These are questions people have asked of me recently. There’s nothing like a good old-fashioned Q&A from time to time, so please enjoy. This post has been brought to you by the James Joyce Foundation for Stream of Consciousness writing.
Q: Is it true that your husband hasn’t read any of your blog?
A: Yes. I’ve read a few things I’ve written to him, but he has not sought out any of it. He doesn’t even know the web address.
Q: Is it true that your celebrity boyfriend has read your blog?
A: Yes. He read a few posts I’d printed and given to him to explain my #ILoveEd shirt, and read a few more after that. He thanked me for writing nice things about him and the band, and told me it was good. I doubt he reads the blog, but he has read some of it.
Q: So your celebrity boyfriend has read more of your blog than your husband. Really?
A: Yes. Let’s do the math: something is greater than nothing. But nothing is greater than gravity!
Q: You don’t make your bed every morning? Really?
A: Yes, really. I pretty much only make my bed when I’m going away because I like to return to a clean house. My house is really only clean when I’m not here. People assume I’m a good housekeeper, but if you’re snooping in my room while visiting, you’ll see an unmade bed 90% of the time. And you’re judging me? What the hell are you doing in my bedroom??
Q: Is that your natural hair color?
A: Um. Yeah. I’ve been gifted with about 1-1/2 inches of dark brown roots, which magically turn into blonde highlights framing my face and a soft auburn tone over the rest of my head. Nature is a crazy cat like that, isn’t she?
Q: Are you avoiding me?
A: No, I am not. I’m avoiding a lot of things this summer. Please do not take it personally. Sometimes even I, the Empress, want a break from the fracas of worldly interface.
Q: You’re that old?
A: Yes. I am 47. But I don’t look a day over 46, right?
Q: You really like Barenaked Ladies that much? It’s that rich a subject?
A: Have we met? Next question.
Q: How can you go on vacation, but not tell everyone you’re going out of town?
A: Well, since we don’t have a dog right now, there’s much less logistically going on ahead of time, so I don’t talk about it as much. I didn’t know I had to check in, but thanks for being concerned.
Q: You really didn’t know where the class reunion was until an hour ahead of time?
A: Yes, really. I knew it was in Waterford, so the geography was pretty narrowly defined. I was positive I’d get there in a reasonable amount of time.
Q: How can you always be so upbeat?
A: Have we met? I’m not.
Q: What do you do when you get sad or mad?
A: I get my pout on in a big way. This summer has been tough for a number of reasons, and I thought for awhile I might actually be depressed. Still haven’t completely ruled that diagnosis out.
Q: You must get a lot of support from other MD moms. Are they like you?
A: I have yet to seek that avenue of support. The support I get comes from friends, my Tribe, and this little creative writing project. A friend of mine from high school has met incredible success in business, and has offered support in the way of time and money. I’ve yet to respond to his offer properly, so blown away am I by it. People show their best sides to people on my side of the divide. It’s wonderful and humbling to be a member of the generous circle of people I know. But for other MD moms? I guess they’re like me, but they’re younger, and probably not as funny as I am. They definitely have fewer hair colors.
Q: Do you like your job? Does being a speech path change how you view therapies?
A: Do I like my job? The majority of the time, yes, yes, I do. No, my view on therapies has not been altered. Therapy implies “term of habilitation or rehabilitation,” to me, and not a fix or cure. Therapy should be for a period of time, not a forever thing. I will continue to apply the rules that my workplace demands as they relate to eligibility and dismissal.
Q: Yeah, but you get your summers off. That must be nice.
A: Please frame your question in the form of a question. And lose the tone too.
Q: You’ve written that you cry a lot. Do you?
A: I wouldn’t say I cry-cry alot, but I mist up frequently when something moves me, which occurs frequently. I’m a sympathetic crier, so no one ever cries alone when Wendy’s around.
Q: Are you going to keep blogging? Do you have a timeframe like a year or until he’s a certain age for writing? Are you going to give your son a copy of the blog?
A: Don’t know, don’t know, and don’t know.
Q: Do you have a song for everything? It’s kind of annoying, Wendy.
A: Yes, I do have a song for everything. If you say something to me, that will lead me into a song containing those words. I do this all the time, and I can neither help nor stop doing it. I don’t have many gifts, but this is one. If you’re annoyed, well maybe you shouldn’t talk so much–you’re interrupting my perfectly good iTunes-in-my-head shuffle. I’m not ignoring you, I’m inside my happy place.
Q: Do you sing Barenaked Ladies when you go to karaoke?
A: I don’t “go to” karaoke, but please drive with me for the up front concert experience of a lifetime. I was once at a party where at the beginning of the evening, I proclaimed that there wasn’t enough booze in the place to get me on the stage. Turns out, there was. I sang not BNL, but another Canadian, Shania Twain.
Q: Do you know you’re funny?
A: I think I’m funny, which is not the same as actually being funny. I amuse myself but understand 1) I am an easy crowd and 2) my particular brand of humor has a fairly specific audience.
Q: What does your son think about having MD?
A: I imagine he wishes this were a question he’d not have to answer, but I honestly do not know what he thinks and feels. I don’t believe he fully grasps the words progressive, neuromuscular disease. He keeps things close to the vest, and MD is not the only thing we ever talk about. I imagine he compares himself with his more able-bodied friends, and wishes things were otherwise. I don’t imagine this actually. This I know.
Q: You can get up in front of people and talk no problem. Don’t you get nervous?
A: I used to want to puke just before getting up for a lecture or work presentation. But now, no. I can get up in front of a huge audience, but writing here is a most raw, revealing fear. Plus, I’m funny (see above) so that helps when I am in front of groups. People usually laugh where they’re supposed to and at least appear to give thoughtful consideration to the information I present. Only once has someone gotten up and walked out of a presentation I was giving, so I’ve been fortunate to have good audiences. I think the most difficult thing in the world would be to get up in front of about 20 people with a guitar or at the piano. That type of presentation intimacy is terrifying by way of comparison to me.
Q: Is there a cure for MD?
Q: If you could meet one famous person or historical figure, who would. . .? Nevermind.