Life's Moral Dilemmas and Lemon Jawbreakers

This Monday, I gave each of my fourth grade science groups a brown paper bag, taped up with masking tape.  "You are scientists," I told them.  "One of your most important jobs is to observe--to gather as much data as possible, in order to try to figure things out.  I want you to observe everything you can about what is inside this brown bag.  The only rule is that you cannot look inside."

I turned them loose to touch, pry, smell, and explore.  Some students got caught up in the brown paper bag and started observing that, rather than what was inside the bag.  "It's crunchy, it makes a sound when I twist it..." one girl said.

"But that's the bag," I reminded her.  "We are trying to observe what's inside the bag."

"Ohhhh...." she said.  I could see the question in her eyes.  "But we can't see what's inside the bag."

However, within a few seconds of handing out the bags, one student decided to smell the bag--which was emitting a strong, lemony-citrus scent--and exclaimed, "It's a lemon!"
"I'm not asking what it is," I reminded him.  "I am asking you to observe.  That is what you smell.  But what does it feel like?  What shape is it?  Keep looking."

It was not long before all the groups were sniffing their bags, assenting that it certainly emitted a lemony smell--and if not lemon, it was at least something citrusy..."like a cutie."

I watched as they felt the bag.  Whatever was inside was firm.  It was roundish in shape.  It wasn't very big.

"What does it sound like?"  I asked them.

"Nothing," they replied.  "We squeezed it and it doesn't sound like anything."

"Drop it on your desk," I prodded.  They looked at me like I'd gone mad.  Finally, one girl at the far table confidently raised it high above her head and dropped it on the desk.  I could see a room full of expectant faces with their eyes glued on her, awaiting the lemon's dull "thump."

"Thud."  It landed loudly, startling most of the kids.

"What did that sound like?"  I asked.

"A rock!"  one boy replied, utterly bewildered.

"Hmm...." I said.  "Interesting."

I wandered around, listening to them revise their guesses from a "lemon" to an "un-ripe lemon."  I urged them to seek additional information.  "Move the bag around so you can see the shape," I urged.

"It's round!" came the reply.  More hurried whispers.  I heard bits of  "....jawbreaker..."  "They make big lemon heads..." and "It still could be a not-ripe lemon."

"Will you tell us what it is?" a concerned students asked.

"At the end I will let you look for yourself and find out what it is," I assured them.

"I hate this part, though," one sweet little blonde girl said.  "I just want to rip the bag open and find out. I hate this trying to figure it out."

"Keep observing...you'll get to see it in the end."

After a sufficient amount of observing our brown bags, we sat down to discuss our findings.  One particularly bright future scientist said, "Well, I smelled it and I decided that it smelled like a lemon.  I knew that if it really was a lemon, it would squish when I stepped on it, so I put it on the floor and stepped on it." (Bless our janitor, who would be rolling if he knew.)  "When I stepped on it, it didn't squish.  It hurt my foot.  So I knew I couldn't be a lemon."

Several students nodded, seriously.  Clearly, a lemon would not hurt your foot and stay firm under so much weight.

Others refused to be convinced.  "Even a lemon that isn't ripe can be hard," they insisted.

When it came time for the student to weigh in on what they thought was inside, the most common answer was either a lemon jawbreaker or a giant Lemonhead, with a few still insisting it was nothing more than a lemon that hadn't ripened yet.

At last, the moment arrived when the groups could finally open their bags.  Imagine six students all clamoring for a piece of brown bag, trying to rip it apart as quickly as possible and finally discover "The Truth."

I cannot even describe the shock that filled out room as--out of five lemony brown paper bags--five golf balls emerged.  Five ordinary, white golf balls that had been placed inside that morning (along with a Kleenex dipped in lemon extract).

And that's when we learned a few important lessons:
1)  Sometimes, we observe something and make a decision without looking for additional information.  When we do that, we aren't always correct in our decision. 
2) Sometimes, we listen to what others say without testing it out for ourselves.  Also not a good plan. 
3) Sometimes we have conflicting information, and we're not sure how it fits together ("It smells like a lemon, but it's hard like a rock.").  We may have to gather more information or wait until more is revealed. 

I asked the students if "The Truth" changes.  Does science change?

It was a tricky question.

The bottom line was the golf balls were golf balls that morning when I put them in the bag.  They stayed a golf balls all day long on my counter.  They didn't turn into lemons or jaw breakers or anything else during the students' observations.  They were still golf balls. 

The only thing that changed was the student's information.  They started with one sense (smell) and concluded their unidentified object was a lemon.  They added touch and sound ("hard like a rock") and decided it was a jaw breaker.  They were finally able to see with their eyes and then determine definitively that it was a golf ball.  While they constantly questioned and experimented and wondered, their conclusions shifted.  Nevertheless, what was in the bag stayed absolutely the same.

Indeed.  The world has always been round, no matter who mapped it otherwise.  Columbus daringly did not fall off its face as he moved into uncharted territory.  Atoms and molecules have always existed, even before microscopes could show us it was so.  And while our views are constantly shifting with additional information and technology, the truth will always remain.

Let's also remember that there was someone in control of this lesson, someone who had planned it out, someone who was watching and overseeing it, someone who knew perfectly well exactly what was in each bag.  And as difficult as it was for the students to wait to have an absolute knowledge and answer of what they so desperately were trying to figure out, they were reassured that in time, they would know without a doubt what it was.

I have pondered long and hard about many of the issues facing today's world.  I frequently read many views on both sides of the fence of feminism, gay marriage, women's ordination, abortion, God's role in the nation, and other social and moral topics.  I have considered arguments and counter arguments.  Without a doubt, I have formed opinions of my own on each of these topics.  And in the process of all of this "checking out the brown bag" to find the real Truth, I have also discovered some important things.

1.  We have to accept that we simply do not know everything (Bummer, I know).  As much as we want to rip the bag open and "just know," there are still so many things we can't see.  We are limited to the best we can do right now.  We are sometimes confused by conflicting ideas, messages, and opinions, and aren't sure how they fit together. We desperately want to make sense of the world, so sometimes we just make up our own explanations that seem to make sense to us, and then share them with others--and often they are simply wrong. 

2.  Because there are so many things we have yet to see, it is not our job to hate others, reject others, or even convince others to come to the same conclusions that we have. 
It is, however, our incredible opportunity to share what we have experimented with and experienced and allow others to try it out for themselves and see if they reach the same conclusion. 
That being said, we also have the right to revise what we know as we continually receive additional light and knowledge.  The more we seek truth, the more we discover and find it. 

3. Despite the fact that we don't always know everything, there is someone who does.  There is purpose to what He does and there are lessons He is trying to teach us.  Even when we get caught up in the brown paper bag or the lemon scent (that frankly in the end are unrelated to the golf ball), He helps us to see by gently prompting us, "But drop it, and listen to the sound."  As many times as the students consulted with each other, there was a much more reliable source to listen to.  And despite the thousands of blog posts, forums, podcasts, and articles, we also have more reliable sources to turn to that have the truth--without a brown bag blocking it.  We must be wise and prudent as we consider the sources that our beliefs come from. 

4.  Someday--despite limited information, the inability to see all things, deep frustration at not being able to "know," the time required to find out the truth, and the conflicting voices all around us in the meantime--we will all be able to open the bag and see for ourselves.  It will all become clear.  We will see what is real and what may not have been real (regardless of how convincingly it seemed so.)

And so, for now, this is where I stand:
I am assured that there are absolute truths.
I believe that there are sources I can go to that have that truth.
I have faith that for everything that remains unanswered (despite my best attempts at understanding), there will someday be answers and it will all be clear.

It may be a surprise when--after all this time--it turns out not to be related to lemons at all.

The Hall of Shame...One More Reason I Wasn't Teacher of the Year

We all have moments we would rather not relive.  Moments people continually reassure us will be really funny "someday."  (Exactly how long is "someday?" I always wonder.  Long enough that I forget it was me who actually did it and think it was someone else?)

I hate to admit it, but I have had more than my fair share of "moments."  It seems like anywhere from once a month to once a week to sometimes even once a day, someone shakes their head and mutters under their breath, "Only you, Melissa, only you.  I have never met anyone...."

I mean, there was the time--in a mad rush--I changed clothes at a stoplight and forgot to zip my skirt.  It fell down around my ankles when I got out of the car while I (as shocked as anyone) just kept standing there.  When I told my dad about it, he laughed so hard I think he cried.

There was also the time I said, "Who would WEAR something this hideous?" right as a lady stepped out holding the "hideous" item in her hand, clearly on her way to the dressing room (Maybe it helped her realize her fashion faux pas in time?).

Oooooor the time I freaked out after I hung up with my insurance representative...and then realized I hadn't actually hung up.

And as if those times weren't bad enough, most of the rest of the embarrassing moments I can think of (that haven't been repressed already) are so horrifically scarring that only those who were present at the scene of the incident are even allowed to know.  A few I didn't even tell Paul until we'd been married for six months, despite his reassurances that it really was too late for an annulment.  

You see, my embarrassing moments are a pretty serious thing.  One girl told me that one of my stories was the best ice breaker she's ever had.  She just told her group of campers she was in charge of that sumer about how horrible one of my dates was and everyone laughed and said, "Well, I've never had anything that bad happen!" and like magic, everyone seemed to be friends.

I'm worried and half convinced that my own self-inflicted stupidity mixed with bad luck is part of the reason people stay friends with me--just hoping to be present the next time I do something that could incriminate me for life.

I'm the person who, when I get asked, "What's your most embarrassing moment?" just smiles politely and says, "Uh....embarrassing?  Something I've had happen to me that was embarrassing?  Hmmm.....I can't really think of anything off the top of my head."

But as bad as many of these things have been, this past school year I had one of the best (or worst) moments yet.  A moment that got me an official invitation to the Teaching Hall of Shame.
(Don't look that up.  I made that up right now.  But if they did have one, there would be a plaque with my name on it.)

Let's go back to October.  I was a crazy, first-of-the-school-year teacher who was working to keep thirty-two kids and their parents happy, simultaneously plan the dream wedding I'd waited 27 years for, and still find time to see my fiancé (who worked until 9:30 almost every night)--ALL while still trying to squeeze in enough sleep to perform my daily song-and-dance routine of convincing ten-year-olds they really did want to write a report on brine shrimp and learn long division.

To sum it up, I was exhausted.  Totally exhausted.

Then, an adorable girl from my class had to get her appendix out, had complications, and ended up in the hospital for about a week.

Now, we as teachers are not perfect.  Sometimes we're probably not even good.  But, we do love your children.  So, thinking about how much I liked this sweet little student, I got the class to write get well notes, got her a plant for her hospital room, along with some things to do to pass the time while she was there, and headed over to the hospital.  I was sitting in the parking lot when I realized I didn't have a gift bag and there was WAY too much stuff to shove in my purse or haul in bare-handed.

However, to my relief, I spotted a gift bag in my backseat which was left from the bridal shower I'd had  the week before.  Thank goodness I never throw those things away!  I opened it, made sure no spatulas or cookbooks had been left inside, and then took the gift in.

My student and her dad were there, we all chatted for about a half hour, I gave her the gift, and then I went home after a thirteen hour day.   And that was the end of the story.  Go me.  Teacher of the Year.

Until May.

I know.  If you have any Sherlock Holmes in you at all, you have already figured out that this story is not supposed to have a happy ending and people who win Teacher of the Year don't simultaneously land themselves in the Hall of Shame.  So, that being said, your mind is already starting to wonder what could have gone so horribly wrong.

Well, nothing went wrong as far as I knew, until I received this envelope on the last day of school.

For those of you who can't see that, it says: "Mrs. Montoya (for your eyes only)"

Kids give me end-of-year gifts all the time--anything from sweet, handwritten cards to necklaces that say "MO" (I think "Montoya" was just too long....), to gift cards to flowers to candy.  But flowers or candy don't usually come with a note that says, "For your eyes only"........written by the mom......

Imagine my confusion and absolute horror when I opened the card and found this:

Yes, the person who gave me this gift is on my "not nice" list for a LONG time....

Come on…You can put the pieces together.

Luckily for me, this VERY forgiving mother (who also had been teaching fourth grade the year she got married) did.  She figured it all out very quickly.

That's right.  The gift bag I used was not, not, not, NOT, definitely NOT entirely cleaned out.  I know it's shocking to think I could have missed such an enormous and obvious article of clothing. But somehow, in my tired haze, I missed it.  Note and all.

I can only imagine the look on my student's face (and her dad's) as she pulled the items one-by-one from the bag.

"Look!  A plant!  And...a coloring book!  And cards from my friends!  And a puzzle!  And....an....an....???"

Apparently, her dad--who hadn't gotten a very good look--exclaimed, "An eyepatch!  I think it's an eyepatch."

Yes.  It had the same square yardage as an eyepatch.  That was very observant.

But no, her dad didn't figure out exactly what it was until the nurse walked in to find her nine-year-old patient holding up a pink and black polka dot thong....given to her by her fourth grade teacher.

I don't know how she ever came back to school.  I think I would have stayed home and died.  I don't know how her parents got through one or two more parent conferences with me, maintaining straight faces and looking me in the eye.

But, they did have a sense of humor enough to know that someday (there's that word again) this would be funny.  So, they returned my items and told me the whole story.

Once it was summer.

Once I would never have to face them again.

Once I would have months to recover from the shame.

So, there you have it.

And, let's face it.  It IS funny.  In a terrible, "Man, I'm glad that's her and not me," sort of way, it's hysterical.  In the, "I'm glad that was someone else's child but I swear I would have killed that woman," way, it's a riot.

So, with school right around the corner and a fresh set of cardigan-clad teachers who are ready to love your child, you will have something new to be grateful for when, in just a few short months, you and your child both make it through the year virtually unscathed, unscarred, and unembarrassed.  

Come May, when you are thanking your child's teachers with those heartfelt cards and crafts from Pinterest for all that those spectacular educators have done in the last nine months to enrich your child's life, you could always throw in a little, "Aaaaand, on top of everything else, thanks also for never giving her underwear with enough square footage to fit someone's big toe."

I mean, those things happen.  Oooooh, they do happen.

Right here in River City.

Don't worry.  I always have this year to become Teacher of the Year.  And with a streak like mine....I would say my chances are looking preeeeetty darn good.

But, you might want to stay friends with me to wait it out and see--just to be sure.

Dear Kid....A Little Advice About 4th Grade

Next week is the last week of school.  In some ways this year has flown by.  In others, it's been a million years since it started.  That was three roommates, one engagement, one marriage, and two root canals ago.  It's been a big year.

I asked my students this week to write some advice to the new incoming 4th graders--you know, sage wisdom, things they wished they'd known or been told.  Here are a few real gems....

Dear Kid,
I still don't know your name but I want to tell you what you will be doing with 4th grade.  You are in Mrs. Montoya's class.  You will like it.  Now let's get down to business.
(Yes, to defeat, the Huns...)
Math is not hard.  Science is fun.  Book reports are not hard.  Keep your class money.  Don't go to Think Time
(a punishment where they have to go visit another teacher and tell them what he or she did/should have done/will do in the future...).
Don't shout out.  Don't be late from recess.  Have fun.  But not too much.  And make sure you have these things: pencil 2 or 3, pen 1 or 2, markers, crayons, glue.
Love, __________
Friend me on Facebook if a girl.  jk

Dear New Kid,
This class is a very awesome class, but we do work a lot.  For instance, writing, we do a lot of it, like 8 total stories and report, plus, we have to write poetry.
Reading buddies are also fun.  Because now we're the big kids that read the the second graders, and usually, it's lots of fun.
Mrs. Montoya is nice and fun.  But when we get into trouble, she lets us know it.  That's when she's in military mode, as we call it.  When she's very nice, she's in Disneyland mode.
You will have a lot of fun and love the year.
From __________

This is from a few years ago.
 Clearly, it was after "Military Mode."
I am the devil with the pitchfork.
Bryan is the angel with the halo and wings.
I found this masterpiece drawn on his desk.
 I secretly took a picture when the kids weren't there
 and then made him wash all the desks, including this treasure.
Soooo military.  Man.  Life is so hard when you are ten.  

*If you ask what my class looks like, I would actually say, "Military meets Disneyland."  That just means I believe in rules, structure, consequences, order, and responsibility. But it's still the happiest place on Earth.  If you're being good, I guess......Haha

This snippet will tell you about how sad school can be:

"You do a lot of fun stuff during the year....Oh, the sad thing is there's Think Time.  It is not fun even though I have never been there.  So if I were you, be good!"

I can only imagine the horrors she has dreamed up--never having been there and all.  But really.  Trust her.  It is NOT fun.

This one made me laugh out loud.  Clearly, she has been around me way, WAY too much.  I only hope a full summer can turn her back into a ten year old.

Dear New 4th Grader,
I am so excited to talk to you today. But in order to talk, I need you to be so quiet.  We need to talk about a lot of stuff, like book clubs, reading buddies, and much more.  There is one thing I actually want to talk to you about, which is "Cowboy Up."  You're probably wondering what in the world that means.  Well, "Cowboy Up" means don't ever, ever say, "I don't get it," or you will be in trouble.  Also, if you don't like something, don't whine like a cowgirl.  Cowboy up.
Love ____________

Okay, so "Cowboy Up" may have been the theme this year and the room is all decorated in Western stuff with horseshoes on the wall (Thanks, Emily!), but I don't recall it meaning EXACTLY that....

Dear New Student,
I am writing this letter to you because you'll probably need some help in fourth grade.
One is don't be bad.
Two is have fun.
Three is keep your money and save at least $100 for the end of the year so you can buy things from the auction.
The End.
P.S.  Save til the end of the year.

*They have class money they earn and we buy stuff with it.

This next one makes me feel like Teacher of the Year.  I will write it just like I got it:

"And the math, since, and wrighting are all verry easy."

Verry easy indeed.  Especially the writing, is appears.  Although "since" is a close second.  

This was funny:

Mrs. Montoya gets cooler every year.  She will be a lot cooler for you than she was for me."


Dear Future 4th Grader,
You are probably really awesome because you're getting a letter from me.  Here are some things you might want to know.  This teacher you have right now can be nice and fun like Disneyland or mean and strict like military.  Let me warn you that you have to do book reports, in my opinion they are the worst possible thing you can do.  Then comes math.  You have to learn math.  It seems dumb to me because when I go to Smiths with friends, I just grab whatever.  If it costs too much, I put it back (that's happened before).  So beware, because you're in for a long year.

So much for telling them they need to know how to estimate so when they go to the grocery store they won't spend more than they have....Clearly, that is NOT an issue.  Just put it back.  Put it aaaaaall back.  And then take a deep breath, because it's going to be a long year, Cowboy.

At least this was the last one I read:

Dear New Kid,
My teacher last year (3rd grade) said 4th grade was scary.  
(Thank you, for that rousing vote of confidence, 3rd grade.  You scared them before I could even go military on them!)
It's really not.  Mrs. Montoya is awesome!

There you go!  To all prospective third graders--if you can "cowboy up," ignore the fact that the math is totally irrelevant, and save your money, it appears you will make it out fine, just fine.  Just don't whine like a cowgirl, because if you'll be really quiet, I'll tell something important: cowgirls aren't really allowed in such a military classroom.  After all, we won't say who, but it appears someone has a pitchfork.  Probably the one from Idaho.  So beware.  It could be a long year.  Third grade did after all, say it was scary.

Thank goodness it's almost summer!

Do You Have What It Takes?

We just got done talking about MOUNTAIN MEN and GOVERNMENT EXPLORERS at school.  You think you're tough?  Well, have you ever had a bear rip your ear and part of your scalp off and then let your dirty friend with no medical experience sort of sew it back on out in the wilderness?  Probably not, because you're not Jedediah Smith.  Wimp.

What can I say?  Kids love learning about tough people.  And I love teaching them about it.  

Me: "What?  You don't want to do your fractions test?  Jedediah had his ear ripped off and still probably didn't even complain.  Cowboy up."  


(Just kidding, I've never said that--except the "Cowboy Up" part, which they hear almost once a day, but I would sure love to say it.  No worries.  There's always tomorrow.)

After learning about the government explorers the U.S. sent out to map the "wild West," the kids wrote a wanted ad for a newspaper advertising the job.  Here are some of their "Help Wanted" ads:

MAY NOT HAVE THE BEST HOURS.....

Wanted: Explorer.  Tell us how to survive.  Notice: You have to work 24 hours a day 7 days a week.  What?!  

(The kid actually put "What?!" at the end.  Love it.)

Wanted: Government explorer.  Must know how to speak other languages.  Must work full-time, holidays, weekends, and nights.  You need to have a pen and paper.  Must have experience with a job for at least 12 years and need to know how to live alone.  If allergic to anything, not a good job.

Should I know who he is?  Because I don't....

MAY INVOLVE ANIMALS.....

Wanted: Government Explorers.  If you are allergic to bees, horses, or other animals, this may not be the job for you.  Must be willing to work very often.  This includes holidays, late nights, weekends, and more. Must know other languages and agree with Indians.  You will need mapping supplies.

Wanted: Government explorers.  Must be able to tell directions, survive in nature, and map out things.  Must be able to sleep outside and travel and find your way home.  You must be able to defend against bears and other dangerous animals. 

Wanted: Government explorers.  Need: bravery.  Be good with traveling and nature.  Bring supplies for survival.  Be ready for maybe bears, wolves, foxes, or poisonous snakes.  You may go through deserts.

Wanted: Government explorer.  To be a government explorer, you need to be brave, like skin animals without throwing up and kill big animals and shoot big guns. 

MAY REQUIRE KNOWLEDGE OF PLANTS.....

Looking for a job?  Stop by Tough Crowd Corners.  You need an application.  Be able to ride a horse.  Good experience with outdoors.  Your job will be at least four years long.  We will have all the equipment for you.  Be able to make trails.  Big boys who can tell the difference between poison plants and non-poison plants.   

Wanted: Good explorers.  Need to know how to ride a horse, have knowledge about plants, how to make trails, and how to survive in the wild.  Be willing to work for five years straight.  Be tough.  (Picture: “Is that poison ivy?”  “You can do better!!!”)

Yes, Mr. Hammond.  I did find out the hard way what poison ivy is.

I think the funniest part was the differences between the boys and girls.  

WHAT BOYS HAD TO SAY:

Wanted: Government explorers.  Have to be good with directions, know how to make camp fires, or go to the training camp.  If you can crush the odds, defy what your wife has to say and rise to the challenge.  Your name will forever be followed by the words: Mountain Man.

Wanted: Explorers.  Wanted for new government plan.  Two years of training.  Have to do well in wildlife.  Have to have a sense of directions.  Have to know what plants to eat.  Ten year contract.  Men with clingy wives…do not apply. 

Wanted: Someone that has five years of experience.  And please don’t take your wife.  Your job is to be an explorer for 20 years.  You also have to get your own gun.

Boys' Version of Family Exploration

WHAT THE GIRLS HAD TO SAY:

 Wanted: Explorer with three years wildlife experience.  Long 2-3 years, so bring family if needed.  Must know way around.  Know what food to eat that’s not poison.  Have wildlife skills and hunting skills.  Must have your own gun and knife.  Must have fist-aid techniques.  Must know how to build a fire. 

Wanted: Government Explorers.  Someone who is good with the outdoors and with guns, to be able to use a compass, and make trails.  It will take awhile so if you have a family, you will have to miss them or take them with you. 

Girls' version of Family Exploration.
Almost the same...

You got all that?  Your ear could get ripped right off.  Suck it up and sew it back on.  You might get into poison ivy or eat something poisonous, but come on.  You can do better!  You better skin animals without throwing up and be tough enough to leave that clingy wife behind.  If you think you have what it takes, there could be a job for you.

Please apply at Mrs. Montoya's 4th grade class.  A panel of ten-year-old toughness experts will determine if you really have what it takes.  

This is Jedediah Smith.  He thinks you're a wimp.

Cancer, Herpes, and a Root Canal

I love being married.  It's like I have all the same things to do that I always have had, but sometimes, they magically turn up done...without me doing them.  Like my breakfast being made when I go to leave for work, or the laundry being done or the dishes being washed when I get home from work.

Nevertheless, balancing my 32 kids at school, the 3 year old Sunbeams I teach at church, and just the everyday things like, you know, getting dinner made, seems to have thrown me over the edge.  I have been sick more times since meeting Paul than probably all the years I've been away from home...combined.  What is it about change that does that to a person?

Anyway, a few weeks ago my being sick reached an all-time high.  My mouth started hurting, my throat started swelling up, and I got a horrible fever somewhere between 100-103 degrees.  When Paul asked me what was wrong I said, "Honey, I think I have cancer."

Something like that, minus the smiling or course.

"Why would you say that?!"

"Paul, I have never been sick this much.  I never get sick.  I have been sick FIVE TIMES this year.  That probably means that something went horribly wrong in my body and I have cancer, and I'm going to die."

"You don't have cancer and you are not going to die."

"How do you know?!"

Because after lying in bed all day with a fever, what else am I to conclude?  A totally healthy person with Viking blood gets sick five times in a row?  There's nothing it could be but cancer or something equally horrible.

And thanks to all the Lurlene McDaniel "Cancer Death Books" I read as a sixth and seventh grader (Six Months to Live, Don't Die My Love! and other equally riveting treasures) I knew exactly how this would play out.  I would be one of those tragic stories--a young woman, only 27, with everything a person could want in life, suddenly diagnosed with some type of lymphoma--when it had just seemed like a cold or flu.  Of course, the biggest tragedy was how horrible I was going to look bald with this big, round face of mine.

I know, you want to run to the library and get it, don't you?

While Paul was able to convince me that I probably didn't have cancer and didn't need to say goodbye to anyone just yet, I was still certain that all the sickness wasn't normal.  So, on Saturday, I dragged myself to a QuickCare...that didn't take my insurance.  I was so exhausted, I went home and took a two hour nap before calling the next place first to make sure they took my insurance before I tried again.  Finding they would take it, I drove myself over, pretty certain now that it was some type of infection that had started in my gums that was causing the fever.

I tried to explain that to the InstaCare folks, but would they even look in my mouth?  No.  They swabbed me for strep, tested me for mono, and told me that I probably needed to "rest and drink more water."  By the time I got to the car, I was hysterical.  "They just charged me $200 to tell me to drink more water!!!"

It is no secret that I hate doctors.  I typically think they are morons (Sorry Brett and Paul).  I feel like I have never had a good experience with a doctor to this point in my life.

It started in elementary school when I was getting horrible earaches.  My mom finally convinced me we should go see a doctor.  After waiting for what seemed like forever in the waiting room, they called me back.  The doctor asked a few questions, looked in my ears, said nothing was wrong, and told me I was probably just cold and should buy some earmuffs.

"What an idiot!"  I thought.  "We paid all this money so he could tell me to wear earmuffs?!"

And that was when I decided that doctors knew nothing.


I have been to the doctor as little as possible from then on, but the times I have had to go have not been any more reassuring.

My greatest fear in going to the doctor is not that there will be something wrong with me.  It's that there won't be anything wrong, and suddenly, I 'll be that same little kid being told to go buy earmuffs.  Which is exactly what happened.  Except this time I was supposed to drink more water.  Which would have made me less mad if they would have at least tried to listen and look at what I told them hurt.

And so, I went home and drank more water and slept some more.  But things didn't get better--they simply got worse.  Monday I stayed home from school and didn't even make sub plans or show up to my important presentation I was supposed to be giving.  I slept until 11:00 am, ate some food, and then went back to bed.  (If you know me, this is all clearly atypical behavior--probably a sign of imminent death.)

By Tuesday, I was able to get into an emergency appointment with a dentist.  After all, the pain was coming from my mouth.  Perhaps they would be more informative and less expensive than another doctor.

Dentist: "It was the top right that you said was hurting you, correct?"
Me: "No, the bottom left."
Dentist: "The bottom left?"
Me: "Yes."
Dentist: "Well then, I have bad news for you.  Because you have problems on the top right."

And so, there in my dental chair, I discovered that I did not have cancer.  I needed a root canal (top right) and I had herpes (bottom left).

"Herpes?!"

"Above the belt herpes!" he said reassuringly when he saw that look on my face that screamed, "But I can't have herpes!  I'm not that kind of person."

Apparently, 70-90% of adults have it and are carriers.  It's the same thing that causes cold sores.  If a person gets too stressed, it can manifest itself.  In my case, the symptoms were high fever, canker sores all over the inside of my mouth and tongue, sore throat, and swollen, bleeding gums.

Delightful.

"So, how do we fix it?" I asked, secretly pleading, "Please give me drugs, please give me drugs."
"Well," he said, pointing to the virus section he was showing me in his dental textbook, "It says here take Ibuprofen.  It'll clear up in 7-14 days."
"I don't have that long," I said.
"Well, the worst part is over," he reassured me.  "But, that bad news is, that top right part of your mouth?  You had a filling fall out and it looks like you now need a root canal."

True Story.

So, I didn't have cancer.  But I did have herpes (and now have the terror of a repeat performance if I ever get stressed again), and I certainly needed root canal--which frankly was nowhere near as horrible as the herpes.  At least they numbed me for the root canal.

Talk about some March Madness.

Now if I can never, ever get stressed again, we should be good to go.
"You were stressed?!" a mom at school asked me.  "What do you have to be stressed about?"
I know.  There is nothing to be stressed about ever again.

Except maybe doctors.

But let's look on the bright side.
After not being able to eat for so long, at least my pants fit again.