CTG with The Worst-Case Scenario

My mom likes telling the story of the night she made a life changing decision.  Her grandmother, see, was a worrier.  One night old grandma worried so much, she nearly made herself sick.  After that night, my mom decided she would never worry.

Which is why we frequently have conversations like this:

“I’m going to go on a cruise,” I say.

“Cruise ships are ripe with salmonella,” says my mother.

Or “I’d like to go on a hot air balloon ride.”

“Hot air balloons start on fire and then their baskets start on fire,” says my mother.

My favorite (keep in mind that my mother lives in Utah where there are not many rivers, and the rivers nearby are, at their deepest, two inches shallow):  “Cars with automatic windows are risky because if you become completely submerged in water, you will not be able to roll the windows down. Trapped you will be.”

I think she would like me to point out that she now owns a car with automatic windows.  And I would like to point out that she has not, as of yet, been stuck in it underwater.

My sister’s favorite: “A man suffocated to death when he dug a sand pit, got inside, and the sides fell down around him.”

Bless my mother who always prepared us for the worst-case scenario.   

So now, after years of trying to plan a family cruise, I’ve come to grips with the fact that it will never happen.  Because even though she would never worry about it, in light of the recent cruise ship debacle, I’m sure another cruise conversation would go as follows:

“Let’s go on a family cruise,” I’d say.

“The engine will start on fire, and we’ll be drifting at sea aimlessly eating cold cuts which will give us salmonella,” would say my mother.

I love my mom.  She’s always done her best to prepare me for every possible situation.  The cool thing about her is that after she put in her two warnings, she stepped back and let me do whatever I wanted.  Which is why, even to this day, you’ll never find me digging a sand pit.  Thanks, Mom, for loving me so much.

Coming to Grips with The Grand Finale

Last month, I bought nine tubs of Ben and Jerry’s.  I put the Ben and Jerry’s on the counter, and sat down to check my email.  I felt something wet on my foot, and looked to see blood pouring down my leg.  I will spare you all the seriously macabre details, but by the time my friends came over, it was like Carrie at the Prom with Rosemary’s baby.

And it didn’t stop there.  In the ER, the best way to describe it would be buckets and buckets of red paint.  Only worse.  

The cause: hemorrhaging from a miscarriage gone awry.  Or would that be a pregnancy gone awry?  Whatever it was, it was awry.

On my way to the hospital, I called my husband (a bicycle commuter).   “Ride home, pick up our son at the neighbors, and then come to the hospital,” I said.

He said, “I’ll leave right now.” 

He got on his bike.  And got hit by a car.

Yes, folks, my husband got hit by a car.  He flew over the car and landed behind the car – like in the movies.  When he called my emergency room from the ambulance, he wasn’t sure what was wrong.  The next call notified me that he would be going into surgery and that he would be admitted to the hospital.  A different hospital.

So now, I am still in the ER, on the cusp of a blood transfusion or emergency surgery, and my husband is going into the OR to put his leg back together.  Just great.

My son was whisked off and well taken care of by friends, friends who even slept at our house so he could sleep in his own bed.  Thank you, dear friends. Friends who cleaned up blood, made meals, and prayed.  Again, thank you.

After four hours of hemorrhaging, my bleeding miraculously and suddenly stopped.  My husband’s leg was sewn back together. 

When my son came to the hospital the next day, he looked at me with a mix of surprise and relief.  His face said, “You’re not gone.”   When we got to the other hospital, our son did the same thing: hugged my husband like he had survived the Apocalypse. 

The recovery took a few weeks, but we’re feeling fantastic.  We’re still in a state of wonder.  

The Ben and Jerry’s?  A neighbor saved it.  It too survived.

In Speed, Jack tells Annie: “I have to warn you, I've heard relationships based on intense experiences never work.”  I don’t know about that.  But when you’re already in a relationship and the “intense experience” comes, if you come to grips with it the right way, come to grips with God’s mercy and love, it can bring you closer together. 

Coming to Grips with Online Dating Part V

On Monday night, May 12, 2008, my best friend Beth and I chatted in my condo. At 9:00PM, Jake called.  He had just passed the Centerville, UT exit.  He “wondered” if he should stop by and see me on his way home from Spokane.

I looked at Beth.  Beth looked at me.  “Duh,” said Beth.

I said, “Yes.  Come by.”

Beth said that I stopped completing my sentences.  She said, “I’m leaving because you are irrational.” But then she parked her car in the parking lot and settled in to watch.  She had a clear view of the Bridge of Love.  Later, when I found out that Beth witnessed our first meeting, I thought, “How sweet.  Snipers make the best friends.”

I stood on The Bridge of Love facing west.  The lamps flickered.  A gentle breeze kept the air crisp, but comfortable.  Soon, I felt the bridge tremble.  I heard manly steps.  Then strong, masculine, hairy arms wrapped around me, and attached to the end of those powerful arms were thick, un-tapered man hands.  He whispered into my ear . . .

We stayed like that for a minute and then I turned around and kissed him – on the lips even!

The next night we went on our first date.  He came to work with me the day after that.   And here, in a nutshell, is our happy ever after:

Jake took and passed the Patent Bar.  I moved out of my beloved condo and into a crappy rental in Spokane.  I quit my wonderful job of eight years.  We got engaged June 8.  We bought a house July 16. Jake studied and took the Bar July 24-26.  We got married August 20, 2008.  On August 26, I started a new job.  Jake started a new job a few days later.  I got pregnant on election day.  

(The next morning, still asleep, I asked Jake, “How does it feel to be the most powerful man in the world?” 

He snuggled up to me and said, “Fabulous.”

Then I woke up.

“Oops," I said, "I thought you were Barack Obama.”)

In December our roof started leaking.  On January 27, 2009, I was put on bed rest.  May 15, I was laid off.  July 1, Jake was laid off.  July 31, we had a baby.  Then our water heater broke.  August 25, I sold my condo.  Jake got a new job, but wasn’t paid, so he quit.  Jake had nose surgery to fix his deviated septum.  Six weeks after my c-section, I had an appendectomy.  More job searching.  In March of 2010, we sold our house and moved in with my parents.  June 25 we moved across the country, going from a four-bedroom house to a tiny two-bedroom apartment.  Jake started his new job July 6, 2010.  I got pregnant again.  And then, I had a miscarriage.  And then a few weeks later, as a belated miscarriage complication, I almost hemorrhaged to death and Jake got hit by a car on the very same day – September 22, 2010. 

So, to end this series of about Online Dating, where a typical profile might read, “I married a mechanical engineer / lawyer.  He is a sweet, funny man, who hates watching sports and loves folding laundry.  He bought a mini-van,” mine would have included the not-so-rosy details.  Living happily ever after isn’t so much about what happens to you, it’s about how you handle it.  And I can say that so far, I have lived happily ever after – even though our life isn’t perfect.  And I’m so excited to spend the rest of our imperfect lives together.  

Coming to Grips with Online Dating Part IV

First things first.  My dad always said, “Being single is no disease, and getting married is no cure.”  I always figured that if I wasn’t happy being single, I probably wouldn’t like being married either.  Did I just claim that?  Actually, that was my mom – trying to get me to stop crying after the 7^th first date in two months.

So, had I just found on the internets, “the one”?  Were my single days numbered?

A few weeks before we met in person, through all my sleuthing, I was confident that he was indeed named Jake Scott, really attended law school and lived in Spokane.  Here’s one of many things that increased my confidence: my father put the word out to his Home Teacher (if you’re not Mormon, this means Assigned Friend), and the Home Teacher had a nephew that personally knew Jake and vouched for him – name, picture, everything.  My dad said, “Why don’t you just get engaged before you meet him?”  My dad worried a lot about me sticking around and driving him crazy back in those days.  Still does.

I lived by a cardinal rule, still do: never be friends with boys.  I know, I know, you hate this rule.  I knew that when Jake and I met, it would come down to two options: to date or to not date.  I warned him about this.  “If this doesn’t work out, we cannot be friends,” I said.

With Jake, even on the phone, I did not put my best foot forward.  Why put your best foot forward?  Do you want someone to fall in love with you or your foot?  Also, I tried to limit his expectations of me. I told Jake I was annoying and that I talked too much.  I told him I didn’t have a waist.  I told him that if he had girl-hands it wasn’t gonna work.

I made a plan.  On the phone, I said, “Jake, I don’t want to open the front door and see you.  That will be awkward, especially if I don’t think you’re attractive.”  I proposed that he meet me on a bridge at my condo complex.  It crossed a lovely little stream.  I made a “Map of Love” explaining exactly where to park, how to walk to the bridge and what to do: walk up from behind and put his arms around me.  That way, I would feel him first – before I could see him.  Touch is my love language, so I thought this would give our little romance the best chance.   

But you can’t mess up fate.  Things will work out or not work out, but it’s all for the best.  I tried to ruin it.  I did everything you’re not supposed to do.  But when it comes to “the one”, it just can’t be ruined.  I mean, have you ever heard of a better way to ruin a budding relationship than to tell your date you’d rather not see him?  How many ways can you spell sabotage?

My whole life I thought that I needed to be smart or beautiful to get married. Did I just claim that?  Actually, that was society – I have seen a lot of stupid, ugly people get married.  You’ve seen them too – admit it!  Now, perhaps it was my turn.  An imperfect, flawed woman meeting the imperfectly flawed man of her dreams.  Or maybe not . . . what if girl-hands wrapped themselves around me?  Yikes!

Jake graduated from law school on May 9, 2008 and then would be in Utah for three weeks; during which, he would study, take the Patent Bar and date me.  Three measly weeks.

So, “Map of Love” in hand, Jake began the 12 hour drive to meet the woman who would become his wife . . .

Coming to Grips with Online Dating Part III

About three emails after I first contacted my husband-to-be, he texted, he called.  And then he emailed and called, and called, and texted, and emailed.  We couldn’t meet because 1) he lived far, far away, and 2) he was in the throws of his last semester of law school.

We played the “do you know” game, and when I’d hear about people I knew through Kevin Bacon, I’d call Kevin to double check.

Meeting someone online isn’t that different from meeting someone in person: whatever you do, don’t believe a word they say until you verify the information with an outside source.  And don’t just check them out on Facebook and Google.  Get your brother to call his work.  Note: If he is a photographer, he is unemployed; if he is a consultant, he is unemployed. 

If you’re interested in the guy, insist that you meet him, in person, pronto at California Pizza Kitchen at 6:00PM on a Friday.  "Getting to know him” online is colossal waste of time.  You don’t know who you are getting to know.  He might be married, a 14 year old, or . . . believe me, it can get worse.  So, if he doesn’t want to meet you in person within two weeks, stop writing him.  Stop.  Now.  Do I need to say that again? 

I lived by that quick sort, quick email, meet in person ASAP method.  Until my husband. 

Because I couldn’t meet him in person ASAP, I pretended to be Nancy Drew.  Remember Mark Hacking? If you’re ever worried about being paranoid, just remember Mark Hacking.  That’s when you’ll remember it’s okay to be paranoid.  I checked his school directory.  Yep, a man named Jake Scott really went to school there – but was that Jake Scott the same “Jake Scott” I “knew”? Was that his real name?  These are the questions that plagued me.

This was not like me.  Only stupid girls fell in love with people they hadn’t met.  Right?  That’s when Jake asked if I was his phone-girlfriend.

I said, “Yes, we are exclusively phoning.” 

I put him on the phone with my friends; they interviewed him.  I made him send countless pictures of himself.  He sent me one of his unwashed shirts in the mail, so I would know what he smelled like.  He sent flowers to my work.  He wrote terrible poetry; I actually thought it was cute – terrible, but cute.   I told him to call every night at 9:00PM my time or he was toast.  And guess what, he called every night at 9:00PM for seven weeks.  Seven weeks.  That, my friends, is true love.

We stopped flirting with other people.  We would stare at the moon, and say cheesy stuff like, “We’re staring at the same moon!” I photoshopped a picture of us together.  Yes, it was a bit like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.  I think we even had a love fern.  The therapy? That came later.

But as the time to meet him in person approached, I became increasingly worried.  What if my version of You’ve Got Mail ended with Clint Howard instead of Tom Hanks?  AHHH!