How do you cook a Nauga?

Today started with a list of things to do. Get a muffler fixed, stop at the bank, get some boots repaired, buy some new shoes, grocery store and so on. Dan and the dog-face boys took care of the car drop-off at a local muffler shop, a small independently owned place that has done work on all of our cars. Dan has a relationship with them and they once even signed some custom work they did on his 1960 Ranchero. They know him there and he likes to take his business to the small shop.  

I lounged in, loving Saturday morning until Dan and the herd returned.  When I got up I looked around the bedroom. Quite a mess as I’ve been trying on clothes to see how they fit since my recent landscaping. Very pleased with what I’m seeing in the mirror, the resulting debris of cast-off costume changes needed some attention. Included in that pile were a pair of boots that never quite fit properly. 

Dan did a quick Google search to find out the hours of the local shoe repair shop. The search led to one of those sites where people leave reviews. The owner of the little shop really ticked off a customer with a rant about folks from a political persuasion other than theirs (and ours as well). This led to a discussion of patronage – do we go to the most local shop, or do we find another place for the repair – simply because of this review and the owners political affiliation? Does it matter if we take our business to a shop in Wauwatosa or West Allis? 

We went to the Tosa store and turns out the owner doesn’t care to do that type of repair work. He did give us the name of the one shop in town that might help us and no political commentary. Off we went to downtown Milwaukee, to a store that has been in business for over 75 years. This felt good. The proprietor took a look at the fix we wanted and declined to do the work. Turns out the original purchase, made over the internet, was not of sufficient quality to warrant the amount of work needed for the repair.

Next was a stop at the “big bank” to close our checking account of over 30 years. Since last November I’ve gone through the tedious exercise of moving all of our automatic bill deductions from the bank to the credit union.  A quick check of the remaining bank balance yesterday uncovered another fee deducted, I suspect from going under the “minimum required account balance.” Time to bail. Asked why we were closing the account I mentioned fees and loss of services. Dan placed his hand on my leg – a gentle reminder that getting snarky with the woman stuck working on a Saturday, and with no control over these things, was not the person to vent on.

This led to a discussion of what does “local” mean. Here was an individual, working “locally” at a bank whose home office is in another country.  Didn’t our use of that bank constitute local support of their employees? Which led me to thinking about an all-hands meeting at my employer yesterday where we discussed economic issues in Europe and Asia that were impacting “our” projections. I work locally, don’t I? For a multinational. Am I a hypocrite in my fight against the big bank?

Next stop, locally owned shoe store to pick up some new running shoes. I’ve been advised by my physical therapist that now is the time to transition to more foot/body friendly natural running shoes. The shop is tiny. The shoes are made in China. Damn. Apparently the only barefoot running that I can do, that is guaranteed to be made in the USA, is my own bare feet. Shoes purchased and now I was feeling really conflicted.

Leave it to Dan to bring me back to reality. Through all this chasing Dan was puzzling over how to fix the “unfixable boots”.  Back at home he exclaims, “I’ve got naugahyde!  I bought it before we got married to fix those scratch and dent end-tables we had.  I can use that to fix the boots.”  So, once again, my do-yourself-husband will implement a home made fix with a material older than the internet on a cheap internet purchase. And I think I need to buy another cow, or pig, or nauga through the Heifer project just to balance out the karma for the day. Does anyone know—are naugas white or dark meat?

Landscaping

I’ve used this blog to metaphorically think out-loud, a combination reality check, rant, quasi-journal, self-reflection and sub-text chronicle of a thought-process that would get me from here (Wauwatosa) to there (Key West). Most of the time I feel like the writing is a quick throw-away that allows me to move on to the next thing that needs attention. For the few of you who do pay attention (and I thank you for that), you’ll have noticed a short absence. I haven’t written anything for awhile, mostly because I’ve had one really BIG THING on my mind, and felt the need to keep it quiet.

This one thing was about a desire for personal change that I could barely articulate to myself, much less my husband of 32+ years, and with extreme difficulty to the few people from whom I felt the need to gather opinions. The decision has now been made, the money has been spent and I’m on the road to recovery.

Let me back up a minute. We are a family of do-it-yourselfers (as immortalized in the Atomic Boy post from last year.) If at all possible we get it done, and only in rare circumstances do we call in the experts (tree trimming, dryer repair, roofs on three story houses). But the one personal project on which I have devoted a lot of time and energy is one where I was making no progress, and my frustration levels were rising.

I have certainly commiserated with fellow moms about how some women have skin that snaps back in place moments after giving birth to their 20 pound baby, and some women (like me) lost all elasticity before the 6.3 pound baby’s first cry. Throw in another 8.8 pound baby, via C-section, and we no longer needed to pack a tent for camping.

Now, 25 years later, I find I have been subconsciously communicating that I wanted to make a change. Clothes shopping for me has always been grim, and even at my thinnest (post-baby) weight nothing ever fit right. And when it’s picture time I much prefer to stand behind someone or some thing, and please, don’t catch me sitting down. As I walked through my thought process with my husband he described a completely non-verbal interaction that I’ve had with the mirror on a daily basis for many years. So when I told Dan I was ready for some personal landscaping, he did some research and helped me make an appointment. When I told my sister I had the procedure on the calendar she said “well yeah, I know you’ve wanted to do that forever.” So on December 27 I didn’t get puffed-up “fish-lips”, plumped up Pamela Anderson breasts or the “is it faux-real” Joan Rivers face. I just had my stomach cinched in a bit.

So, why, in this day and age would I bother with this? Ultimately, because no matter how hard I tried I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin. The final realization came when I completed my latest triathlon. Dan and the professional photographers on the route pulled off some pretty good action shots – me running from lake to bike; me biking full speed in my tri-suit; me running on the 6-mile course. I reviewed the professional shots (mostly side views) and purchased none of them. I deleted most of Dan’s shots and posted few. I ran that last leg of the race looking at the shadow of a woman much larger than my image of myself.  If two coaches had been asked to pick 10 competitors (based on appearance) who would “finish” it would have been a throwback to every gym class I’d every been in and I’d have been left on the bench. I finally realized I wanted my physical self to look somewhat as good as I actually felt.  I completely and totally did this for me. And I kept it quiet because I didn’t need anyone talking me out of it.

This was absolutely not a decision made lightly. I joined an on-line forum that provided an opportunity for Q&A with surgeons as well as women in all phases of the process, from research to recovery.  What I found were women in agony months later. Rented hospital beds and purchased walkers. “I wish I’d NEVER done this” said one poster who’d had two surgeries to repair the first. Bad infections. Women walking hunched over six months later. Sure, there were success stories, too, but 98% of the women posting were much younger than me. I went back and forth for months, changing my mind multiple times a day. I had several in-person sessions with the surgeon who patiently answered all my questions. I thought the holidays would be a nice diversion, but instead I was in a funk of nerves. I kept going to the gym and sweating it out, but no amount of crunches, tucks, lunges, planks, rows, spins, runs or stair climbs was going to move the unmovable mass of my abdomen. Soon checks were sent and cashed. The day was approaching. My surgeon made a point to say that this was the most painful procedure he did. It would require an overnight stay for monitoring and pain management. 

That day—we arrive at 5:30 am. By 7:30, I am in the operating room. By 11, I am in recovery. By 1 pm, I’m in my room, groggy but feeling OK—like a really tough abs workout. By 10:30 pm I had completed 2 short walks up and down the hallway. By 7:30 the next morning Dan was back with a big cup of tea. He and a nurse helped me out of bed for another short walk. I sat in the chair and enjoyed my tea—waiting for the pain to hit. By about 10 am my surgeon came in to check on things, and was very surprised to see me out of bed. Surprised that I’d already walked the halls. Surprised that I’d already used the little girl’s room. Surprised that I was smiling and ready to head home.

Dan kept an eye on the timing for pills, and the “1 or 2 for pain” was only 1, and is diminishing daily. By the three day checkup my surgeon told me I was in the “top 5 to 10 percent” of recovering patients. Despite the fact that my abs never looked like a 6-pack, all that exercise had paid off.

And the result? While it will take several months for all of the healing to resolve, that first post-op shower, with all the swelling, stitches and bruises was-pretty amazing. I suspect I’ll be buying more post-race pictures this summer. And I’m already looking forward to buying a beautiful fitted dress for a June wedding, new swimsuits for our next diving vacation and a few new costumes for a triumphant return to Key West in the fall!