If you would, please

I have a request.

You see, I am going to do something next week that I sort of dread. But I'm dreading it with the hopes that I will come away with answers, a diagnosis and a treatment plan.

After 5 years of:

*seeing doctors {8 by my count} who have poked and prodded me and asked me a myriad of questions, and been stumped by the answers

*being tested for all sorts of awful things, none of which I seem to have {thanking God for that one}

*taking all sorts of different medications {some appear to be snake oil, if you ask me}

*being frustrated out of my mind

*living with seizure type activities {that they say are not seizures} occasional loss of cognitive abilities, and periods of being unable to communicate verbally

* being diagnosed {or not diagnosed} as 'interesting', 'off' and 'that ain't right'

*wearing my big girl panties far more than I'd like

*causing many people who love and care for me to worry, and doing some worrying myself

*shedding countless tears and facing down terrible fears

and last but not least

*being loved and tenderly cared for by the Amazing Rocket Man...

I have an appointment at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville Florida next week. I am to arrive at 7 am on Monday and will be evaluated by Dr. Elizabeth Shuster in the Neurology Clinic.

So, here's my request. Would you say a prayer for me, for Rocket Man, for Dr. Shuster and the nurses and technicians that we will be dealing with next week? For safe travel to and from Jacksonville and for some answers.

We would appreciate it a great deal.

I will try to make posts on our adventures as we go.

~Mollianne

I Love You More and More

Neenie and me enjoying a good time

Wasn't she beautiful?

Our four generations portrait, taken in 1981. Mother is standing up, Neenie and I are holding my daughter, Annie.

I am remembering and missing my grandmother today. She would have been 103 if she were alive. She was an incredible woman and I am very thankful for the relationship that we shared. I've put together a few pictures of her to mark the day. She went to her heavenly home 7 years ago, and I've missed her every day. But I carry a part of her in my heart, and I know that I will see her again. Happy Birthday, Neenie. I love you more and more.

~Mollianne

Slideshow design made with Smilebox

If not me...then who?

I work as the Clergy Administrator {fancy word for Preacher's Secretary} in a large church. We regularly have folks come in needing assistance. Everything from something to eat or assistance purchasing medications to help with rent, utilities or car repairs. We have people who want money for gas to get 'home' and some who just come in asking for prayer.

Yesterday, we had a woman come in who was in desperate need of help. She was in extreme pain with a broken thumb but I believe that her torment was more than that. I believe that she is a drug addict, and she was in need of a fix.

She had wristbands on each arm from the hospitals in town. If she was to be believed, she had been in and left the ER from each. She was somewhat delirious and crying as she rocked back and forth violently.

I've dealt with a lot of people in the years I have worked at the church, but I don't know that any have touched my heart the way she did. I tried to calm her down, got her to drink some water and explained that I couldn't treat medical problems. I went and got a Pastor and we decided to call a cab for her if she would agree to go back to the hospital ER. She agreed, so I called the cab.

As we waited for the cab, I held her hand, rubbed her back and got her to sing with me. Every now and then she would get completely still and fall asleep for just a few seconds. Then she would jerk awake and start rocking again, moaning in pain. When I asked her if she knew "Jesus Loves Me" she said yes and we sang that together. She got calm as we did that, and she knew every word. Tears, not the same as before but a different sort of tears, flowed from her eyes as that old familiar song, I presume from her childhood, seemed to bring her a moment of calm and perhaps comfort.

The Pastor prayed with her and we said The Lord's Prayer together. Each time, she would fall asleep for just a few seconds and jerk back awake. After what seemed a very long time, although it really wasn't, the cab came and we put her in it. The Pastor paid for her ride {and gave the driver a healthy tip, which she probably earned}. She asked me to call someone to tell him where she was going. I believe he was her dealer. Or pimp. Or both.

She caused quite a stir in our somewhat pristine environment. I feel like I have absorbed her odor, which quite frankly wasn't all that pleasant. Her torment and tears stay with me throughout the day and into today. Her moaning fills my ears. The feel of her unwashed hair under my hand remains. The attitude of the man who seemed so uncaring when I called to let him know she had gone back to the hospital continues to irritate me.

I wonder how long it has been since someone treated her kindly? When was the last time someone stroked her hair or gently rubbed her back? Who sang "Jesus Loves Me" to her, enough that she knew the words and melody, even in her delirum? What awful road had she been on that brought her to our door? What happened to her once she left our presence?

And, I wondered why she came to our church? She passed the church next door to get there, and stopped before she got to the one across the street. Someone suggested that it isn't really my/our job to deal with people like that. I'm certainly not trained to deal with drug addicts who need a fix. It wasn't what I had planned to do yesterday. In fact, I had planned to be back at home, taking a few hours off before she got there. She certainly wasn't in my well-planned day, which was shot long before she arrived...which was why I was still in the building.

As I pondered my day, and shared with the very wise Rocket Man all the events of the day, he said something that I can't get out of my head. He said, "If not you, Molli...then who?"

Indeed. If not me...then who?

I pray regularly that God will place people in my path who have need of something, some part of Him that I can share with them. Sometimes, that includes opening my wallet and sharing my money. Occasionally, I have given away leftovers from last nights' dinner that I had intended to eat for lunch. My gloves. A smile. A prayer. Maybe even hope on occasion that there might be better days ahead. And, yes...even singing that precious song, "Jesus Loves Me" to try to calm a tormented soul.

If not me...then who?

Will you join me in looking for people who need something you can share? If you ask, God will place people in your path who have need of something, some part of Him that you can share with them.

If not me...if not you...then who?

~Mollianne

The Long and Winding Road

This is my final post in a 15 part series to tell the stories of my youth with Janna over at Mommy's Piggy Tales.

I graduated from high school in June of 1975. I graduated from college in May of 2003. Not everyone takes 28 years to complete a college education, but I did. I found myself in the spring of 2002 re-evaluating my goals, and knew that if I were ever going to finish those 7 classes that I needed to graduate I'd better do it soon.Was I content to be only 7 classes short of a college degree? For the rest of my life?

As I was contemplating all of this, a curious set of circumstances fell into place--almost like the planets aligned in the correct order. The 401(k) that I had gotten in a divorce settlement was doing very well. Funds were available for me to quit my job and finish school. My oldest step-daughter was about to be a senior in high school, and then we would have her in school...so it was sort of a now or never situation. I had a job that was beginning to drive me batty. I was certain that the church job I had was taking years off the end of my life. I loved my boss, but my goodness! I couldn't keep up with him. So one day in late April of 2002, I checked the class schedule for the following year. Guess what? The 7 classes that I wanted (not that would meet the requirements, but classes I wanted) to take were not only being offered, but were also being taught by the professors I would have chosen to study under. 1 class in the summer mini-semester, 3 in the fall and 3 in the spring.

I re-enrolled, signed up for the classes, turned in my notice and by golly...I went back to school. This was it. It was now or never time. It was time toMan Up or Go Home (a motivational phrase used by one of Rocket Man's former favorite basketball coaches).

One more time, I bought my books, filled up my backpack, went back to a familiar room in Roberts Hall and was once again immersed in the education process. That summer mini-semester nearly killed me. Renaissance and Reformation in a month. We went to school 4 days a week and were in class for 3 1/2 hours. It was killer. Every night, I would read (scan and hope I caught what he wanted) as many as 600 pages for the next days' class. It was a class for seniors and graduate students. I thought I would die. I knew it was going to kill me. I loved it. I felt like I'd come back home.

The academic year flew by and I did my share of student whining, crying, procrastinating, paper writing, had test anxiety and did more than a few all-nighters. My papers were all written and turned in. All I had left to do was take those final exams and walk the stage to get my diploma. Only glitch in the whole thing was that my precious Neenie, my dear grandmother, was dying with congestive heart failure. She died the night after I attended my last class.

Rocket Man and I drove home to Missouri early the next morning, to celebrate her life and mourn her death with my family. I called back to the school and made arrangements to take my finals late. My professors were very kind and sympathetic. There would be time to take my finals when I returned home, and one of them was so kind as to send me the final via email. I took it and emailed it back to him. I will never forget how wonderful that felt. To be trusted and shown such compassion. I rode home after the funeral with my head in a book, but I don't think I really got anything out of that studying.

I took a deep breath, pulled on my big-girl panties and took those tests. I passed with flying colors. They were the types of tests that cramming for would have never helped, anyway. You either got the concepts and could write about them or you didn't. I got them.

There was last minute paperwork to take care of between finals and graduation. I had this silly fear that some lady in an administrative office would call and say that I was lacking a class in Breathing-for Credit or something. It was a28 year recurring nightmare that after all that work, I had missed something.

But I got that paper that paper signed off by every necessary person and I got out the gown that I had purchased and tried to steam the wrinkles off of it. My parents drove to town, as did my son and daughter in law. I was actually going to graduate from college. I could hardly believe it!

May 11, 2003 dawned bright and clear. It was Mother's Day, and so wonderful to spend it with not only my Dear Mother, but also my precious children AND grandchildren. One of my stepdaughters was even with us for part of the day. We went to church and then out to lunch and my anticipation was building like crazy.

I had hummed Pomp and Circumstance for so long that it felt like my theme song. And,finally. At long last, here I was. I donned my cap and gown (and my honor cords...I was so proud) and found my assigned spot in the line. I didn't see a soul I knew, but it didn't matter. The line began to move and we snaked through the civic center. I reached up to check my funny hat, made sure my white tassel on the correct side and we emerged into the arena. I heard a familiar tune. Could it be? Was the orchestra really and truly playing....YES!

POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE

That turned into one of the longest afternoons of my life. Some man gave a speech that nobody listened to. Yada, yada, yada. Get to the good stuff, please. We graduated by colleges, and the College ofLiberal Arts was 3rd. I read every name in my program as they called them out. I counted how many names until my college would stand en masse. Finally, our escort signaled for us to stand and I wanted to jump up and shout!!! The girl in front of me kept stopping to wave to friends and I finally put my hands on her back and gently pushed her. Excuse me? Let's go, girlie! I wanted to get to that stage. I wanted to be there when they called my name.

All of the sudden, I was up on the stairs. Check the hat. Listening. Listening. Closer to the Dean, who was beaming at me, as she knew me and my story. It had been 27 years, 11 months and 9 days since I'd walked across a stage and received any sort of academic diploma. Hurry up! Say my name. Say it right. Then, there is was. "Mollianne Buster Massey, Cum Laude." Walk across the stage. Check hat, again...dropped my grandmother's handkerchief on the stage but kept on walking. Look at the President, shake his hand and RECEIVE THE DIPLOMA! The wonderful young man behind me picked up my hankie and handed it to me. It was a good thing, because before I got down the stairs on the other side of the stage, I was in tears.

I stopped to have my picture taken by the professional photographer and looked up. My Mother and my Rocket Man were leaning over the rail, taking pictures and waving. I waved back and exclaimed, "It has my name on it! It has my name on it!"

Mollianne Buster Massey

Bachelor of Arts, Cum Laude.

A degree had been conferred upon me! Me!! With honors! Glory, glory hallelujah!

That road from Widefield High School to the 2003 Graduation Exercises of the University of Alabama in Huntsville was a long and winding road.

It took me 28 years, but by golly...in my case, slow and steady really did win the race.

I can't tell you I felt when I saw the look of pride on my Sweet Daddy's face as I showed him my diploma. It meant the world to be able to do something so positive and celebratory with my Dear Mother such a short time after she lost her own precious Mother, and on Mother's Day to boot! I cherish the gentle pride I saw in Rocket Man's eyes when he kissed me and said, "I told you that you are the smartest person I ever knew." Not many people graduate from college with their children and grandchildren in the audience. but I did! On Mother's Day, no less. I treasure that day in my heart.

This story isn't complete until I say that I owe a huge debt of gratitude to so many. To Ken McFetridge, Andy Cling, Brian Martine, Craig Hanks, Dick Gerberding, my PEO chapter, my church family, my children, my parents, my classmates and a plethora of others who encouraged and helped me along the way. Most especially to my darling Rocket Man, Ed Massey, who gently encouraged me, and helped me pass Pre-Calculus. My heart is full of gratitude every time I look at the diploma hanging on the wall of my office and know that it took a village to get me through school. Thank you, one and all.

Next Tuesday in Memphis

As a child growing up, the answer I usually got to a 'when' question was, 'next Tuesday.' For instance, I might have asked, 'When are we going to get ice cream?' and my Mother would answer-without skipping a beat-'next Tuesday.' She never even looked up.

The answer to a 'where' question was almost always, 'Memphis'. For example; 'Where is My Sweet Daddy going?' Without hesitation, without making eye contact and probably often with an exasperated sigh, the answer would be, 'Memphis'.

Occasionally, I might ask a compound question like; 'Where are we going to go shopping and when will we go?' I bet you can figure out the answer to that one. 'Next Tuesday in Memphis.'

Those answers, along with 'because I said so' and 'because you need to be sweet' were the litany of my early childhood.

Okay-kidding aside, my Mother really did answer lots of questions thoughtfully and tried to help me better understand the world around me. But we all have these quips that flow from our lips without so much as a thought. That might be the reason my all time favorite commercial is the one where the husband is intently reading the sports section of the newspaper. His wife comes in and asks him if these pants make her bottom look big. Without looking up, he says with gusto, 'You Betcha!' I'm not sure what that commercial was selling, but I loved it! How often we answer without listening.

When I grew older, I asked my Mother why she always told me that things were going to happen 'next Tuesday' and that they were going to happen in 'Memphis'? She had to laugh. Seems that was the answer her Daddy Jim gave to similar questions. It might have made a bit more sense to her, as Daddy Jim and Big Mama lived close to Memphis. As a child in Iowa, the Memphis thing was really lost on me.

I'm sure I probably answered 'next Tuesday' to those 'why' questions when my children asked them and I know I enjoyed telling my children 'Memphis' when they asked 'where' questions over and over again. It just seemed to be the right thing to do.

My Rocket Man was born and raised in Macon, Georgia until his family moved to Memphis when he was 12 years old and lived there until he graduated from college. Imagine my delight when I ask him where he acquired something and his answer was, 'Memphis'! One more thing that made me know that Rocket Man was the man for me.

Speaking of the Rocket Man, we are waiting on an answer to a 'when' question. We have been for quite some time. We have been patiently waiting...okay HE has been patiently waiting...since mid April for an announcement to be made. The announcement date has changed from mid-April to early June to mid-June to first of July to mid-July and finally, I'm told that the announcement is to be made on ...can you guess? Tuesday!

All my life, my Mother was simply training me

to look to Memphis for answers

and to wait for Tuesday.

Leave it to Hallmark

Leave it to Hallmark to have me sobbing in the birthday card section of the store. Sobbing because I am a paper crafter and I make cards for all occasions…and I’m standing in Hallmark ON my husband’s birthday purchasing a card for him. Because I haven’t been able to create a special card just for him on his birthday. So I snuck across the street to Hallmark feeling like a jerk, a failure and a very bad person.

I'm standing in front of the "Birthday for Husband" section and I’m reading these beautiful sentiments and I began to think about how much I love him…how dear and precious he is to me…and now I’m sobbing because my heart is just so full of love and tenderness. He would look at me like I'm crazy if he had seen me. He’s not much of a ‘feeeeeeeelings’ kind of guy.

I’m also sobbing because I just don’t feel well and I’m tired all the time and something is severely out of whack. The fix is going to be a treatment that I don’t care for and don’t actually want to take. (I mean, really...who in their right mind wants to be infused with 1000 mg if steroids for 5 days straight?) But I know I'm going to have to. I’m finding myself having difficulties communicating verbally on a daily basis. Thats a problem for me (maybe NOT for Rocket Man, who fortunately has Auditory Processing Disorder and can blame that when he just isn't listening). I'm a talker. Really. I chat. A LOT! Lately, I am experiencing some difficulty in saying what I'm thinking. The words are in my thoughts, I just can't get them out. And, if I"m completely truthful, I’m frightened that someday I will be locked and lost inside my head and unable to get out.

So, here is the card I chose…for the man who will take care of me even if I become unable to say thank you. Who will, if he needs to, climb a mountain of Yellow Box Sandals to find just the right pink flip flops that he thinks I’d like (and he can’t even see pink) and who will go out of his comfort zone into the realms of a perfume counter (and possibly an encounter with his ex-wife) to find a scent he knows I will like. Who will ask for help from those who know me best and who will hold me through endless nights and comfort me. If it comes to that.

to the man I married

because you let me know you completely, because you are still a mystery to me

because you do not wish to change me, because you have changed me forever

because you see the good and true in me, because you forgive all else in me

because you are not who i expected to love, because you are just who i need to love

because you gave me beautiful yesterdays, because you promise me beautiful tomorrows….

Yeah. I was sobbing in the Hallmark Store. Almost bought a brand new Vera Bradley purse…just to make me feel a little better. Then I remembered. Its not my birthday.

Its not the capsule I'm worried about...It's the rocket!

First of all, you have to understand that I live and have lived in Rocket City, USA for over 20 years now. Huntsville, Alabama was the answer to the Trivial Pursuit question, “What city has more PhDs per capita than any other city in the USA?” Lots of engineers in town. Lots and lots of Rocket Scienctists.

To complicate matters, I’m married to an engineer who just happens to be a Rocket Scientist. He prefers the term ‘Rocket Engineer’. Okay. Whatever. I call him Rocket Man. It isn’t unheard of for me to be sitting in a restaurant booth with him, lost in my own thoughts (or playing on my iPhone) while he has assumed the position with his BlackBerry to his ear and is saying something like, “Well, find Ernie and ask him if the paint loses its integrity at x to the minus 10 or 13! Get back to me as quickly as possible, please.”

There was a time in my innocent life that I would have laughed and that sentence and thought, “Oh, Molli! You heard that on a movie.” I mean, who talks like that? Really? Well, my Rocket Man does…for one. And the people he works with. And about 100,000 other Engineers here in Rocket City. When we say, “Houston, we have a problem”…Houston listens!

I had the funniest dream last night. I’ve been awake for two and a half hours and I’m still giggling. It might not be funny to anyone else in the whole world, but it is cracking me up.

I dreamt that Rocket Man and I were in a high tech NASA building, waiting for a launch countdown. Okay. Been there, done that. While it is exciting, it isn’t hilarious. Only thing was, after that launch, he and I were going to be strapped into an Orion capsule and be launched into orbit. And then the first rocket, the experimental flight, took off and exploded into a billion pieces. Right before my eyes.

In my dream, I looked at Ed Massey and said, “I’m not going! You are NOT strapping my ______ in that Orion capsule and lighting off that rocket! I. AM. NOT. GOING!”

Now, you’d have to know that Rocket Man of mine, and his facial expressions and his way with words to truly appreciate this. He isn’t always the most patient man in the world, but when I get crazy, he gets very calm and extremely patient. So, in my dream, he gets that “Now, Mollianne” look and explains to me that he built the capsule. Its going to be fine. Just trust him. Yada, yada, yada.

Oh, did I mention that I HATE to fly. I hate the loss of control, the feeling of leaving the ground, of moving so quickly AND they make me turn of my iPod during take-of and landing AND I can’t have my knife in my possession while we fly? Okay, so you can imagine how I’d feel about a bazillion tons of highly explosive rocket fuel under my seat. I’m not comfortable about this at all.

I look at him with all frankness, trying to maintain some semblance of logic and reason and say to him, “It’s not the capsule I’m concerned about…it’s the rocket!”

Two of his cohorts were also in my dream. One, a NASA program manager and the other a sub-contractor who IS a rocket propulsion expert. They have assumed the Rocket Man-esque rational, logical stance. They assure me that they have built a fine capsule and I should just trust them. I’m sure if I hadn’t woken up, one of them would have explained to me that they had built a fine launch-abort system, just in case we needed it. But I shouldn’t worry. I wouldn’t need it.

Ha! You can’t fool ME! I know that none of those guys work for the company who actually has the contract to build the capsule.

So, in my dream, I did the last reasonable thing I could think of. I called my Daddy. He answered the phone and told me that he couldn’t talk. He and Mother were in Indianapolis (what?) and in traffic (they hate driving in city traffic) and had just missed their exit. Then he hung up. Hung! Up!

Looks like I’m stuck. Just as I woke up, I was looking at Rocket Man, giving him the look he gives me on occasion and saying, “Really. It’s not the capsule I’m worried about. IT’S THE ROCKET!”

I think I need a vacation!

This is the Ares IX during launch. Rocket Man and his co-horts built the Roll Control System on this baby and it worked. I guess they think they can strap me to anything they build and launch me now!