, really.

You see, back in the day, I tried to make it back to Iowa for my Birthday and if I didn't, Dad and I would be on the phone. One of our rituals--that and Cheeseburger Hamburger Helper. We would sit and wait for TVLand or some channel to play an Andy Griffith episode. We both hoped Barney Fife would be in it. And I would ask Dad, "So what's tomorrow?" Not to miss a beat Dad would say, "Trash day!"

I'd whine "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddddddddddddddeeee!" and we'd both laugh. Then I'd ask, "So what were you doing x-years ago today?"

If we were on the phone I knew Dad's eyes would shine as he shifted that infamous King Edward cigar to the other side of his mouth--then his smile would start. Dad would replay how he waited for Mom to have me. He waited impatiently and also in fear. My parents didn't have any other children, in fact they had experienced four stillborn before me. The doctor advised this should be their last try. Mom couldn't handle much more. And then Dad would tell me how I arrived at 4:30 am and the nurse came running down the hall with a wailing 7 pound 14 ounce me and said, "Don,we got us a girl!!" I was headed to a incubator. I was born with one ear, called microtia, so questions abound--time answered them all. :)

I miss the re-telling of my birth. .

I miss getting a phone call at 4:30AM to wish me Happy Birthday.

And I miss the storyteller.

Sometimes, right before I fall asleep, I swear a hint of cigar smoke tickles my nose.

I am blessed.

Stats Wonder

I love to look at my stats. Not so to see the number of those that read my blog, but from WHERE they read my blog. To see the United States and then Turkey or Sweden. To wonder if it's the same person in California or Europe or Texas that come calling.

Technology is something.

Do they find what they search for on my blog? Heaven knows I've chatted about lots of stuff from being born with one ear, to the death of my parents, to the Presidential election (which I may to comment on stuff going on now), spirituality and to my crush on Donny Osmond.

Always did have a thing for buffets. Choices.

Technology is something.

Sunday Sum Up

The Iowa Hawkeyes won ugly 12-0. Dallas Cowboys won ugly 7-6. Yet a win is a win regardless how it looks. Still...

Today were the last services at the current location of the Inspiring Body of Christ Church, with Pastor Rickie Rush. Packed isn't even the adjective to describe how many people were there. Everybody wanted to share in the last moments of being inside. To experience the journey. Like I've said, Pastor Rickie Rush has been an acquired taste for me. And there are some things he says, I'm not 100% with, however that's when I know I have free will at my fingertips. Nonetheless, I admire Pastor Rush because it's been a struggle to get this new House built. Media has not been kind, even those that may have once been IBOC members. He weathered it all.

So on Thanksgiving morning, I will journey to the new location--right across the street--100 yards. The same distance Moses stood from the Promised Land he did not have the chance to enter. The new House looks beautiful. I've attended the Thanksgiving Service since 2003--my tradition. As I sat in service today, I wondered again why I haven't technically joined IBOC--especially since I've been in attendance every Sunday since about August? I continue to pray on that one. Yet, Pastor Rush spoke of how we have something about us that folks think make us not normal--however those very things we use to touch others.

In my case, I was born without a left ear (microtia), then becoming a motherless daughter at 13 and enduring pesky open heart surgery a few years ago. It all made sense. The things that have happened of late--even today. From folks I've known since my growing up years, who enjoy my quotes from The Word on every Sunday morning. These were folks I partied hard with back in the day--and today I smile, because we party--just in a different way. .

So I was in a pissy mood a few days ago. Nothing I can do about it. Already happened. Already done. And it was all pretty ugly--just like the two football games I DVR'd because I wasn't home--and watched in their entirety-not knowing who won or lost.

Games were ugly. Victory triumphed. Just like in Life.

I am blessed.

Microtia Moment and More

Reminded of this whole microtia thing today. I was born with out a left ear. Nothing but a little lobe from my head. Underwent a TON of hearing tests, it seemed, weekly during my growing up years. No surgery to construct an ear. When I was kid, there was nothing as sophisticated as now--yet I'm so use to having one ear, would be so different to have another--especially if I was able to HEAR from it. Anyway, today I was reminded I have a hard time on my left side, especially when the room is loud to begin with.

At work, a soft toned co-worker, spoken guy stood on my left. He spoke, yet I didn't hear him. I felt his presence and I did apologize I didn't hear him. Told him--how on my left, it is difficult. He just smiled and said he only wanted to know I was. Very sweet. Recently found out, this soft spoken guy tries out jokes and doing stand up comedy here in town. I look forward to laughing during one of his shows.

With just one ear, some folks say I purposely ignore them because I don't respond...uh...well.. :)

OK, Dancing With the Stars, Donny survives to strut his stuff in the semi-finals. He is so much a better dancer than Marie. I'm OK about Aaron getting the boot home. I've enjoyed DWTS this season, with starting with 16 couples was TOO much. I'm happy none the less. Every time I watch Donny dance, I do get reminded of the novel I say I'm going to write about my experience with The Osmonds. A goal would be to have Donny read the manuscript and give an endorsement. I dream BIG.

The fault is to never dream at ALL.

Since a cat just leaned against my leg, with claws out, that's it for Tuesday.

Thursday and Almost

Friday.

Call me vain. I like my new profile photo. Always hated getting my picture snapped due to forever having a crooked mouth. That was due to being born with microtia (one ear) and missing some bone and such on the left side of my face. And then when I had the stroke that wasn't a stroke, right before I had the little open-heart surgery adventure-the side of my mouth drooped some. Still kinda does. Paranoid, at times, I am about it.

Then I see my profile pic. I look happy in this photo. As I am flat broke. 100 cats (well, not really). Wish for a new, and better house buying experience--or maybe I just want a clean house? Or a wish for a written and finished finished novel by ME. And a business to call my own. And to tickle a cute kitty's tummy. All good.

And in new profile photo I appear like I have all that and more.

Yep. Call me vain. I like it.

I am blessed.

September 27 1971 was Monday

..and the day I became a motherless daughter.

I cried in Dad's arms five times and probably at least another five times by myself. At one point, during that longest day ever, I stretched myself on Mom's side of their bed, where she'd been just three days prior. I wanted to be close to her. I wanted her to come back. I didn't know how sick Mom was or maybe I did and just in teenage denial.

On this day in 2009, Pastor Rickie Rush, of the Inspiring Body of Christ Church, spoke of shame. How things of your past are great canidates for shame. How Satan reminds you of these things and tell you how you're not worthy. The shame occurs when you believe the words Satan's spews. Yes, you will always have struggles as you journey to your blessings, that's where Satan's really wants to latch on, so you can fail. God wants to see how you react. If you can handle what HE has instore for you.

After Mom died, I felt so unworthy of many things. I trace alot, if not all, back to that 1971 day. As an adult, I realized when I was a kid, didn't think I was as special as somebody with a Mom. My Dad adored me, as did the rest of my family, but I wonder since I missed out on something--was I worthy enough? Satan had a grip on me. I know that now. I felt shame over my Mom's death. I carried guilt that I could have prevented it--if I just opened my mouth.

Mom wanted to have weight loss surgery. She wasn't a Half Ton Mom, like you see on TV, far from it. Yet she wanted it, to escape her 300 pounds yo-yo dieting, especially due to the success her sister and my 17 year old cousin seemed to have. On a June day, the doctor gave the final OK for surgery. Mom was euphoric. Mom held me close as she nearly skipped with joy from the doctor's office. Mom shouted how this time next year, how thin she would be.

A boulder slammed in the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to scream "NO! Don't do it!" But I didn't.

Three months later, after several complications, Mom died of yellow liver atrophy.

Our family doctor told me he advised Mom not to have it. My dad told me over and over, how Mom wanted this surgery and it didn't matter what anybody said. Dad, also said through the years, to not to feel guilty--how Mom wouldn't want me to. That's alittle easier said than done.

In service today, Pastor Rush said how words from those that are suppose to love you causes shame too. Explains alot. Especially when my step-mother would inform me how I didn't quite measure up to being the best daughter or that a man would want me because I didn't cook enough. After Mom died, I so longed for a mother figure. I settled for hurtful words to get what I thought I wanted.

I didn't wait for God to work it out, as Pastor Rush said. God had to put me in quarantine as He did His work on me. I skipped that step--ALOT, and tried to do it myself. In those cases, Satan roasted his marshmallows and had a good time. I know that now.

I'm not perfect, yet I see things more clearly now. I try to remember more memories of Mom---the good and the bad (she could spank in blink of an eye!). I was 13 when she died on this day in 1971. I think of how hard it was for Dad to wake his daughter and tell her Mommy was gone. So much we missed out on--our entire family.

Yet, I realize I am worthy. I always have been. God waited patiently for me to get there, even tho I wasn't so patient on myself. I still make mistakes. Sometimes I hear Satan whisper in my ear, but I don't hear him as much as I do. The beauty of being born with no left ear (microtia) so I turn to my left and all I 'hear' is hot air.

I celebrate Mom's life and continue with the dance our spirits still do today.

I am blessed.

On This Day...

A life time ago. Thirty-seven years ago today to be exact, we buried Mom. She just 43. We buried her in her favorite blue dress and held a red rose. Just like she informed me, while she drove me to school one morning. Maybe Mom always knew she wouldn’t see me grown. I thought we’d have a long life together too. Sure, she could spank in a heartbeat, yet she loved on me just as quick.

Their fifth try at a baby. The other four were stillborn. I was there last chance. My dad said they seem to know I would have some kind of malformation. Which wound up being born with microtia—without an ear. My left one. Everything I’ve read, microtia seems to me on the right side. Ha! Even then I dared to be different.

Also as I read, I believe my mom took thalidomide during her pregnancy. It was wide spread in the 50’s and the 60’s to ease discomforts of early pregnancy. With Mom's health concerns, I don’t doubt she took it. However things changed when birth abnormalities were documented worldwide. Babies had malformed arms, legs which were short, misshapen or absent. Effects also included eyes, face, heart and ears. I have no proof, just my gut feeling.

Today, on this day of her funeral, I heard my Aunt Mae, my mom’s oldest sister, tell Dad I should wear another dress. Why? Because the one I had on was too ‘loud’. It was blue with a floral pattern. I wore a white shawl with it. Dad took my aunt’s advice and hinted maybe I should wear something else. My response? “No. Mom made it.” That ended that. Dad always said I did what I wanted to do.

37 years years ago I saw my mom for the last time. As if she slept.
A lifetime ago.

Microtia Musings

The whole not being able to hear everything on my left side thing. As my Sunday winds down, I thought about an episode, from earlier this week, with one of my bosses. She stood between a co-worker and myself, to my left, to give us instructions. I thought her instructions were finished, so I went back to reading my PC screen. I just happened to turn my head, and saw her still there.

She asked, “Are you all right?”

Huh?

“You just stared at the screen. Like you were in a trance.”

Yea, in a trance on how to improve my professional situation...I digress.. That’s another post… :)

“No trance. If you’re on my left, it’s hard to hear. Especially with all the noise. ” I explained how I thought she was done talking and had stepped away, hence I went back to screen. No trance here.

With this newest job, I realize I’ve explained more about not being to hear everything. So much noise in this department, I block it all out—microtia or not-and just do my work. Other co-workers, have two ears, and admit they can’t hear everything either. They’re glad I said something, because they were scared too.

Hey, my deal is, if you’re saying important, something I SHOULD hear, I want to be sure I get all of it. I’ll ask for it be repeated. No harm. No foul.

Folks ask if I hate having just one ear. Maybe so when I was a kid. I stuck out enough as it was then; usually the only Black kid in my class (in fact there were only two Black students in my entire high school when I graduated), my real first name is actually two names-with a hyphen separating them, and then the one ear? Nope, I wasn’t feeling all that self confident I was unique stuff back in those days….

Time changes everything.

I may not be considered ‘normal’ by some. That’s an issue they need to come to grips with. Being I have one ear doesn’t mean my IQ is lower. Doesn’t mean I missed out of something. To have one ear, doesn’t limit my doing ‘normal’ things Nifty at Fifty (and all) folks do: take belly dancing lessons, write the next great American book/play, tickle the ivories on my piano, clip coupons, bake a mean peach with crumble topping, and listen to a cat’s purr keep time with the tick of my mechanical mitral valve.

I am one of God’s creatures. I am unique.

Burgers and Buds...

I met my chum , Movie Man, for a tasty burger with even more delicious onion rings, last night. We hadn't been able to chat, face to face of late--so we were long over due. Movie Man, is just that--a Movie Man--he can tell you anything and everything about movies in the last 30 or so years--box office, director, producer, behind the scene stuff. He can tell you every movie we've seen together, plus the theatre and if the sun was up or not that day. Yea, sometimes I think he visits the Land of Oz more than he should, yet he's one of my bestest, goodest chums.

So we sat there last night. He listened to me ramble on. Movie Man will keep mental tabs of everything I say. I gabbed on about the 50th birthday bash from last week, threw out several names-he remembered them all. He's good like that. He gets kinda ticked when I don't remember as much. "Mad Cow" I say. I told him about my one classmate suggesting--urging me on to go into public speaking.

Movie Man agreed. He checked off a list of topics I could speak of. He even mentioned to speak about being the only black kid in my class of 150--how many people know about that? What did I encounter? Born with microtia. The writing. Losing my mother when I was 13. Movie Man was great---so supportive. Encouragment. Just like my classmate.

Only one major difference. A little eighteen year difference. Movie Man was born in August 1976. Three months after I graduated from high school.

We have our differences. Certainly. There are times I want to hit fast forward, so he'll grow up faster. Then I'm sure he wants me to re-wind so I can remember what it was like. Movie Man keeps me on my toes, even at times I want to kick him with them. He gives me insight of things, at a different point of view--a different generational point of view.

We went to Barack Obama's rally here in Dallas a few months back. Our discussion after was fruitful. Just as it was last night. It astounds me, how conversation with someone who was five years old when the first Indiana Jones movie came out and I was just thinking "Wow, Harrison Ford is hot and I wonder how much beer I can drink tonight?" can be so good.

Movie Man is more of man than he gives himself credit for. After all, after my surgery in 2006, he made sure I celebrated my birthday. I couldn't drive yet, so he picked me up, took me to lunch and made sure I enjoyed the day. We actually sat in a grocery store parking lot, while I gave myself my daily IV. He sipped a Mountain Dew. It couldn't have been fun, for him, to see a friend of his, impatient to regain her strength. Yet he made it through. We both did.

Now it's 2008. We chat. We laugh. We tick each other off. I still don't remember as much as he'd like. Movie Man still remembers everything. I asked him last night if he's up for some racquetball, since he injured his calf a couple months ago.

The kid says, 'Oh sure. I won't have to run around that much to beat YOU."

Yep, one of my goodest, and bestest chums.

Game ON!

Microtia and me

I was born without a left ear.

There's a piece of skin, where a lobe may have started to form. I was told I my have all the inside workings, yet no outside ear. Don't know if surgery was ever to be had to build an outside ear-unfortunately, my mom passed before anything was done, and I didn't really talk about it to my dad.

I just accepted it.

In school, always be seated up front and to the teacher's right. Some of my friends accuse me of having selective hearing. :) Sometimes that is true. However, in others, like in a crowd and/or you're on my left--I tell the people straight up, if I don't hear you. Please touch my arm, something, that I know you're there. Not really trying to ignore you.....well.....:)

OK--moms have e-mailed me, afraid their babies won't be normal if they don't have surgery. It really demends on how you define 'normal'. I explained to one mom, who's son wasn't quite a year old, that I can only speak for myself. I did all the 'normal' kid things. Took dance lessons, piano lessons, rode bikes, yakked phone with my best friends, had crushes on boys, learned to drive, drank with my friends, partied with my friends, and grew up and bought a house. Sure, I took, what seemed like daily hearing tests and worked with a speech pathologist all through grade and some middle school. I HATED that. Annoyed, especially because my speech was fine.

In my early 20's, I cut my hair the shortest it had ever been. My left ear was all exposed. Felt naked. Folks that grew up with me asked--"Did you get your ear cut off?" I had to laugh. "Nope, just born that way." They never knew. Sure, there were some stares. I finally got to the point of, "And?" I was happy since I had little to do with my hair!

Now, I get asked if I would consider surgery? At this point in my life--I kinda doubt it. Maybe if I was younger. I don't know. I've adapted to my situation. I know technology is improved--so I suggest to people they look at all the facts before opting for surgery. There are things I miss, yet I ask people to repeat. I could have two good ears and ask that!

A college student e-mailed and said girls were fascinated by him. He pierced his little ear. The girls always wanted to touch it. I told him if he didn't like it--tell them to stop. He admitted it wasn't that bad! :)

Am I normal? Depends on your definition of normal. I'm sure my house note people think I'm normal enough to pay them every month. My cats think I'm normal to feed and take care of them. I'm normal because I still turn up "Rock n Roll All Night, and Party Every Day" by KISS -did you know KISS member, Paul Stanley was also born with microtia?--I know for sure I'm normal because my God made me.