Coming Soon...

...updates, photos, deep thoughts, randomness, hilarity...all things "me" will be coming your way very soon.

Chemo treatments are going well but weekly treatments have wrecked havoc on my routine. I've actually been writing posts like a crazy woman but never seem to finish any of them. My biggest excuse is drug induced brain fog. Friday has become chemo day and the weekend is commited to recovery. On those days, due to the drugs I take, I have been known to speak nonsense, continually repeat statements as I remember very little and in the process keep everyone entertained. I intentionally avoid writing on these days. The spoken word can sometimes be forgotten or an argument can be made that disputes any statement made. It becomes a matter of "your word against their's". In other words, you stand a chance of lying your way out of just about anything verbal. Putting thoughts in black and white makes them more permanent and leaves undenialable proof that you may have temporarily lost your mind. I fear these incidences could come back to haunt me. Anything written on those days requires extra time and attention for proofreading. That leaves Monday through Thursday as days to accomplish all necessary tasks. I'm learning that cramming a 5 day work week into those 4 days can be draining. Add attempted daily workouts, required personal paperwork and the occasional load of laundry and you can see why my time for writing posts has become so limited.

Documenting this journey is very important to me. Blogging...writing... has always been and will continue to be my therapy. But life must be lived. So...if you are interested in reading my blatherings, check back from time to time. I'm beginning to get a handle on things (bah ha ha) and will be posting again very soon.

Before I go, I want to share a "????" moment I had while receiving one of my latest treatments. It validates my reasons for refusing to permanently document anything while in a drug induced state.

A "Did I really just say that?" occurrence:

Believe it or not, I welcome Fridays. Friday is treatment day. My reasons for embracing this day with open arms are simple to me yet some might find them odd. Then again, many find me odd in general. My number one reason is a much needed 3-4 hour nap. I've found the most annoying side effect of chemo to be the inability to sleep. Until a week ago, the most consistent sleep I got was during my treatments. I've since discovered a way to ensure a good night's rest giving me much more energy and an overall feeling of "wellness". Even still, who doesn't love a good nap. A mega dose of Benadryl via IV accompanied by Ativan takes me directly to dreamland. Within 10 minutes of the meds coursing through my veins, I'm a goner. Friends and family take turns transporting me to and fro each week and we always share a few laughs over statements and proclamations made during those 10 minutes. I rapidly descend from reasonably normal mental faculties to those somewhere close to what is considered deranged. The interesting part is in spite of my inability to govern what I say, there is a part of my mind that is able to comprehend and remember the absurdity of it all. Even as I make my nonsensical statements, in the deep dark recesses of my mind I'm asking myself "What the heck???".

In addition to all the drugs, treatments require I be given large quantities of fluids. As we know, "fluid in" means "fluid out". My naps are always interrupted by the need to relieve my bladder of the enormous burden. Ever the independent girl, I argue with anyone wanting to help me find my way to the restroom. I stubbornly and drunkenly navigate my way through the chairs of other patients, dragging my IV tower along, doing my very best to focus on not tripping over the wheels of the tower or my own two feet. Most days I succeed. How I actually maneuver the act of "going potty"...well, I don't really know. What I do know is that I perform the act with my eyes closed. And it is dark when my eyes are closed. So very, very dark. So much so that I made this proclamation to gal pal, "K" upon returning to my chair.

"Have you ever closed your eyes and realized how dark it is? So dark that the dark actually touches your eyeballs? I mean you can actually feel the dark touching your eyeball! Like the dark is sitting on your eye!"

The words were said with much excitement and conviction as I was sure I had just discovered something unique and grand. Let's just say the words were said with as much excitement and conviction as can be exhibited through slurred speech. I remember "K" chuckling while my mind waged an internal war over whether or not this made any kind of sense. The "real me" kept urging me to shut up and stop the insanity as I know I'm not that dense while the "drugged me" thought it was the most profound statement ever made. I didn't know whether to pout because I wasn't being taken seriously or to hide my head in shame. Before a decision could be made, the mental war was over and I was fast asleep once again.

This is but one of the tiny things that keeps me laughing each day. I believe the ability to laugh at oneself is the key to a happy life. Thank goodness I find myself funny whether anyone else does or not. I guess that means I can relate to my own sense of humor. For now, I can chalk up my self-induced chuckles to the effects brought on by drugs. Not sure what excuse I will use when chemo isn't part of my daily life.



Until next time...

-L

Impact

I've been thinking. I know...thinking can sometimes prove to be an unsettling thing, especially when faced with a major life crisis. This time, my thinking has proven to be a positive. The past few days I've been sifting through blog posts from the past year or so, curious as to where I've been... what I've learned.... spending time reminiscing and doing a little self-evaluation. Amongst the stories of my crazy antics and tales of woe, I stumbled upon a gem of a post. In fact, it was so meaningful I want to revisit the topic.

Roughly a year ago, I wrote a post based on a prompt from one of my best blog pals, "h.b.". Through various prompts and challenges, "h.b." laid the ground work for us to do some soul searching in an attempt to think about who we are and where we are going. Being the deep thinking, soul searching type, I jumped in with both feet and participated in many of the challenges. My favorite prompt explored the subject of touching people's lives...it's not who you touch but how. I suppose it is more than fair to say being diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer causes one to consider their role in this world. "Have I...do I...make a difference?" Now there is a question. Even in that soul searching, cancer free moment of a year ago, I dug really deep with this one and poured my heart out in these words:

"We all have them. Those times that forever leave a mark on our hearts...our souls...our being. Be it a good or bad time, it shapes and molds the person we become. Much of the impact it has on us is defined by how we approach that moment and the choices we make regarding it. I've had many such moments. Big, huge, earth moving moments. Marriage, children, divorced parents...a divorced me. Children moving away and then returning. The death of someone very dear. Some of these were cause for celebration and others were the cause of much pain. But through them all, I learned more about me and became stronger and hopefully wiser as a result.

But not all defining moments are as enormous in size. There are also the little things that can affect us. Little chance moments such as an encounter with another person that leave us with a life lesson all because we crossed paths. There can be inspiring moments of awe and wonder. And there can be misunderstandings or misguided intentions that leave us in a position to choose how we will move forward and whether or not we will allow it to cause harm or good to a relationship.

Lately I have been facing many defining moments. Times that are testing my character and my strength. I'm facing decisions that are almost impossible to make as there is really no good answer. Some days I feel victorious in these situations and other days leave me struggling to not feel defeat. But I am most thankful for these trying times. I know that even on the down days, I am building strength. God has given me the ability to rise above by trusting in Him. And I'm learning with each test and working harder to be a more positive influence."

How odd that I seem to be in much the same position now as I was then. It is exactly as they say...oh how things change yet they somehow stay the same. At that time I faced difficult decisions...they were my defining moments. Now, I'm in a battle for my life...probably the most defining moment anyone could face. The big question is how will this defining moment impact my world?

Every day... every moment... I get to chose how I will tackle this challenge. I have a choice in how I live... how I fight... how I love. I believe my decisions will in some way impact others. If nothing more, they will leave a mark on those who love me and are fighting along side me. I can only hope to be a positive influence. To make a difference in some tiny way. I have no idea what that difference will be or how it will happen. It could come through a chance encounter or it could be much more significant. Whatever it is, I want to be mindful of the fact that each and every decision I make could in some way impact another. When reflecting on past moments and opportunities, I recall many with feelings of happiness ...others I relive with shame and regret. Those are the ones I wish I could call for a do-over as I feel certain I wasn't the positive influence I desire to be. But I have a chance to be different. To be better. To use this challenge I face for something good. I'm hoping to take a negative and make a positive. I want to make a difference.

Mom, Is That Mastectomy With An "M"???

Before going further, I must issue a statement to my daughter.

Sweet Ker-bear, I hope you don't mind that I share your story. It is too cute for words. I know you possess an incredible ability to laugh at yourself so I feel certain you will approve of my decision to share. Thank you for the laughter! Love, Mom





My diagnosis came on a Thursday evening. I didn't share the news with Keri until Saturday. Those were two REALLY long days. I refused to tell her over the phone and there was no chance to make the 3-hour drive to Georgia until Saturday. My mom, sister and I drove to Athens and broke the news. As expected, tears were shed and many questions were posed. But Keri is her mother's daughter. It wasn't long before she found a way to deal...to do her own compartmentalizing and strategizing. She began writing (yes, my baby girl has her very own blog) and set about training for 5k races to support Breast Cancer Awareness. It's her way of being proactive...of doing something.

Several weeks later, the news that had rocked our worlds had settled into the role of old news. Keri was home for a visit and we were sharing idle chit-chat. It was during this time I had one of the best giggles of my life. This is the jest of the story she shared...

Keri is like me in more ways than one. One particular trait we share is being Chatty Cathy's. We share what's on our minds with any and all who will listen. Talking is our therapy. We are open books. When she was in the early stages of processing the ugliness of the "c" stuff, she was telling numerous friends at school all about my diagnosis. She told them I would receive 6 months of chemo and would then receive a full vasectomy...

Uhhh, yep, my girl got the slicing and dicing of certain body parts mixed up! She had me slated to undergo a procedure I don't think I'm equipped to receive. The best part of the story is she shared this with several people before someone finally corrected her. All I can say is she now knows the difference between the snipping and clipping of one body part and the removal of another...she now knows it's mastectomy with an "M"!!!

Getting Down To Business

The verdict was in and I was found guilty. Of what I'm not exactly certain but I had been issued the life sentence of cancer so guilt of some sort was surely mine. That was my initial thinking. I was plagued by irrational thoughts that kept me wondering what I had done to bring this on myself. The mental volley being played out in my mind was exhausting. The what-if's and woulda-shoulda-coulda's nagged at me incessantly. What if I had eaten a cleaner diet? Could I have avoided this if I had not given into my love of all things chocolate? Should I have reduced my caffeine consumption? Why the heck did I have to learn to love coffee? Maybe I could have exercised more? What about my pleasurable partaking of alcoholic beverages? Not to mention any other pleasurable partakings... should I have avoided them all together? Maybe I had one cranberry and vodka too many? What if I had been a better person? Maybe if I had gone to church more? Was I kind enough to strangers? Had I been rude? Maybe I had not been a good enough wife or mother or sister or daughter or friend? Should I have become a missionary? Maybe a nun? Was I being punished for what I was or for what I wasn't??? Cancer had to be a punishment. There was no other answer. Cancer doesn't just happen! There had to be a reason it was happening to me!!!

Yes, that was honestly where my mind went. Not only have I confessed to being a troubled soul whose first concern was over the loss of her hair...preceding with great significance the question of whether or not she would die...but I must also admit to unbelievably ridiculous feelings of guilt and stupidity. All those thoughts...all that mind-numbing-drive-me-completely-crazy chatter only lasted a few minutes in reality. However, it felt like an eternity passed before I was able to regain control of myself. Once I settled the wild, animalistic panic that had taken hold of me, I was able to come to this conclusion...cancer does just happen. Okay, so I know there is more to it than that.. that there are medical reasons why it happens. I'm referring more to the aspect of who it happens to, not how it actually happens. I'm just one of many. I will never know why it happened to me and quite honestly, I don't need to know. Worrying about the why is nothing more than a waste of time and energy. It was time to bury the questions brought on by fear and guilt. It was time to get down to business.

Maybe I'm an odd being or maybe this is the way it works for most in this situation. I don't know the answer as I've not addressed this subject with many who have been in my shoes. But I process things very quickly. I compartmentalize, strategize and realize what is beyond me. I assess the situation and take control of what can be controlled and let go of the rest. I create a business type atmosphere in my mind and I set about doing the job at hand. For this task, the process began by creating a team. My Power Posse.

The team came into being the night of my diagnosis. The first board meeting was held at my friend, "L's" house. She and my friend, "K", were there to cry with me. To be with me as I made necessary phone calls. We prayed together. And we even laughed together. "K" is a nurse and she became my first line of defense. I thrive on information...knowing what to expect...and she gave me what I needed. She is also a great spiritual and emotional supporter. She has all but carried me through some of life's tougher times. She was a definite posse member. "L", well, "L" is my pal with whom I push the boundaries. She shares my love of adventure and we have survived many what-should-have-been-unsurvivable adventures together. To say we leave trouble in our wake is an understatement. We are the modern day Thelma and Louise. Although I don't know who would be Thelma or who would be Louise. (All I know is I wanna be the one who slept with Brad Pitt!!!) Well, fighting cancer was going to certainly be an adventure. I knew I needed Thelma???...or Louise???...by my side. The Power Posse was 3 members strong... "K", "L", and me. I was a member by default. With charter members defined, it was time for rules to be made. Here are the only rules I felt were needed at the time:

1) It's all about me.

2) Any emotion is fair. Expression of said emotion is always allowed. BUT regardless of that emotion, the rules state we must end all emotional "moments" with laughter.

3) I WILL look like crap. We bust on me....then work like mad to make me look cute.

I know, number 3 is sooo irrelevant in the grand scheme of things but all I can say to that is refer to rule number 1. It's all about me and I was as obsessed as hell with how I was going to be physically affected by chemo. I suppose I should have added rule number 4 stating rule number 1 trumps any and all other rules.

My Power Posse has grown tremendously in number since that first night and the rules have been slightly amended. I'm not sure how large the Posse has become. What I do know is we are all fighting the fight together. We are doing what we can to keep laughter alive in a situation where it could easily be suffocated...maybe even suffer a torturous death. Not a day has passed since that first night that giggles and grins and gut-busting guffaws have not been part of my day. What a blessing. What a treat. What a way to live. And as of that first night, I am living like I've never lived before.

Today I wish you laughter and smiles...sunshine and happiness...a life full of living!

Until next time...

-L

That Dreaded "C" Word

Cancer. The one word no one ever wants to hear. It is ugly. Vile. Frightening. Earth-shattering. Unwanted. Uninvited. Yet for some...inescapable. As of four weeks and four days ago, I became one of many for whom cancer is an undeniable reality.

It was a typical Thursday night and I was alone at the office attempting to make up for all the hours missed due to my recent run-in with bronchitis. An unknown number appeared on my phone yet I felt sure of its origin. Continuing to shuffle papers as I answered the call, I assumed it would be the results of my recent biopsies. I had no worry or concern about the results. The only troubles I felt my future held would be the scheduling nightmare I would most likely face in trying to have the annoying-but- what-I-knew-would-be-benign lump removed. A big believer in never worrying until there is something to worry about, I had convinced myself all was well. This time, the power of positive thinking failed me.

After only a few words of greeting from my doctor, the "C" word was spoken and from that point on, the conversation was a blur. Words like "invasive tumor", "highly suspected lymph node involvement", "chemo", "skin involvement", "full mastectomy", "radiation", "oncologist", "urgent".

Each word carried a sting...a bite...yet I was numb to it all.

I remember using my fist to stifle the sobs as I sucked up the tears that wanted to break free. For some unknown reason I needed to stay in control of my emotions...to grasp every word being spoken...to be in control of an uncontrollable situation. I remember thinking how often you hear of one's inability to process bad news as it is delivered and this was definitely bad news. In that moment it became critical to my existence to get the facts straight. I felt like a child yet wanted to act like an adult. My mind was spinning at an alarming pace but I was fighting with everything in me to bring it back to a steady place.

I was alone. No one was there to share the burden of recording the facts. It was up to me and only me to take care of business.

I asked the doctor to repeat her words over and over. I wrote them down and repeated them back to her, making note after note of what was said. Upon returning to my office the next day, it was painfully clear what I had done. One Post-It note after another was scattered across my desk, each one saying the same thing. In sorting through them, not one could spare me the ugliness of what was to come. Each held the same horrid verdict... I have breast cancer.

In hindsight I remember so little, yet I remember so much. So many odd thoughts passed through my mind and I find it utterly fascinating where the human mind will go when faced with such earth shattering news. As I hung up the phone, I began pacing the hallway, finally allowing the tears to flow. Words came tumbling from my lips, but I have no idea if I was successful in forming coherent sentences. I kept running my fingers through my hair, wondering how quickly it would begin to fall out.

And I began to wail.

I'm sure the mourning was over far more than the loss of my hair, but it was the catalyst that pushed me over the edge of the cliff into the abyss where only heartache, sorrow and irrational thinking dwell. I could think of nothing else. No thoughts of death. No fear of pain. No concern for the eventual loss of my breast. I just desperately wanted to keep my hair. Strange, superficial thoughts. The only thoughts my mind would allow in that moment.

That was four weeks and four days ago. A lifetime has been lived in those thirty-two days. So many doctors visits, too many tests and scans to count, poking and prodding, needles and biopsies, port-a-cath placement and two chemo treatments... all this and more has filled my calendar. My world has been turned upside down and shaken equivalent to that of a magnitude 9.0 earthquake. But through it all, I have found peace. The fear from that first night has been replaced with an acceptance...a willingness to work with the hand I've been dealt. My faith has always been a huge part of my life and God has come to my rescue once again. An enormous amount of information regarding my treatment has afforded me the chance to know what to expect in the upcoming months. To summarize, 24 weeks of chemo, a full mastectomy then radiation. The side effects have been spelled out. I don't like them, but I can live with them.

I honestly don't know the state of my prognosis. I've been made aware the journey will be a rough one but the expected outcome should be positive. I know no one can know for certain what the end result will be. Anything can happen. But God gives me hope. He gives me peace. As one of my favorite songs says, though He may not calm the storms around me, He will give me Perfect Peace. As for now, I rest well in the fact that hope is alive and in knowing that God is with me each step of the way. This road has been traveled by many. Sadly for so many women, it is not a journey unique to me. My wish is to fight the fight with grace and thanksgiving for all the good in my life. You see, I've discovered a truth. When faced with the worst, one can discover the best. That dreaded "C" word, while as ugly a word as can be spoken, has allowed me to see how truly blessed I am.

With Love...

-L

Where Oh Where Have You Been?

Seems I'm getting this question a lot lately. I know. I know. I've been a bad, bad blogger. Would it help to say I've had very good reasons for my absence? I actually have 3 very good reasons. Vacation. Infections. Uncooperative internet. Try as I might to work around these issues, I've been unsuccessful. It's quite evident how unsuccessful I've been given I haven't updated since...ummm...the beginning of time??? How about a little update.

Early in July I went to Canada to visit my girl. Her summertime adventure in Calgary seemed the perfect excuse for me to cross the northern border into our neighboring country. It was a quick but wonderful holiday. As luck would have it, my trip coincided with The Stampede, an annual cowboy festival to rival any I've ever known. Cowboy hats, cowboy boots, massive ornate belt buckles... studly wanna-be cowboys poured into tight jeans as far as the eye could see. Kinda made this single girl's day.

(Sidenote: They really grow 'em tall in Canada. Because of The Stampede, the streets were excessively crowded. Every time I turned around I seemed to literally run into someone. Most often I found myself staring into the chest of a many-inches-beyond-six-feet-tall fella. And let me tell ya..."tall" does it for me. My heart even skipped a beat just now as I relived the memory. You can imagine the heavy breathing and racing heartbeat I experienced when tilting my head ALL the way back to gaze into the eyes of the towering cowboy as I muttered my apologies for the collision.)

My northern vacation was incredible...but that's where the fun seemed to end. While I was there, I felt ill. I tried to blame it on the change in air and altitude but on the return flight home I began to realize I was one sick chick. Several doctor's visits and multiple prescriptions for antibiotics later and I think I'm on the mend. Missed vacation days and sick days have left me terribly behind at work. What days I could work, I pulled super long hours...can we say fun with a capital "F"? I still haven't completely caught up but I am starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

During those horrible sick days, Lady Luck decided it was time to poke fun and I was her intended target. Actually, I think she was suffering from an acute case of PMS HELL! If she was gonna suffer...someone was gonna pay...and that someone was me. Not so sure what I did to piss her off, but trust me, I plan to work hard to never do it again. One mini crisis after another cropped up. The most interesting being my A/C went on hiatus during the days I could barely lift my head off the sofa. Ninety plus temperatures, a raging bout of bronchitis and I only had ceiling fans for relief. During that time coughing fits became the bane of my existence. Sweat poured from my forehead as I coughed up first one lung and then the other. In hindsight, it was actually a little comical. I also had a severe case of laryngitis. All my cries of agony and woe went unheard as nothing...and I do mean no sound whatsoever...passed my lips. Even my coughs were squeaky and soft. I bitched and I moaned. And no one heard. Seems such a waste of energy now.

Leaking ceilings, broken refrigerator doors, wheel bearing issues on my car.... yep, Lady Luck was laughing her ass off at my expense. You would think Lady Luck would eventually decide I had been tortured enough and move on to another unsuspecting soul. You know, dump her excessive heaps of bad luck on someone else. Not so. The final blow came when my house was struck by lightning. How do I know it was struck? I was touching the keys of my keyboard when it happened. And let me tell you, that jolt of electric current that zipped through my fingers and up my arm...not the most pleasant of feelings. From that day forward, I vowed to steer clear of any and all electrical items when a storm is raging. The aftermath of being blindly hit from above has left me without cable, internet, phone, a multitude of lights, and several electrical outlets. We are still working hard to repair my internet issues. Until we do, I must steal time from my work day to play online. Sporadic, stolen moments in blog-land make it difficult to properly update me lil ol' blog.

So there you have it. My very valid...have-to-be-true-cause-nobody-could-make-this-crap-up...excuses for being AWOL. Whew! Glad to finally get that off my chest. So tell me. What's been going on in your world? I'm eager to hear all that I've missed.

HugsNLuv,

-L

P.S. If you believe in prayer, I'm asking you to please remember me. I underwent a few tests yesterday and as always, the waiting time for results has left me nervous. I feel certain all is well but my usual Pollyanna attitude is wavering. Prayer brings peace...and that's what I seek. Much love to you all.

Bikini vs Tankini...Or Should I Just Go With A Muumuu?

With swimsuit season upon us, I thought I would ask this question...what type of swimsuit do you wear? For me, the mere mention of the word "swimsuit" evokes a seasonal panic attack. One where shudders race down my spine and I begin to hyperventilate as I envision my dimpled, pasty white flesh being wrangled into submission and forced to dwell within the confines of the usually-never-enough-fabric-to-cover-all-the-ugly-parts-and-still-look-cute contraption we call a swimsuit. Never mind the added bonus of knowing no matter how I squeeze, tuck and try to suck it in, my body will still be on display for all the world to see. These are the thoughts many a nightmare is made of. Should I ever be lucky enough to create a somewhat pleasing image it is all for naught. The second I begin to move, all the mounds of flesh that were carefully confined within the tiny little strips of cloth spring forth with new life and begin to jiggle their way free creating a mini earthquake effect across my backside and down my lower half. All it takes is one shopping trip where the intended goal is to locate the perfect (bah! ha! ha!) swimsuit and I vow to move to Alaska where I can hide my pudge beneath a parka year round. Oh the tales of woe generated from this little ordeal.

This year I've been working out hard and eating right (the majority of the time) giving me a little confidence that I would have a few more options when it comes to swimsuit selections. At least that was my thought several weeks ago. Summer has resuscitated my waning social life. Warmer weather means outdoor adventures, late nights hanging out downtown, barbecues and travel. And you know food and alcohol are part of this equation...a very big part. In spite of my efforts, I find myself in the same position I'm in each and every year...one where I fight back swear words (a fight I always lose) while struggling to cover my enlarged tush with a few tiny little strings. You see, a bikini is the only real option I have. I know. I know. Where oh where is the logic in that???

Take this one-piece suit for instance:



One would think this would be a sure fire way to cover the nasty remains of my most recent nosh fests. But let's face it, many one-piece suits come across as frumpy and do nothing more than remind me of my grandmother. At least on my body. So often I see women in one-piece suits and think how amazing they look in them. Not once do I think of dear old granny when I see THEM in a one piece. But each and every time I give one a try...yeah...well, I have horrible flashbacks of Ruby Lee (my grandmother) at the local pool, sporting her granny suit complete with floral swimming cap. While I love my grandmother dearly, I don't exactly want to recreate her fashion folly.

(Sidenote: I hate to totally rag on her but my sweet, adventurous, totally out there grandmother also wore a nose plug and swimmies...the blow-up flotation devices children wear on their arms. She couldn't swim a lick but wasn't about to let that stop her from jumping off the high dive. When the swimmies didn't fully do the trick of helping her bob back to the surface after her less than attractive swan dive, she added a duck shaped float to her arsenal. Try to imagine this spry lady in all her childlike safety garb taking a complete leap of faith into the deep end of the pool only to have the duck float surface many seconds before she did, sputtering and flailing about in her attempts to keep herself afloat. We were eventually banned from the pool as the lifeguards tired of rescuing her. In hindsight, I think I now know where I get my spunk!)

I will admit today's versions of the one-piece are a far cry from what grandma wore. This one is cute and actually kind of sexy. It does in fact provide coverage without being a total snore. But it just doesn't have the desired effect on my body.

Then there is always the option of the tankini...a hybrid of a traditional one-piece and a bikini.



To most, this is the perfect solution. Gone are the confines and restrictions of a one-piece as are the excessive skin-baring fears brought on by choosing a bikini. And let me say, if I could look like this...



...all my problems would be solved.


But...

I don't look like that. And I never will. Through the years I've taken a hard cold look at my body. I've learned to embrace the good, the bad and the ugly. When it comes to any clothing choice, I work hard to find the best solution for all my positives and negatives. As for swimsuits, I lean toward this...



For the longest time, I could never figure out why a bikini actually looked better on my less-than-svelte figure. I've even solicited the opinion of several friends and they tend to agree. Then one day, I had that "aha" moment and I realized EXACTLY what it is. I'm short-waisted. Without a longer torso to create those nice, sexy lines, I look like a pudge ball in anything that covers my mid-section. I have a large top and an even larger bottom. Something needs to delineate the ending of one and the beginning of the other. Simply put...without a belly-baring bikini...I look like a walking, talking mass of boobs-on-butt!

So there you have it. My reasons for baring it all...err, almost baring it all... in the summer. Trust me, it still isn't a very pretty picture but what's a girl to do?

Hope everyone is having a wonderful summer and soaking up some rays! Catch up with you soon!

-L