Let’s take stock of my current desk situation, shall we?

Sure there’s a keyboard, laptop, extra monitor, mouse, pens and some paper; so it may look a lot like your desk too. You might even have a giant coffee cup or a post-it reminder with instructions of what to do before your kid has a sedated MRI.

But, do you also have your son’s prescription ear drops and a half-eaten doggie football? What about the things you can’t see stacked up behind the monitor? Do you have a dishtowel, a dog bowl, an unused extension cord and some headphones – all things the puppy was chewing on and brought to you?

People think I am so lucky to work from home. Sometimes I am, but sometimes I find an undershirt on my keyboard or the battery “borrowed” from my mouse and put into the remote. During conference calls you can hear the Wii, a dog barking, or a child asking, “Mom, what’s for dinner? Thank goodness for mute.

And, thank goodness I have a wide lap since it’s the only space I have left for taking notes.

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Every Sunday at church I reach for him during the sign of peace. As I simultaneously shake his hand and lean over to kiss the top of his head I remind him to look people in the eye when he says, “Peace be with you.” It’s not necessarily something that comes naturally to him.

There are times, of course, when he will sit and stare intently at my face as we discuss the day’s events. Some evenings he will sit on my lap and I’ll tell him stories and he’ll look at me so closely that I can count his freckles.

But, more often than not, when replying to someone he quickly glances away as he says, “Thanks” or “Bye.” Eye contact is not his strong suit.

Well, with humans anyway.

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I’ve thought about this post for a week. It’s one part health story, one part important lesson, and one part me bragging about being in touch with my body. I honestly don’t know where to start without sounding pompous. There’s a chance, though, that it could save someone’s life. So obviously, in addition to sounding somewhat arrogant, there will also be overly dramatic statements.

Fifteen years ago, I saved my daughter’s life. I was five months pregnant and wasn’t far enough along to be concerned with fetal movement, but when I noticed her kicking had decreased over a two-week period, I told my doctor. I stressed the change. I told her I felt like it wasn’t right. I told her there was a big difference in what I had felt to what I was feeling. She wasn’t worried, but scheduled an ultrasound. Four weeks after I first noticed a change, I had the ultrasound and my daughter was born via emergency c-section shortly after. The doctor told us that if we had waited just a week or two more, she would have been stillborn.

If she wasn’t around, who would harass him?

Fast forward to three months ago. I started taking hormones to control post-surgical pain on my girly parts. Okay, I’ll say it. My uterus. One of the side effects of the medication is blood clots, but I discussed it with my doctor and because I don’t smoke, the risk was low. Two weeks ago, delightfully pain-free, I flew to Miami for work. The day after I arrived I developed severe calf pain. Did you know that flying can case blood clots? It can.

I chalked it up to my new shoes, took some Ibuprofen and dealt with the pain off and on for the next week. I felt the aching at odd times (sometimes when standing, sometimes when in bed) and that’s what made me call my doctor. I wasn’t doing anything to trigger it. I gave it a week, so I knew it wasn’t my shoes. There was no redness, no swelling, the pain wasn’t bad and went away with a couple of Ibuprofen, but it just felt odd to me. Something wasn’t right.

I ended up in the ER a couple of hours after seeing my doctor and started taking blood thinners for Deep Vein Thrombosis the next day. If you have the good fortune of not knowing how dangerous DVT can be, let me just tell you that it can kill you. The blood clot can break off and go to your lungs and you have virtually no chance at surviving.

Needless to say, I’m no longer taking those hormones. I am, however, taking a blood thinner for the next 90 days. I can’t do my beloved workouts; at least not at the level I was. I am limited to upper body strength training, nothing too strenuous and working my calf is forbidden. My uterine pain is back with a vengeance and I can’t have a hysterectomy until I’m off the blood thinners. Catch 22, anyone? Oh, and I CAN’T DRINK ALL SUMMER LONG. But, I’m alive and so very thankful.

Long story, long – KNOW your body. If something doesn’t feel right, get it checked out. Trust me, I know going to the doctor is inconvenient and there is a really good chance that it’s nothing, but there’s also a chance that it isn’t.

Don’t chalk it up to new shoes. Call your doctor. Your body will thank you for it.

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I burst into tears at a birthday party last night.

Either this means I have to increase my Zoloft again, I’m really upset about my friend turning 40, or I am extremely worn out. I’m going to go with the latter, though I am almost 43 so I may be secretly bitter about my young friend.

My husband and I used to work with a guy whose accent made him say, ‘tired’ like ‘tarred’. Folks, I’m tarred. Really. It’s like I’m swimming in the hot, thick, black goo that we coat our driveway with. I’ve been out of town four weekends out of the last six, I just came out of the second busiest part of my work year and am heading like a speeding bullet into the busiest, and who can forget this?

There has been so much more going on that I won’t list here, but I literally don’t even know what day it is; I sent a company-wide email today declaring that it was Monday. For your information, and mine, it’s Tuesday. I think.

So, if you see me and I look like a zombie it’s because I am. Please be gentle with me, give me a pat on the back, tell me it will be okay, that I’m doing a good job in the midst of this chaos, and for CRYING OUT LOUD buy me a drink and send me to bed. I’m begging you.

Even if I can’t do it as cute as that puppy can.

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