A new career...at my age?

Hello Menopausal Moms!
It’s been a while, but a lot has been going on.  I began a new job!  Yes, me at 51 years of old, decided to take a new career path.  I don’t think anything has ever been so scary, but I am not sure why?

Ok, well I know why a few things were scary.  As you have heard me declare before, I am severely claustrophobic.  And, when I accepted this position, I had no idea I would need to ride in elevators.  That is a big no-no for me.  No way do I get into any contraption that closes up like vampires in their coffins.    

But, after starting my new position, and no ability to turn back, I was told I had to attend a meeting on the 19^th floor of the tower next door at the end of the week.  What? OMG!  I began to cry inside.  Do I tell these people I don’t do elevators?  They don’t know me.  Will they think I am crazy?
 
Then that dreaded day arrived.  I reluctantly left my office and walked toward the tower.  As I got closer, the tower seemed to get bigger and scarier.  It was like the big marshmallow man in Ghostbusters! 

I kept looking up and thinking, “I can’t do this.”  And, the tower seemed to stare back at me in laughter!  And, on that particular day, I couldn’t do it.  I turned back and told my supervisor I just wasn’t able to go up 19 floors.  She said, “No worries…we are moving to a new building in a few weeks and you will never have to go into the tower at that point anyway.”  Hallelujah!!   

We are now in the new building, but we are housed on the 4^th floor!  UGH!  So, until I get into shape, I have to ride an elevator.  But, I can handle going up 3 floors (we enter on the 1^st floor.)  And, my hope is that it may break this fear.  We will see.  If not, stair climbing is in my future! 

Another thing that scared me about this big change was my health.  I had no more than accepted the position and resigned from my teaching position that I pinched a nerve in my neck.  Have you ever pinched a nerve before?  It’s horrible!!  I woke up one morning, sat up in bed and felt like somebody had taken a big vice-grip and pulled my head to my shoulder, and it was locked in pain.  I could barely move.  My husband took me to the emergency room and meds were prescribed.  I ended up having to miss two weeks of my three week notice at the college.  I felt terrible both mentally for missing work and physically because of the intense pain.  But, a big “thank you” to Judge Judy and other courtroom shows for all of the entertainment during this two-week period.  Watching someone else get ripped to shreds helped ease my pain.

 

This is week 6 of healing from this condition.  I have been in physical therapy for a month, and it is helping tremendously!  I have not been able to sleep in my bed since it happened, but the recliner works out ok. L  I still have pain, but much, much lower.  However, this situation too has caused issues at my new place of employment.  I have to come in 15 minutes early to leave 15 minutes early in order to get to my therapy appointments on time.  But, no one seems to mind.  I just feel as though I have not given the best of impressions to my new co-workers.  Hopefully, that will change with time.

At this point, I am finally happy I took on this new challenge.  It was a huge career move, and one that will benefit my family so much!  But, I have to say, for two weeks I kept asking myself, “What have I done?”  I was scared I had made the wrong decision.  I loved the college and my students…and my supervisor was A.MA.ZING!  I miss them all so much!  And, part of my heart will always be there.  But, it was the right decision, and knowing that, I can move forward.  This position was truly a God thing for many reasons!  God has a plan, even for this older menopausal mom, and I cannot wait to see what he has in store! DO NOT BE AFRAID TO TAKE CHANCES!  Age is only a number.

When I wondered what I had done by changing positions,
God showed me a rainbow on my way to work.

The view from my new office!

And, in case you are wondering, I now work for a company called NTT Data where I am a business analyst.  And, I get to work from home part-time. Pretty cool!

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder!
Kim York

I'm terrible at good byes

By Mary Meehan

I am terrible at good byes.

Well, not good bye, but the part that comes after.

Over the years, I've made a habit of leaving and not looking back. It's never that the people cease to mean something to me or that I don't take them with me or value what we've shared.

It's that I don't know how to disconnect then move back together.

The leaving is so hard for me I tend to just stare straight ahead not behind.

Move on.

Keep moving.

It seemed better that way.

I've got reasons.

I worry that people I miss won't miss me the same way.

And, way too often in the past, my life didn't turn out like I hoped. I failed to live up to the promise that I had.

I got laid off and laid off and laid off.

I got sick. I struggled. I failed.

 And the failures, many as they were, were not the dominate thing in my life but the thing I gave credence so I stayed away and silent because I was embarrassed and ashamed because so many of you seemed to not have those side roads and detours.

And it seemed better for me that, if someone remembered me at all, they remembered me as the person who didn't go through all those things.

Also memory is a tricky thing for me.

My memories are both spotty and horrifying. Neither is ideal and both lead away from embracing nostalgia. I don't always have faith in the way I remember things and I am just learning how to retain the best parts of the past without unleashing a beast I can't wrangle.

Those, to be honest, aren't bad reasons, really.

But this one is stupid and vain. I don't look like I used to. Who does really, except for a few of my friends who have worked hard to take care of themselves or had someone who took good care of them. Those people seem to have a time machine in their back yard and look nearly the same as when I meet them decades ago.

I thought this too would shock and disappoint people. And they would spend whatever imaginary time we had together thinking "man, she has let herself go.

And that reason makes less sense under examination even because when I was young and beautiful, I had no idea that was true. I couldn't see the face in the mirror that I see now looking back at photographs.

So I never embraced what I mourn.

But as I have retreated I have not practiced reaching back again.

Has too much time passed? What's the appropriate level of reconnection? Do the people I once loved so well want me to re-enter their life? What does that even look like?

Questions like that are the reason Facebook is eating the world.

But I've been doing this thing for a year or so now where I try new things. I am thinking differently. I am making better choices and I am trying no to miss out of things that are valuable and meaningful to me because I am afraid.

So, my friends, know that I am terrible at good-byes.

Truly awful.

But know too if you ever knew that you meant something to me, that is true still.

Know that I have wondered about you and been happy for you when I hear of good things and heartbroken for you when things have gone bad. Know that I will do better to reach out and back, to stay in touch, to hold you close in the real world as I have held you in my heart.

I can't promise to do it fully or well but I can promise to try  to be better at what comes after good-bye.

Four reasons the South is better than the Nawth

By Mary Meehan
The Accidental Sexter

I've enjoyed my time up Nawth but here are some ways that the South will always rule. Here are four.


Water and Waiters: At a restaurant in the South they bring you a big 'ole glass of water. It appears as if a welcome gift. In the north they first ask if you'd like sparkling or still. Then they bring you a tiny glass with the air that they are doing you a favor. Now, I understand that water is becoming a rarer resource but my tiny sipping glass is 1 percent of the water required to wash, rinse and repeat the beard of my server. (They all have beards)

Stars And Birds: At night in the South you can see stars. Lots of them. It makes me feel humble  and small yet connected to a much bigger something in the universe. And there is nothing I love more than hearing the symphony of birds every morning just outside my window. In the north there are stars, I'm sure, but you can't see them and there are birds but I assume they can't afford the rents in most cities as gentrification looms so have grudgingly relocated South.

Lines: People in the North are conditioned to stand in line. I think sometimes they line up by habit unaware of what they are waiting for. There are lines for everything. Coffee, groceries, crossing the street. Yes, there are lines in the South say, when snow is coming and everyone must buy milk and eggs and bread or when there is post-church Sunday rush at Cracker Barrel but at least there they provide rocking chairs.

"Those People": Only once have I heard someone in the South talk about poor or working class people as "Those People" and to be frank, she was a bitch who later scammed her family and friends out of tens of thousands of dollars. In the North I've heard "those people" so many times I've become militant about pointing out that "those people" are my people and also a majority of Americans.

50 Shades of Blake

You know it’s time to buy a new car when your car says, “I’m done!” 

It’s kind of like a woman going through menopause…our bodies just don’t want to run like they used to. The car will start having its own version of hot flashes, and begin leaking all over the place.  It will get tempermental sometimes and decide to shut down.  Its joints will ache and begin locking up.  Its skin will dry out and begin cracking… all because it is getting older.  The mileage typically tells the whole story!  Ain’t that the truth!

So, I took my worn-out car to a dealership to trade for a new one, and the manager says, “We are going to have to send this one to the auction…it is too old for us to do anything with, and the problems with this car are only going to get worse.  I just can’t offer you much in cash for the car.”  I sadly understood that, as it seemed to hit home!  I began to feel bad about trading it in. 

The car had a name; no one knew this except for me.  Her name was Pie (you know, like the horse from “National Velvet.”J)   I began to wonder who would appreciate the miles Pie had left?  She still ran great…and she was super dependable!  She just had some, “issues.” 









The car salesman knew I was unsure of trading in Pie for something new, but he was GOOD!  He took me to meet Pie’s younger brother, and told me all about his modern and technilogical features.  He was eye candy!  His color was silver and he was laced with black leather.  He had all kinds of buttons I wanted to push, and I was getting excited.  Then, he gave me the keys and said, “Let’s take it for a spin.”  I felt as if I were having an affair as I snuggled down into those plush leather seats… and drove it I did! 


I knew this car’s name immediately.  It was Blake (do I need to say why?)  Wouldn’t you like to see Blake in a silver t-shirt and black leather pants? (Even Adam would like to see that!)  Suddenly, I no longer wanted Pie…I wanted, Blake!  Pie was sweet, but Blake is hot! 
 

He was calling for me to pick him!

So, I drove off into the sunset with Blake last week.  I listened to him serenade sweet music to me on the way home, and I sank into his leather arms as if we were cuddling up to a fire.  His headlights were piercing and his seats were warm and toasty.  He made me feel special, loved and secure.  What more could a menopausal mom ask for?

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder.
Kim York

Why Every Digital Media Company Needs Me...Or Someone Like Me

By Mary Meehan
I'm the one who enjoyed Magic Mike

I am middle-aged white woman, from rural state but every digital media company needs me or someone like me.

Just a couple of housekeeping things. First, I can talk the language: The analytics on my Twitter show a trending 41 percent increase week over week due primarily actual engagement but there is the potential that spamming bots are pushing the diagnostics, but, no, I can't share actual raw numbers because that information is proprietary.

Second, I want to engage fully in the a digital age although to be honest, I'm still on the fence about Snap Chat, mostly because my friends don't Snap back. I'm also not sure SnapChat or stories via instant messaging bots with artificial intelligence are going to save journalism but, what the heck, I'm willing to give it a try.

And while I know the visual with the gray hair could be a troublesome let's just say I paid a salon to it since that is in fact now a thing. Here is an article from Buzzfeed, a place that if they had someone like me would have come up with something better than  #GrannyHairForever.

ONE:
I'm your audience. I know you long for someone sleeker and younger -- who wouldn't? -- but Facebook ate the world because people like me can figure out how to use it.Yes, that means there are too many pictures of dogs on couches but there is something to be said for having a member of your actual end game audience on your team because, as of today, you still have to reach that market to have a real stake in the mass media world.

TWO:
Everything new is familiar. SnapChat is a new technology but a familiar idea. We called it chunky bits. It was an alternative story form in vogue way back in the last century. It takes practice to get good at it. I am good at it. In fact, I'm very good at storytelling and, no matter how you package it, that's what we are trying to do

THREE:
Ethan Zuckerman, head of MITs Civic Media Lab, tells a story about how relieved MIT parents are that they kids finally find "their people". Brilliant people, he says, who are nearly all on the Autism  Spectrum who can also find the regular world often confounding. I am gregarious and funny and prone to random acts of hugging. Sure at first you might find me terrifying, but I am also empathetic, smart and a thoughtful listener overall a necessary barometer of how humans outside of  a tech or media bubble understand the world

FOUR:
Full tilt is fine but there's a line. So, Dear Vice, I'm sorry I told one of your fearless leaders that his video about riots in Brazil felt like he was trying to make war seem fun. I should have also said I was concerned because his infantile fantasy of war may actually be a reaction to the trauma of the actual death, blood and chaos that comes with real war. So as a member of your team, I'd remind you that the best journalist have an instinct to go hard all the time but a responsible employer helps them look out for own their best interest, (Wait, all media companies need to do that and often don't) Plus, you can make a video where war looks like fun but someone in the room should be asking if you should.


FIVE:
I get the fundamentals. The head of BBC recently talked about how in the tangle of platforms and efforts to blanket the digital world with a story about a red door , The whole frantic and impressive crew forgot to get a picture of the red door. It's ironic that some folks are now saying get it out and fix it later but we all know that once something gets out on the wide world of web you can't really take it back. So if the idea of taking a few minutes to double check something is old school journalism, I'm old school because in a digital age getting it right the first time matters more than ever.


***Why 5? Three is too few. Six just seems awkward. Ten seems like bragging.

Menopausal Moms has been read in over 50 countries. Shout out to a new reader from Alegeria.

Get those wrinkled hands off my steering wheel!

Driving to work last week, I had an “a-ha” moment, except mine was more like an “o-crap” moment.  As I was driving along, I glanced down at the steering wheel.  At that moment, I didn’t recognize the hands driving my car.  That could not possibly be MY hands!  They look like my grandmother’s!  Where did all of those wrinkles come from?  I know they weren’t there yesterday!!

I feel as though I got old overnight.  I was looking in the mirror as I put on my massive amounts of make-up this morning, and I saw wrinkles around my eyes and mouth I had never noticed before.  Seriously, how could this happen so suddenly?  I know I have to “tinkle” much more than I used to, and I get that my joints ache much more now-a-days, and I understand 50 is really not the new 30.  But, how do wrinkles just seem to form overnight? UGH!

Now, I find myself looking at “those” advertisements that used to completely annoy me.  Here are just a few:

1.   RoC^® RETINOL CORREXION^® Deep Wrinkle Serum

This anti-aging formula is clinically proven to help visibly reduce both fine lines and deep wrinkles.
 

2.   Olay Regenerist Micro-Sculpting Cream

Anti-aging moisturizer hydrates and renews to firm and lift, helping retain skin’s youthful surface contours
Reduces the look of up to 10 years of wrinkles in just 4 weeks
Formula with advanced Amino-Peptide Complex penetrates deep into skin surface to visibly reduce the appearance of wrinkles fast
Visible wrinkle results start day 1

3.   Neutrogena Rapid Wrinkle Repair

 

Clinically proven to reduce the look of fine lines and wrinkles in just one week.

Wrinklecreamguide.net offers their two-cents worth regarding the top wrinkle creams for us Menopausal Moms to purchase.  Prices can be as low as $25.99, but some sell for $179.99.  All that I can say is, “wow!”  And, that is not a good “wow.”

 

http://wrinklecreamguide.net/?utm_source=bing&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=WrinkleCreamGuide.net&utm_term=wrinkle%20creams&utm_content=WC

The advertisements for wrinkle reduction creams are actually flooding the market now…of course we know Baby Boomers are all part of this market, so it makes sense. We are a big group!  And, I am one of the last Baby Boomers…December 1964!  I was a late Boomer… J

But, this market is not just focused on females.  Nope, women are not alone in this race to reduce wrinkles.  There are many males out there in search of younger looking skin too!  According to an article by CNBC, titled, “Real men don't cry—but they are exfoliating,” men are part of a growing market of consumers in search of personal care products and “mampering.”  Yes, I’m serious.  This term refers to men who want to be pampered, and evidently this includes a lot of men!  I'm not judging....

This is a blurb from the December 2014 article:
http://www.cnbc.com/2014/12/05/

 “Since 2012, beauty and personal care launches specifically targeted at men have increased globally by more than 70 percent, according to Mintel. In 2014, total U.S. sales for the men's personal care market hit $4.1 billion, up 6.7 percent from 2012 and 19 percent from 2009, making it one of the fastest-growing segments of the beauty industry. Mintel predicts sales will grow to $4.6 billion by 2019.”

But, which products are best? 

I decided to go to a higher quality department store to ask for suggestions.  The suggestion was, by more than one sales person, or consultant of other brands, to use Clinique products, so I am giving them a try.  The 3-piece set is assembled based on your skin type.  My skin is very dry, so I have moisturizing soap, moisturizer and moisture surge make-up.  I even bought a product specific to tightening up the loose skin above my eyes.  I will keep you updated on my progress.  Oh, and my total purchase was about $150.00.  I didn’t think that was too expensive. 

I hope my husband doesn't read this.

But, do any of our readers have products they are using that they could recommend?  Do the products have to be expensive?  I had one person tell me just to use cocoanut oil.  Has anyone tried that?  Let’s try to help each other out.  Testing these products could get really expensive!  Just comment below and tell us what works, or does not work, for you. 

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder!
Kim York

Twitter: A lesson in liberation in 140 characters

This picture has nothing to do with the text but it's pretty

By Mary Meehan
I'm the one who is an accidental sexter

Don't feel bad for not understanding Twitter

It's like the Cloud and Donald Trump's choice of hair style -- truly unfathomable.

The Trump/Hair joke is cheap, I know, but I needed to get it in before anti-Trump comments are banned.

A semi-famous,  tech-savvy head of a pseudo-solvent, start-up said recently that no one really understands Twitter.

In fact, he admitted that other things we middle-aged, middle Americans will never use and have likely never heard of like SnapChat remain stubbornly without instruction. Why is that? "Digital natives", people who have been playing with our phones since they were 3, don't like instructions, they just like to figure it out. Apparently, this is because it makes them feel like the digital "in crowd" .

This is the same group that can't crack the code of doing their own laundry, getting their own apartments and who are also entranced with the pencil as an object 'd art that needs to be perfectly balanced and created by craftspeople in a gluten-free workshop in Portland ...Oregon, of course, not Maine.

I understand the sentiment. It is like being the first girl in 5th grade to discover One Direction on via the Internet and telling your Mom who became equally smitten, although you've moved but she stayed weirdly obsessed....oh those cheeky lads!!!

It seems like a really stupid business plan. Make your product impossible to use beyond early adapters who will soon move onto something else they can decipher before others which means you never really grab a suitably broad base in of any market share to to succeed,.

But that's not why we are here today.

By saying no one understands Twitter my semi-famous anonymous source was onto something. I've jumped on social media, Twitter in particular, not because I longed to express myself in 140 characters but because my job told me I had to.

So, for me, there was no joy in Tweeting. Most of us in media, which includes me but I don't like to talk about it, jumped on Twitter because it was the next Big Thing five years ago and we missed the next big thing of 15 years ago, the Internet, so we don't let any Big Thing pass without throwing ourselves at it like a Ted Cruz launching himself at an uncommitted delegate.
And, like that uncommitted delegate, I was not that into it.. I didn't have any real back and forth with followers, I followed all who followed me because I just wanted to see those numbers rise. (Shout out to GdatAustrailia! ) 140 characters, who can say anything in 140 characters?

So now I have, collectively, a whopping 250 followers here's the life lesson that seems like a good motto for the wider world.

I know you've been waiting. The back and forth is fun. The differing opinions are enlightening. The movement and pace of the exchanges are enticing and, the best part, if I don't like something I can bounce.

So here is Twitter motto that I'm also applying in my non-digital life.

I decide to who follow, I decide who to block, what's important and what's noise. I'm tethered to no one and they get no say if I go.

(That's 140 characters)

Polyester pants…yes, please!

I remember thinking as a teenager, I would never wear those bright-colored, polyester pants all of the “old” women wore with elastic bands around the waist. 

 

 

Oh no, I was going to be a fashionably cognizant older woman who would wear form-fitting, classy clothing, and carry designer handbags.    

 

Did I mention I wasn’t too bright as a teenager?

As I have become this “older” woman, I have come to understand why “those” women wear pants with elastic bands.  When I am about to go number one…unbuttoning and unzipping pants is no fun!  It’s a sprint to the bathroom from the start…and, once I know it is time to go…get out of my way Chico!  

So, now I have learned to love and embrace pants with elastic bands.  They make “going,” so much easier!  And, here is the best part about embracing elastic band pants in our day and age…Ponte Pants!  Yes, finally designers have figured it out.  No more bright-colored, nerdy, elastic band pants!  Now we have designer, professional, Ponte Pants!  All major, classy department and fashion shops sell them.  And, they cannot keep them in stock!

I own 2 pair in every color.  I have classic black, grey, brown, crème, and even red!  These pants are now part of my everyday life!  It is not a matter of what I am wearing; it is a matter of what blouse I wear with which color Ponte Pant?  

Although, I will say I have also fallen in love with a clothing brand called, Lularoe.  Lularoe offers comfort, but in figure-flattering designs!  No buttons or zippers to deal with on their clothing either…and their leggings are to die for!  These clothes were meant for sprints to the ladies room!  I was only introduced to Lularoe this year, but I can wear any of their blouses with any of my Ponte Pants.  That makes me a happy girl! 

 

Getting old changes everything in our lives…even our clothing. I guess it is a rite of passage.  It is a sucky rite of passage, but one all the same.  And, I have made that transition.  Yes, I am now an “older” woman who wears pants with elastic bands.

May your hot flashes be mild, and your wrinkles even milder!
Kim York

 

The Accidental Sexter: Consider the Eggplant

🍆🍆🍆🍑🍌🍌🍑🍆🍆🍆

By Mary Meehan

Menopausal Mom of Kentucky

Apparently in emoji world a nice, firm eggplant means penis.

Not just any kind of penis but a particularly robust and lenghty penis at that.

I did not know this when I sent my fellow fellows at Harvard a string of emojis to celebrate the fact that I now have a phone which actully sends emojis. Previously I was literally writing out "happy face, happy face, winky face, cat."

Among first festive random selection was 📯🎂🎃🍀 and 🍆.

Yes, I sent a phallic message to an elite group of journalists from around the globe and their spouses.

It was brought to my attention by someone who went onto explain that many seemingly harmless emojis represent the kinds of behavior one generally does not discuss in mixed company, especially if you're from the South. 

Now, as the fellow from the place most famous for fried chicken and hillbillies, the expectations of my cultural awareness among the fellows runs pretty low. 

But I'm pretty sure the penis emoji was a surprise.

To be honest, emojis are a bit of mystery to me.

I didn't really become a texter until 2010. Until then I used my ☎️ mostly a ☎️. 

I started texting, slowy and badly, because the mothers of my daughter's friends are all a decade younger and texting was their preferred method of communication.

I still am not good at texting. I pick out letters with one finger. I envy those who text super fast with their 👍🏻👍🏻. I still don't completely understand why people go back and forth for five minutes to pick a restaurant via text when a conversation would take 10 seconds. But I digress.......

Learning that 🍆 means penis and has made me wary of many other emjois. 🍌👅💄👀 are just a few.

I now have 1,000 emojis on my phone and I've heard even 💦 have a special meaning. Is the world such a sexually suggestive place that a 🍑 is not a 🍑? Or a 🌽 is not an 🌽?

And I am not the only one who ponders what a sent emoji really means. On girl-centered movies and television shows young women whine endlessly about what a specific emoji from a boy really means. 

But even aside setting the idea that words and an extremely effective and precise way of communicating, what the hell are the 1,000 emojis on my phone for?

Who needs💉?

How often does someone text about a 🚽?

Does🗿 come up often in your conversations?

And, honestly, is this 🎅🏿 suppose to be Santa? It looks a lot more like an otter in a Santa cap.

But, in addition to learning not to post 🍆 I've put my glasses on and discovered that 👳🏻which I thought was a woman with short, white hair is really someone in a turbin. Not that there is anything
wrong with that.

But the bigger question is this: As We are getting more and more advanced with technology why are we reverting to the equvilent of modern cave paintings to communicate? And who, exactly decided tht a 📯 means a female orgasm

Menopausal Moms: Read in 50 countries. Shout out to China!

Menopause is Universal!

We all have miracles happen in our lives...if we choose to acknowledge them.

The pains started about noon on Thursday, March 2^nd, 1984, and they were coming about 12 minutes apart.  We went to the hospital and they said I was not in labor.  Seriously?  I am 2 days overdue and the pains are horrible!  If this is not labor, what would that pain feel like?

Later that night, the pains were getting worse and closer together.  So, we decided to go back to the hospital.  This time they kept me.  This is where my journey as a mother and my son’s life journey began.

Bradley with his maternal grandmother and maternal great-grandfather

Robert Bradley Hall would not be born until Monday, March 5^th, 1984.  It was a LONG weekend.  I ended up delivering him by Caesarean Section and was put to sleep for the procedure.  So, when I woke up in my room, the first thing I wanted to see was my baby boy.  Instead, a pediatric physician entered my room, and in front of many family members, he said, “Your son was born with a birth defect.  His esophagus grew up from his stomach, but is not connected to the esophagus growing down from his throat.  He will need surgery immediately to connect his esophagus together.  We can’t do the surgery here, so he will be taken by ambulance to Saint Joseph Hospital in Lexington, KY.”

I just looked at the doctor in shock.  I had no words.  And, if you know me…you know that is a rare thing. I was exhausted, and this news just completely broke me down emotionally.  Finally, words came out. “Will my baby be ok?”  The doctor said as far as he could see, Robert was healthy in every other way, so he should be fine.  I then said, “We are calling him Bradley…he will be called by his middle name.”  The doctor smiled and said if I had any other questions, he would be down the hall.

It wasn’t long until I saw the ambulance leaving the parking lot of the hospital from the window near my bed.  I was not able to go with him because of my surgery.  It would be six days later that I would see my son for the first time.

My insurance forced me to stay in a maternity ward with 3 other women.  So, while my baby was off enduring a life-saving surgery, I would be watching 3 new mothers feed and cuddle their babies.  It was almost unbearable.  The other mothers were so sympathetic to my situation.  They would bring their babies over for me to hold, and as caring as that was, I think it made things harder.  I wanted to hold MY baby.

Later that evening, a Saint Joseph nurse called to say he was out of surgery and it was a success!  She also added he had pooped all over her…and that was a good thing!  It meant he had no intestinal blockages, which is a rare thing for babies born with this birth defect. 

I was so relieved, and slept the best that night than I had slept in days.  It would be the next day before I would hear what Bradley had actually gone through.

Yes, Bradley’s surgery was a success, but not until God stepped in.  When Bradley first came out of surgery, dye had to be run down his esophagus to make sure there were no pinhole leaks where the esophagus was joined together.  As the dye entered this area, it gushed into his lungs and he was rushed back into surgery.  At the same time, many of our family churches were in prayer for my son. Let me tell you, God listens!  As they got Bradley back into surgery to correct the leaks, no leaks could be found.  The dye was run down his esophagus again, and not even a pinhole leak existed. 

The surgeon, Dr. Belin, could not explain it.  He said, “Something happened between this floor and the surgery room.”  The only thing that could have happened was that my son was healed by an even greater physician.  Bradley was healed through the miracle of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

I knew when I heard this news the Lord had a plan for our son. 

Bradley with his maternal grandmother and grandfather

Bradley eating his first birthday cake

Bradley playing Hide and Go Seek

Bradley would endure problems from another birth defect found as he was an adult.  This defect caused his spine to continue growing up into his brain stem.  However, after years of MRIs and visits to the University of Kentucky Hospital, his neurologist believes the spine finally quit growing and the condition should not get worse than where it is currently.  He does suffer with some back and neck pain from this condition, but he should be able to live a normal life. 

However, we do believe this condition had something to do with the development of a stutter at the age of 18.  This stutter has been a difficult thing for Bradley to deal with.  Speaking on the phone, or ordering food through a drive-thru restaurant can be challenging for him, but his faith is strong!  He leads his family with Christian values and is truly an example of how I want to live my life.

Me and Brad

Brad and his beautiful bride, Carmen

Brad and his siblings...and his niece, Sophie

  

Bradley may not have the ability to minister from a podium, but he has a strong ministry.  Bradley is an amazing writer, and each week, he writes a Christian column about how he handles everyday life through analogies of the world today and stories from the Bible.  These columns have made an impact in my life, and I hear quite often how they have touched the lives of others.  And, thanks to social media, we can share these columns all over the world.   

Brad (left) holding some of his Kentucky Press Association Awards

My handsome son



Did I mention Brad was awesome at Photoshop?

Yes, bad things happen.  My son was born with birth defects.  But, my son shines in the eyes of the Lord regardless.  He was/is perfect!

God had a plan for my son, and I believe this plan is far from over. 

If you would like to read one of Brad’s columns, try using the link below:
 http://www.thetimestribune.com/opinion/hall-things-considered-the-day-saturday-morning-cartoons-died/article_9e2e389e-1556-11e5-a8fa-373adda33e79.html

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder.
Kim York

Sissy that is not how you bait shrimp on a hook

 

“Sissy that is not how you bait shrimp on a hook.”  This is how the conversation started.

Early this month, my husband, Tim, and I went on a beach vacation to the Outer Banks in North Carolina.  And, my favorite thing to do at the beach is to fish off the pier.   So, the first morning we were there, I got up early, grabbed my tackle box and said, “Let’s go fishing!”  I was so excited!

                                            

After about an hour of fishing, an older man sitting on the bench next to me saw I was not catching anything.  So, he decided to step in and help.  The first thing he said was that I was not baiting my shrimp on the hook correctly.  He said I needed to shell the shrimp, cut it in half, and then put the hook through the top end of the shrimp, push it back on the hook, twist it, and then thread the bottom of the shrimp on the hook.  Evidently, that was only one of many things I was doing wrong. 

So, now I knew how to bait my hook.  I then proceeded to cast my line out into the ocean.  The man simply hung his head and shook it as if he were completely appalled at what I had just done.  I reluctantly said, “Did I do that wrong?”  He lifted his head…looked directly out to the ocean and kept shaking his head side to side.  I said, “I guess I did?”  He turned his head toward me and said, “Sissy, how long have you been fishing?”  I said, “All my life.”  He asked if I ever caught much.  My thought in the moment was that I didn’t like this guy much.  He looked like a vagrant, smelled like fish, and was really annoying.   I looked over to my husband, hoping he would save me from this man, but he was reading his book and paying absolutely no attention to what was going on. Uh huh. So, I looked at the man and said, “No, I really never catch many fish.”  Then I felt like hanging my head.  I just know Tim was listening and laughing under his breath. 

  

“Well Sissy, let me show you how to cast out your line.”  No one had called me Sissy, except one good friend…and my dad before he died.  I wasn’t sure if he meant it sarcastically or if he was trying to be endearing?  Either way I didn’t like it.  So, I said, “My name is Kim.”  He said, “Ok, my name is Jim.”  So, there we all were…Kim, Tim and now Jim.  I said, “It’s nice to meet you.”

 I lied. 

Jim then proceeded to show me how to cast out my line underhanded from the pier.  This made me really nervous.  I felt like I was going to throw my pole in the water.  But, after about 15 tries and a lot of head shaking by Jim, I had figured it out…and I was quite proud.  You would have thought I had won an Oscar!  I was standing tall and proud on the pier! 

But, as if someone stole the Oscar right out of my hands, I wasn’t feeling quite as proud when Jim said, “Ok, you got the line in the water…what do you do now?”  I said, “Wait?”  He rolled his eyes.  I guess that was not the right answer.  He proceeded to say, “Fishing is a sport.  If you wait, you will not catch fish.  You should always be playing the sport.”  I told Jim that evidently I did not know how to play.  He said, “Lift your pole up until you feel the weight of your leader.”  So, I did this…and almost immediately I could feel the fish nibbling at the bait.  I jerked the pole up and caught the fish.  It was only about an 8 inch mullet, but it was a fish all the same.  I was so excited …again!

But, as I expected, Jim took away my joy.  He said, “When you pull back on the pole to catch a fish, you can’t let it drop back down.  You will lose the fish.”  

That should be easy enough...or so I thought. 

So, I baited my shrimp, casted out my line, held it up to feel the weight, felt the fish bite and jerked back on the pole…only to drop it back down.  I knew I had failed the test immediately.  So, I looked over at Jim and said, “I need practice.”  He said, “Yeah.” 

But, at this point, I started catching fish…it was awesome!   I was even catching some really interesting stuff like eels and crabs.

 

And, Jim seemed genuinely excited for me…he actually smiled!  We started talking and he told me his wife had died several years earlier, and he was alone most of the time.  He said he fished as often as he could to keep his mind occupied.  He loved the guys who fished at the pier, and he loved to eat fish…so it was a win, win for Jim.   

Everyone at the pier seemed to love Jim too.  No one could pass him by without saying hello or asking him how many fish he had caught that day.  It was in that moment I realized how much Jim reminded me of my dad.  Everyone loved my dad, and he too would drop his head when he was trying to teach me something...and I just couldn’t get it.  He would often follow the head shaking with the words, “Oh boy!”   I never heard Jim say, “Oh boy,” but I know with my heart of hearts he was thinking it. 

I teared up and kept on fishing.  This was something Dad and I loved to do together.  And for one evening, on a pier in North Carolina, I had him back. 

                                    I caught over 30 fish that week.

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder!
Kim York