50,000 words.

I have reached 50,000 words in the memoir I am writing, "White Bees", and find each day I write, is a day I know myself better. Everyone has a journey to share. Below is the first part of chapter 1 to my story ...

1 My mother has loved me from the very start.



She has only ever seen me the way God does, right into my soul from the window through my eyes, and that has never changed. I must have felt her faith, as she took me in her arms the day I was born and looked upon my tangled face, and into my new blue eyes with courage and complete understanding. Knowing the road ahead would be laced with trials and mixed with grace.

“How old are you,” said the nurse, leaning down to tape the IV to my small arm.


I looked straight ahead and held up five fingers on my opposite hand, spreading them apart as far as I could.

“Five! Wow! You are getting so big!”

I nodded my head, the surgical cap covering my hair scratched against the stiff cotton sheet, but I did not speak a word.

Just minutes before I was safe with Mom and Dad in a room divided by a dark fabric curtain. Mom sat next to me while a man I didn’t know talked to them about the medicine he would be putting in my body.

Now, I was here all alone, and this felt nothing like what Mom had explained to me.

The IV was positioned mid-way up my right forearm, and throbbed where the nurse had placed the strip of white sticky tape. I was scared to move, even the slightest bit.

The ceiling towered high above me, and every wall that fell from it was painted stark white. The cold metal crib that I lay in made me feel like such a baby. I was not a baby! I was big, and I did not belong in this crib. There was an empty one next to me, aligned perpendicular to me and pushed close against the wall. I turned my head all the way to the left and looked out the metal rungs into the room adjacent to me. A room filled with bright white lights.

“I am going to have you wait right here until Dr. Broadbent is ready for you, then we will take you in for surgery,” the nurse said as she wheeled me into the hallway waiting area. Her hair was a soft brown color, and curled around her face like a rainbow.

I nodded my head again, trying my best to comprehend the unfamiliar surroundings. Voices, lots of voices came from the big bright room. I stretched my ears and listened as tightly as I could to the words the voices spoke.

“Dr. Broadbent is going to be doing the palate-lengthening operation on her today,” said a voice coming from the big bright room.

“He has been seeing this patient ever since she was six months old. Her case is one of the worst we have seen at this hospital,” said another voice.

I dissected each sentence, as I tried to determine if I knew anyone in the big bright room.

“Did you know Dr. Broadbent is one of the best plastic surgeons in the world?”

“He was top of his class at Duke University…he is very talented.”

I kept so quiet; listening and trying to understand.

Then a door swung open and I heard the whoosh from the pushed air followed by deliberate motion and the sound of a clip board hitting a hard surface.

“Hello everyone, I am Dr. Broadbent. It is a pleasure to be with you students in this teaching session. Today I will show you a technique for improving the speech of this patient.” His voice was familiar, but I didn’t know why. My mind raced to catch the answer. “The operation will be done by attaching a flap of soft tissue from her throat wall to the back of her soft palate.”

“How will this improve her speech?” asked a younger man.

“Well, if the palate and throat do not touch, air leaks into the nose and produces nasal speech.”

Above me I could hear the ticking of the second hand coming from a large black and white clock.

“Are there any more questions before we begin?”

Silence.

Then I heard footsteps, lightly did they pad the shiny floor, almost in a quiet whisper.

Were they talking about me?

“OK, looks like Dr. Broadbent is ready for you now,” said the familiar nurse, her rainbow hair tucked up neatly into her own surgical cap, the elastic edges gripping her smooth forehead. She unlocked the wheels, then put both palms on the side of the crib and pushed.

I sunk as deep as I could into the mattress, my face pointed up, feeling scared and so very alone. The wheels creaked when she made the turn from the hallway into the big bright room.

She stopped in the center, locked the crib in place, and in an instant she was gone. I was now certain I was in the wrong place. Not one single person said hello to me; almost as if I did not exist. Yet, I could hear them, buzzing around me in a productive fashion. I kept my eyes glued to the ceiling. Perhaps if I did not move, they would go about their business and forget about me, and then Mom and Dad would come looking for me and take me home. I had a wrist band on my left hand, and my name was typed, along with my birthday in a neat legible font. I stared at it, while I wondered what would happen next. All the while my heart raced, filled with anxious mystery, yet I found no bearing to hold my fear. Seconds passed, folding into minutes. I could still hear the clock on the wall outside the big bright room, ticking so obediently.

“Hello, Amy Jo,” said Dr. Broadbent leaning over the crib from behind my line of sight. His eyes were full of kindness, and goodness. I knew him. I knew his face. And my body relaxed, if only just slightly. “We are going to move you to the operating table where your surgery will take place,” and then before I could re-arrange my thoughts there were four people, two on each side of me, “on the count of three we will need you to become as light as a feather, OK?”

I nodded my head; then closed my eyes. Eight hands lifted me from the crib to the table in a swift display of teamwork. My cotton gown tangled around the tubes, which my nurse quickly set about to move into a position that was comfortable, snapping the cord onto the IV tower and taping it into place. Then, her focus came back to me. She attached a sticky circle just above my heart that had a wire coming out of it, and put some sort of a cover on my pointer finger which instantly throbbed. All the while she was fielding requests for surgery preparation. My heart beat so fast and loud I was sure she would notice. In the background I heard the sound of metal instruments bouncing on metal trays, moving to the beat of soft footsteps. Dr. Broadbent’s voice was calm and low somewhere behind and to the left of me as he talked to others in the room. I couldn’t hear anything, no matter how hard I tried to stitch together his words.



The lights above me were so bright that my eyes burned. I could see the faces now that were linked to the voices. There were so many of them. Each came by and looked down at me, so briefly they did not catch the fear in my eyes.

I lay as still as I could.

“Can you count to 100?” Dr. Broadbent asked, looking down at me with his white surgical mask over his mouth and a surgical cap covering his head

I shook my head.

“How about to 50?”

I shook my head again.

“Well, I want you to start to count as high as you can then, OK?”

I nodded, and wished I knew how to count higher, they all wanted me to count to 100! And I didn’t know how. The vein in my right arm was suddenly filled with a cold sensation; gripping and fierce did it go as it followed the length of my arm all the way up and across my shoulder. I shook with a sudden chill.

“One, two, three…” I started, trying to stay focused on counting as high as I could.

“Good job, Amy Jo, keep counting,” said Dr. Broadbent, his eyes steady on mine.

My mind felt so heavy, so tired. So very, very tired. I wanted to show him how high I could count, but I could hardly remember what came next.

“four…five……………….sev…en…………..”

The room became fuzzy, and my focus skewed as I tried with all my might to keep my eyes open, but my lids pressed heavy on my lashes.

“……….e…i…g..h…t…” and then, I could no longer hold on. I looked up at Dr. Broadbent and saw a flash of white, and then I disappeared into a deep, wonderful sleep.

While I slept, he worked. And I felt no pain.

keeping katie.

When I was young my sister Jeannie and I used to spend the night at my Gram and Gramp's house, just a mile from where we grew up. Gram would let us split a can of Pepsi AND stay up and watch Dallas with her before tucking us into the hide-a-bed for the night. She would lay the red blanket on us and make sure we were warm before she walked the ten steps down the hall to the master bedroom. Jeannie and I would stay up as long as we could stand it talking and sneaking more TV.

On one such sleepover Jeannie told me, in secret, that Gram only had "one boob", and she could prove it. She had seen her bra hanging in the bathroom, and it was completely filled in on one side. Of course I did not believe her. I had never heard of anyone being born with just one. The whole thing just baffled me for days.
Little did I know the story of how, or why...or the struggle she took on so silently most days.Cancer had found her and took part of her all those years ago. But Cancer did not take her grace, or her kindness, or her fight to wake up each day and make it to the end. One more time.

Now, I watch my friend Katie take a similar path, at an entirely too young of age. My Katie, who shared a backyard with me, taught me how to drive a van, and lent me all her clothes through high school. My Katie, who never says a bad word about anyone, and who fiercly loves her husband and five children.

But.

Keeping Katie means losing part of her.

But not her sweet personality, or her listening ear, or her warm heart. Cancer can't take any of that. Keeping Katie means months of radiation, chemotherapy, surgery, rehab, and physical therapy. But keeping Katie also means she will find her strength in this trial, and share it with all of us who never want to lose her.

the hugging guide

Please don’t shake my hand. I would rather hug. It’s true. There are so many advantages, for starters -- no messy germs going back and forth. And think about this, hugging has health benefits like lowering your blood pressure and raising your mood. But hugging can prove to be elusive to those who have not spend as much time as myself breaking down each variety, hence, “The Hugging Guide.”

1. Victory Hug

This hug is best appreciated with a total stranger during or after a major sporting event in which both parties express equal amounts of passion for said team. I first experienced the “Victory Hug” in Chicago during the 2006 opening weekend for the Cubs. Wrigley Field was packed with fans wanting a good show, and of course a win. And the players delivered. And then the hugs poured down. Monstrous, burly, happy, enveloping hugs. And I must say it was all quite nice.

2. Referee Hug

This hug is executed by one person standing straight as an arrow, arms to their side, and the other placing both palms on the huggers hips. The hug has a lot of hushed tones, whispering and deliberating.

3. Cheek Hug

Hands down, this is the best hug out there and easy too! Simply hug, then press your faces cheek-to-cheek. Kids naturally give cheek hugs, but as we get older we seem to shy away from our faces touching. Don’t! This hug holds heavenly harmony that a vanilla hug cannot achieve.

4. Pat, Pat, Pat Hug

The “Pat, Pat, Pat Hug” is common between men, especially brothers. This hug can definitely be partnered with a hand shake to avoid looking “too huggie.”

5. 3-Second Hug

Just try to hug someone for three full seconds. It is AMAZING. Actually, it is a tad uncomfortable at first, but then you get used to it, and see that this hug is the magic! If you are single this hug works well at the end of a 1st date to show you are interested in a 2nd. It is important that during this hug that a lot of feeling be put into the embrace. Grab hold! Tight! But not too tight! This is the way you give a “3-Second Hug!”

6. Side Hug

What can I say about the “Side Hug?” It is really just a cousin to the fist bump. There is so much awkwardness associated with this hug. Arms get all mixed up trying to get in position, and worse yet, the only way to totally free yourself from the “Side Hug” is to end it with a real hug. If you must do a “Side Hug”, it is best achieved while both parties are walking side by side, stride in stride.

7. Hug from Behind

This hug works best to let the person slaving over dishes and/or a hot stove know that you love them. The “Hug from Behind” is a step up from a casual hug, and should be respected as such.

8. Missed You So Bad Hug

Being apart and together again is much sweeter when a hug is shared. This hug should include jumping up and down, or, the hugger spin for the full effect. This hug will bring on the waterworks, lots and lots of them, so hugger beware.

9. Catch and Release Hug

The “Catch and Release Hug” is all about speed. In most cases, one party is more interested in having a “3-Second Hug” than the other. Get best results from this hug by swiftly completing the embrace, keeping at least two fists of space between each other, then firmly planting your palms on the shoulders of the other hugger, push away, and deliver a compliment. Works every time.

10. The Just One More Hug

If you have ever fallen in love, this is the hug that you could not give enough of. Filled with sparks, tangible chemistry, and magnetic energy so strong that you have got to have “Just One More.”

Whatever hug you love, and whomever you love when you hug, always remember -- never be the first to let go.

First published in the Box Elder News Journal, Atmosphere, November 2011. Read more 'Atmosphere' from Amy Wilde on her blog http://www.amywildeatmosphere.blogspot.com,email her at wilde.amy@gmail.com, or follower her on twitter @wildeatmosphere

My dad's best gift ever.

My dad's birthday falls just three day's away from Christmas. Some would think that this would have been like winning the lottery as a kid. A stack of presents for your birthday, then a new stack of presents for Christmas. But somehow that was not the case, and his birthday got pushed aside for holiday parties and events. One year, all he wanted for Christmas was a shotgun -- but his dad told him that there was just not going to happen. Times were tough. My dad understood, but so bad did he want that shotgun. Christmas morning, at 1am, he and his brother Dave snuck upstairs to the living room to see what they had each gotten for Christmas. Days before they had tested each step leading from the basement to the upstairs for squeaks, and had memorized each and ever one. So, early Christmas morning they snuck up to the kitchen without a sound. Then low-crawled to the entry of the living room, and opened the pocket door -- taking great care not to slide it too fast. When they were at last next to the gifts, Dave could not believe his eyes. A sleeping bag! Just what he wanted. He opened it up right then and there and got inside. My dad was standing next to him looking the opposite way, toward his own gift. There, tucked between the cushions in the couch with a ribbon tied around it, was not a shotgun, but a rifle. Something magical happened in that living room, at just after 1am in the morning, as my dad got much more than he ever thought possible. For a boy, this was the gift of all gifts. A rifle.My dad sat and stared at that gun, shocked and beyond any sort of emotion that he had ever felt. It took him minutes to fully comprehend the gift, the sacrifice, and the love from his dad. There was of course no plan for going back down the squeaky stairs, the boys had only memorized how to get to the family room, and not back to their bedrooms. So, they spend the night squished in Dave's new sleeping bag. When the morning light filled the living room, my dad tried the best he could to show his father the same emotion he had felt hours ago when he first saw the rifle, trying to act like it was the first time he had seen it. But, that kind of emotion is hard to re-do. My dad still has that rifle, and listening to him tell the story last night on his 65th birthday brought all of us kids (and him) to tears. He only wishes...he had waited so his dad could have seen his face that Christmas day all those years ago...the day he got the best Christmas/birthday gift ever.

blue.

Blue is my favorite color. It is the mixed in every sky, and moves every sea, and is the color of wind -- if you believe. It is the color of eyes of those I love most. And shows up in the jersey's of my football team(s) of choice. Nothing is better that the big blue sky, out the windshield of a summer road trip. Or diving into the blue ocean one last time to ride a wave to the shore. "Blue Does" is my favorite song, sung by a band named "Blue October." Blue is the color of my favorite moon boots, now gone for good, that took me to school and back each and every winter day when I was a kid. It is the color of my favorite ice-cream, that nobody else seems to like. And blue is the color I painted my office when red was too intense. The day I told my family I was going to be a mom -- now over 12 years ago-- we were eating at the "Blue Bird" in Logan, and that was a day I will never forget. I love Ford blue, blue birds, bakery shoppe blueberry muffins, blue slurpees, and blue heelers. Blue is the shirt my husband was wearing the day he said good-bye to his horse -- his best girl of over 26 years. And clear blue is the ring I wear on my left hand-- my birthstone-- that reminds me every day why I love -- the color blue.

the short list.

I want an iPad2, new furniture (big new TV cause one is just not enough), the Hudson Pottery Barn bedroom set, several pair of new MEK jeans, new running shoes, some high brown leather boots, a Coach bag, a skylight for my kitchen, a Tebow jersey, a stack of gift cards to Tona, and oh ya, 600 count thread sheets. I would like all this, and possibly more. Every day my list of wants gets longer. I can't seem to go anywhere without seeing something I MUST HAVE!

But today, all of that seemed to change.

And my new short list emerged. I want good health for my best-friend-of-growing-up who in a blink of an eye has had her life turned upside down with cancer. I want happy memories for my dear friend who's brother was taken from this life all too soon.  And I want peace and comfort for my neighbor who lost her baby last night after only one week in this life...forever now her Christmas Angel...

If dollars could buy good health, or let us rewind the past and re-live our favorite moments, or once again smell the sweet scent of a new baby...I would give all I have to pay for the "short list."

luckiest day in 100 years.

Today, my favorite day in 100 years, I think about all the wishes I have made, living below the beautiful Ben Lomond Peak, and now behind her against Willard Peak I make wishes for my kids. Last month we hiked to the top of Old Ben. And I felt this tangible thrill, my goodness, I have waited so long to stand on top of her Peak, and look at the vast valley below. I pushed ahead of the group, and make it to the top first, and took a minute with just me and that lucky mountain. The one that protected me from the wind, caught my white bees in the winter, and colored the landscape in the fall. Standing on top of the mountain, I realized the triple vantage point of my hometown, my college town, and where I now call home. And then I looked up, to the massive sky above, and saw another vantage point, the one that God has over all of us, and knew, on that day, and today, the luckiest day in 100 years, that I was blessed and watched over.