He also told me that throughout the day yesterday I would feel the sensation of my shoulder distending.

Neither of these things happened.

Does this mean the procedure didn’t work?

Am I destined to live one-armedly for the rest of my life?

Should I learn to pick my guitar with my teeth?

Will yoga forever mean lopsided mountain pose and downward facing 3 legged dog?

I don’t know. I’m just going to continue on my path of self-healing and hope for the best.

I have to resist the urge to fight what my body is doing and instead nurture and influence it.

I’m trying to do this with my kids too and boy is it hard. It would just be so much easier if we were allowed to duck tape their mouths shut and lock them in the basement, like in the good old days.

But instead I breathe. And plug away, searching for my inner wisdom. Searching for peace and acceptance.

I go to Joanne’s site for inspiration daily. Such wisdom and calm.

And at the same time, trying to create balance. Allowing myself to feel and express those feelings safely.

Feelings.

I have a lot of those lately. My tears are just under the surface at all times. Ready to be called to duty at a moment’s notice, at the slightest provocation, at the sight of an insect, at the sound of a baby’s laughter, at somebody elses excitement over a stinking filthy Choloepus …

A friend posted this on facebook yesterday. I watched it 5 times and cried each and every time. I say it’s because I’m broken. Both Franky and my oldest daughter, Jules, say it’s because Kirsten is me. Which, in this case, I believe is a good thing.

This morning I went to the hospital for what I thought was going to be a quick in-and-out visit for a cortisone injection.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

So… I slip into my super sexy hospital gown and lay my hot stuff down on the cold hard table-bed thingy, where the assistant, who incidentally, and without any exaggeration, looks pretty much exactly like THIS covers me in a snuggly lead blanket.

All this after (of course) being asked if it’s possible that I might be pregnant. I guess my reputation precedes me because she dropped it the minute I snarled at her.

The doctor arrives and explains the potential complications of the coming procedure, which honestly I found a bit much for an injection but hey.

Doctor: The first complication is blood
Me: Like internal bleeding??
Doctor: No, like blood drops. Like with any needle. Needles are sharp (I am not making this up people) and they poke you when they are injected into your skin so sometimes there are drops of blood.
Me: Good stuff buddy. Next?
Doctor: The second potential complication is infection.
Me: Why?
Doctor: Well because anytime a needle or anything enters your skin it can push contaminants inside that can become infection.
Me: Um… is this the same risk as with any injection or routine blood tests? Like the ones I have almost every month of my life? The ones where nurses never warn me that I might get infected?
Doctor: Er… yes.
Me: Cool. Thanks for the heads up.
Doctor: The third possible complication could be allergy to the iodine.
Me: Uh… What iodine?
Doctor: The iodine I’m going to inject before the medication.
Me: Uh…
Doctor: As a dye, to show if the needle is in the right place.
Me: I see. And how will we know if I am allergic to it?
Doctor: Well hopefully you’re not.
Me: Right.

I signed the consent form.

First there was a smallish injection of pain killer.

Second is a GIANT needle that goes in ever so slooooooooooooooowly and wiggles around until you’re sufficiently nauseous.

This goes on for about half of forever and triggers an unforeseen panic attack on my part. Why? I do not know but the same thing happened two years ago when I had a central line put it.

I can handle any pain.

I sliced my hand open once – Took a deep breath, wrapped my hand in a dishtowel and called out to my husband in the other room,

“I have to run out and grab something babe, I’ll be back in a bit!”

and walked calmly to the nearest clinic to ask for stitches.

I’m a trouper.

I birthed 3 children without even so much as a Tylenol.

Got pain? Bring it the hell on bitches.

But for some freakish reason I CAN NOT stand laying around for hours at a time with giant tubes dangling out my arm from my heart with stiff instructions not to move a muscle “or you’re in danger of…”

OR

Monster sized needles hanging out of my shoulder with stern instructions to not even “breath too hard because it will move the needle and…”

So yeah. I panicked. I took deep breathes. I pictured all the wonderful things I’ll be able to do when I am healed. Painless yoga, Playing guitar, gracefully performing on stage etc…

That only worked for a second.

I tried imagining that Francois was there holding my hand.

If you haven’t ever had an anxiety attack I can’t really describe it, or the totally insane lack of control and honest fear for your life you experience while it’s happening.

Your brain releases the same chemicals as it would if you were say.. oh I don’t know, being chased by an angry bear. For example. So even if it doesn’t make any logical sense to jump off the hospital table and tear off like a bat out of hell, that’s the driving force that possesses you.

I channelled Louise Hay in my mind telling me “You are not a helpless victim of your own thoughts, but rather a master of your own mind.” and “I am in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing.”

Doctor: Miss Chapman your legs are shaking. It’s very important that you stay still please..

I imagined Rodney Yee talking me through a difficult yoga pose.

My breath quickened and I honestly got scared that I was going to tear the needle out of my arm and run.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Doctor: Don’t move, I’ll be back in a second…
Me: NO! please.
Doctor: Sorry?
Me: Please don’t leave the room. I’m feeling anxious and panicked and this is taking too long.
Doctor: Do you want me to leave you alone?
Me: I do not.
Nurse: Jennifer are you okay?
Me: I feel panicked. Can you talk to me for a minute? …………………….. hello?

At which point the doctor calls in his supervisor.

“Is that good?”

“Nope, you’ve got to get right in there”

“I’m already at the bone”

“Well wiggle it a bit because you’ve got to get in there good”

Which surprisingly calms me. I have no explanation for that.

But seriously, am I the only person who has panic attacks on that table? They seemed really confused and unsure of how to deal with me.

Doctor: Miss Chapman I am having a very difficult time getting the needle in, which is good. This means your doctor’s diagnosis of Adhesive Capsulitis is probably correct.
Doctor: This is the first I’m hearing of it. I really don’t feel well. Do you think we could speed this up a little?

“Doctor, you’ve got it now. you’re in.”

Doctor: Okay, we’ve got the good spot. I’m injecting the medication now. Cortizone, then Prednisone, then a pain killer.

Me: Good stuff, let’s get her done.

Doctor: Not too quickly though, I have to go slowly.

Doctor: Of course you do. It’s jafeiwha What the fuck? Fuck! Fuck. What? Somethings… arearfaaggg! Ug. Oh god. (which is pretty much how I sound having an orgasm so I totally get why he just sat there smiling as though NOTHING weird was going on at all and just casually enquired…

Doctor: Does it feel like your shoulder is being dislocated?

Me: I’m going to puke. I’m serious.

Doctor: Like your shoulder is being pulled out of the socket?

Me: YES FUCK! If having your shoulder dislocated feels like birthing an elephant out of your fucking armpit. What the hell are you doing?

My hand and arm were being pinned down by a three thousand pound sand bag.The tendons or muscles in my shoulder and upper arm were seemingly contracting and convulsing and attempting an aggressive escape from the flesh that surrounds them.

Have any of you seen Alien?

Doctor: Oh, good. That means it’s working!

He smiled from ear to ear.

Me: Fucking hell… Do you think you might of mentioned this when you were blabbering about blood drops and Shit? Gladsfaskdahsfgh!

Doctor: All done Miss Chapman. Good job. You can go get dressed now.

My whole body was trembling violently. I could barely see straight let alone stand up to get dressed.

Doctor: See you next time!

Me: Yeah. Let’s never see each other again, shall we?

Doctor: Oh, ha ha. It rarely only takes one injection. Usually two or three. We’ll see each other again.

Me: Not without Vicodin we wont.

And I lived to tell you all about it.
Go team.

6 hours ago

Francois

• I just find something that really work like i want *insert beep noise here indicating interference so that none of you can hear the top secret idea Franky had today*!!!!!

6 hours ago

Jennifer-June

• Sounds brilliant.

• P.S. Regarding your comment earlier – Even thought I think Henry Rollins is basically intelligent and says some smart stuff, he’s still an ignorant block-head.

6 hours ago

Francois

• hahah dont worry , he allready topiced on this xxxxxxxx

6 hours ago

Jennifer-June

• He already what?

6 hours ago

Francois

• WE, sorry

6 hours ago

Jennifer-June

• Still lost. Baby, I want us to do something together.

6 hours ago

Francois

• i told i want to to

• 

6 hours ago

Jennifer-June

• Baby, you forgot how to speak English already! I don’t understand you anymore. Enough with this touring nonsense. Come home!

• Oh… And the Percé Rock story is so sad…

6 hours ago

Francois

• I sended that coz i want us to go there

6 hours ago

Jennifer-June

• Did you read the story??? She drowned! She couldn’t stand to be without her love and jumped off the ship and drowned. To Death!! But yes. It’s beautiful. And I’d love to go there. but I’ll probably cry. I imagine you already know this.

6 hours ago

Francois

• Well baby if its the price to pay to go to the sea..

• 

  6 hours ago

  Jennifer-June
  

  • But also, what I meant was that I want us to work on something together or learn something together or build something together. It’s important.

• 

  6 hours ago

  Francois

  • i had offered you to make music, you are willing now?

• 

  6 hours ago

  Jennifer-June
  

  • But together I mean. Not me handing you something and you working on it in your cave by yourself. I want us to do something together.

• 

  6 hours ago

  Francois

  • i always meant together baby

• 

  5 hours ago

  Jennifer-June

  • Okay but can we also do something new together?

• 

  5 hours ago

  Francois
  

  • yes

• 

  5 hours ago

  Jennifer-June Chapman

  • Something neither of us know anything about? like building boats or learning a new language or growing bonsai or farming goats or…

• 

  5 hours ago

  Francois Djmutante Robichaud

  • ok I dont know what right now but yeah sure!

• 

  5 hours ago

  Jennifer-June
  

  • or training dogs…

• 

  5 hours ago

  Francois
  

  • please baby, I’m smarter than you think…

• 

  5 hours ago

  Jennifer-June

  • Baby…………… I miss Darla.

• 

  5 hours ago

  Francois
  

  • i know I’m sending you big hugs to help

• 

  5 hours ago

  Jennifer-June
  

  • Thanks… I’m going to go write my book now, right after I check the boxer rescue website to see if there are any new photos of  dogs… up for adoption.

  • 

    5 hours ago

    Francois
    

  • No more dogs!

  

  5 hours ago

  Jennifer-June 

• But…
• 

  5 hours ago

  Francois

• • No, No more dogs!

  • 

    5 hours ago

    Jennifer-June
    

  • If there’s a new dog here when you get home, you have nobody to blame but yourself for leaving me unsupervised for so long.

  • 

    5 hours ago

    Francois
    

  • Since when do you need to be supervised?

  

  5 hours ago

  Jennifer-June
  

• Seriously?

• 

  5 hours ago

  Francois
  

  • I’m sending you HUGE kisses
    i love you
    xxxxx

• 

  5 hours ago

  Jennifer-June
  

  • 

Disclaimer:
I publish this post at the risk of alienating myself from all my desperate, lonely, womanizing, middle-aged male readers, of which I’m sure to have many–Because that’s exactly the crowd this blog attracts. There’s nothing like a confused, moody, self-analytical feminist rant to attract a horny emotionally challenged Cro-Magnon. Like a charm. The Lady’s Lounge is pretty much the internet home base of all my ex-boyfriends. I’m sure of it. Anyway, I’m not out to bruise any egos or disband the Jennifer June fan club. I just need to get this off my chest.

Prologue:
If there is something more annoying than a grown man justifying his new relationship with a MUCH younger woman with the words – She’s really mature for her age – It has to be that their nubile ego-stroking playthings are actually flattered by it.

Whoa! Jen!

Blog Post:

Hear me out.

This isn’t a jealousy thing – I have a dude of my own to play with

Or a you-just-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about thing – my first long-time boyfriend was 12 years older than me. I was 16 years old.

Or and anti-sex thing.

Sex is great.

I love sex so much that if I could trick my boyfriend into having sex with me all-day/everyday I would.

Not that I need him, mind you. No sir. I’m an independent woman.

Oh yes I am. In fact, even though he’s on tour, half way to the other side of the earth, I’m having sex right now, as I write this (I’ve got mad multi-tasking skills) and I’m pretty damn good at it (I would know).

Where the hell was I?

I write this having been a teenage girlfriend of and old fart (you know who you are).

I write this, having male friends who are guilty of collecting child-brides.

I write this as the mother of not 1. Not 2. But 3 teenage daughters.

This is a grow=the-fuck-up-and-stay-the-hell-away-from-my-kid-you-pathetic-loser. Thing.

MEN:

1) Girls are adorable, fresh and energetic but they aren’t magical fountains of youth. Dating a child doesn’t make you younger, it just ages her prematurely and stunts her emotional and intellectual evolution.

2) Dating a 17 year old doesn’t make you look like a stud. It makes you look old and creepy.

3) I don’t give a crap that your great uncle Donny married a 14 year old farm girl when he was 86 and they lived happily ever. That’s not love dude.

4) When your girlfriend grows up into a real woman, and she will, she will come to the realization that after all these years and tears- you are still the repressed adolescent you were when she met you. She will wake up sick of playing house and mothering you and, if she has an ounce of self worth, she’ll pack up all the baggage you loaded her down with and go out and find herself a life, a career and a real man.

LADIES PLEASE! If you’re 18 years old and your almost 30 year old boyfriend makes you feel like what you think a woman feels like, stop. Reflect on this question.

If your man is so awesome, why can’t he get a woman his age?

If he’s such a man, why is he attracted to adolescents? I’m sorry. I know hon, you’re a big girl now blah blah blah… but seriously.

It’s not a compliment that this loser is drooling all over you. It really really isn’t.

You’re young and beautiful and fresh, impressionable and un-intimidating and still in your hero-worshipping stage.

He’s just exploiting the fact that you still think that your self-worth is directly linked to how sexy other people think you are.

This is your time to chew gum loudly, make up your own language, explore your sexuality, get a mohawk and piss your parents off . I applaud you and cheer you on.

Play video games, join the marching band, drink coolers (somebody has to) learn how to roll joints, stand around outside malls and metro stations trying to look cool, wear more make-up than a drag queen, hump your boyfriend and all your girlfriends, explore, discover, learn, etc..

But don’t sell yourself short.

If he’s old enough to make you feel older, he’s just trying to feel younger because he’s scared to grow up.

Rewind:

This morning, like every morning, I sat down to write my 3 pages of stream of conscious journaling. Only this morning it was more like 8 pages of histrionic ranting.

I threw it in the garbage after sobbing and drooling all over it, for fear that somebody would come across it when I wasn’t home and mistake it for a suicide letter.

I was really feeling hopeless and lost.

But here’s the thing.

Hours later, after a very long day, as I slipped and slushed down the street, swinging my bag of wine over my arm, listening to depressing songs on repeat on my iPod and milking my victim complex for a good 6 blocks – I guilt tripped myself into stopping at the grocery store.

What kind of mother would I be if I showed up at the house with a bag of cat-food and a bottle of booze but no supper for my kids?

The kind I’m destined to be after they finally do the right thing by moving out and giving up their bedrooms to the cats and my future rescue dogs I guess. Too soon?

I walked into the grocery store, grabbed a cart and started wandering aimlessly through the isles.

What am I doing?

I don’t even know what I’m here to buy.

There’s no food in the house at all, I have to buy something.

Mmmm… apples.

I walked toward the fruit.

“Wow! You’re one serious shopper!”

He was standing right there, next to the oranges, nodding at my cart.

A man wearing many layers of worn knitted garment and an old suede overcoat.

Greys and earth tones.

His long yellowed hair wore two toques. one on top of the other.

“I am serious,” I responded,

“I mean business mister.”

He smiled and added,

“While we’re speaking speaking English… I’m hear to tell you that there is hope.”

His words knocked the wind out me. And once I caught my breath back,

“I’m really happy to meet you.”

I smiled for the first time all day.

“I’m a writer” he went on, dropping oranges into the cardboard box that lined his folding metal pull-cart.

“I write short stories. I’ve been published. Other publishers are interested in my stories and…”

I don’t remember names and dates but he told me all about his father’s education and career dreams, his siblings…

He has a sister who lives in India. She’s 75, a year younger than he is. She always was the one with good economical sense.

“If you walk to the stationary store down the street and ask for Alfred’s story, they’ll give you a copy for free. you can read it. If I give you my email address will you email me some feedback? I like feedback, I’m selfish that way and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

Alfred told me something interesting about my last name and I repeated it a few times under my breath so I wouldn’t forget. But I forgot anyway.

I liked his giant glasses, the biggest I’ve ever seen. They took up almost half his face.

“If you do read my story please share it with everyone you know who loves to read” he offered, ” I like feedback”

We talked some more about his family and his writing.

I studied his face while he spoke, trying to photograph it with my mind mind but as soon as I stepped away from him it started to fade from my memory.

I chose some apples.

I promised Alfred I would read his stories and thanked him for the hope.

I also bought almonds, coconut oil, tofu, ginger, bok choy, broccoli, Chinese cabbage, peppers, tomatoes, cucumber, brown rice, rice noodles, oranges, 3 kinds of tea, soy milk, earth balance, veganaise, caraway bread, cereal and lemons.

Instead of walking straight home I took a detour and passed by a stationary store where I bought a 3 pens and inquired about Alfred’s Story.

The store owner photocopied 12 pages for me and refused payment for them.

As I walked home the snow began to fall gently. The sky was a dark periwinkle blue and the street lamps were aglow.

My grief hadn’t vanished but it was wrapped in a soft blanket of spirit.

There was still an undercurrent of sadness but I stopped and took a deep breath, admiring the beauty that surrounded me. It was so serene and soothing, I really honestly and for real wanted to lie down on little snowbank next to the sidewalk and sleep.

I’m a little broken these days but I know I am blessed. And I choose to believe Alfred knows what he’s talking about when he says there is still hope.

I believe he was there to tell me that today.

You know what else?

Alfred can write. Oh yes he can. And here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to follow through on my promise to him.

Anyone who loves to read and wants me to forward them a copy of Alfred’s Story, leave me a comment I will do it on ONE condition.

You have to email me your feedback after you read it so I can forward it to him. He likes feedback.

an·gel/ˈānjəl/
Noun:

1. A spiritual being believed to act as an attendant, agent, or messenger of God.

Excellent advice from a brilliant friend.

Meredith: Don’t fire you. An Olympic anything would probably be too muscly. What you need to do is promote yourself and delegate more.

Me: You’re brilliant. What I need are worker bees. And also, I agree about the muscle thing. Who wants to look at that all day?

Meredith: Better yet, a stagaire – with the vague promise of MAYBE getting to be you one day. (As long as they don’t work out too much)

Meredith is a GENIUS!!

I need to start delegating immediately.

I don’t think one intern is going to cut it though. I probably need a whole crew.

I’m going to need somebody to go to work for me every day.

I need a pet/plant-sitter.

I’m going to need somebody to keep the house clean and make nutritious well balanced vegan breakfasts, lunches, and suppers for my family.

I will also need a singer songwriter, a burlesque performer, an actress and a novelist to fulfill my life long career dreams.

I’ll also be hiring an army of high energy teen-wranglers, well versed in the art of negotiation, discipline, and insult deflection. Immunity to eye rolling, huffing and puffing, clucking and “tsk”ing and asset.

I’ll probably need a small computer-savvy social media networking team to update my blogs, facebook, twitter etc…

This team will also be responsible for commenting on all my favourite blogs, updating my amazon wish list, re-posting controversial celebrity gossip articles and cute baby animal pics, photoshopping my head onto photos of chicks with hot bodies, world travellers on vacation and goat farmers and facebook-stalking my ex-boyfriends their new girlfriends.

That should do it. With all my new found freedom I should finally be able to spend a little me-time; doing the things I have been neglecting for years now like practice the violin, take Italian classes, exercise, meditate, shower etc…

Why didn’t I think of this years ago?

I know. You’re all reeling in shock. I’ll give you a minute.

It’s weird because I work 45234525362564 hours a week and I’m so tired I can’t see straight and don’t seem to have 5 minutes to myself ever – yet there’s no money in the bank.

It’s a little distressing and certainly makes luxuries like diamonds, an in-ground pool, and taking the kids to the dentist out of the question for the moment but I’m working on it.

On top of my day job, I have a couple of part time jobs to try and supplement my income a little.

One of these jobs I’ve only had for a few months, during most of which I had this nagging suspicion that one of my supervisors does like me.

Since that’s clearly impossible because – Who in their right mind wouldn’t be head over heals in love with me – I decided that I was being paranoid and weird and tried to push away the negative thoughts that were feeding my suspicion.

But… weird things kept happening, this supervisor kept blocking me when I was trying to get things done. She kept creating paperwork for me designed to monitor my every breath during working hours. She would book meetings with people that I had told her that I had scheduled meetings with – making me look unprofessional and clueless when I showed up only to find she had already been there.

Then there were the missing paychecks that I was assured were sent to me and told to “Check your mailbox again” that either wouldn’t show up or would show up post-marked and dated the day AFTER she told me “It was sent to you two weeks ago” etc…

But I kept on,

“Jen, you’re being paranoid. Why would she be trying to push you out? She hired you after all I mean… You’re probably just stressed.. tired… crazy…”

Just before Christmas it had gotten to the point where I was ready to hand in my resignation because it just wasn’t worth the couple of dollars a week it was bringing in.

But I decided to reflect over the holidays instead of being impulsive.

Upon reflection I decided to get re-railed, focused and put the energy into doing an amazing job until my contract was finished in the spring – Not letting my supervisor’s weird behaviour to get to me.

But instead. I received a phone call from said supervisor informing me that I was fired.

Effective immediately.

I simply responded,

“I understand. Thank you for calling.”

Part of me was relieved.

All the appointments and upcoming tasks (for that particular organization) in my agenda could be deleted – just like that.

That was a breath of fresh air – right there.

Also, as of that very moment I would no longer have to hold myself accountable to somebody I felt was sabotaging my efforts.

Another big breath.

But still, my ego was a little bruised feelings were a little hurt.

I have NEVER in my life EVER been fired from anything EVER.

I’m not going to pretend that I was doing an amazing job.

I wasn’t.

I could have worked much harder.

But at the same time, It was hard to stay motivated while being micromanaged by somebody who wouldn’t even send me the contact information for the people she wanted me to call, or who was lying to me about my pay, or who was making me look like a fool in front of my peers.

I know it’s immature of me to react to that stuff or point fingers to justify my lack of enthusiasm.

But I’m immature that way.

My contract cancellation letter arrived in the mail a couple of days ago, without my T4 and without my severance pay – surprise!

One of the reasons stated for the termination of contract was “There was a lack of initiative, commitment and motivation on your part.”

This got me thinking.

I think it would be fair to say that there is a general lack of initiative, commitment and motivation on my part in most aspects of my life.

How awesome would it be if I could fire myself?

Hear me out.

What if I could hire somebody else to replace me?

Preferably somebody who sleeps nights or tolerates narcotics better than I do. Somebody with boundless energy and self-worth who doesn’t suffer from insecurity induced paralysis. Somebody who trusts their gut instead of crazy-making perhaps…

A background as a costume designer/professional dancer or Olympic athlete would definitely count as an asset and somebody with a buddy pass (or 4 so I could bring the kids) with an airline (or a sugar daddy) so we could take a well needed vacation would also be worth consideration.

A part-time dentist is an instant hire. Cloee’s been gnawing on whole cloves for 3 days now.

And I PROMISE I will never ever overstep by showing up at their meetings or do their work for them or exert even an ounce of energy creating more work for them to do.

Promise.

Of course the pay and benefits would be the exact same as what I get for being me now so…

Any takers?