Hope continued

It's all behind me now, I hope. I went to the outpatient part of Cedars-Sinai hospital yesterday and had a LEEP performed to remove parts of my cervix that contained high pre-cancerous cells. You know you're in Beverly Hills when the outpatient center has a valet, though. Luckily, that's how I roll ;)

I couldn't eat or drink from midnight the night before and I was so thirsty, not even hungry just thirsty. I was a little freaked out by the idea of anesthesia, since I've never been under with it, even when I had my wisdom teeth pulled they just used gas. It didn't help that the day before the hospital called to ask if I had a living will or if I was allergic to anesthesia. I told them I didn't think so, but of course didn't know for sure having never had it.  

I had to go an hour and a half ahead of time. They led me in the back where i had to don a robe that opened in the back, put my hair up in one of those hair nets, remove my shoes and put on booties. I looked scary when I saw myself in the mirror. Oh and they had me remove even my toe ring since they would be using electricity inside me. Again, scary. 

Then it was time for the IV and luckily I didn't faint, but it did hurt and caused a heart throb like beat on my hand. They had nice warm blankets for me though which was nice.

Next the anesthesiologist came in followed by a resident who he said would be following him and asking me questions. It reminded me of Grey's Anatomy. The guy even looked like the character George and was awkward like him. Whenever I was more conversational in my responses he'd tense up and just say "yeah."  It was cute until I remembered that George didn't pass his exams and who knew about this George-wannabe. 

He asked if I was feeling woozy, but at the time the bed that I was on was being spun around a corner and oxygen was being put over my face, so it was hard to tell or answer. I then was awake enough to help them move myself to the gurney, I saw them put some sticky things under my robe and had enough time to look around the large surgery room to see tubes hanging from the ceiling, big lights, stirrups being put up and then I was out. 

When I woke I had thought I had fainted and started mumbling as such and then Raphael was there and my surgeon and then I was lucid again. Despite being weak, my hunger was more prevalent so we stopped at my favorite - Sizzler. They even had my fav chicken noodle soup available, which I'm going to take as a sign, lol. Now I'm on Percocet so everything is just peachy, I don't even care about the cramps and other inconveniences.

News: Cat predicts deaths at nursing home. Freaky!

Tara's wedding part 2

The wedding itself was the next day at Branford Mansion in Groton, CT and continued with Tara and Andrew's diverse backgrounds.

First there was a tradional Indian ceremony with a cushioned altar area and a sandalwood filled fire buring as the witness to the marriage. Per custom, Tara circled her husband seven times in an act that seals their vows sevenfold. They were both dressed in red and gold wedding sherwani and saree, but 20 minutes later they change into a suit and white dress for the non-traditional or denominational service. So, it was like two weddings in one.

The mansion where this took place overlooked the Long Island Sound and was gorgeous. 

Oh and look at their cake. It was so smooth that it looked fake as if I could knock on it. Apparently the icing is made with marshmallow to achieve this effect.

Tara's wedding part 1

Don't freak out, I don't mean my wedding!

I'm referring to my friend Tara R (now Tara T) from high school, whose wedding I went to this weekend in Connecticut. Not only do we share the same circle of friends and first name, but also the same birthday--Dec. 9th. Crazy, no? We also both drove Honda Accords in school and dated an Andrew, but she just married hers--Andrew not her Honda. Andrew was her Junior Prom date and now, eight years later they were wed.

They didn't have just any plain ole' wedding either, but a very cultural one, combining both of their backgrounds, her Indian roots and his Chinese heritage.  The wedding festivities started the day before the wedding with a Chinese Tea Ceremony, where Tara donned outfit #1--a black Chinese silk dress.  

The tea was followed by a Sangeet a few hours later, where all the female guests were given jeweled bindis to put on our foreheads and colorful bangles to wear on our arms.

Tara's two younger sisters and her cousins performed Bollywood-like dances for the couple. My other high school friends, Laura, Vicky and Carolyn surprised the pair (and me) further by learning over the last few Sundays a routine to perform as well and let me say it kicked ass. It had a hip-hop Hindi choreography and they danced to three different songs. I threatened them that it would appear on my blog and as promised I YouTubed it.

While at the dinner table Raphael announced that he was going to get me and my friends some Samosas. Being ignorant to Indian food and thinking he meant mimosas, I eagerly awaited his return and was momentarily dissapointed when he came back to the table with several plates of potato/meat ball snacks. Everyone liked them though, but we had selected too many and soon kept passing the remaining cocktail plate of these meat pastries around the table. Each time one of us would go to the bathroom, go get a drink or hit the dancefloor, the plate would be laying at our place setting when we returned. It was like a game of hot potato, literally.

Tara and Andrew's outfit change #2:

Part two with Tara's 3rd and 4th wardrobe change will be posted tomorrow. 

Karoke happens

Especially when in NYC, a few drinks later and access to a private Karoke room at Karoke 17.

Here I am "singing" Barbie Girl with my friend Angela.

Now dueting with Lisa, but I forget what we sang:

Here's Raphael trying to sing La Bamba, but some lady in red keeps getting in the way:

Victory

In the past, the times that I’ve felt really victorious were not the times when I had aced a school paper or crossed home plate, which of course felt great, but when I think of my victories, I think of those times when I had the guts to do something I normally wouldn’t. Like the times when I’ve gotten in a good zinger to someone who deserved it and didn’t hold back my tongue. The times I could have easily of avoided but were the better for not. 

I feel like all of these Blog-Off topics are making me dwell on some deep stuff, well maybe not the breasts prompt so much. Sorry but here I go again though, because one of the things that I’m most proud of is being able to walk past my dad’s casket in the quiet church, step up to the alter and climb to the pulpit and looming microphone and give my father’s eulogy.

I remember looking out at my family and friend’s sad faces who were all looking to ME to be the strong one, when I had lost more than a brother or uncle like them, but my father and friend. I could feel a presence though, whether it was God or my dad, I don’t know, but there was something spiritual pushing me during the wakes and now funeral. I was impassioned to make my dad proud of me in front of his family once again, to say all the things that the platitude spilling, monotone priest had left out and mention all the great things that caused a line out of the funeral home and fill all three of its inner rooms with people paying respects. All the things I wanted to remind people about when it came to my father. All the things that I needed to say were jotted down on a black composition notebook, which held my senior math class notes in the front pages and my father’s eulogy in the back. I must have written in such a fury the night before that it was hard to read my writing on the back of each page since there was bumpy brail-like marks made from my forceful pen strokes on the other side.

I opened my mouth to speak, still a bit annoyed that I was the only one who would, because even his seven brothers and sisters were too afraid to come up and address everyone. I knew I had to though, but there was still a moment up there that I thought I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to be staring down at my dad’s casket, this isn’t me. I was afraid I would cry and not be able to get through it that I wouldn’t do him justice, but whenever I addressed these concerns to my family and friends in the days before, they all seemed confident that I’d do well and that I wouldn’t fall apart. Luckily they were right.

I began by saying “As we traveled behind the hearse today in a series of limos, cars and police motorcycle escort by the State Troopers, I saw people turning their heads on the street to stare and look as if to ask who had died. I whispered back to them, a great man died, my father….”  Without faltering, without any ums, I continued on and said everything that needed to be said about his life and told of the people who came up to me during the wake like his 7^th grade science teacher (I don’t even remember mine), a guy who said that my dad gave him his first job delivering pizzas, just all these random people he had touched. I then read aloud my poem that I wrote about death, which people later asked if it was Robert Frost, nope that was Benny Settembre’s daughter.

When I was done, I took a deep fortifying breath, my nerves shaking from revealing all that emotion and from four days of being in a nightmare. Knowing that what ever I could have said wouldn’t be nearly enough. I briefly wished I would hear clapping as my eyes finally focused on the audience and past his casket, but I had never heard of people clapping in church, outside of song that is, never mind at a funeral. However, my uncle who like everyone else had been leaning forward stood up and started clapping and everyone followed suit. I released the tension and my held in breath, tears continued to fall down my face and I knew in that final tribute I had made my dad proud once again and I knew I’d always be proud of myself for that bitter sweet victory.