NAMING THE MONSTER

Name (n): a word or set of words by which a person, animal, place, or thing is known, addressed, or referred to.

Names are important. And people are namers.  We name things.  We name our children, we name our pets, we name our streets, and our boats. And some of us name our cars.  Names help us differentiate one person from another, one thing from another.  Names help us keep track. They help us remember who or what we are dealing with.  And sometime the names we use are  based on how we feel.  We use formal names, and nicknames. And sometimes, we call people that we don’t like by names that they don’t like. On purpose.

Some people have interchangeable names like Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne and Diana Prince (well, close enough). Apparently this interchangeable thing is a common phenomenon among Super Hero types… Also, I once took a class with a girl named Kelly Kelly. Really I did. That doozie of a name is the epitome of interchangeable.  

And then there are those people who only need one. One name.  A single name is enough of an identifier… If you are known by a single name, you are a mononymous person...(Just call me Wynette, the Wikopedia Wonder for finding that word and let me just say, that word is a real treat on the tongue! Have you tried pronouncing it yet?  Go ahead, try, I’ll wait…) Cher and Madonna and Liberace and Shrek, all mononymous.  I think that would be cool…Wynette.  Nothing else. Just Wynette…Sweet.  Maybe one day.

Parents have the job of selecting names for their children and they often like to have a theme.  My parents apparently liked W’s and I am one of 3. Maybe they had some sense that I would be a Wahls Warrior one day…Wynette, the Wahls Warrior…Neat.  My brother set aside his W name and pretty much has always gone by his middle name, but my sister and I have kept our W’s front and center. They, my sister and brother, also both have middle names that begin with a J, so until my sister married, they shared the same monogram, WJF.  Mine was the only one that differed. They are also different from me in that they both have at least one of three names that falls within the mainstream.  Normal. Average even. Not me. I am not even on the banks of the stream.  I am way out in the middle of the field and you can’t even see the stream from there.  I am blessed with a name that is unique at all 3 levels…first, middle, and last. There are few on the planet that share any of my 3 parts and I’m pretty certain when all put together, I am a one of a kind combination.  It used to bother me, the uniqueness of my name.  In school on the first day, when teachers were doing roll call, as the teacher made her way down the list alphabetically, she would call out “Susan Evans”, Susan would say here, and then the long pause would come, and in the silence  I would say “Here, and it’s Wynette Fabrega”.  And so I am 0 for 3 in the “normal” names category.

My name was one of the things my brother used against me when he would try to convince me that I was adopted.  “Sure, you have a W, but you have no J and you are left handed, blue eyed, and your name is 100% abnormal.”  The universe paid him back, though.  Once, I hit him in the forehead with a Jart… (you will have to look it up for yourself if you don’t know what a Jart is, this is a long story and frankly I don’t have that kind of time). This incident was not my fault, however…He was dumb enough to stand behind a 4 year old swinging a pointy metal tipped object, and also it is not my fault if letting go at the right time has never been my strong suit. Plus anyway, it hardly even left a scar…

It used to bother me, the uniqueness of my name. Now it doesn’t.  I guess I’m finally growing up, a least a little bit. 

My sister used the letter J for each of her kids names, some first, some middle, and my mom has no middle name at all.  I went with a dead Presidents theme for my kids… I didn’t plan it that way, it was hindsight theme.   My brother’s kids all have their own individually unique names and follow no pattern at all other than that they are each wonderfully uniquely talented individuals.

When my Dad was in the state legislature in Montana, there was a man there by the name of Harold Pitts.  I’m sure when little Harry was first named, the proper term for that part of the body which lies beneath the shoulders was underarms, otherwise his parents were just plain cruel. Generally, we tend to call those people we like by that which they prefer to be called. I’m guessing Mr. Pitts preferred Harold over Harry. Go figure.  I try to call people I like by the name they prefer.  Well mostly.  Sometimes there are nicknames that I use that may not be preferred but they are at least tolerated. I have a coworker I call Cupcake and a pair of lifelong family friends that I call Wiggles and Saliva.  Not likely their monikers of choice, but they know I love them and they humor me. 

And then, every now and then, there are those people where I know their name, but I don’t use it.  I don’t use it because they have made me mad. So, sometimes I resort to name calling.  I have flaws. I am a work in progress.  In my defense, if Mr. Douchebag next door would just park his car where it is supposed to be parked, I would be happy to call him by his preferred name.

When I was initially diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, with the exception of 2 specific incidents that I will leave for later, I actually took it pretty well. In some ways it was a relief.  A relief to finally have answers for the undiagnosed symptoms that had popped up from time to time over the years, and a relief that I didn’t have something far worse.  For me, MS is not a death sentence, it is a life sentence.  A change your life sentence.  I had bombarded my body with preservatives and chemicals and pesticides and an unhealthy diet for years. If not for the MS diagnosis, I was likely headed for Heart Disease and/or Diabetes, and/or Cancer or some other nasty concoction of maladies and afflictions.  So, when discussing my diagnosis with friends and family, in part, my attitude was “It’s all good…this is the kick in the butt that I needed to do things differently.” And then I would follow that statement up with “We all have our stuff, I just know what mine is”…Or said another way, We all have our monsters, and I know my monster’s name.

I know my monster’s name is Multiple Sclerosis or MS for short, but it is rare that I actually think of it or refer to it by its formal name. Instead, I think of it as the Monster. I refer to it as the Monster for a few reasons.  For one thing, MS is my Monster but it might not be yours.  We are Warriors fighting side by side, fighting the Monster, but the Monster standing in front of me may not look the same or have the exact same name as the Monster standing in front of you.  And also, MS maybe isn’t my only Monster.  I may have the whole cast of Monsters Inc. out there… lurking.  I don’t want to just focus on the one whose name I happen to know.  I want all of the Monsters to know that I know they are out there and that I am willing to fight them all.

Because I have seen the Monster and I know its name… because it has shown itself and is no longer jumping in and out of the shadows, I am better equipped to fight.  Because I know its name, I have been able to adopt the right Monster fighting manuals and find the right Monster fighting mentors. I am lucky to be studying under a trilogy of masters.  I’m a Wahls Warrior who incorporates PaleoMom principals, and I have a Mercola mentality.  So, I listen to the Masters and I try my best to practice what I have learned and I use all the weapons at my disposal to fight the Monster.  I am a Warrior. A Wahls Warrior. So Monsters beware.

So, mostly I refer to MS as the Monster, but also, when I do or say something or feel in such a way that may be symptomatic of MS, I have another name that I call it.  I call it “Mad Cow”.  If I stumble…Mad Cow.  If I can’t think of a word…Mad Cow. If I am searching frantically everywhere for my car keys only to finally realize that the key ring is looped around my finger…Mad Cow. When I laugh so hard I pee a little, I claim Mad Cow…OK, so that may or may not actually be Mad Cow related…I had 2 babies and those muscles have never been quite the same since…let’s just say no jumping on the trampoline for me unless I have totally emptied the bucket first…TMI? Too bad.  My blog, my rules.  

There are a few different reasons that I call my Monster the Mad Cow. First, it lightens my mood and allows me to laugh at myself and laugh at the Monster.  It makes me and people in my life laugh.  And laughing makes me feel good. And feeling good makes me feel stronger…better able to fight.  Also, there are times that I want to talk about the Monster behind its back.  Times when I am tired and I don’t want the Monster to notice me… times when I just want to let sleeping Monsters lie. And sometimes, I call the Monster the Mad Cow simply to be defiant.  It is my way of letting the Monster know that I know it is out there. My way of letting it know it doesn’t scare me…that I may have it, but it doesn’t have me. It is my way of giving the Monster the finger. Of standing toe to toe with it and looking it straight in the eyes and saying…screw you Monster!

Turite puiki diena!

(That’s “Have a nice day” in Lithuanian.  No reason…I just felt like learning a little Lithuanian today.)

SNOW WHITE

Weird thoughts just pop into my head out of nowhere.  For no apparent reason.  With no point.  A few days ago, I was in the car, minding my own business when it occurred to me that my sister is Snow White, and her kids, my nieces and nephews, are the 7 dwarfs, and her husband, my brother-in-law, is Prince Charming.  Random.

My Sister Wendy is Snow White.  Her hair is dark, her skin is as white as Mayonnaise, and she wears red lipstick.  And also, she likes apples.  Ironic that her skin is as white as Mayonnaise because for years, she suffered from Mayophobia…a complete and total fear of Mayonnaise. (Don’t bother looking it up.  It isn’t a real syndrome.  I made it up. Sue me.) When we were younger, to make her crazy, I would chase her around the house with mayonnaise.  I would have it on a spoon or a spatula or my finger and I would say in my best creepy voice (Mayonnaise…gonna put it on you!) She would scream and run and panic and practically cry.  It was my job to torture her, because I am the youngest.  I called her and asked her how it is going…with the Mayophobia… and to her credit, she has faced the mayo monster and although she still doesn’t prefer to have mayonnaise smeared on her, she no longer has nightmares.  Way to go Wendy!

My Brother-in-law, Greg, is Wendy’s Prince Charming.  Just one kiss is all it took, I think. And also he is the family Safety Officer, ever mindful of all things that have the potential for danger. How charming of you, Greg!

Now for the dwarfs.  My 7 Tedford nieces and nephews.  They are all grown and adultish, each accomplished in their own way, and they are crazy and funny and fun.  They were great kids and they are even better adults.

John is the oldest and he is Doc.  He is the leader, the corner stone,  the head whistler, and he keeps the group in line.  Mostly, anyway, as much as anyone could keep this group in line. Woot Woot, John Boy!

Julia is Happy. It seems like the older she gets, the happier she gets.  Plus she is Leah’s mom, and how could anyone not be happy about that!  Cheers, Jules!

Jason is Sleepy. He hardly sleeps or he sleeps a lot.  Not much middle ground. Also, he has a baby on the way. Get some sleep while you still can, JG lips! Sweet Dreams!

Paul is Bashful.  I called him Sweet Paul and Paulie Joe when he was a little boy.  Still do.  He is humble about his successes and he has a lot of them. Aim high, PJ!

Aaron is Grumpy.  Really, he isn’t grumpy, but there isn’t a dwarf named Hairy, so Grumpy it is.  Plus, last time I saw him, he pointed out to me that he is the only boy in the family with a girlyish name. So, I think he deserves the toughest dwarf name.  You’re welcome, Hairy J!

Bethany is Sneezy.  I’m sure she would have liked to have been Happy, but Julia is older and the older sister always gets dibs on the best stuff and the younger sister is left with the stinky hand me downs and second pick and never gets to sit in the front seat of the car... so she gets Sneezy…But also, she does have this oh so cute way of rubbing her nose and a tendency toward being sick or at least thinking she might be. Bless you, Bethy!

Adam is Dopey.  He is quiet and sweet and he looks cute in hats and  I’ve never seen him with facial hair. And also…Wink!  Peace out, Addy!

So what does this have to do with food or health or life or anything?   Absolutely nothing…nothing at all.  But remember, I warned you. I warned you right from the start…I write for me.  And sometimes what I write might not make sense to you, or it might not be meaningful to you or pertain to you or your life at all. Sometimes what I write might even offend you in some way.  And if any of that happens from time to time, that’s OK with me and I hope it’s OK with you. But hopefully, every now and then, I will show you my crazy, and you will think Oh, yep, that’s my crazy too, and we will share our crazy together.

Hi Ho!

WARRIORS UNITED

As many of you know, yesterday was a big day.  A huge day.  Yesterday was Tea Party with Michelle on Monday day!  And a couple of you are messaging me and saying “Did you do it?  Did you meet with Michelle? Tell us more, Wynette, we want to know everything about your Tea Party with Michelle!” And so I will, I will tell you more, but not everything because Me and my new friend Michelle have our secrets that are only for us.

First, the night before our tea party, I sent Michelle a message so that she would know how to find me at the Tea House.  Or at least I tried, but she never got my message because apparently I am still a Facebook Novice and don’t always get the comments and tagging and messaging parts right. Anyway, here is what I meant to send her: “Hi Michelle, I am so excited for our Tea Party tomorrow! My profile picture is old, but I kind of like it, and plus I’m too lazy to find a newer one that I like, so I keep it there, but it doesn’t really look like me very much anymore. I have long dark hair, no bangs, and I will be wearing a black shirt and jeans. (I’m a planner!) Unless, of course, you really do turn out to be a creepy stalker dude…in that case, I’m the cute little blond in the sundress…  See you tomorrow!” 

The first good news is that Michelle isn’t a creepy stalker dude so that is a huge relief! 

So, anyway I got to our agreed upon meeting place and was sitting at a table outside the tea house waiting.  I knew nothing about Michelle…tall/short, chubby/thin, young/old, Wheel Chair/Walking, Black/White, Male/Female (ok I guessed female, but one never knows for sure based on name alone). So I sat there with my black shirt and my jeans and my no bangs hair and I waited and I watched and I smiled at random strangers to see if they smiled back and some smiled but they kept on walking by…And then a woman walked up to the tea house and I thought that she might be my new friend Michelle because she had that sort of beachy surfer girl vibe. And I looked at her and she looked at me…and then she sat at a different table. But I forged ahead because I knew... I could sense it with my Wonder Woman Warrior Radar I think. And I said "Are you Michelle?"  And she answered “Yes!” and I said "I am Wynette!" And she tilted her head a little and looked at me funny for a second because she didn’t get my message about the black shirt and the no bangs so I said “Old picture…no bangs” And then her radar kicked in, and she knew too.  And then we hugged because we are huggers and then we were Warriors United.  

 We talked nervously for a few minutes, sort of like a first date, and then we said, let’s go get our tea! So we went in to get our tea but there was no tea at the tea store until 11 am and it wasn’t 11 am (apparently, unlike coffee,  tea is more of an afternoon event) so we wandered over to Whole Foods in search of tea for our tea party. We walked and we talked and then Michelle got water and I got Kombucha. Michelle said no Kombucha for her. Apparently, she forgot it was supposed to be a tea and not a water party, but that’s OK, I don’t judge. Maybe she had a little brain fog with all of the excitement of the day. Also, I think maybe Kombucha makes her burpy and she wanted to make a good impression on me, so no Kombucha. I don’t know for sure why she didn’t have Kombucha. I didn’t pry. You will have to ask her yourself.  That’s her story to tell.

And so we sat down with our water and our Kombucha and we shared our stories.  I told her mine and she told me hers…we talked symptoms, and diagnosis, and procedures and doctors. We talked family and friends and work and school. And we talked about our early Warrior days and where we currently are in our journeys. Each of us shared our journey. We shared our journeys and we gave each other a little glimpse of our crazy and we laughed and we laughed and we learned. And it was fun. I think that it turned out just as I had hoped.  I had hoped that she would like me as much as I hoped I would like her.  And I think we did. Like each other.  And before we knew it, our tea party was over.  As much as we both wanted to stay, there was work to be done, appointments to be kept, food to be prepared…life to be lived. So we exchanged numbers and we said our goodbyes, promising to do it all again soon.

I don’t know when our next Tea Party will be, but I hope it really will be soon. And I hope that more and more of our Warrior friends will be able to join us. But if not, if it is just Me and Michelle again next time, or every time, that will be OK too. Because we are connected now. We are friends. We are Wonder Women. We are Wahls Warriors. And Wahls Warriors are real.

We are Warriors United.