R.E.S.P.E.C.T Find Out What it Means to Me

Those of you who know me well know that I have problems. Problems with authority, problems with having to be right, and problems with speaking my mind.

I grew up as a feminist in what I thought was a patriarchal society. And yet, my parents taught me to state my opinions, back them up, and know that I was loved even if they didn't agree.

My husband is born and bred Utahn. I didn't really have a problem with it because he wasn't a Jazz fan. I wanted the court house wedding and he wanted the whole sha bang. We balanced each other pretty well.

However, he grew up in an extreme rightist patriarchal society. One in which for the first year we were married his father never called on a female to bless the meal. Or on pie nights, the women would make the pies, eat after all the men had ate, and then cleaned up everything. How my husband turned out the way he did, is still a mystery to me.

Life was manageable, until we started going to his grandparents' every week which was the family norm. Every one would sit around the room and discuss whatever they thought, but since they all thought the same way it was almost crazy. I remember once that Facebook came up as a point of discussion and how girls were doing this thing called "Facebook stalking" and wasting precious hours on the internet that they could have spent indexing. I sat quiet not wanting to rock the boat since I have a tendency for the dramatics and pushing people's buttons.

It wasn't until politics came up that things got ugly. Word spread like wildfire that I was a "democrat" and the barbs started flying. "How could any good standing member of the church be a democrat?" his uncles would yell as they stared into my face. I was quickly outcasted and would often shake with fury. I let Nate have it in the car on the way home. See I have a thing about making people feel stupid when I know that they can actually comprehend what I am saying, but when ignorance is so engrained that you know it would be like talking to a brick wall, I won't waste my time.

Another uncle starting leaving the room every time we would come over and then would come back in and ask everyone a question, person to person, and then skip over Nate and I, and then leave the room. Or ask everyone who's bag he was holding, get to point where he would ask me, look me up and down, and then turn around and walk away.

Honestly, I've never been shown so much disrespect in my life. AND it was from people who were building a bunker for the end of the world, home schooled their kids, and ate gluten free despite the fact NO ONE IN THE FAMILY is a celiac.

Anyways, almost a year into our marriage my husband decided that he no longer believes in the church or God for that matter. We decided to tell his parents because he's nephew's baby blessing was coming up. Guess who got the heat for it? The democrat feminist wife. Yes I completely ruined their perfect little boy. Me, the one who still drags him to church, but do they know that? Nope.

His family doesn't know how to associate with people who aren't members. We went about 3 months where I was the only one who would ask questions and it would be answered by the fewest words they could possibly think of. So I decided I had had enough. I made Nate in charge of conversation. We started going on hikes and doing extracurricular things so people would have more to talk to us about besides our church standings. But yet, no one asks us anything. No one knows about my job changes, Nate's school, what we like to do for fun, why my toenail is purple, etc. They don't ask, even when we bait them with "We hiked Timpanogos yesterday" "Oh?!" Then they change the subject to something about church. Wait, let me be honest, his dad does ask me one question about once every other month "How's the new job? Still better than the State Hospital?!" Seriously. That's it. His dad won't even look at us when we are at the dinner table. He leaves the room as soon as dinner is done and then comes back in when he knows we are leaving.

My family talks things out. On her last trip here I sat my little sister down and asked her straight up why she doesn't like me. She didn't have any answer, but she didn't care to make things better. So there it is, it's out in the open and I can move on with my life. Maybe this isn't the healthiest way of dealing with things, but it's how I like to deal with things. But this new situation, lifestyle, I don't even know what to call it, whatever it is that I'm in, NO ONE will talk about it. So I'm blogging it, in hopes that I can some how get it out of my system.

Mount Timpanogos

Something I've never had a desire to do I actually did. I climbed Mt. Timpanogos. Grace, Nate, and I started this adventure at 1:00 pm on a Saturday and didn't finish until 11:00 pm that night. We made it to the top with relatively no problems.

What no one will ever tell you, is that up isn't the problem. It's down. My right big toe took a good beating on a couple of rocks. It felt a bit weird, like the toenail was ingrown, but I persevered. It wasn't painful, just a weird pressure. I mentioned it to the group, but decided not to be a baby and only to worry about it if blood started seeping through my shoe.

My knees were KILLING me! I clenched to my hiking pole like a grandma clenches to her cane. I was hunched over and shaking every time I had to climb down rocks. You know it's bad when you are glad the trail is going uphill inside of down. It was hurting so bad and I was going so slow that Nate refused to let me be the caboose. I started crying and tried hiding my tears, and saying "I'm fine, nothing's wrong" when Nate caught on to my sniffles. But he took my pack and watched as my knee muscles literally and visibly shook with every step.

We were in a constant race with a group of extremely annoying boy scouts. It was dark, I was tired, and in pain and we followed them onto what actually wasn't the trail (Grace had said "I don't think that is the trail" but I was so incoherent I fired back "I don't care!"). 10 minutes through the bush later we had to turn around and hike back. I started yelling "I can't do it" "I'm going to kill someone" and Nate quietly and collectively pushed me back up the hill.

We finally made it and we literally slept the rest of the weekend. When I got home, my toe was a bit swollen like the rest of my body, but nothing too bad.

Well one week later I still can't walk down stairs normally. And my toe looks like this:

I'm told by numerous people that I'm probably going to lose the nail. At least I wasn't being a baby for no reason right?

On the bright side, at least I have a legitimate reason to not run/exercise.

Timpanogos Cave

My dad, mom, and younger sisters came in town to drop my youngest sister off at college. They were here for a week and our final hurrah we went to Timpanogos Caves.

Let's just say once again Nate told me it was an 'easy' hike. It wasn't. I was worried my mom wasn't going to make it.

Besides being overcast, everyone overfull from Cafe Rio before the hike, and a squirrel nearly jumping on Nate's head we made it there safely.

The caves were really cool. Not just in temperature (because I actually thought they were very cold) but something I think anyone who is not morbidly obese should do some time.

If you go in the caves now and smell something awful, it won't be the sulfur. It will have been from someone in my family. Just something to always remember us by.

I'm not hunched because I don't want to touch the walls, I'm freezing.

The heart of Timpanogos.

Grace photo-bombing.

Lake Blanche

So when I'm not sick I try to be proactive. I try to exercise. I've found a new form of exercise that is just up my alley. Hiking. You can go slow and no one judges you. But I met my match yesterday.

Lake Blanch. I was told it was a 2.5 mile hike comparable to the hike we did two weeks ago (up Timpanooke until the first rim). Well, it was 3.7 miles (each way) all up hill and climbing over rocks. 1000x worse than Lake Annette when I was 16 years old. And I didn't even have a back pack on.

In all honesty there were about 5 times I stopped because I thought I had started wheezing. I thought I was having athletic induced asthma. 4 of those times Nate didn't notice that I stopped and I was too winded to call out his name. 2 of those times I honestly thought I was dying, and apparently I looked like it too because Nate kept saying "We should turn back, we should turn back". Those 5 times were before we were even half way done.

An hour and a half up the mountain a couple coming down told us there was about a half hour left until the lake. A half hour later another couple told us we were "almost there!". Well, they lied. Because almost to me is within 1000 feet. It was another 25 minutes of rugged rocks until we got there.

Most couples enjoy nature and talk about amazing things while they hiked. Most of our hike I was livid at Nate because he wouldn't talk about why he raised his voice at me in the car, and then I was hiking up a freaking mountain for no real reason other than Nate wanted to and it just fueled the flames. Meaning, most of the hike we were both silent and I gave one word answers to his attempts to make conversation.

When we finally reached the lake, I was almost attacked by a pot gut. Nate kept throwing it food, despite my nagging him not to have wildlife dependent on us. It jumped a gully and ran straight for me. If it wasn't for my cat like reflexes, my large body, and my child like scream, I don't think I would have made it out alive.

On the way down there was a 7 year old hiking up by himself. He was trying to catch up with the group that was about 20 minutes a head of him. He told us his parents were "just behind", but 20 minutes after seeing him, there were no parents in sight. I almost turned around and hiked with him to the group he was looking for (as they had not idea that he was trying to catch up to them and that he was by himself). Nate told me "He'll be fine" and another 10 minutes passed and his parents were on the trail. They didn't even ask us about him. I told Nate that it was a classic DCFS case of neglect. I can't even get away from work on a mountain!

We made it down as the sun was setting (we were stuck in traffic on the way up there and were about 45 minutes behind what Nate planned) and went to Carl's Jr for dinner (at 9 pm). By that time even the Pop Tart Ice Cream Sandwiches looked good. Today I have a charlie horse in my left leg, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to sleep through my alarm tomorrow. 

U.T.Me?

So last night we calculated. I've had 14 raging (and clinically diagnosed) UTI's in the last year and a month. So what's the problem? They still don't know.

Yesterday I got up to go to my besties house to help her clean/move. I decided to use the restroom before going and then had the extreme urge to void again. I told myself it's all in my mind, so I drove over to her house, whilst counting down the minutes (literally) until I could use the toilet again. When she opened the door I said "I think I have a UTI, can I use your bathroom?". Sure enough I was voiding blood at this point and a phone call to my doctor (after being on hold with them for 7 minutes all while being curled up in the fetal position at her dinner table) I was on my way to the doctors.

When I'm in situations like this I use 10 minute increments to survive. I tell myself "In ten minutes I'll stop at the next restroom" and when 10 minutes pass I tell myself "In ten minutes I'll stop at the next restroom". All the while I'm praying like crazy to help me get there without peeing my pants or getting a ticket.

When I got to the office, I had to wait for about 10 minutes. I practiced my la maz breathing. I'm sure the people in the waiting room were concerned as to why I was bent over and breathing funny, but I could have cared less what other people thought of me.

The nurse called me back and apologized for the wait. I told her "No, I'm sure you've been waiting all day for this." And then she cathed me. The catheter she used was about 3 times larger than the one I had at Instacare 3 weeks ago. It was larger than a straw and hurt going in and especially coming out.

She came back in and told me it was "most likely" an UTI since there was "tons of blood and some white cells". They always say "most likely", love the political correctness. I was hunched completely over and holding myself and asked "Can I use the restroom before I leave?" She responded by laughing and stating "I emptied you!" She then tilted her head to the side and said "I want to take your temperature before you leave". Which she did and it was "normal" and then I used the restroom.

She sent me downstairs to the pharmacy, where I was told there was a 20-25 minute wait. I went in and out of the bathroom 3 times during the wait. At one point the pharmacy tech asked me if I was Amy. I responded "No, but if there are narcotics, I can be Amy". That was one of the few times everyone laughed at my jokes.

When they called me up for my prescription, the first thing the pharmacist told me was to avoid the sun since the medication would make me extremely sensitive. I said "You mean other than being really white?" I should have better screened myself because he was a balding redhead who didn't think it was funny. He then told me to stop taking my vitamins because the medication would stop my body from processing them. I asked if ice cream was still ok (because it has calcium in it). He said ice cream was fine. I breathed a sigh of relief and he raised his eyebrows. I told him the last medication I was on I had to wait 2+ hours to eat ice cream and it wasn't good. He then repeatedly instructed me to only take the antibiotic on a full stomach. I wanted to take it as soon as possible, so I grabbed the $0.20 Charleston Chew next to me and asked "How many of these are considered a full stomach?". He said "You're going to have to do better." I replied "Is a Snickers better?" and he said "That's getting there". I bought a overpriced Snickers without a coupon (I've forgot to mention I'm completely addicted to couponing). On my way out he said "See you later" to which I responded "Hopefully not anytime soon" and he finally laughed.

I made a pit stop in the restroom where I ate my snickers and took my medicine and prepared mentally for the 10 minute cycle. I tried calling my mom but she didn't answer. 

I drove back to Katie's house and when she opened the door I said "I'm going to use your restroom and then I'm going to clean your house."

Same Love

I Hate Pie

I hate pie. I always have. Yes, I may eat it because you made it and you swear it doesn't taste like cheesecake. It always does.

So, when you are saying sorry for crashing my car, that you didn't have permission to drive, NEVER buy me a pie and think that counts as a sorry. Because it doesn't. It pisses me off more because I hate pie and it just shows that you don't care about my car or about what I actually like.

Why the anger? Let me go back to give you a full picture.

We went to Seattle for Christmas. We needed a ride to the airport. Nate's family lives in Orem, and since all my friends were out of town, we had someone in his family drive us (in our car) to the airport. It's a weird custom his family has, this drive someone else's car thing, but that's not even the issue.

Before we went to the airport, I had a bad feeling about the car. I told Nate about the bad feeling and how I wasn't comfortable with his family driving our car while we were gone. He doesn't believe in bad feelings. He reassured me multiple times that no one would drive the car. But after my persistance, he told me that we would take my car so that his family would know not to drive it. I said "Fine, but only your mom can drive it". The deal was set and 5 minutes before his mom was supposed to take us she said "I've been dizzy all day, so [Nate's sister] is going to take you". I gripped Nate's hand tightly and he said "What can we do?" and I said "Nothing". She drove us to the airport and I prayed and prayed she would make it home safely. She did.

Through out the next couple of days, I continued to have bad feelings. I nagged and nagged Nate to call and make sure no one was driving the car. He ignored it. On Christmas, when he called home, I made him ask if anyone was driving the car. His mom said "Nope, it's sitting outside, waiting for you to get back". I got the "I told you so look" and I finally trusted my husband.

The next day I had a very serious voicemail from my father-in-law asking me to call him back. I did, and was informed that my sister-in-law, had taken my car to go sledding because her car was in the shop. My father-in-law had recommended she take my car because she "was a good driver" (he repeated that about 6 times throughout the phone call). She had got in a fender bender, freaked out and called him. Minimal damage. Then when driving away from the fender bender, slid through a stop sign and wrecked my car, causing $1000 less than the total value of the car. She is willing to pay our deductible, Nate's dad said.

I flipped.

To add more salt to the wound. The day after we took my car to the shop, Nate's car wouldn't start. So we had to drive his parent's car until it was done. Well, because we couldn't wait a week for the part, they had to buy another one for double the price, all so that we could have a car. The total cost of his car was the exact amount of the budget we had set to go to Vegas for my birthday. "Small inconveniences".

The anger? It's not about a car. It's about trust. Trust in Nate's family and ultimately trust in Nate. I'm not a trusting person to begin with, and this just reaffirmed the fact I hate and don't trust people. I like to talk through things. I like to beat dead horses. But Nate's family doesn't. This has been swept under the rug, like it never happened. And, while everyone else is moving on with their lives, I come home from work and crawl into bed. I sleep the days I have off, and I have extremely high blood pressure.

I'm going crazy.

Then tonight, when Nate told me his sister wanted to talk about it, she came over gave me a pie, said "I'm sorry" and "I hope this makes everything ok?" and "I'm really late" (she was on her way to work), and left. I was prepared to talk about it and get it off my chest. Sweep, sweep, sweep.